The sun gradually sank westward, disappearing beyond the mountains, and night silently enveloped the entire sky.
After sharing a meal with Fu Yun, the young attendant beside them cleared the table, closed the door, and left. Fu Yun wiped his mouth with a handkerchief, speaking as if casually, “Danqing is already seven years old this year. Time truly flies—it’s already been the Year of Protection.”
The Year of Protection? What was that? The culture of this world was largely similar to her previous one, yet she had never heard of its dynastic history. Danqing looked up, puzzled, and turned her gaze to Fu Yun.
“Come, Master will take you to see the stars.” Setting down the handkerchief, Fu Yun wore a cunning, ingratiating smile like a fox. He walked over and took Danqing’s small hand. The moment he touched the icy coldness of her fingertips, his expression darkened slightly, a mix of heartache and reproach. “Why are your hands still so cold? You’re wearing so little clothing—are you trying to make me force bitter medicine down your throat tomorrow?”
Before Danqing could speak, Fu Yun released her hand, walked around the Su embroidery screen depicting “Night Rain over Xiaoxiang,” opened the wardrobe, and took out a particularly festive little red coat with a hood. The brim of the hood and the cuffs were edged with soft, snow-white rabbit fur, making it exceptionally warm. After dressing Danqing in it, he led her to the vanity table specially set up for her in the room, sat her down, untied the flowered ribbon holding her braids, and combed her hair with a peachwood comb.
Danqing looked at her reflection in the bronze mirror, trying hard to maintain a calm expression, but all she saw was her own conflicted face.
“What, don’t you like Master combing your hair?” Though he said this, Fu Yun’s hands didn’t stop moving. The two small buns at her temples were already taking shape. Danqing shook her head. “Don’t move. If your hair gets pulled, don’t cry out in pain, and if it gets messy, I’ll have to start over.” Fu Yun adjusted Danqing’s head.
Fu Yun’s hair-styling skills weren’t particularly good. Sometimes, upon seeing her hair, he would whimsically decide to tie it into a topknot or something similar. When Qianzhi was around, Danqing would naturally sit there in a daze, but when she wasn’t… truth be told, her scalp was already aching.
“Fu Yun, it hurts,” Danqing frowned, speaking in a childish voice.
“Hmm…” Fu Yun nodded as if unconcerned, but his movements gentled.
By the time Fu Yun had finished styling two small buns at her temples, tied with red ribbons adorned with tiny bells, and neatly combed her sparse bangs, the double-bun hairstyle was finally complete—though it had taken over an hour. Looking out at the night sky, it was vast and expansive. At this moment, stars filled the sky like pearls of varying sizes scattered across deep blue satin, shimmering and flickering, now bright, now dim.
Fu Yun led Danqing, dressed in her new outfit, to the terrace and pointed upward. “That’s the Big Dipper over there. Tell me, where does its handle point?”
Danqing followed Fu Yun’s finger and looked up. In her eyes, it was just a cluster of stars, unevenly distributed, countless twinkling lights.
“I can’t find it,” she said after looking for a long time, still unable to locate the seven stars that formed the shape of a dipper’s handle.
“It was my fault for rushing you, asking you to find the Big Dipper from the Xingtu before you’d even had a proper look. Search carefully within this area—aren’t these stars the brightest within this range? First, find the brightest stars, then try connecting them with a line and see what it resembles?” Fu Yun spoke with a hint of apology but still guided Danqing to follow his train of thought in observing the Big Dipper.
Having been raised by Fu Yun for six years, Danqing understood his meaning well enough: today’s stargazing lesson wasn’t over until it was completed. With that in mind, Danqing calmed her heart and began searching for the brightest stars within the small circle Fu Yun had drawn for her. Weren’t the stars of the Big Dipper supposed to be the brightest? At the very least, within their range, few stars should outshine them, so why…
Danqing thought for a moment and said, “Those stars that look like a handle aren’t bright.”
“Mhm, you’ve found them. Those seven stars, when connected, resemble a dipper’s handle—they are the Big Dipper. At our Zhiwei Guan, we enshrine the True Lord of the Big Dipper, who governs the seven Star Lords represented by these stars.” Fu Yun explained to Danqing, then seemed to recall her words. He looked up at the Big Dipper and murmured, “At the hour of Xu, the seven stars point to Gen…”
Danqing quickly took out the small compass from the shoulder bag Qianzhi had sewn for her to locate Gen, as she still hadn’t fully grasped directional terms and the like. The hour of Xu was from 7 to 9 p.m., and Gen was northeast. She looked up at Fu Yun again—had he noticed something amiss? “Fu Yun, did I find the wrong stars? Is that not the Big Dipper?”
Fu Yun withdrew his gaze from the starry sky and looked at Danqing. She met the depth in his eyes, like an endless vortex, giving her the feeling that once drawn in, she wouldn’t be able to escape. Unconsciously, she froze. Fu Yun concealed the intensity in his gaze, not forgetting to reassure the seemingly frightened Danqing. He leaned down, patted her head, and said gently, “That is indeed the Big Dipper. Danqing, you found it correctly.”
“But… but…” Danqing seemed at a loss for words, clutching the hem of her clothes tightly.
Fu Yun lightly tapped Danqing’s head and teased, “Silly child.”
“You’re the silly child, you are!” Danqing bristled at his words.
“Alright then, what are the names of those stars? Answer correctly, and there’s a reward.”
“…” Danqing’s face fell as she stared gloomily at Fu Yun. “The last one is Pojun Yaoguang, and then there’s Tian Shu, Yu Heng… okay, that’s a few of them already. Reward.” She held out her hand, demanding the reward from Fu Yun.
“The reward is—” Fu Yun, in high spirits, drew out the suspense, watching Danqing’s expectant eyes. “You’re no longer a silly child.”
Damn it! Danqing cursed inwardly.
Even more pleased, Fu Yun looked at Danqing’s face, which had turned as dark as the bottom of a pot, and patted her head. “That’s all for today. It’s late—go sleep in the room next door. Starting tomorrow, you’ll begin memorizing the Xingtu.”
“…”
After Danqing left, the smiling expression on Fu Yun’s face faded. He looked up once more at the stars of the Big Dipper. “What is going on…”
The stars twinkled, but the usually dazzling Big Dipper now appeared dim, especially the last star, named Yaoguang.
“Qisha, Yaoguang… only Tanlang is missing. If the ‘Sha Po Lang’ formation takes shape, the world will surely be thrown into turmoil.” He stood with his hands behind his back, much like that snowy night when he had waited for that person, though now a trace of worry lingered between his brows.
At the crow of the rooster the next day, Danqing rubbed her eyes, still heavy with sleep and not fully open, gazing dazedly at the room filled with unfamiliar scents. Right, yesterday she had been stargazing for too long, and Fu Yun had let her stay overnight at Lanyue Ge.
Going downstairs, she found Qianzhi already waiting below, holding a scroll in her hands. Danqing stared at the star chart scroll in her grasp—it looked exactly like the accessory painting she had spent half a year trying to obtain in her previous life but never managed to. Fate and luck had never been on her side.
The star chart scroll was slightly shorter than her current height. Qianzhi tied it to Danqing’s back. In her past life, she never got it, and now in this life, she ended up with a star chart she had to carry. Damn, it’s so heavy!
Filled with silent complaints, they returned to Moyi Yuan. Pushing open the door, the strong smell of alcohol in the room made Danqing pause. When her gaze settled on the Taohua Niang that Qianzhi had given her on the table, the last drop of wine fell from the spout, sinking into the ground and leaving a wet mark.
“Damn it, who touched my Taohua Niang!” Her voice was so loud it startled a flock of resting birds in the nearby woods.
It didn’t take long for people from the neighboring courtyards to learn that little Danqing had lost a jar of Taohua Niang. They came one after another to console her, and for a while, Moyi Yuan became extremely lively. They promised Danqing they would send her interesting things and, noticing the slight relaxation in her brows, knew her mood had improved a bit. After nodding to Qianzhi, they left, and the small courtyard quieted down again, leaving only Danqing and Qianzhi standing outside the room.
“Qianzhi, the Taohua Niang is gone.” Danqing tugged at the hem of Qianzhi’s skirt, her dark, glistening eyes filled with a pitiful gaze, paired with her slightly downturned light brows, making her look utterly heart-wrenching. “It was gone as soon as I returned. I didn’t even touch it.”
“Perhaps it attracted mice.” Qianzhi walked into the room, propped open the window to let the air flow, and the smell of alcohol dissipated, replaced by the fragrance of peach blossoms wafting into the courtyard. On a moonlit night, with this fragrant breeze, under the flowers and moonlight, a cup of mellow wine would have been an elegant pleasure, even if it meant practicing calligraphy. “This year’s peach blossoms are more splendid than before. I’ll bring you more Taohua Niang, so don’t be upset.”
“Mm.” Danqing’s expression brightened slightly. Though she agreed verbally, her mind was already plotting how to catch the little thief.
The fragrance of Taohua Niang was faint, and its alcoholic scent was also light—she had seen Qianzhi make it before. Only a small amount of peach blossoms was added, giving it a subtle, elusive aroma. Moreover, the Taohua Niang Qianzhi made for Danqing had an extremely low alcohol content. Even if Danqing drank it all at once, she would only feel slightly tipsy. How could such a wine leave such a strong smell of alcohol lingering in the entire room afterward?
Qianzhi had someone bring another jar of Taohua Niang. The maid walked along the stone path through the woods, her skirt brushing against fallen petals, the tassels of her waist sash fluttering lightly in the breeze.
“Taohua Niang, oh Taohua Niang.” Hidden in the shadows, a pair of eyes watched the food box carried by the maid, as if they could see through it to what was inside. Those eyes shimmered with a tipsy, dreamy allure, captivating beyond measure. If anyone were to see those eyes now, they would inevitably fall at that person’s feet, regardless of whether that person was a man or a woman.
Night fell. The door latch was moved aside, and the door was pushed open without a sound. Under the light of the moon high in the sky, a small, delicate foot stepped over the threshold. The furnishings in the room were simple: a round table facing the door served as Danqing’s small hall for dining and receiving guests, while behind the peony screen on the left was her living quarters.
Why is the scent of Taohua Niang gone? The intruder wondered. Could it have been drunk by the little girl in this room? Tsk, what a waste.
Clang, the sparks from the collision of metal and stone caught the attention of the uninvited guest. “Who’s there!”