Pu Zhu spoke in a quiet, even voice. Zhang Ao was taken aback when she heard it.
Though the Pu girl was the family member of a convicted official exiled to the border, the relay postmaster treated her with respect and deference. Zhang Ao worked at the station and naturally had to say a few kind words when she saw her—it cost nothing after all, just a flip of the tongue. The townspeople whispered behind Madam Zhang’s back that she treated Pu Zhu harshly, and Zhang Ao herself had once seen with her own eyes this little girl, in the depths of winter, carrying a big bucket of soiled cloth diapers to a nearby stream that had frozen over to wash them, her fingers red as carrots, looking quite pitiful. She had assumed Pu Zhu despised Madam Zhang as well—and had not expected her to speak this way.
When she thought it over, what Pu Zhu said did make sense.
A’Ju could not speak and need not be worried about. Zhang Ao at once turned to threaten the woman beside her: “Those were just my little jokes just now—don’t you go repeating them outside! If Yang Hong and his wife ever found out, it would only be because you gossiped!”
The woman swore she would say nothing when she went out, and only then did Zhang Ao feel at ease. She glanced again at the Pu girl’s cheeks, flushed rosy by the fireside, and thought: it was thanks to her that she knew Zhang Ao had been looking after A’Ju. Young as she was, her mind was thorough. If those words just now had truly reached Madam Zhang’s ears, with the woman’s nose-in-the-air manner, should her husband actually rise again, she would surely come looking for trouble with her. Thinking it through, she felt the Pu girl was all the more commendable, so she turned and instructed A’Ju: “There’s still some of that honeyed milk I boiled earlier in the pot, isn’t there? Pour a cup for the young mistress! One cup less won’t make a difference.”
The honeyed milk was made by adding honey to goat’s milk and cooking it—it had been prepared for the capital official who had lodged there the day before. Honey was expensive and the station didn’t always have it on hand; even when they did, only officials of a certain rank or above were entitled to it. Zhang Ao, not trusting it to anyone else, had boiled it herself just a moment ago.
A’Ju was surprised and delighted.
Her little mistress had loved sweet things since childhood. Yet she could no longer remember—when was the last time she had tasted anything sweet?
She carefully poured a cup and smiled as she handed it to Pu Zhu.
Pu Zhu actually would have preferred to give it to A’Ju.
Since waking from her high fever, many things had changed in her—though the changes were subtle and difficult to explain, she understood them clearly herself.
The Pu Zhu of before might have craved this kind of refined food that offered pleasure beyond mere sustenance, but now—just as she had suddenly become delicate and unable to bear the cold—her body’s longing for fine food and delicacies had also disappeared.
But she knew A’Ju would not accept it. Besides, this was Zhang Ao’s reaction to those words she had spoken—it was akin to the gift of grace that the powerful bestow upon those beneath them, a little mixed with the flavor of magnanimity. To refuse or visibly pass it on to someone else in her presence would be improper. The best response was to accept it and display her gratitude, for only then could the one who bestowed the gift receive the sense of satisfaction she anticipated. And the more exaggerated the response, the stronger that satisfaction would be.
This was merely one small insight Pu Zhu had gained in her previous life from figuring out how to secure a man’s favor—used to handle Zhang Ao, it was almost too simple.
Making the other person happy was quite necessary. After all, even if she truly could leave this place and return to the capital in the time ahead, it would not happen tonight or tomorrow morning. It seemed it would be in the spring or summer of her sixteenth year, which meant there were still several months to go. Zhang Ao was not a warm-hearted person; if she were in a good mood, it might make things a little easier for A’Ju working under her hand—and that was worthwhile.
But for something this small, there was no need to overreact.
Pu Zhu simply smiled and accepted the cup. She thanked Zhang Ao, took a sip, and said: “So fragrant and sweet. Zhang A’mu, what fine skill you have—it reminds me of the honeyed goat’s milk I used to have at home when I was small.”
Zhang Ao had no idea what rank Pu Zhu’s grandfather had held or what crime he had committed, but it was surely something enormous—that much was beyond doubt. The cooks in her household must have been practically the same as the imperial chefs who cooked for the Emperor and Empress in the palace. Having her own cooking praised so highly by the young Mistress Pu made Zhang Ao’s mood very bright indeed; smiling broadly, she said: “It’s a pity honey is so precious—you can’t make it every day. If you enjoy it, I’ll have A’Ju bring some back for you next time I make it when you’re not here. Come to think of it, your A’Ju cooks quite well. Starting tomorrow, let her help in the kitchen—those jobs of chopping wood and hauling water, I’ll have someone else do them.”
Pu Zhu was genuinely delighted: “Then on A’mu’s behalf I’ll thank Zhang A’mu! Zhang A’mu, may you live a long life, may you have many blessings and long happiness!” This time she truly meant it from the heart.
Though A’Ju was mute, her mind was as clear as a mirror.
She thought of what the young mistress had once been—and yet now, for her sake, she must even flatter Zhang Ao. A pang shot through her heart.
Beside them, Zhang Ao was still talking without stopping: “…I hear your father, young mistress, was a great official ambassador in his day, and your grandfather was more impressive still—he held a very high post. What on earth did you do to end up here? When you came, were you too young to understand, and the grown-ups didn’t explain it to you, so you just muddled your way here?”
A’Ju’s heart tightened; afraid the young mistress would be pulled into grief by memories of the past, she was about to move over and stop Zhang Ao—but she heard the young mistress smile and say: “I was small when it happened, I don’t remember clearly. The grown-ups didn’t explain it to me either. I muddled my way here, I suppose I must have offended Heaven’s authority.”
Zhang Ao sighed: “What a pity—a girl like a flower, and this is the bitter lot she was dealt. Still, with looks like yours, you’ll find a good husband, and when you marry into a good family, the days ahead will get better too…”
Zhang Ao finally stopped pressing her with questions.
A’Ju looked again at the young mistress.
She was also looking back, and flashed her a quick glance and a smile—showing those two white, even little front teeth that were so rare in this place—a look of mischief, not a trace of sadness.
Only then did A’Ju let out a breath of relief. At that moment there was a shout from outside, saying the diplomatic party had all risen and to send the morning meal out at once.
The kitchen immediately fell into a flurry of activity. A’Ju went with the others to deliver the food, and everyone filed out. At last only Pu Zhu remained, tending the stove alone.
The surroundings quieted.
Pu Zhu stirred the fire, watching the dancing flames in the hearth, and slowly, mouthful by mouthful, drank the honeyed milk in her cup. The smile from a moment ago gradually faded from her face.
The Pu family’s fall from grace had occurred eight years ago. At that time, the reigning Emperor was still the Ming Emperor—the third Emperor of the dynasty that had ended a century of upheaval and unified the realm, the father of the current Xiaochang Emperor, who had reigned for forty-one years. As for Pu Zhu’s grandfather’s crime, one had to begin with the Empress Dowager Jiang, who still lived.
Madam Jiang came from a military family. Her father had followed the dynasty’s founding Emperor in campaigns east and west, winning great merit. After the founding Emperor died and Taizong ascended the throne, the fifteen-year-old Madam Jiang was made Empress.
Empress Jiang bore no children in her lifetime. Ten years later, Taizong died.
Taizong’s line was not strong. In his ten years on the throne, he had sired only one imperial son, born of a low-ranking concubine of the Chen clan—and that was Mingzong. At the time Mingzong was only ten years old; he ascended the throne as a child, and Empress Jiang, acting as his adoptive mother, assisted the young Emperor by governing on his behalf according to the late Emperor’s decree, setting the reign name as Xuanning.
Empress Jiang was a remarkable woman.
After the Li imperial dynasty was founded, the north had been plagued by the border troubles left over from the previous dynasty. The northern peoples had established a unified and powerful Di state, whose cavalry was fierce and unstoppable, while the Central Plains had just emerged from a century of warfare: industry and commerce were in decline, the population had dropped sharply, provisions and grain were scarce. In the twenty years since the dynasty’s founding, the nation had rested and recuperated, but its strength had not yet recovered, and against the Northern Di it was consistently at a defensive disadvantage. When Taizong died, the Northern Di was at the height of its military strength, and seizing the opportunity of a change of ruler in the Central Plains—with a woman governing in the Emperor’s name—it raised its armies and marched south, boasting of a million mounted warriors, with the clear intention of swallowing the Central Plains in one campaign.
Most of the dynasty’s founding military commanders had by then faded away or died; skilled generals were hard to find. Mustering all the funds and provisions the entire nation could mobilize, they could at best sustain three hundred thousand soldiers in the field for one year. Facing this fierce and overwhelming enemy, the nation teetered on the brink of collapse. The court fell into panic, hearts in turmoil; many ministers advocated avoiding battle—why not pay tribute and seek peace? They argued at great length that if one did not fight, what was paid in tribute would be far less than what would be spent waging war.
The calculation was not wrong—but it was rejected outright by Empress Dowager Jiang, who was then only twenty-five years old. Bearing enormous pressure, she put forward the strategy of using war to win peace, and with the support of the Prince of First Rank, Prince Dingbei Li Yan, she boldly entrusted the army to the old general Marquis Changping, Liang Dong, who was already past seventy, and to her own clansman Jiang Hu—a brilliant military talent—to lead the troops to meet the enemy in battle. The old general commanded from behind while Jiang Hu, a military prodigy, exploited the Di’s overconfidence, devising stratagems and luring them into traps. After several engagements, a great final battle the following year inflicted a crushing defeat on the Northern Di, triggering upheaval within the Di court as the princes contended against one another. The Di were forced to draw back, regroup, and sue for peace.
Considering that the dynasty at that time also had no capacity to pursue them deep into enemy territory, and could not sustain a prolonged campaign—and that the goal she had set from the beginning had already been achieved—Empress Dowager Jiang accepted the Di nation’s terms for peace, ending this war that had lasted nearly a year.
This battle not only fulfilled Empress Dowager Jiang’s strategy of winning peace through war: the dynasty’s prestige soared, and many small states in the Western Regions that had until then wavered between the Di and the Li dynasty came streaming over to the Li side. More importantly, it purchased decades of peace along the northern border during the Mingzong era.
After the war, the Liang family rose to a higher title, and Jiang Hu was enfeoffed as a marquis. From that one battle, he became the central figure of the court’s military establishment. Empress Dowager Jiang’s prestige was beyond compare. No official dared disobey her commands; in folk legend, people even cast clay images of the Empress Dowager’s likeness as the Queen Mother of the West and burned incense and kowtowed before them.
Several years later, Mingzong came of age and married. He elevated the Lady Liang—daughter of the Marquis Changping family, which had rendered such distinguished service to the dynasty—as Empress.
After the Emperor’s wedding, Empress Dowager Jiang returned governance to the Emperor. But the Emperor was still very young at that time—barely fifteen or sixteen—and at the request of the ministers, she continued to oversee some important matters of state.
Thus several more years passed. In the tenth year of the Xuanning reign, when Mingzong was twenty, an event occurred that stirred debate throughout the court and the populace.