Hu Shanwei entered the palace barefoot, carrying only a cheap jade hairpin on her head and her fiancé’s iron military tag.

The roof was in constant danger of collapse, so it wasn’t worth risking her life to move belongings for material possessions. Except for the fragile narcissus hairpin she had rescued herself, Hu Shanwei brought nothing else, leaving almost with “nothing but the clothes on her back.”

In the imperial harem, there were strict divisions regarding where different people lived.

The Emperor and Empress’s Qianqing Palace and Kunning Palace were located on the central axis of the Forbidden City, representing the majesty of the imperial couple.

The Eastern Six Palaces and Western Six Palaces housed the imperial concubines, and unmarried princesses also resided here.

When princes reached seven or eight years old and began to understand things, they had to move out of their birth mothers’ palaces and live separately in the Eastern Five Residences and Western Five Residences to the north.

All princes, upon reaching adulthood, had to move out of the Eastern and Western Five Residences to establish their own residences outside the palace and marry princess consorts.

Only Crown Prince Zhu Biao continued to live in the Forbidden City after coming of age, residing in Chunhe Hall west of the Western Six Palaces, commonly called the “Eastern Palace.” The imperial palace had no hall specifically named Eastern Palace – wherever the Crown Prince lived became the Eastern Palace. However, although the Crown Prince lived in the Forbidden City, the Eastern and Western Six Palaces were still “forbidden territory” to him, as they housed the Emperor’s women.

The female court officials of the Ming Dynasty all lived east of the Eastern Six Palaces and west of Cangzhen Gate. The offices of the Six Bureaus and One Department were also located here, facilitating cooperation between these seven departments in managing the entire imperial harem.

Hu Shanwei’s new residence, formerly Liu Siyan’s dwelling, was located in the northeastern corner of this area – a quiet courtyard house with a row of high walls behind it. North of the high walls was a long road running east-west through the Forbidden City, and north of that road was another high wall, beyond which lay the Eastern Five Residences where underage princes lived.

Huang Weide went to the Bureau of Palace Administration’s key department to get the keys. The large copper lock at the entrance had been unused for so long that it had rusted. Huang Weide struggled with the key for quite a while before it finally clicked open.

The little palace maid specifically assigned to serve Hu Shanwei was just over ten years old. Originally the daughter of an official family, her household had been implicated in Hu Weiyong’s treason case and exterminated. All adult men and women were beheaded, males under sixteen were exiled to the frontier, and females were confiscated as government slaves.

Government slaves weren’t entitled to surnames or names – they were called whatever their masters wished. Seeing her delicate beauty like a crabapple blossom, Hu Shanwei casually called her Haitang (Crabapple).

Haitang pushed hard on the door, which opened with a creak. She pulled out a string of firecrackers and said, “Don’t go in yet. I heard that haunted houses should have firecrackers set off first – it scares away the ghosts and the gunpowder smoke dispels the evil spirits.”

Hu Shanwei didn’t believe in ghosts and spirits, but Haitang was clearly afraid of living in this haunted house. Taking pity on her young age, she nodded and said, “Go ahead and set them off.”

Haitang lit the fuse and threw the firecrackers inside. After a crackling burst, thick gunpowder smoke wafted out through the open gate. Perhaps it was psychological, but smelling the smoky scent did give a sense of security.

It was a neat and tidy courtyard house with a wisteria arbor at least a hundred years old in the center of the yard, under which hung a swing.

“Ah, there’s a swing!” Haitang, with a child’s nature, forgot all about the haunting worries upon seeing the swing and ran over to play on it.

In winter, the wisteria had only bare branches, but the girl’s red dress swaying and fluttering in the air and her clear laughter brought vitality to the courtyard.

Huang Weide comforted Haitang, saying, “This house will be a good place to live once it’s properly cleaned up. Don’t take those rumors to heart – actually, people have died everywhere in the imperial palace, not just here.”

Haitang looked at Huang Weide with confusion. “What do you mean?”

Huang Weide pointed to the ground. “When I was still a servant in Prince Wu’s palace, this area was a vast, boundless lake called Yanque Lake. But His Majesty took a fancy to the feng shui here and insisted on choosing this place to build the imperial palace. They excavated earth and stone to fill the lake and create land. To stabilize the foundation, they drove countless giant wooden piles into the mud. Those wooden stakes were cut from primitive forests a thousand li to the south, where wild men were said to roam. Each stake was as thick as two water buckets. They floated the logs down the Yangtze River, drifting with the current all the way to Nanjing, then hauled them up one by one. The shipyard still has many of these giant logs stored there today.”

“I had never seen wood so thick – I thought it only existed in myths and legends. Only then did I understand what ‘man can conquer nature’ and ‘seas become mulberry fields’ really meant. Such massive projects cost many lives. Every day, dead bodies were carried out from the forests, the Yangtze River, and the construction sites where they filled the lake.”

Huang Weide’s description was very vivid. Haitang on the swing and Hu Shanwei under the corridor both seemed to hear the thudding of axes cutting wood in the forest, the chanting of trackers floating logs on the Yangtze, and the dull thuds of wooden piles being driven into the mud.

It was hard to imagine that just over ten years ago, beneath their feet had been a tranquil lake.

Huang Weide continued, “Later, when I was studying in the kitchen, using charcoal as a brush to write, I read the line ‘Don’t speak of earning titles through merit – one general’s success is built on ten thousand bones.’ Then I understood the meaning. If one general’s success requires ten thousand bones, what about a brand new imperial palace? It’s already far more than ten thousand bones. Every piece of ground here was paved with lives. If there are ghosts, there should be more souls here than in a mass grave.”

Haitang was no longer afraid. She jumped down from the swing. “Scholar Huang makes a good point. I won’t be disturbed by those rumors anymore. I’ll go clean the house right now.”

Liu Siyan’s belongings had already been moved out. Her personal items, such as clothes, books, and musical instruments, had been burned during the ritual ceremonies for her soul, for her to enjoy in the afterlife. Money and precious imperial gifts were packed in boxes and sent to her family.

What remained in the house were furniture and crude household items like copper basins and wooden buckets. Haitang had the young eunuchs bring water to wipe and wash everything.

Soon, Chen Er’mei, Shen Qionglian, and other close colleagues came bearing housewarming gifts. The Bureau of Dress sent brand new official robes and clothing, the Bureau of Treasures brought jewelry, the Bureau of Bedding delivered quilts and bed curtains, lamps and candles, and the Bureau of Works carried warming charcoal and braziers – each department fulfilling its duties.

Everyone helped arrange the various items and placed fire braziers in each room to dispel dampness. After a busy afternoon, the originally “bare-walled” house immediately gained human warmth and became quite lively. In the evening, everyone gathered for dinner and set off fireworks in the courtyard.

One by one, fireworks burst in the night sky. Everyone tactfully avoided mentioning the haunting, bringing all the fireworks into the new residence to set off – which was actually also meant to drive away ghosts. They continued from nightfall until the second watch before dispersing.

Perhaps from exhaustion, both Hu Shanwei in the main house and little palace maid Haitang resting in the west wing slept very soundly through the night without incident.

The next day, the first rays of morning sunlight fell first on the glazed chiwen mythical beasts at both ends of the main ridge of the imperial palace’s glazed tile roofs. Chiwen were legendary ninth sons of dragons, skilled at swallowing fire, so palace rooftops were guarded by chiwen at both corners to ward off fire.

The sunlight spread from the chiwen to the yellow glazed tiles, creating a golden expanse, then illuminated the red walls, and finally shone through windows into Hu Shanwei’s bedroom.

Hu Shanwei woke in the dawn light. Haitang in the west wing had risen early, humming a tune while sweeping the courtyard full of firecracker paper scraps with a broom.

It was a new day.

On this day, Empress Ma issued an imperial decree to release a group of palace servants. Palace maids aged twenty-four or twenty-five, or female officials who had served in the palace for five years could apply to leave the palace on the fifteenth day of the first month to reunite with their families.

The palace released a group of servants every four or five years to display imperial benevolence. For this reason, last year Emperor Hongwu had made a great show of issuing edicts recruiting talented women from various regions to enter the palace, to address the upcoming vacancies.

Therefore, whether to leave or stay, the veteran female officials had already made their decisions in their hearts when Emperor Hongwu issued the edict last year to select new female officials.

The treatment of Ming Dynasty female officials was lifelong – after retirement, they retained their salaries and official titles, maintaining dignity even after leaving the palace. Thus, when the Empress issued her decree today, over thirty female officials immediately applied to leave the palace.

Most of them were widows who had children before entering the palace. They had entered the palace for various reasons, separated from their children, using settlement money and salaries to support their children. Now that their children had grown up, married, and started careers, they would bring their mothers home to care for them in their old age.

Others had elderly, sickly parents and wanted to return home to fulfill filial duties and care for their aging parents.

Those female officials whose parents had died, who were unmarried with no ties, basically all planned to remain in the palace for life.

Every day, female officials signed up to leave. Last year, forty-four new female officials had entered, but it looked like the number leaving would exceed this figure. Cui Shangyi ordered female instructor Shen Qionglian to prepare examination questions to select female officials from among the palace female scholars.

Female officials weren’t only recruited from outside the palace – there was also a promotion pathway within the palace from palace maids to female scholars to female officials. When there weren’t enough staff, they selected through examinations, fairly and justly.

This was very similar to the selection of court officials. Those wanting to become officials had to study hard in cold windows and take the imperial examinations as the only path – and it was a relatively fair path that gave hope to common people to change their fate through learning.

Examinations were also an excellent tool for rulers to maintain stability, because if upward channels were completely closed and common people saw no hope, they would rise in rebellion, overthrow the rulers, and take their place, opening channels themselves.

Emperor Hongwu Zhu Yuanzhang, born a farmer in Fengyang, was a typical example of someone who had broken through the upward channel to become a ruler himself. So he understood this principle all too well. After the founding of the Ming Dynasty, he not only immediately restored the imperial examination system that had been neglected during the Yuan Dynasty, but the Ming palace female official system he established with the Ministry of Rites also replicated the examination model.

With proper competitive standards, compared to other dynasties, the Ming palace had relatively little flattery, currying favor, brown-nosing, and other corrupt practices. Most maintained an attitude of “don’t disturb my studies.”

In the Ming palace, cooking skills, needlework and embroidery, singing and dancing, beauty, and smooth talking were all useless – only those with learning had a chance to get ahead.

Female scholar Huang Weide also signed up for the selection, studying until the third watch every day. Whenever Hu Shanwei had time, she would go guide her.

On the eighth day of the first month, the internal palace female official examination began. Huang Weide carried her exam basket to take the test. Hu Shanwei saw her off to the examination grounds. “Given Shen Qionglian’s usual temperament, her questions will probably be quite difficult. Do your best. If you don’t know an answer, just skip it and move to the next question. Don’t let it disturb your composure.”

It wasn’t that Shen Qionglian deliberately made things difficult for the female scholars, but rather that questions she considered very simple were generally quite hard for others.

On this day, the weather was fine. Hu Shanwei saw off her student to the examination while Jiang Quan carried the little princess, who had grown another circle fatter, to Qianqing Palace, where imperial physicians skilled in pediatrics would check the little princess’s pulse for a health examination.

Not every child in the palace could grow to adulthood – prevention was very important. Today, examining the little princess was a young Imperial Physician Tan.

Imperial Physician Tan was named Tan Fu, from Wuxi. The Tan family was a prominent clan in Wuxi. His father, Tan Zhao, was a Censorate Inspector of the Ming Dynasty and also a famous physician among the people, known for his charitable deeds.

Imperial Physician Tan held the little princess’s chin. “Hmm, two new teeth have emerged since I saw her half a month ago.”

Jiang Quan laughed. “Indeed, she’s been growing fast recently. She’s made her wet nurse cry from biting.”

Imperial Physician Tan said, “The little princess doesn’t want to bite people – her gums are itchy, she’s just grinding her teeth. Look at those two whitish areas on top – more teeth are about to emerge.”

As Imperial Physician Tan examined her, Medical Officer Ru recorded everything in the medical records beside them. The two worked together seamlessly. Finally, they put the little princess on a scale to weigh her. “Oh my, twenty-three jin – that’s a bit too fat. The wet nurses should encourage her to crawl more.”

Jiang Quan said, “Medical Officer Ru has given the same instructions.”

After the examination was complete, Jiang Quan carried the little princess back to Yikun Palace. Medical Officer Ru handed the medical records to Imperial Physician Tan. “Please review this again and check for any errors or omissions.”

Imperial Physician Tan took it with both hands, but instead of looking at the medical records, he only looked at Medical Officer Ru. “With your work, I’m certainly at ease.”

Medical Officer Ru said, “You should still look it over – it needs to be sent to the Imperial Medical Academy for filing.”

Imperial Physician Tan hesitated for a moment, then said, “I heard that Her Majesty the Empress has issued a decree to release people from the palace. Female officials who have served more than five years can leave the palace.”

Medical Officer Ru nodded and went to wash her hands in the copper basin on the shelf.

Imperial Physician Tan put the medical records on the desk and followed her over. “You’ve already been a female official for ten years – you’re qualified to leave the palace.”

Medical Officer Ru finished washing her hands, and Imperial Physician Tan hurriedly handed her a cloth towel. “Will you… leave the palace?”

Medical Officer Ru took the towel to dry her hands. “Why would I leave the palace? Many female officials have served fifteen years and still have no plans to leave the palace.”

Imperial Physician Tan became anxious. “I have admired Medical Officer Ru for a long time. I don’t believe you’ve had no feelings at all these years. If you leave the palace, I will certainly send a matchmaker to the Ru family to propose marriage.”

Medical Officer Ru lowered her head in silence. After a long while, she said, “In the palace, I am Medical Officer Ru, practicing medicine and healing, respected by others. If I leave the palace, I can only become Madam Tan. But I still want to achieve something in medicine, hoping one day to write books and establish theories, leaving my name in the medical field. Your Tan family is a prominent clan in Wuxi, your father is a Censorate Inspector – would they allow a daughter-in-law to show her face publicly practicing medicine? Forget it. I won’t leave the palace.”