A sudden downpour broke out beyond the carriage windows, the raindrops drumming a noisy tattoo against the glazed tiles of Jinlan Manor. When Weimo walked into Hongni Courtyard holding an oiled-paper umbrella, Su Wanzhao had already collapsed into a heap.
Weimo escorted her to the bedside and draped a fleece blanket over her, but Su Wanzhao casually snatched a celadon porcelain pot from the table and hurled it at her.
Weimo sidestepped to avoid a direct hit, but the protruding spout of the porcelain pot struck her shoulder blade heavily.
"Do you also think I look like a clown?"
At this moment, Su Wanzhao looked precisely like a deranged, ugly hag from the Palace of Cold Deprivation, her hair disheveled and her face flushed. "He actually said my nerve isn't a match for yours! And the Empress also praised your refined demeanor, saying you are merely a lowly maid—how could you ever compare to me?"
Su Wanzhao raised the porcelain pot to throw it again, but Weimo violently grabbed her hand, her gaze as sharp as a falcon's. "Does the Princess Consort wish to dig her own grave?"
"No... I don't." Stung by that gaze, Su Wanzhao felt a shock in her chest, and the porcelain pot in her hand unconsciously slipped to the ground, shattering into dust. "You... do you happen to have a good method?"
Staring at Su Wanzhao's steadily paling cheeks, Weimo finally relaxed the pressure in her hand by thirty percent, her voice laced with absolute allure: "What you ought to be worrying about has never been nerve. The Princess Consort must figure out how to cater to his preferences so that you can tightly secure the Prince's heart."
Outside the door, Wei Xiao's knocking suddenly sounded. "Princess Consort, the Prince asks for Weimo to come and be questioned."
The body hidden beneath Su Wanzhao's fleece blanket trembled. "Good Weimo, on this trip you must find out the Prince's preferences for me!" She tightly grasped Weimo's hand. "Now only you can help me!"
The corners of Weimo's mouth curled into an imperceptible arc, and she replied in a tone mimicking her past life, "Even if this maid dies ten thousand deaths, she will still protect the young mistress."
...
The curtain of rain fell upon the green bamboo eaves of Qinshui Pavilion, accompanying the clear, tinkling echoes on the surface of the small pond, dull yet crisp.
Zhao Yan held a wine flask as he leaned sideways against Linfeng Verandah, his sleeping robe blown half-open by the gentle breeze, his rugged collarbones appearing and disappearing in the misty rain.
When getting out of the carriage, on a sudden impulse he had picked up that embroidered sachet once more, and a close examination now led him to discover a clue.
The extra strand of silver thread hooked at the very end of the character "Feng" was unmistakably the technique at which Wanzhao had been most adept in their past life. The Ten Thousand Longevity Scroll that had once swept through Qiwu had been embroidered using precisely this method—how could this maid have learned it?
"Wei Xiao!"
Abruptly stirred into inner turmoil, he commanded coldly, "Call that maid here."
When Weimo arrived, the torrential rain was at its height, and the chilling wind swept up the pelting rain, striking her body with an icy, bone-penetrating coldness.
Zhao Yan's gaze shifted between the woman's drenched shoulders and Wei Xiao's dry lapels, the corners of his lips twisting into a helpless arc. "You blockhead, you deserve to live and die alone."
Wei Xiao propped the oiled-paper umbrella against the corner of the verandah, only then noticing the woman's shivering frame, and said sheepishly, "Prince, I..."
Zhao Yan waved a hand and tossed the embroidered sachet to the woman's feet. "Where did you learn this stitching technique?"
The chilling wind buffeted her through her cold garments, making Weimo's teeth chatter. She forced herself to reply, "This maid's family is poor, and since childhood I made a living by embroidering alongside my late mother..."
"It was not personally taught by the Princess Consort?"
"The Empress once said the Princess Consort's embroidery was like the scrawls of a toddler..."
Zhao Yan's eyes suddenly narrowed. When the Empress had spoken those words, he happened to be walking in front of Renming Palace, and had indeed heard them clearly.
He gazed at the coarse linen garments on the woman, which were obviously three inches too short, and asked, "Why didn't you go to the storehouse to fetch some water-ripple brocade?"
Shivering, Weimo crossed her arms over her chest, her heart feeling as though it were twisted into a dead knot. "This maid has not yet had the leisure, and the Princess Consort would also be displeased..."
Zhao Yan tapped his fingers lightly against the sandalwood table. "Fetch an outer robe."
Before long, hurried footsteps sounded from behind, and a moment later, a warm outer robe was draped over her shoulders by someone. "Quickly put it on."
Seeing that the person had finally stopped trembling, Wei Xiao scratched his head in agitation.
This outer robe was the very one Zhao Yan had draped over Su Wanzhao's shoulders back at Renming Palace, and it had by now been thoroughly dried. Weimo tightened the gap at her chest, shrinking herself inside until her whole body gradually regained its warmth.
"Given Wanzhao's temperament, she has never disdained to contend or fight with others." Zhao Yan picked up the gold-inlaid jade belt from the low table and tossed it over. "Since your embroidery skills are remarkable, show me your true craft."
The man chuckled softly. "If you don't embroider it well, court beatings await you."
"Yes."
Weimo bent down and picked it up. This jade belt was brand new and had not yet been inlaid with jade stones. According to the laws of Qiwu, the jade belts of princes and nobles could be inlaid with ten top-grade Lantian jade stones.
Zhao Yan's status was noble, so his jade belt could be patterned with a nine-clawed golden python. Using her fingers to measure the position for the jade stones, Weimo said softly, "This maid requires seven-nine embroidery needles, and one skein each of gold, white, blue, yellow, and red embroidery thread—preferably gold and silver thread or feather thread, with bright colors and good luster..."
Zhao Yan waved a hand to interrupt her. "Take the snow-silkworm thread from my private storehouse."
...
As the night grew deeper, the light rain gradually stopped. A faint candlelight flickered under the Linfeng Verandah of Qinshui Pavilion.
Zhao Yan's side was piled with seven empty wine flasks, and the eighth was also nearing the bottom. As he poured more potent wine down his throat, his drunken eyes gazed at the woman's flying fingertips under the candlelight. Her serene profile seemed to closely overlap with the Wanzhao in his memories.
She was actually using the lock-stitch to embroider the intricate nine-clawed golden python.
Yet the lock-stitch was clearly Wanzhao's original creation; why would she...
With hazy eyes, Zhao Yan watched as the woman thrust her needle with resolute daring. In a mere three or four hours, a python body full of spirit had already begun to take shape, lacking only the nine claws and the python's eyes, which tested true skill even more.
The man swallowed the alcoholic bitterness in his throat. "With such familiarity, how many nobles have you embroidered python robes for?"
"Only the Prince alone." She stood up to tend the lamp, the wind-blown strands of hair lightly brushing against Zhao Yan's earlobe.
The corners of the man's lips, hidden in the shadows, curled up for no reason, his deep eyes reflecting the woman's slender figure.
At the hour of midnight, feeling a slight touch of fatigue in his heart, Zhao Yan was just about to close his eyes in a doze when he heard Wei Xiao cry out in shock, "Prince! Weimo..."
The wine flask in his hand clattered down the steps. Opening his eyes again, he saw that the sharp needle tip had pierced the woman's fingertip, and blood was welling out, just staining the uncompleted python eye.
Meanwhile, the woman who ought to have been holding the needle had collapsed beside the table, losing consciousness.
Zhao Yan grabbed her jaw, his tightening knuckles suddenly freezing the moment they touched the warm pulse beating at her neck.
"Prince, shall I summon—"
"Hush."
Zhao Yan curled his finger to wipe away the bloodstain on her fingertip, only to abruptly hear a sporadic, unusual sound.
His gaze slowly drifted down to the woman's even breathing. This woman—was she actually snoring?