In the room, Lady Jiang saw that Shen Father had lost his senses and hurriedly stopped him: "Why not first write a letter and send it to the wangfu? The great prince has explicitly forbidden servants from gambling. If that wretched girl Shen Hui wants to fight to the death and the matter is exposed, what if the great prince drives us out of the mansion?"
"She wouldn’t dare, unless she also doesn’t want to stay in the mansion anymore." Shen Father merely snorted coldly, calculating how much money he could squeeze from his daughters.
"Borrow from Madam Xu. She cares for her two nieces. If we make a fuss, we can borrow more and buy back the land we sold before." Lady Jiang had a sudden inspiration.
"Easier said than done." Shen Father pondered thoughtfully, "But Shen Hui and Shen Wei are, after all, my daughters. If one falls, all suffer. If she wants to protect these two, she must help me."
Lady Jiang draped a slightly thicker short jacket over herself and found clothes for Shen Father: "This matter isn’t convenient for others to know. We’ll drive to Chang’an ourselves."
"Good, we’ll set off immediately." He clapped his hands.
Before Shen Father’s eyes still floated the image of Liu Dalang’s long blade—cold and sharp, pressed against his neck. The sensation was unpleasant, and each time he recalled it, he trembled with fear.
After hitching the carriage, he grew even more frightened, his mind filled with thoughts of silver, burning with anxiety. The more anxious he became, the more careless he was. Coupled with the dark moon and gusty wind, autumn breezes whirled up wisps of yellow dust that stung his eyes, causing him to overlook the faint, flickering glints of cold light in the distance. Dozens of sharp arrows shot obliquely toward him. The confusion of impending death struck before the pain. Shen Father slumped inside the carriage, the horse startled and out of control, crashing straight into a willow tree by the roadside.
Liu Dalang, hiding in the shadows, darted out, checked the pulses of Shen Father and Lady Jiang, then swiftly delivered two or three more stabs, blood spurting out.
"Here are one hundred taels of silver, take them." A man dismounted and walked over, tossing a large money pouch to Liu Dalang.
But Liu Dalang was insatiably greedy: "Sir, wait a moment. Steward Shen owed my master over three hundred taels, yet you only repay me one hundred. That’s not appropriate, is it?"
"In the Xue Family Gambling Den, there is a hidden door. You, Liu Dalang, often hide inside to observe the gamblers coming and going, analyzing each person’s family circumstances based on their clothing and speech, so as to set gambling debts at a limit that can force people to sell their property but not drive them to death." The man’s Mandarin was proper, clearly indicating he was from the capital. Daring to expose Liu Dalang’s secrets meant he naturally had backing as well. "The gambling den is a rented property. If anyone comes to cause trouble, everyone can flee overnight, vanishing without a trace."
"Since you know our methods, sir, why make things difficult for me, Liu Dalang?" Liu Dalang hesitated slightly.
"Unfortunately, your master can run, but you cannot." The other party tossed out three documents. "There were three like you before. Now two have been exiled to the borderlands, and one has been sentenced to execution after autumn. Do you want to follow in their footsteps?"
He was precisely Madam Xu’s husband, the manager of Prince Chu’s commercial shops, Miao Zhengzhong.
Though Steward Miao nominally managed the medicine shop and cloth store, in private, he specifically handled unsavory tasks for Prince Chu and the princess consort.
Prince Chu and the princess consort coveted a reputation for virtue, demanding only that their own hands remain forever clean. Thus, the hands of those beneath them had to be stained with filth.
Therefore, dealing with two people was, for Steward Miao, a matter of skill and ease.
Liu Dalang, coming from a background of local ruffians, was most adept at assessing situations. He cupped his hands toward Steward Miao, dropped the matter of the gambling debt, quickly mounted his horse, and left.
Chongren Ward, North Qu.
The current Emperor, the Mingde Emperor, had fallen seriously ill once again. Prince Chu took Third Young Master into the palace to attend to the Emperor. With the many strict palace rules, only young eunuchs were allowed to remain by their side, so Madam Xu was not needed to accompany them. Seizing this rare moment of leisure, she returned home.
In the main hall, a single lamp cast a dim light. Madam Xu leaned against a soft pillow, sewing undergarments. As autumn grew colder, Third Young Master disliked the bulkiness of thick clothing, so she had to stitch two layers of fine cotton together, careful not to make them too heavy and avoiding fur lining altogether.
Suddenly, the latticed window creaked halfway open.
"It's me," Steward Miao whispered. "It's done."
"Were you hurt?" Madam Xu set aside the undergarment and hurried to the window.
"I'm fine. This isn't my blood." Steward Miao reached through the window frame to hold her hand. "Don't worry about me. Instead, you serve Third Young Master, navigating between his legal mother and birth mother—it's like walking on thin ice. You must be cautious in everything. I should go now. The Princess Consort has ordered me to take back two maids who likely served Consort Zheng for questioning."
The matter had arisen suddenly. Though Steward Miao was puzzled, he had no choice but to obey the command.
"Just wait another year or two, and you won't have to do such things anymore." Madam Xu's brow furrowed with worry upon hearing this. "The great prince will soon… After that, I'll beg the Princess Consort to release us from our servitude, so we won't have to live in constant fear."
She longed for the Mingde Emperor's demise and Prince Chu's ascension to the throne more than anyone else.
"But at least for now, being useful is better than being useless." Steward Miao handed over two packages of hubing. "I bought these for you during the day and kept them warm on the stove—they're not cold. Speaking of which, Ah Hui and A Wei are indeed good children, but they are close in age to Third Young Master. You must be wary; I fear other wet nurses might use this to harm you."
Madam Xu tucked a peace charm she had prayed for into Steward Miao's sleeve and urged him to leave quickly. "I understand. Don't linger any longer. Take good care of Ah Jin."
The couple had only one son, named Miao Jin, who was five months older than Third Young Master. The young master was exceptionally fond of this milk brother and often called him along to practice riding and archery.
Steward Miao nodded, glanced back at his wife once more, and left the ward through the small path by the back gate.
After the xiao jin (curfew) was enforced, aside from officials on official business, commoners handling weddings or funerals, or seeking medical treatment, could also leave the li-fang (ward) after obtaining a permit from the county magistrate or ward chief.
The patrolling Imperial Guards were accustomed to such sights—every few days, a few people would inevitably emerge claiming to seek medical treatment when they weren't actually ill.
"Go, find a physician to examine these two batches of medicinal dregs and note any differences. If there are discrepancies, list the differing herbs one by one." In the annex, Steward Miao ordered his subordinates to drag the unconscious maids into the room while retrieving the medicinal dregs given by Bihe and instructing his trusted aide.
One batch was the dregs presented earlier by Aunt Duan; the other was obtained from Shiwu some days prior.
"Haven't we already checked these dregs?" the aide asked, puzzled.
Steward Miao carefully examined the secret letter from the Princess Consort of Chu, his expression darkening. "Check them again. How dare we question our master's orders?"
The next day.
It was just past mao hour (5–7 a.m.), the sky still dimly lit. The east had brightened, morning clouds deep blue, and a light mist hung in the air.
Shen Hui yawned as she went to open the courtyard gate of the Beast House. She dabbed her temples with a damp cloth scented with mint balm to refresh herself, her drowsy mind awakening to hunger faster than to clarity.
"Sister Qing'er?" She stared at the figure not far away, startled. "Sister, what brings you here?"
The figure arrived before her voice was heard. Qing'er wept softly, lamenting, "Ah Hui, my poor Ah Hui, your fate is truly bitter. News came from the manor estate that your parents were murdered by bandits on their way to the capital. Their belongings were looted, the carriage overturned and crashed into a tree, and both perished."
?!
Such good news?
Shen Hui suddenly remembered the heartfelt words Madam Xu had shared with her not long ago and understood.
"How could this be… Sister Qing'er, I don't believe it…" She pressed the corner of the handkerchief, which was smeared with the most menthol ointment, beside her eyes. The intense, cool, and pungent scent instantly stung her eyes red, and tears flowed as abundantly as saliva when watching her sister fry meatballs. "Heaven is unjust, why must it treat my father and mother this way? I wish to care for them, but they are no longer here, wuwuwu."
She wailed and lamented, pounding her chest and stamping her feet, her cries louder than a rooster's crow, attracting many curious maids and servant girls.
Before long, Shen Wei, who was far away in the Servants' Kitchen, was also drawn over by her wails.
Qing'er was startled, nearly breaking character. She quickly wrapped her arms around Shen Hui's shoulders to cover up and pulled Shen Wei to her side. "Good child, restrain your grief. You must take care of your health. You still have your sister."
Completely unaware, Shen Wei heard the news and stood dazed. She wasn't exactly grief-stricken, nor could she feel joy. Her eyes were vacant, as if she had lost her soul.
Fearing Shen Wei might have no tears to shed, Shen Hui turned her sister's face and wiped it with the handkerchief. "Sister, from now on, it's just the two of us. Don't cry, A Wei. Let me wipe your tears."
"Wuwuwuwu…" The menthol ointment was overwhelmingly powerful. Shen Wei immediately began sobbing.
So spicy, wuwuwuwu!
She took the opportunity to hug her sister and pushed away the other's eager hand.
"Sister, stop wiping. It stings my eyes," Shen Wei couldn't bear it and whispered a plea into her ear.
Shen Hui choked back a sob. "I think it's spicy too."
Hearing this, Qing'er nearly burst out laughing at the sisters. She hurriedly bit her lower lip and helplessly covered her face with her sleeve.
"Alright, alright, everyone disperse now. Excessive grief harms the body. Qi'er, quickly help them inside to rest." Fortunately, Aunt Duan came downstairs in time, shooing the crowd away. She also took Shen Hui's handkerchief and called for Liu'er and Qi'er. "Liu'er, fetch water for your Sister Ah Hui to wash the handkerchief and clean her face."
She tossed the handkerchief into the copper basin, isolating the pervasive scent of menthol ointment.
"Miss Qing'er, has Steward Shen's matter been reported to the wangfu?" With many eyes and ears outside, Aunt Duan invited Qing'er into the side room to talk.
"It has been reported. Tian Nüshi said that Steward Shen was not only a first-class steward of the wangfu but also an old-timer who had followed the great prince since the mansion's founding. He and his second wife were brutally murdered by thieves. The princess consort should be informed, and his surviving daughters should be comforted to avoid chilling the hearts of those below." Qing'er slowly sipped tea to soothe her throat. "Tian Nüshi is kind-hearted. She first gave me fifty taels of burial silver for the manor estate servants to bury Steward Shen and his wife. However, the monks staying at the estate said that those who die violently should not be placed in coffins. They sent the servants to deliver the bodies to the cremation ground at Nanshan Temple outside the city, where scriptures were chanted for salvation, and they were cremated."
The body, hair, and skin are gifts from one's parents. Even lowly servants emphasize being laid to rest in peace.
Yet, recalling how her elder sister was hastily buried, Madam Xu would never allow Shen Father to rest in peace. She found an excuse to follow the Buddhist monks' and believers' customs—cremating him, burying an empty urn, but in reality, scattering his ashes to the wind.
"That makes sense," Aunt Duan nodded. "Moreover, as servants, we must also consider our masters. Funeral rites should not be too ostentatious."
"Therefore, the burial expenses won't require too much. The remainder should be divided equally between the two sisters, with Ah Hui's portion kept by you for safekeeping." Qing'er presented a small wooden box. "Here are twenty-four taels. Keep twenty taels secure, and exchange four taels for copper coins for her to spend."
Four taels amounted to four thousand wen—not a large sum, but not insignificant either. For a ninth-rank nüguan like Tian Nüshi, her monthly salary was only two thousand wen.
On the bed, Shen Hui covered her mouth, afraid she might burst into laughter.
Wuhu, she was about to strike it rich!
Sometimes, the dead truly proved more useful than the living. Thanks to the old man for dropping the coins.
Author's Note:
Qing'er: Come watch the comedy sketch.