Halfway up the mountain, Heming Peak opened up into a vast platform. Dusk was already falling when the group stepped onto the final jade terrace.
As they entered, the golden-horned copper bells hanging from the eaves of the Listening to Rain Corridor rang out in unison, while the vermilion pillars were carved with reliefs of the twenty-four solar terms, damp with the lingering moisture of the Jin River.
Dragon's saliva incense burned intensely inside a bronze tripod. Looking up, one could spot an octagonal pavilion, from which hung a vermilion-gold plaque inscribed in the ancestral hand: "Every Grain Returned to the Granary."
The company bowed deeply in homage before the plaque. Supported by Wen Qingyu, Imperial Noble Consort De scattered the five grains into the tripod. "All of you, go and rest. Tomorrow at the hour of *chen*, see that none of you are late."
The male and female attendants were assigned to eastern and western quarters respectively, which were further divided into inner and outer courtyards to distinguish the imperial kin from the subordinate officials. Su Wanzhao's Funu Lodge was situated at the very front of the inner courtyard. When the two returned to their room, the chill of evening was already thick.
Weimo lifted the artemisia-grass curtain. The furnishings were precisely identical to those in her past life.
Su Wanzhao's fingernails dug into her palms, leaving crescent-shaped bloody marks. Her undergarments, stripped of the outer gauze dress, were soaked through with cold sweat. Suddenly, she overturned the red candle on the desk. "What kind of thing does that bitch Wen Qingyu think she is?!"
"A mere junior official's daughter dares to be so arrogant, and I am the Prince's principal consort!"
Her hands shook endlessly as she gripped the jade hairpin, her lips bitten until they bled. Weimo lowered her gaze to remind her, "Your Highness, it is time to bathe."
"Vile slave! Even you dare to lecture me?" Su Wanzhao snatched up a white jade cup from the desk and hurled it fiercely at her. The cup, filled with hot tea, grazed Weimo's ear and smashed against the doorframe, porcelain shards shattering all over the floor.
Without changing her expression, Weimo dropped to her knees to gather the pieces, her peripheral vision catching Su Wanzhao silently closing in on her, gripping the hairpin.
The crescent-shaped scar on her arm in her past life had been left when she trusted the other woman utterly and lowered her guard.
Su Wanzhao, bullied by everyone else, had always dared only to bully her alone.
The hairpin whistled through the air. Suddenly, Weimo countered, seizing the other's paper-white wrist. The tip of the hairpin, carved with twin-blossoms, stopped a mere half-inch from her pupil, the wind it dragged carrying an icy chill into her eye.
"Her Highness must be beside herself. This maid is not Miss Wen."
Overcome with sudden terror, Su Wanzhao stumbled backward, and the hairpin slipped instantly from her fingertips.
Outside the door, the copper bell sounded for the arrival of the hour of *xu*. In a daze, she smelled the faint, lingering scent of lye soap on the maid's clothes.
"Yes... I was out of my mind. You are not her..."
She lowered her head and muttered, a strange sensation rising in the depths of her heart—one she had never felt before. The maid was clearly smiling, yet her eyes seemed steeped in poison.
"Your Highness must have been terribly frightened." Weimo supported the dazed woman into the bath chamber. As she stripped away her garments, smooth and flawless skin was revealed.
She raised her head amidst the billowing steam, looking at Su Wanzhao's damp back with a curl of her lips. From start to finish, this woman hadn't uttered a sound, looking precisely like someone who had just encountered a ghost come to claim her life.
Scooping up half a ladle of warm water, she poured it over the back of Su Wanzhao's neck. As a pair of dark-patterned embroidered shoes appeared in the partially opened gap of the door, she let out a light laugh.
When they first entered, she had deliberately hooked the toe of her shoe to leave the door ajar, waiting precisely for this senior old maid who delivered the incense to eavesdrop.
"Would Your Highness care for some rosewater? Miss Wen used it to scent herself today, and the Prince seemed quite fond of it."
"What kind of thing is she! I refuse to be like her!" At the mere mention of Zhao Yan, Su Wanzhao predictably flew into a rage, slamming her hands against the water's surface. Droplets rolled and splashed onto the nearby red lacquer candle stand.
"One day I shall skin that fox of a bitch alive! And that biased Consort Mother—I will go before the Empress and lodge a complaint against her!"
The bronze kettle tilted in Weimo's hand, warm water pouring steadily into the wooden tub. The dark-patterned embroidered shoes that had paused for a moment now scrambled away in panic.
That was the senior managing maid by Imperial Noble Consort De's side. By now, she had likely hurried back to claim credit before Imperial Noble Consort De.
No sooner had she dried Su Wanzhao's damp hair ends than the doors of Funu Lodge burst violently open.
Imperial Noble Consort De wore a palace outer robe over moon-white sleeping attire, looking as though she had already retired for the night yet hurried over in haste.
"A fine aristocratic lady born of General Pingnan's Estate!" Imperial Noble Consort De's fury blazed to the heavens. The hem of her skirt swept across the damp water stains on the floor as she hurled her sandalwood prayer beads heavily against Su Wanzhao's temple.
Disheveled, Su Wanzhao threw herself forward to kneel. "This subject-daughter does not know how she has displeased Consort Mother..."
"Consort Mother?" Imperial Noble Consort De clamped a hand around her chin, her knuckles trembling slightly. "This palace is naturally unworthy of being called Consort Mother. Miss Su might as well return to the palace and address the Empress directly—wouldn't that be much more gratifying?"
Su Wanzhao's damp, sticky strands of hair clung to her temples, her body trembling violently. "This subject-daughter does not understand..."
With a cold snort, Imperial Noble Consort De flung her toward the desk. The red candles and fruit offerings on the table were knocked over onto the floor, and the lacquered red candlestick bruised her temple to a bluish-black.
Wen Qingyu's silver-threaded embroidered shoe stepped on a rolling fruit. "How could Sister not understand? Weren't you just talking about skinning me alive?"
On her wrist flashed a newly fitted amber jade bracelet, reflecting Su Wanzhao's panic-stricken face.
Su Wanzhao's venomous gaze suddenly shifted toward Weimo, filled entirely with suspicion. Weimo's hands, which were kneeling to support her, paused abruptly. "This maid has remained constantly by Your Highness's side and never left."
A draft swept through the quarters, fluttering Su Wanzhao's chaotic gaze. She lowered her head, seeming unable to understand why things had turned out this way.
Imperial Noble Consort De tossed the "Praying to Heaven Decree" scroll she had brought down at her feet. "Since the Royal Princess Consort so admires the Empress's phoenix demeanor, you shall use gold-powdered paper to copy this Praying to Heaven Decree until dawn."
"Since it was personally composed by the Empress, it is bound to soothe the Royal Princess Consort's deep yearning."
When the crowd had rushed out in the wake of Imperial Noble Consort De, Wen Qingyu turned back against the current, strolling gracefully over. Her shoe tip "accidentally" stepped upon Su Wanzhao's curled fingers. "I thought you were formidable enough to use a little pastry to capture his heart..."
As she leaned down, her bright red silk skirt spread across the floor. "Looking at you now, how is this anything much? Seeking your own destruction before I even had to make a move—is Sister conceding defeat already?"
The red candle that had been knocked over burned half-extinguished, flickering near Su Wanzhao's hand. Dropping wax melted right onto her pinned little finger. With reddened eyes, she scraped her fingernails viciously against the ground, her broken nails shattering and flying in all directions.
"Do busy yourself, Sister. This younger sister will not disturb you any longer."
A bright red figure giggled merrily, swaying her waist as she skipped away. Crawling on the ground, Su Wanzhao stared after her with eyes full of venom.
A sudden gust of wind extinguished every candle in the room.
...
At the hour of *zi*, moonlight split the clouds as Weimo sat kneeling to grind ink. Su Wanzhao's swollen fingers trembled as they gripped the wolf-hair brush, an unnatural flush rising across her face.
"Only today do I understand the saying that walls have ears." The tip of the brush dipped and rolled in the inkstone, and as she bent her fingers, Su Wanzhao's delicate brows furrowed tightly, yet she forcefully suppressed her voice and made no sound. "Even if one wishes to murder someone in their heart, one cannot simply speak it aloud."
Weimo paused in trimming the candle wick and reached out to touch the purplish, swollen joints of her fingers. "This maid will fetch a cold compress for Your Highness."
Stepping out the door, the chill rushed straight into her lungs through her nose and mouth.
Having suffered consecutive defeats, Su Wanzhao had unexpectedly been stirred to a trace of backbone, uncharacteristically shedding no tears.
She raised her head to gaze at the starry sky, involuntarily pulling back her sleeves.
Hidden at the horizon were a few dragon-tail clouds—the harbinger of tomorrow's torrential rain.
In her past life, no sooner had Wen Qingyu descended Yunxi Platform than a violent thunderstorm followed. A massive lightning strike completely destroyed the nine-story-high platform, and the heavy rain poured continuously for two days.
She only needed to delay the ceremony by a fraction of an hour. Even if Wen Qingyu seized the title of blessed woman, once the high platform was destroyed, where else could she ascend?
Her fingertips grazed the inferior jasmine sachet inside her sleeve. Cuiliu carried that sheepskin pouch on her person; by tomorrow, it would become ironclad proof that she had ruined Su Wanzhao's South Sea pearl necklace.
Even if Wen Qingyu sacrificed the rook to save the king and ascended the high platform, the time spent dealing with Cuiliu would fill precisely that brief gap.
She intended not only to use Cuiliu's ruined pearls to drag Su Wanzhao down, but also to make Wen Qingyu bear the wrath of the heavens and become the baleful woman reviled by all.
Her palms felt slightly chilled as she hurried to the kitchen for a cold compress.
The blessed woman was revered by all the common folk, and neither of these two women would be allowed to reap any advantage.
At the fifth watch, the wolf-hair brush dropped from Su Wanzhao's hand with a heavy clatter, and she slumped forward over the desk, fast asleep.
Weimo supported her to the bed, then turned to see the faint light of day breaking outside.
Cuiliu would be arriving soon. If she herself did not sleep, wouldn't she ruin someone else's good show?