The chill of deep winter had yet to fully recede, though the warmth of the sun was just beginning to rise.
“Miss?”
Chun Tao entered the room carrying a medicine bowl, just in time to see Su Yao leaning against the table, her figure swaying unsteadily.
She hurried forward, offering the bowl and carefully helping Su Yao take a sip.
But Su Yao choked violently on the medicine, coughing repeatedly. The sudden noise startled the parrot in its cage, causing it to flap its wings frantically and nearly crash into the gilded bars.
Seeing this, Chun Tao quickly patted Su Yao’s back, helping her catch her breath.
“Miss, the plum blossoms outside are in full bloom. Would you like to go out for a walk?”
Su Yao gave a faint, wry smile. “Since the master told me to ‘behave,’ how dare I go out? Last time, didn’t I just…”
“The master only said you should behave better, not that you should stay cooped up in the room all day.”
Chun Tao twisted her handkerchief, lowering her voice further. “Besides, the master will be gone for at least three to five days. I heard him clearly just now—he said if you want to go out, the Maids outside can follow you discreetly.”
Su Yao sighed. “It’s pointless. Even going out means being watched.”
She gazed at the plum branches stretching over the courtyard wall and suddenly chuckled.
“Chun Tao, look, even these flowers yearn for freedom. Fine, prepare the carriage. Let’s go out for a stroll.”
The copper bells hanging from the eaves of the teahouse tinkled softly.
Su Yao sat by the window, her fingers unconsciously tracing a fine crack on the white porcelain teacup before her.
The harsh winter sunlight suddenly streamed in, stinging her eyes.
She saw the familiar figure.
As if sensing her gaze, the person looked up.
Their eyes met.
“Miss…” Bi Cui’s voice was filled with panic.
The oil-paper package she had been clutching tightly fell to the ground with a soft thud, and the candied apricots inside rolled away along the cracks in the bluestone pavement.
Flustered, Bi Cui crouched down to pick them up.
Suddenly, as if snapping back to reality, she seemed to realize something and nervously touched the golden butterfly hairpin in her hair.
That hairpin had been given to her by Lu Huaijin as a reward for her “loyalty” back then.
But to Su Yao, it felt like a sharp knife, piercing straight into her heart.
Su Yao had already risen and descended the stairs, standing before her.
As Bi Cui raised her hand, a silver bracelet entwined with red thread was revealed on her wrist.
The bracelet was exquisitely crafted, the kind typically worn by a newlywed.
“You’re married?”
“Yes…” Bi Cui twisted her handkerchief, her voice trembling. “He’s an honest man, runs a fabric shop in the southern part of the city.”
“That’s wonderful.”
Su Yao’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion.
Her fingertips brushed against the snow-white gauze wrapped around her neck, where a fresh bite mark from the previous night still lingered, faintly oozing blood.
Lu Huaijin always liked to leave new marks on her before departing, and this time it was the teeth marks on her neck. Even wrapped in gauze, the bloodstains couldn’t be completely concealed.
Tears suddenly welled up in Bi Cui’s eyes. “Miss, do you still hate me?”
Hate?
Su Yao glanced at the Maids pretending to buy rouge in the distance, her thoughts drifting back to the Music Bureau three years ago.
Her mother had pushed her and her sister into a room, only to be dragged away by the Maids of the Music Bureau.
Later, she learned that it was Bi Cui, who had cowardly hidden behind a pillar, who betrayed them by revealing their hiding place to the Madam.
“I did hate you,” Su Yao said softly.
“I hated your heartlessness, watching coldly as my mother and I were torn apart by life and death. I hated your compassion too, for telling Lu Huaijin I was in the Music Bureau. And I hated you most for letting me live to endure all this.”
Bicui fell to her knees with a thud, her forehead striking the bluestone pavement heavily.
“This servant deserves death! But that day when Lord Lu stormed in with his sword, I truly believed he could save you…”
“Save me?” Su Yao let out a cold laugh. “From the Music Bureau to Lu Fu—it was merely exchanging one cage for another.”
Her mind flashed to the scene of her mother being dragged into the Side Chamber, the broken coral bracelet scattering across the floor.
She remembered the shocking sight of her elder sister being carried out, her skirt soaked through with blood.
Back then, she should have followed them in death, yet fate had left her in this painful world.
“Get up,” Su Yao reached out to help Bicui to her feet. “Now, I no longer hate you. Over these three years, I’ve come to understand. If it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else. You were merely trying to survive. Besides, when Lu Huaijin wants something, he will always find a way to get it.”
Bicui stared at her blankly, as if she no longer recognized the young lady she had served since childhood.
Once, Su Yao had been the brightest, most radiant flower of the Ministry of Personnel. Now she had become a trapped beast in a cage, unable even to hate.
“Go back,” Su Yao turned and walked toward the carriage. “Your husband must be waiting anxiously.”
As Chun Tao helped her into the carriage, she heard Bicui sobbing behind her: “Young lady, Lord Lu he…”
Bicui opened her mouth as if to say something, but ultimately remained silent, turning away instead.
Su Yao touched the bleeding bite mark on her neck and smiled faintly.
Perhaps this was fate—to have her wings broken yet still sing for her enemy.
She lifted the carriage curtain and saw several maids hurrying to catch up in the distance.
The sound of carriage wheels rolling over bluestone pavement faded in and out. Su Yao leaned against the soft cushion, the golden bells at her ankles emitting faint, mournful chimes with each jolt.
Along the way, the scent of plum blossoms seeped through the curtain cracks, mingling with the calming fragrance from Chun Tao’s collar, lulling her into a daze as if falling into a dream.
In the dream, a golden nanmu bathtub steamed with the scent of wormwood. A fifteen-year-old girl was forced to tilt her head back, gazing at the red silk draping from the carved ceiling beams.
The Madam’s fingertips, stained with rouge, parted the medicinal herbs floating on the water’s surface.
“A daughter of a noble family from the Ministry of Personnel with such fair skin and delicate bones should be nourished with snow mountain purple ginseng. Once the golden needles pass through the acupoints, this body will surely bring others ecstasy.”
The moment the golden needles pierced through the mist, the gilded incense box Bicui was holding suddenly fell to the ground.
The medicinal broth suddenly scalded like boiling water. A seven-inch golden needle probed the acupoints along her spine. She opened her mouth but could make no sound, tears falling into the bathtub and stirring crimson ripples.
She had bitten through the tip of her tongue.
That night in the Music Bureau was too long.
The words Lu Huaijin spoke when he snatched the dagger from her hand: “Your life is mine. Even if you die, you must die in my arms.”
…
“Young lady, be careful!”
Chun Tao’s scream overlapped with the dream. As Su Yao’s eyes snapped open, the carriage curtain had already been slashed to shreds by a sharp blade.
The winter wind, carrying the scent of blood, rushed in. She saw the coachwoman slumped limply over the carriage shaft, a half-length peacock blue feather embedded in the back of her neck.
Three masked figures closed in. The leader’s black scorpion tattoo on the tiger’s mouth of his hand flashed coldly.
Before Su Yao could thrust the jade hairpin from her sleeve, a bone-shattering pain shot through her wrist.
Chun Tao lunged forward and bit the man’s wrist, only to be struck on the back of the neck in return, her pale yellow gown spattered with droplets of blood.
“Don’t kill her. I’ll go with you,” Su Yao said, unable to bear the sight of Chun Tao lying on the ground.
“Miss, don’t worry about me. Run…”
“This dog is quite loyal.”
As the coarse sack was pulled over her head, Su Yao caught the scent of hemp rope soaked in strong liquor.
Three years ago, when she was thrown into a prison cart, the officials had used the same filthy method.
Su Yao awoke to the rich fragrance of ambergris, her eyes meeting a tapestry of a hundred birds paying homage to the phoenix embroidered on nine layers of gauze curtains.
“Awake?”