(1) Hua Yan

I always feel that I can clearly remember everything that happened on the day I first entered the palace, including the weather, the scenery along the way, the crowds I saw, and every word they said. But I know this is unrealistic. What I remember is merely a story described to me later by my aunties. In the story, there was a woman—my mother. They told me she was an unparalleled beauty, more beautiful than even the Queen of Qinghai. I believed this without any doubt.

It was autumn, many years ago. In Bian Tang, it had rained for fourteen consecutive days. The crops rotted in the fields and could not be harvested. The common people wept as they awaited a winter in which they might starve. The Emperor of Da Xia seized the opportunity and sent his trusted general to declare war on Bian Tang once again. Outside Baizhi Pass, blood flowed like a river. My father died on the battlefield, and his young, hot blood spilled onto the devastated land.

Because the heavy rain had washed away the plank roads, reinforcements were delayed. When the pass was breached, the remaining soldiers of Baizhi Pass surrendered to the Xia army, but the Xia commander had them all buried alive.

This is a tragic story. Whenever my aunties reached this part, they would emphasize the cruelty of the Xia army. From them, I learned that Xia soldiers were monsters with three heads and six arms, standing over ten feet tall, with blue faces and fangs, who ate human flesh raw. This sensory understanding became the mainstream of my consciousness for much of my life, to the extent that many years later, as an adult, whenever I saw people from Xia, the first image that formed in my mind was this appearance. For someone like me who grew up in the Bian Tang Palace reading poetry and literature, this was truly distressing.

However, yes, when a story reaches a certain level of tragedy, there’s often a turning point—just as a handsome hunter will surely appear before the big bad wolf eats the beautiful maiden. The sixty-something-year-old Lady Murong, along with her four widowed daughters-in-law, staged a grand performance of patriotic loyalty. She led all the elderly, weak, women, and children in the city to engage in street fighting against Da Xia’s fifty thousand soldiers within Baizhi Pass. They finally won enough time for reinforcements from the court to arrive, and thus Bian Tang’s last northern barrier was preserved.

Legend has it that after the Xia military commander Meng Tian was defeated, he was so angry that he kidnapped the already severely wounded Lady Murong and threatened to rape and kill her in front of Baizhi Pass’s gate. Lady Murong, being incredibly chaste and unyielding, immediately laughed coldly and threw herself onto Meng Tian’s blade to commit suicide. Even a beast like Meng Tian was moved. After a moment of silence, he bowed three times to her corpse and then led his army away in dejection.

I think this is entirely a fabricated story created by the romantic people of Bian Tang to showcase Lady Murong’s virtue. Putting aside whether Meng Tian could have possibly captured Lady Murong at the exact moment of retreat during the chaos of war, just looking at the age difference between them makes such an event impossible. After all, Meng Tian was in his prime, while Lady Murong was already over sixty. Even if Meng Tian was utterly depraved and had complex feelings of both hatred and admiration for Lady Murong, he couldn’t have made such a boastful claim in public without considering international opinion.

This shows that for the sake of an interesting story, those who fabricate tales can ignore natural laws and deceive the kind-hearted public without a shred of conscience.

However, regardless of how absurd the story’s ending might be, the prestigious Murong family, which had served the court for generations, was indeed destroyed in this battle. On the road escorting eleven young masters of the family fleeing from Baizhi Pass, one hundred elite family members died due to war, ambushes, drownings, frightened horses, getting lost, and various weather conditions. In the end, only my mother made it alive to the Tang capital. She collapsed at the city gate holding Princess Fu, who was not yet four years old. By the time the gate guards surrounded them, she had already breathed her last.

Princess Fu thus survived and entered the Jinwu Palace as the last bloodline of the Murong family. She was given the title of Princess Zhang Yi. And I, along with the first ray of light after the continuous dreary rain, arrived in this world.

Few people knew that my mother was already pregnant, with a seven-month-old me growing beneath her wide cloak. After my father died on the battlefield, my mother raced thousands of miles to deliver the last drop of blood from a loyal and martyred minister. And I, after my mother’s death, was taken from her body by imperial doctors, becoming another orphan of that war.

Both of us were descendants of loyal ministers—she became a princess, I became a maid.

There’s nothing to say about fairness or unfairness because fate always likes to look down on us from different heights. What you lose today is often accompanied by what you gain in the future. Similarly, an overly happy childhood greatly reduces your ability to withstand setbacks and pain, causing you to fall even harder in your future life. So from this perspective, the saying “poor children must grow up early” is not at all meaningless. Of course, these are things I only realized after I grew up. At that time, I never thought about these matters because I was too young and didn’t understand what it meant to think.

Time is like a bird flapping its wings, eventually unable to flap anymore, becoming just a pile of white bones—so heartless, so cruel.

And then, I grew up. I have a name: I am called Hua Yan.

(2)

When I say I grew up, I didn’t grow up much—just to about three or four years old. Please don’t doubt my excellent memory capacity, because long ago I already expressed to the world that I am a child prodigy. Although most people don’t acknowledge this—in their eyes, I’m just an ugly little cripple who couldn’t possibly possess any profound wisdom—I must say that sometimes people can be superficial.

Oh right, I almost forgot to mention: I am a cripple. Not completely crippled, at most half-crippled—I just walk with a bit of a limp. However, the imperial doctor said my condition might worsen as I grew older. I was very angry that he would tell such a cruel fact to a child like me, which I found quite unkind. So I decided to ignore his words and treat everything he said as nonsense, continuing to live my days happily.

Life in the palace isn’t as miserable as novelists outside describe. All that fighting for favor, palace intrigue, poisoning, and forcing miscarriages—those are just irresponsible rumors spread by people outside who are jealous of us because they can’t have grapes. In reality, apart from occasional quarrels between palace maids, eunuchs, and aunties who might curse and scratch at each other, life in the palace is quite peaceful and comfortable. I have food and drink every day, no work, and a relaxed life—truly happy. Because the palace people cannot have children of their own, they were especially affectionate toward me, the only child belonging to the lower class in the palace. Because of this, I gained many “mothers” and “fathers.”

From this perspective, my relationships were much better than Princess Fu’s. Perhaps because she had personally witnessed the war, she was always particularly sensitive. She would often wake up terrified in the night, crying and saying she dreamed of her mother, father, grandfather, grandmother, and so on. She would always feel that certain people looked down on her because she had no background or backing, and thus served her carelessly and spoke to her disrespectfully. I remember once when my ninth father and twelfth father went to the Mihe Residence to clean the pond, my ninth father saw me limping along behind them and shooed me away, saying, “Little children should stay away from the water. The pond edges are very slippery.”

Princess Fu happened to be passing by and, upon hearing this, her eyes reddened. I hurried after her and saw her standing under the dense phoenix trees, wearing a light green dress with tears in her eyes. When I asked what was wrong, she told me that the eunuch cleaning the pond said the edge was too slippery because he was disgusted by the overgrown weeds. These weeds were lowly things that shouldn’t be growing in the imperial palace, just like her—they were both illegitimate and should be cleared away.

I was too young then and really couldn’t understand how she made such an association from a simple statement, so I asked my twelfth father. After hearing this, he was very angry and said he would never clean her pond again.

But in the end, he was just talking. Princess Fu always said she had no backing, but in fact, her backing was very strong—one was Lord Luo and the other was the Crown Prince. One represented the Empress, and the other represented the Emperor. Who would dare say her backing wasn’t strong? Probably only she.

There were only three children of similar age in the palace, so naturally, their relationship was very good. Of course, I was not included among them.

But from a child’s perspective, I never thought Lord Luo and the Crown Prince were truly as friendly as they appeared on the outside. The Empress disliked the Crown Prince—even the dogs in the palace knew this. Everyone also tacitly understood the stories between these people. The Crown Prince was clever from a young age. According to my second mother, when he had just learned to crawl, he already knew to put stones in Lord Luo’s shoes while the latter had just learned to walk. I greatly admired this point. It wasn’t until I could walk that I thought of placing nails on the chair of my twelfth father who had hit me.

My first meeting with the Crown Prince was when I was four years old. The Crown Prince was seven, and Lord Luo was eight. I was playing with a little rabbit given to me by my twelfth father in the Imperial Garden. The Crown Prince and Lord Luo, leading a group of little eunuchs, were playing horse-riding and fighting. When they passed by, they wanted to take my rabbit. At four years old, I was still very fair and just. I didn’t submit to Lord Luo’s power despite the Empress controlling the rear palace. Seeing that the Crown Prince was so handsome with his red lips, white teeth, and smiling eyes, I wanted to give the rabbit to him. Lord Luo became angry, snatched the rabbit, and smashed it on a rock. Instantly, its skin split and blood flowed. The Crown Prince lost face and stepped forward to fight. Given that it was almost time for morning lessons, they agreed to fight again that evening at the same place.

So in the evening, I was also invited to watch the battle. Princess Fu also came in disguise with the Crown Prince and Lord Luo. Together, we waited in the clear moonlight to watch this cruel battle about to unfold. However, before my emotions could build up, the war was abruptly interrupted. The Empress, wearing a wine-red formal dress and accompanied by many palace attendants, stood there with a frost-covered face, looking at Lord Luo and said sternly, “Have you been ignoring my words?”

Lord Luo lowered his head without speaking. His palms were red and swollen, with traces of blood seeping out. The Empress ultimately couldn’t bear it. She took his hand and pulled out a silk handkerchief from her collar to wipe it bit by bit, asking, “Does it hurt?”

Lord Luo pressed his lips together and shook his head. Seeing this, the Empress finally couldn’t scold him anymore and took his hand, saying, “Come back to the palace with me.”

After walking a few steps, she stopped and said to a nearby palace maid, “Escort the Crown Prince back to the palace. Tonight, all the duty attendants in the Crown Prince’s palace will receive twenty heavy lashes.”

Her voice was ice-cold, and she didn’t even glance at the Crown Prince from the corner of her eye. After saying this, she left with Lord Luo. Princess Fu hesitated for a moment before following Lord Luo. The palace attendant ran to the Crown Prince’s side, looking as if she might faint with fear, and exclaimed, “Oh! Crown Prince, your knee is injured and bleeding! I’ll go find the imperial doctor immediately.”

The Crown Prince was wearing a pine-green robe and wasn’t even as tall as the flowers in the garden. His little face was dirty, but his eyes were as bright as stars. He sat crookedly on the ground, staring at the backs of the Empress and Lord Luo for a long time. Then, he nonchalantly pushed away the attendant who came to help him, got up by himself, patted the dirt off his clothes, and said with a raised eyebrow, “Look how scared you are. This is just red medicine water. I put it on myself.”

He wiped it hard with his sleeve and paid no more attention to it. Walking with his hands behind his back like a little adult, he muttered, “Li Luo, that bastard, always finds women when we fight. I don’t like playing with him.”

He walked with a limp, his posture remarkably similar to mine, which instantly gave me a feeling of kinship—like we were both fallen people. I hurried forward to support him. He turned his head to look at me and frowned, asking, “Who are you?”

His question hurt me. He might have already forgotten that just this morning, I had given him a rabbit, and it was precisely that rabbit that had triggered tonight’s bloody incident. But I couldn’t say these words, so I just held my breath and said, “I’ll escort the Crown Prince back to the palace.”

He asked with a cold smile, “Aren’t you afraid of being beaten?”

I became angry too, sticking out my neck and saying, “Afraid of what bird?”

He was stunned, then burst into laughter and said, “I like you. Come with me!”

That sentence—yes, that very sentence—made me reminisce countless times in the days and nights that followed. Each time I recalled it, I felt sweet. Even though we were just children then, and he hadn’t even figured out whether I was a boy or a girl.

So that night, I supported him as he limped on the left, and I limped on the right. We walked together, in perfect harmony.

I think I will always remember that night.

(3) Fu Shang

Honestly, Princess Fu is something. This is specifically demonstrated by the fact that she and Lord Luo had feelings for each other for so many years without anyone knowing. After all, given the Empress’s dominant position in the rear palace at that time, if Lord Luo had been unwilling, I don’t think the Emperor would have gone against the Empress’s wishes to arrange this marriage for the Crown Prince. After all, Princess Fu no longer had any impressive family background. Apart from her identity as a princess, her social connections weren’t as solid as mine. Even if she married Li Luo, it wouldn’t have been a big deal. And from what I know of the Crown Prince, although he might occasionally be a bit unreliable, he’s certainly not like Lord Luo, who would smash a little white rabbit to death just because he couldn’t have it.

Unfortunately, Lord Luo didn’t argue with the Empress, and Princess Fu didn’t express any obvious discontent on the day the marriage was bestowed. The entire palace was filled with joy, and the Crown Prince’s face was full of spring sentiment. By then, I was already one of the Crown Prince’s attendants, serving him diligently every day. Combined with my long-standing relationship with the Crown Prince since childhood, I had essentially become a spokesperson in the Crown Prince’s palace. This wedding was very important to the Crown Prince, and it was the same for me. I mobilized all my mothers and fathers spread throughout the various palaces to work together, attempting to make the Crown Prince’s wedding flawless.

However, the biggest drop of water still leaked out. Princess Fu was hanging from that phoenix tree, her tongue protruding long, her face already purple—truly as unsightly as one could imagine. I think if she had known how ugly she would look after death, she definitely wouldn’t have died, or at least wouldn’t have chosen this method of dying. But she still died, died in front of the Crown Prince, died on the day he came to marry her.

Lord Luo stood beneath the pomegranate tree in the courtyard, his gaze fixed intensely on this scene. Strangely, I didn’t read much pain in his eyes, but rather a fiery hatred, flowing out like endless water. It made my spine chill, and I unconsciously wanted to shield the Crown Prince.

Many years later, when Lord Luo was defeated and died in battle, the Crown Prince decided to bury Princess Fu with him. Others might think the Crown Prince was deeply affectionate, but I remained unconvinced. No offense, but I just felt that after all these years, the Crown Prince still didn’t understand—did Lord Luo truly love Princess Fu? Perhaps not. Given the Empress’s position, if he had spoken up and pleaded, this marriage would not have happened. And if he had given Princess Fu a clear answer, with her stubborn and contrary nature—the kind that could associate even a little eunuch cleaning a pond with her situation—she would likely have been the first to jump up and object on the day the imperial marriage was bestowed.

Perhaps, in the end, it was just Princess Fu’s one-sided love. From the bestowal of marriage to the wedding day, she just silently waited day after day. Waiting for a response, waiting for an answer, waiting for a reason to live on bravely and continue to resist. Ultimately, she couldn’t wait any longer, so she cleanly ended her life with a rope, leaving behind so many dirty thoughts and feelings to taint what should have been others’ happy and pure marriage.

I despise such stubborn people. If there are no persimmons, can’t you eat apples? Besides, apples taste better than persimmons anyway.

I swore that in this life, I would never be such a stubborn person.

But I forgot that in my life, I’ve made too many false oaths—like swearing not to eat meat to lose weight, or not to read novels at night so I could sleep early and avoid dark circles the next day. I never achieved any of these, and this one was destined to be no different.

Murong Fu’er died just like that. Everyone thought it was a pity, especially since the kitchen had already prepared the wedding feast, which now had to be thrown away uneaten. I felt heartbroken too.

The Crown Prince ate his dinner as usual that night, also took his usual stroll in the palace, and then returned to his quarters to sleep.

I threw a handful of incense into the Twin Branch Coiled Flower Censer, watching it burn into pale white ash, then seep out thread by thread through the copper holes, swirling thinly in the air, just like early autumn leaves, messy but with a desolate beauty.

The great hall was frighteningly quiet. The entire Jinwu Palace seemed to have died, even breathing unconsciously slowed. I closed the windows and walked quietly toward the door. Just as I reached the doorway, the Crown Prince called out to me, saying, “Hua Yan, I should have known all along.”

I stopped in my tracks and stood up straight respectfully. After all, it was no longer like when we were children, and I didn’t have a truly flower-like face that would allow me to be casual in front of my master. I responded softly, “What does the Crown Prince know?”

“She never used the things I gave her, but when he merely gave her a broken wind chime, she hung it up like a treasure.”

Although I usually appeared quite insensitive, this couldn’t mask my ice-clear intelligence. Nevertheless, in such a hasty and awkward situation, I found it difficult to find an appropriate answer. I could only mutter, “Perhaps Princess Fu had a special taste and just liked broken wind chimes.”

The hall was so quiet that my final syllables echoed faintly, dispersed by the wind. After quite a while, the sound of silk rustling arose. From deep within the heavy curtains, the Crown Prince seemed to turn over, his back toward me, and said faintly, “That must be it. That girl has had poor taste since she was little.”

Then the Crown Prince probably fell asleep. He neither told me to leave nor to stay, so I simply sat down by the incense burner. Layer upon layer of fragrance enveloped me; my clothes and the corners of my mouth seemed to be permeated with it.

I knew the Crown Prince was very sad, but I didn’t know what to say. Having lived in the palace for over ten years, I could discern the subtleties of people’s expressions. If I truly had a pretty face, perhaps I would have been like those presumptuous palace maids, gently comforting him while hoping to take advantage of his vulnerability and rise to a higher position. If I had a distinguished family background, I might have shamelessly asked my father, grandfather, uncles, and other relatives to help me marry into the royal family to enjoy glory and wealth. Unfortunately, I had nothing—no looks, no money, no status, a complete nobody, and also a little cripple. Being able to serve in the Crown Prince’s palace was already fortunate; how could I dare to have any other ambitions?

I sighed with grief, feeling that this palace was truly quiet, without even a bird. The Crown Prince lay behind the heavy curtains, his body seeming to have thinned. Tomorrow, I would need to go to the imperial kitchen and tell them to make some dishes the Crown Prince liked. Yes, and also some that I liked. Thinking this way, I felt much better.

(4)

Murong Fu’er died, but life in the palace continued as usual. No one was so heartbroken that they couldn’t eat. On the contrary, because of the exhaustion from preparing for the wedding, my “fathers” and “mothers” generally had increased appetites. The imperial kitchen eunuchs were very supportive, providing meat dishes for several consecutive days. Those who didn’t know the situation might have thought something good had happened.

That’s how it is in the palace—the more unfortunate the event, the more one must appear unperturbed. Murong Fu’er quietly hanged herself on a crooked tree. If she had dramatically killed herself by crashing into the palace gate, the head aunties would likely have made us sing and dance daily to show that the royal family was normal and everyone was happy. Thinking of it this way, Murong Fu’er’s death seemed quite meaningless.

Officials from the Ministry of Rites soon began planning to select consorts for the Crown Prince. The Crown Prince seemed to have little interest in this matter. He was still young at that time and couldn’t yet appreciate the wonder of certain activities between men and women. I didn’t understand either. This was what my twelfth father told me. At the time, I believed him without a doubt and admired him, thinking his knowledge was truly profound. But when I grew up, I realized that my twelfth father didn’t understand either. He had been castrated and entered the palace at the age of six, so he would never experience the joy of such activities in his lifetime.

People always said that Bian Tang’s army was weak and officials were inefficient, but I think this is pure slander. Within half a month, they had gathered detailed information on over a hundred young ladies from official families for the Crown Prince, including personality assessments, portraits, educational backgrounds, and talents—all compiled and sent to the Crown Prince’s palace. Since these weren’t for the position of primary consort, the requirements for family background weren’t too strict, so many local officials also recommended themselves, eagerly trying to establish connections with the Crown Prince.

The Crown Prince threw these materials to us palace maids to help with the selection. Every day, we sat in the palace, flipping through these materials like comic books, conducting internal elections. Occasionally, the Crown Prince would also give us some opinions. But everyone knew that in matters of selection, the more people involved, the harder it is to reach a consensus. Because our aesthetic judgments were so vastly different, we couldn’t find a clear result despite much discussion. This matter even threatened the harmony and unity among the palace maids in the Crown Prince’s palace for a long period. Finally, the Crown Prince suggested drawing lots, which everyone agreed to, and the matter was perfectly resolved.

But this indirectly led to the first batch of consorts being of varying quality. There were even two who were more muscular and stronger than the Iron Guards, and we couldn’t understand how their family’s painters had managed to create such portraits of them. It was truly puzzling.

That’s how life in the palace was—time passed in a blur. When I was fourteen, my twelfth father died of hemorrhoids. This was truly a tragic way to die, evoking a sense of desolation, involuntarily bringing to mind the image of an old eunuch in his declining years, lonely and with a rotting backside. The real situation was simply that the old man was too stubborn and too embarrassed to tell anyone. He suffered so much pain each day that he couldn’t eat, eventually becoming weak and passing away.

In his final moments, I, as his only nominal relative in the palace, was given the heavy task of sending him off. I was still young then, and knowing he was about to die, I opened my throat and cried with all my might. He seemed to want to tell me something, but from beginning to end, he couldn’t get a word in. He was so anxious that he clawed with his hands and kicked with his feet, then finally stretched out his legs and departed.

Thinking about it now, it was truly tragic. After all, my twelfth father had worked in the palace for many years and eventually attained a significant official position. Perhaps on his deathbed, he wanted to tell me where he had buried the savings of his lifetime—under which stone in which garden. Thus, I sent off my twelfth father without receiving any inheritance, and another secret treasure was added to the soil of the Bian Tang Imperial Palace, unnoticed by anyone.

For a long time, I was troubled by this matter. Whenever I thought about how my twelfth father had worked hard all his life to save money that I couldn’t spend, I felt sad for him. The Crown Prince, perhaps thinking I was grieving over the loss of my father, invited me out for an evening stroll. Before this, I had never been outside the palace, so I immediately expressed genuine enthusiasm for the outing.

Then I spent an entire day making exciting preparations—clothes, shoes and socks, snacks, fruit—gathering all the supplies for the rumored “picnic.” However, that evening, the Crown Prince stuffed me into a carriage, had Iron Guard take me out of the palace for a ride, and disappeared in a flash himself. As a result, the entire night, the imperial guards followed me and the Iron Guard desperately. To allow the Crown Prince to enjoy himself fully, we could neither shake off our pursuers nor be caught by them, which was technically challenging. In the end, I decided that I would never believe a word the Crown Prince said again. Even if he told me he was dying, I would turn around and leave.

In the end, I still didn’t fulfill my wish to see outside the palace; I just sat in a carriage circling the imperial palace. Fortunately, the Empress never concerned herself with the Crown Prince’s affairs. If we had encountered the kind of abnormal, extreme empress described in novels, probably Iron Guard and I would have lost our lives.

When the Crown Prince returned the next day, he told me that in the outside world, he heard that besides the heir of Yan Bei of Da Xia, there was a loyal little female slave. She had followed the Yan heir when his entire family was exterminated and he was imprisoned in the Sacred Gold Palace. At that time, the Yan heir was abandoned by everyone, and even relatives who had received great favors from the Yan City Lord refused to associate with him. Only that little girl stayed with him, young yet brave and strong, and also very beautiful.

When the Crown Prince said this, he had a look of longing on his face, the same expression he had when he talked about certain young ladies from certain officials’ families who had captivating eyes.

I wanted to say that if you were abandoned by everyone, I would follow you too.

But I didn’t say it. After all, I’ve heard many stories where those who follow fallen heroes are always peerless beauties. This highlights the beauty’s loyalty and the hero’s extraordinary charm. You never hear about a fallen hero sharing hardships with a crippled maid, eventually doing this and that. It would be too unsightly; even the most tolerant readers couldn’t accept it. So, I sycophantically said, “What’s so special about that Yan heir? If you, Crown Prince appeared before that girl, she would cry her eyes out and fall hopelessly in love with you.”

The Crown Prince laughed with satisfaction and said, “Hua Yan, you have such talent.”

After that, I kept that little female slave of the Yan heir in mind, but because she was so far away and not an important figure, my knowledge remained scarce. I only heard that her name was Chu Qiao, my age, and greatly favored by the Yan heir. I felt quite jealous about this. Both being servants, her fame had spread so far that even I, a little maid who had never left the palace, knew about her, while I remained obscure. But soon I became reconciled to this. After all, the Yan heir only had her as a female servant, while the Crown Prince had countless palace maids. Moreover, I was a palace maid while she was a slave, so from a status perspective, I was still slightly higher than her. Thinking this way, I felt better.

Thus, several more years passed in a blur. Suddenly, Da Xia wanted to form a marriage alliance with Bian Tang. Everyone knew that Da Xia’s ancestors were foreign tribes from beyond the border who had risen and occupied Bian Tang’s eighteen prefectures of Hongchuan, making them hereditary enemies. But compared to Da Xia, the ancestors of Huai Song were even more hateful. The Nalan family had been subjects of Bian Tang but had conspired to rebel, and raised a banner for independence. So in terms of national sentiment, Huai Song was even less welcome than Da Xia.

The position of Crown Princess had been empty for so many years; it was time for someone to fill it.

The Crown Prince set out half a year in advance, making a big show of many activities. Outsiders said he was being frivolous, but I knew he was just taking the opportunity to go out and play. Given the enlightening education I received from my aunties when I was young, which made me excessively fearful of the Xia people and unconsciously express this fear, my name was not on the list of attendants for this journey. I appointed Little E and a few others to go instead. They were delighted and gave me more than ten agate flower hairpins as gifts. I had a little eunuch help me sell them, making a small fortune.

If life could continue like this, it would be quite nice.