Twilight deepened, and the candles flickered within the Prince’s storehouse.
Su Wanzhao’s slender fingers brushed over the layers of gold foil inside a brocade box. Thin as cicada wings, the gold leaf caught the candlelight, casting a shimmering, fragmented brilliance into her eyes. She picked up a piece to examine it closely against the light, a satisfied smirk curling her lips.
"Weimo, do you think this gold foil is bright enough?"
Su Wanzhao had spent the entire afternoon hunched over the vermilion, gold-painted trunks, her eyes dazzled by the heaps of agate, amber, and pearls. She longed to sew every treasure in the storehouse onto her prayer robe, even wanting to tear the pearl-tasseled netting from the eaves to use as embellishments for her skirt.
"The Princess Consort has an excellent eye, but this gold foil is perhaps too bright..."
The steward’s hand rattled nervously against the brass key ring at his waist. He looked at the mountain of silk, pearls, and entwined gold leaves on the table, his throat bobbing. "The purpose of the Prayer Festival is to beseech the heavens for a bountiful harvest. In years past, prayer robes were typically embroidered with grains—millet, wheat, and beans—and adorned with grass-woven tassels to show..."
"Shut your mouth!" Su Wanzhao snapped, her cold eyes flashing. Her jade bracelet struck the vermilion trunk with a sharp, resonant clatter.
She held the gold foil against her chest, a feverish, flushed red blooming on her face. "I am a blessed woman, revered by all the common people. How could I ever dress as shabbily as a peasant woman?" She hissed, "Since that bitch Wen Qingyu dares to covet the position of secondary consort, I will make sure she learns what the dignity of a primary consort truly looks like!"
Yonghe, an attendant from Imperial Noble Consort De’s palace, had visited at noon, demanding that Su Wanzhao prepare the "brightest" east courtyard for Wen Qingyu; the new woman was to be welcomed into the manor on the third of next month. Su Wanzhao had ground her teeth until she shattered all the porcelain in the room, breaking every one of her ten fingernails. Now, as if overstimulated, she hovered on the edge of hysteria.
"The Princess Consort is right." Uncle Zhao bowed and retreated into the shadows, his dull eyes fixed firmly on the floor.
Weimo stepped forward, holding a casket of pearls. "Though these Nanhai tribute pearls are small, they are as round as the moon. Embedded in the hem of the prayer robe, they will surely make the Princess Consort glow with every step."
Su Wanzhao grabbed a handful of pearls and scattered them across the table. The round beads skittered in all directions. "Not enough!" She suddenly clenched her palms, her jagged fingernails digging into her flesh. "I want the entire prayer robe covered in gold foil! Even the secret patterns on the cuffs must be outlined in tribute pearls!"
She suddenly spun around and grabbed Weimo by the collar. "If the prayer robe is not more magnificent than that bitch Wen Qingyu’s, I will gouge out your eyes and embed them in it instead!"
Weimo stumbled back half a step, her expression devoid of fear. "This servant has heard that Miss Wen’s gown is made only of Shu silk, and the gold thread is mere common red gold. How could it compare to the Princess Consort’s tribute pearls and imperial-gifted gold foil?" She bent down to pick up the pearls, wiping them clean one by one. "It is just that the gold foil is heavy; if not stitched correctly..."
"I don't care!" Su Wanzhao suddenly ripped out half a bolt of pink peacock-smoke gauze, grabbing the wing-thin material violently. "It must be finished in five days!"
Uncle Zhao held his lantern, watching the two women walk away. He suddenly felt that those gold leaves and pearls, when plastered onto this new Princess Consort, did not create an aura of divine blessing, but rather a layer of lethal, embroidered poison.
Weimo hugged the stack of peacock gauze as she returned to the servants' quarters, encountering Nanny Qian standing in the courtyard with her hands on her hips, scolding someone. A laundry line was tied to the old locust tree, and white silk nightgowns dripped water, leaving winding trails on the blue flagstones.
"Are you little sluts itching for a beating? You’ll fray the edges of this tribute silk—be careful, or your cheap bones won’t be enough to pay for it!"
Nanny Qian’s laundry pole cracked through the air. Seeing Weimo, she wiped her soapy, wet hands on her apron. "Oh, the wild ghost finally decided to crawl back to the nest?"
The maids beating clothes by the wall snickered. "She probably spent the night warming the Prince's bed until her bones turned to jelly..."
"Look at the gold thread on that silk; it’s even rubbed off onto her cuffs."
"You death-seeking wretches!" Nanny Qian swung her pole into a washbasin, splashing everyone with suds. "If I hear you gossiping again, you’ll all be scrubbing the night-soil buckets tonight!"
Weimo looked down, ignoring the poisonous gazes that pierced her. Those two nights at Qinshui Pavilion had certainly made her the target of everyone’s envy.
Nanny Qian dragged her into the dim servants' room and snatched the fabric from her arms, throwing it onto the kang. "Where the hell have you been these two days? Did you really go to warm the Prince's bed?"
Weimo untied the red ribbon from her hair, letting her black, ink-like tresses spill over her shoulders. "What does Nanny think?"
Nanny Qian sneered, poking her flat chest. "With this washboard? You’re so bony you’d be uncomfortable even as a footrest for the Prince!"
Weimo’s face suddenly flushed, and she coughed as she inhaled the room’s dust, a crimson hue spreading from her collar to the tips of her ears.
Nanny Qian reached out to pat her back. "You’d risk your life for your Princess Consort, yet you still harbor such thoughts? As for those little sluts outside, I’ll deal with them tomorrow..."
"I truly do harbor such thoughts." Weimo looked up, a cold, white moonlight hidden in her eyes.
Nanny Qian’s wrinkled hand froze, her cloudy eyes nearly popping from their sockets. "What kind of nonsense are you spouting?"
Weimo gripped the old woman’s trembling hands. "If I don't gamble, how can I rise?"
The old nanny’s chapped lips moved, and she clutched Weimo’s cold hands in return. "My dear girl, that man doesn't even keep a single maid by his side. If you annoy him, I fear you’ll be beaten to death..."
"I am not afraid. Nanny, are you willing to help me?"
Weimo’s solemn expression startled Nanny Qian. "Speak."
...
The next morning, Nanny Qian woke to see the figure stitching clothes by the desk. She walked over and grabbed her wrist. "Give me the truth, are you really going to do this?"
"Yes," Weimo answered firmly.
"But if the Princess Consort finds out..."
"Nanny, rest easy." She rubbed her embroidery needle against her hair. "As long as we pamper her, how could she notice?"
Nanny Qian nodded. "Fine. Just look after yourself. That woman is no good!"
When they stepped out the door, the red sun was just peeking over the horizon. Several maids were whispering under the eaves.
"It’s broad daylight and you still haven't risen? Do you really think you're the mistress?"
"The silk she brought back last night—I bet she swiped it from the storehouse..."
"You rotten-tongued sluts!" Nanny Qian swung her laundry pole at them, her shrill cry making the silk on the clothesline tremble. "Your mistress knows how to make cassia-chestnut cakes to win the Prince’s favor! If you lot could do the same, I’d call you mistress too!"
"Nanny, are you saying the Princess Consort is so favored just because of those cakes?" a young maid dodged the pole and asked loudly.
"When did I say that?" Nanny Qian glared at her. "Dare to overstep your bounds again, and I’ll see that you’re all tired of living!"
By the afternoon, the entire household of maids was in an uproar. The rumor that the Prince loved cassia-chestnut cakes had spread like wildfire; the Princess Consort was a "blessed woman" because of those very cakes, and that was why she was so adored by the Prince.
"Did you hear? The Princess Consort made the cakes herself yesterday, and the Prince ate three plates in one sitting!"
"No wonder the lights in Qinshui Pavilion didn't go out until midnight; she was waiting for the Prince to eat her cakes!"
"Indeed! Even her personal maid is in favor—she was even rewarded with peacock-smoke gauze yesterday!"
"I snuck into the Small Garden just now, and guess what?" the young maid whispered while scrubbing clothes. "The flowering branches are all picked clean! If you don't move fast, you won't even get a withered twig!"
Nanny Qian walked past the corridor, carrying her laundry pestle, and interjected as if by accident: "That’s a family recipe of the Princess Consort’s. Do you really think you’re worthy to covet it? If you have the skill to make our master eat even half a cake, I’ll kneel and wash your clothes for you tomorrow!"