The next morning, Ci’er went to the side hall to practice etiquette.
The etiquette instructor, Nanny Wang, was a dowry maid for the elderly Ms.
Yuan of the Nine-Bestowments Royal Mansion.
Having served in the Prince Mansion for over thirty years, she had worked her way up from the sewing room to become the internal etiquette instructor.
Countless maids had been trained by her hands.
She had a nickname in the mansion: “Iron Ruler.” This was because a brass ruler never left her hand, and she could strike a palm and rap a shoulder or neck in one smooth, uninterrupted motion.
After a grueling session of etiquette training, Ci’er’s knees felt weak and sore, though she could still hold on.
The real trouble was the itch on her body.
It started from her elbows and slowly crawled into the seams of her bones, like a cluster of fire igniting from her internal organs—hollow and searing.
Standing in the corner, she tensed her back, not even daring to let her clothes rustle.
“You, come here,” Nanny Wang said, rapping her brass ruler against the table and pointing it straight at her.
Ci’er hurried forward and dropped into a slight curtsy.
“Nanny Wang.”
“Zoning out during training?
Where has your mind wandered off to?” Nanny Wang’s sharp gaze swept her up and down.
“I know my mistake.
I was momentarily distracted.”
“Take a few steps,” Nanny Wang ordered.
Ci’er walked.
Her strides were neither too large nor too small, and her skirt remained perfectly still—the standard mincing steps of a proper maid.
“Turn around.”
Ci’er turned, her hands folded neatly over her stomach, her posture steady and dignified.
Nanny Wang approached.
She squeezed Ci’er’s wrist bones, pulled back her collar to inspect behind her ears and neck, and finally pried her mouth open to check her teeth.
“Excellent appearance, and your posture is even more outstanding,” Nanny Wang said, letting go.
“You’re just a bit too thin.
The nobles in the mansion prefer girls with a fuller, more fortunate figure.”
“You are entirely correct, Nanny Wang,” Ci’er said, lowering her eyes.
“From now on, I will eat an extra bowl of rice at every meal to grow fair and plump.”
Nanny Wang’s expression softened slightly.
“Where are you from?”
“I am from Lingchuan Prefecture.”
“Your accent doesn’t sound like you’re from Lingchuan.”
“You have a sharp ear, Nanny Wang,” Ci’er replied.
“The Housekeeper told me to learn the official dialect.
The Lingchuan dialect is too rustic, and she feared it might offend the nobles.”
“Where did you serve previously?”
“To answer you, Nanny Wang: my father was a castrator, and after he passed away, I took over his trade.
I was only sold into the Maid Bureau by my uncle this year.
I have never served anywhere outside before.”
Nanny Wang’s eyebrows twitched.
It was truly rare for such a lowly, despised trade to raise a girl with this kind of appearance and bearing.
However, she was used to hearing all sorts of excuses from all kinds of people.
Regardless of whether it was true or false, she remained noncommittal, merely leaving her with a warning: “Now that you’ve entered these doors, reign in your temper.
Only by strictly following the rules will you be able to survive and settle down.”
Ci’er curtsied in acknowledgment.
As soon as she walked back to her spot, that intense itch violently surged up again, burning so fiercely that her vision went black.
Cold sweat soaked through her inner garments.
She gripped her skirt tightly, digging her fingernails into her palms.
It itched.
She couldn’t scratch it, nor could she drive it away.
It felt as though millions of ants and insects were gnawing inside her bones, making her want to tear her own flesh open and reach her hands inside just to scratch to her heart’s content.
“Miss, are you feeling unwell?” A hand supported her arm.
Ci’er looked over and saw a round-faced maid, about fifteen or sixteen years old.
The girl’s eyes were curved like crescent moons, filled with genuine concern.
“Should we ask Nanny Xiang for a leave of absence?
I can help you back to rest.”
She could only give a slight nod.
“Thank you for the trouble.”
“No need to be polite,” the girl said, blinking.
“My name is A Tao.
I’m also a candidate maid.
I heard you say earlier that you were a Lingchuan person, so I kept it in mind.
We’re from the same hometown!”
Ci’er’s heart skipped a beat.
Lingchuan Prefecture governed three counties and seven towns, each with a different accent.
She had often visited Lingchuan in her childhood and could handle ordinary questions, so she figured she wouldn’t be easily exposed.
A Tao, however, didn’t ask anything else.
She quickly asked Nanny Wang for leave and half-carried, half-supported Ci’er outside.
Outside, the dense drizzle of rain made the daylight as gloomy and dark as night.
Between the rear rooms and the side hall of the maid selection office lay a long corridor.
The bases of the walls on both sides were covered in moss, and the cracks between the bricks were filled with stagnant black water.
This path had been in disrepair for years, making it slick and treacherous to navigate whenever it rained.
“This blasted weather,” A Tao muttered softly.
“Be careful, Miss.
I took a tumble yesterday and got a huge bruise on my knee.
It hurts like death.”
Ci’er nodded, but suddenly, she heard a strange noise.
It wasn’t the sound of the rain, nor was it the wind.
It was very soft and extremely fast, like someone darting past them from behind.
She abruptly halted her steps.
“What’s wrong?” A Tao tensed up in response.
“Shh.” Ci’er slowly turned her head, staring at the cluster of bushes at the base of the low wall.
It was the boundary wall between the rear rooms and the adjacent stables.
Left unpruned for years, the bushes had grown to half the height of a person, with a thick layer of dead branches and rotting leaves piled beneath them.
The sound had stopped.
There was only the steady drumming of the rain and the beating of her own heart.
“Did you see anyone just now?” Ci’er asked, lowering her voice.
A Tao shook her head.
Whatever crossed her mind suddenly drained the color from her face.
“Could it be…
the Painted Skin Ghost?
It’s spread all over Luojing now that the killer exclusively targets young women.
The candidate maids living here in our bureau are all young, with such tender faces—” The more she spoke, the more panicked she became, and she shivered before she could even finish her sentence.
Ci’er seamlessly took a half-step forward, shielding A Tao behind her.
Something shifted inside the bushes.
From the shadows, a pair of eyes slowly emerged—eerie and green, like will-o’-the-wisps floating in the rainy mist.
A Tao let out a muffled cry.
“A ghost…”
“It’s a yellow weasel,” Ci’er said calmly.
As her words fell, a yellow weasel poked half its body out.
It was long and scrawny, its soaked fur plastered against its spine, revealing every single rib.
It seemed equally terrified to see humans.
After a brief moment of eye contact, it slightly crouched its hind legs, and its slender body vanished into the hidden drainage ditch at the base of the wall.
A Tao clutched her chest, letting out a massive breath.
“Scared me to death…
The elders say they count people’s eyebrows, and once they finish counting yours, you die…”
Ci’er didn’t seem to be listening.
She kept her eyes fixed on the spot where the yellow weasel had darted out.
The beast wouldn’t squat in the rain for no reason.
Not unless something had lured it there.
“Ever since the Painted Skin Case blew up, I haven’t been able to sleep soundly at night,” A Tao continued to mutter under her breath.
“The maid selection office has people coming and going, and there are so many young women.
Who knows if we’ll be targeted by the Painted Skin Ghost…”
Ci’er retracted her gaze.
“Let’s go.”
Back in the wing room, Ci’er half-reclined on the low bed and closed her eyes, enduring the pain for a moment until the burning sensation finally subsided a little.
A Tao poured a cup of warm water and handed it over.
“Warm yourself up first, Miss.
Should I go fetch a doctor to take a look?”
“No need.” Ci’er pressed down on A Tao’s wrist, her breath slightly weak.
“It’s an old ailment.
I just need to rest a bit.”
A Tao nodded.
She grabbed a pillow for Ci’er to lean against and then shut the windows securely, leaving only a tiny crack for ventilation.
Once she finished, she sat quietly to the side, neither pressing nor prying with questions.
Suspicion rose in Ci’er’s heart.
“A Tao, why did you come for the selection?”
“I’ve always been someone who serves others,” A Tao said, sitting beside her with a beaming smile.
“However, all my previous masters have died.”
All dead?
Ci’er looked at her in astonishment.
A Tao was still smiling.
She seemed like a completely different person from the terrified little maid in the corridor just moments ago.
“Are you not afraid, Miss?”
“Afraid of what?” Ci’er smiled faintly.
“I will die too.”
A Tao froze for a second before her smile grew even more delighted.
She leaned in slightly, nudging Ci’er’s shoulder, and lowered her voice.
Her tone carried the naive innocence of a child showing off a secret.
“Actually, Mr.
Xie sent me here to take care of you.
Are you afraid now?”
Ci’er stared at her for a long while.
At such a young age, she was speaking of life and death with absolute innocence.
Xie Yunjin’s subordinates were all peculiar people.
“Have you always been called A Tao?”
“Yes.”
“What about your real name?”
“I don’t remember.
Whatever is written on the indentured servitude contract is what I’m called.” A Tao thought for a moment before adding, “As long as I can remember, I was with a human trafficker.
After that, I was sold over and over again—so many times I lost count.
It wasn’t until I ended up in Mr.
Xie’s hands that my life finally settled down.”
Ci’er knew she wouldn’t be able to pry anything else out of her, so she forced a smile.
“Thank you for bringing me back, A Tao.
You can go about your tasks now.”
A Tao bowed slightly and walked to the door, pausing to look back.
“Don’t worry, Miss.
My lips are sealed.
I won’t breathe a single word of what shouldn’t be said.”
The door clicked shut, and the room fell into silence.
Feeling somewhat drained, Ci’er closed her eyes for a brief nap, only for the receded itchiness to surge back like a tidal wave—even fiercer than before.
Leaning against the edge of the bed in a cold sweat, she suddenly heard another noise.
Footsteps.
Extremely light and agonizingly slow, coming to a halt right outside her window.
Thinking of the vanished yellow weasel, Ci’er quickly reached beneath her pillow.
The knife was there.