In the early morning of Fangcao Hall, the dew had not yet dispersed.
Shen Zhiyi crouched in the courtyard, gently parting the leaves of the radish seedlings as she counted them.
“Seventy-eight plants,” she murmured to herself.
“Five more than yesterday.”
Qingtang stood behind her holding a basin of hot water, struggling to hold back her thoughts before finally speaking.
“Miss, you count them every day… every single day. They’re not going anywhere.”
“You wouldn’t understand.” Shen Zhiyi stood up and dusted off her hands.
“Watching them grow makes me feel at ease.”
Qingtang pouted and handed her a cloth.
Shen Zhiyi paused mid-wipe. “Any news from outside?”
Qingtang glanced around and lowered her voice.
“What happened in the Imperial Garden yesterday has spread everywhere.”
“What’s the rumor?”
“Two versions,” Qingtang said, counting on her fingers.
“One says Consort Shen was completely stumped by the emperor and couldn’t answer anything. They say His Majesty simply said ‘it’s good that you don’t understand’ and left. They’re laughing at you.”
“And the other version?”
“The other…” Qingtang lowered her voice further.
“They say before leaving, His Majesty said ‘interesting,’ and stood there looking at you for a long time. They think… he’s taken an interest in you.”
Shen Zhiyi returned the cloth, the corner of her lips lifting slightly.
“And what do you think?”
Qingtang thought seriously for a moment.
“I think… the way His Majesty looks at you is different from how he looks at others.”
“How is it different?”
“I can’t really explain it,” Qingtang scratched her head.
“It’s just… like how you count the radish seedlings. Careful. One by one.”
Shen Zhiyi laughed softly.
This girl was learning too fast—she was even starting to use metaphors.
“Alright, enough of that.” She walked toward the hall.
“What’s for breakfast?”
“Still porridge,” Qingtang followed behind.
“When I went to collect it, the kitchen said this month’s allowance…”
“Reduced again?”
“No, no,” Qingtang quickly shook her head.
“This time they were generous. They even added an extra dish of pickled vegetables.”
Shen Zhiyi paused.
Something unusual always had a reason.
Just as she sat down, a voice called from outside.
“Your Ladyship, someone from the Imperial Household Department has arrived with a delivery.”
Shen Zhiyi looked up as Qingtang hurried out.
Moments later, Qingtang returned carrying a pot of orchids, her expression complicated.
“Miss, this was sent by Consort De.”
Orchids?
Shen Zhiyi took it and examined it. A blue porcelain pot, the orchid healthy and upright, blooming with two or three pale yellow flowers. The fragrance was clean and elegant.
“Consort De?” she asked. “Did they say anything?”
“Only that…” Qingtang recalled.
“They said that after yesterday’s brief encounter in the Imperial Garden, there was no chance to speak properly, so this orchid—personally cultivated by her—was sent to you to ease your boredom.”
Shen Zhiyi placed the orchid by the window and bent slightly to inspect the base of the pot.
Qingtang leaned in. “Miss, what are you looking at?”
“Nothing,” Shen Zhiyi said.
But she quietly pinched the underside of the pot—there was something there.
She remained calm and said to Qingtang, “Go close the window. It’s getting windy.”
Qingtang hesitated but obeyed.
Once the window was closed, the room dimmed slightly.
Shen Zhiyi flipped the pot over. A small folded piece of paper was stuck to the bottom.
She opened it.
Only a few words:
“At 5 PM, Yujing Pavilion.”
No signature.
Shen Zhiyi stared at the handwriting for a moment, then brought the paper close to her nose.
A faint ink scent… mixed with a trace of pine resin.
She remembered Consort De standing silently in the crowd yesterday, dressed in lotus-colored robes, saying nothing from beginning to end.
Was it her?
Or someone using her name?
“Miss?” Qingtang asked nervously.
Shen Zhiyi slipped the note into her sleeve, her tone steady.
“It’s nothing. Open the window again.”
Qingtang did as told, still uneasy.
Shen Zhiyi continued drinking her porridge as if nothing had happened.
But in her mind, she was already calculating.
At 5 PM—Yujing Pavilion.
The pavilion stood on high ground in the Imperial Garden, open on all sides, offering a full view of most of the grounds.
A meeting there would either be completely open—or deliberately meant to be seen.
What was Consort De planning?
Or was this… not Consort De at all?
“Qingtang,” she asked after setting down her bowl.
“Yes, Miss?”
“Which palace does Consort De live in?”
“Changle Palace,” Qingtang replied.
“To the east, not far from the Empress Dowager’s Longevity Palace.”
“What have you heard about her?”
Qingtang thought for a moment.
“I’ve heard Consort De has a gentle personality, doesn’t compete for favor, and has been steady and proper for five years since entering the palace. The Empress Dowager likes her and often calls her over for company.”
Doesn’t compete for favor?