While the Ye Family was embroiled in undercurrents, something had also happened in the Shen Family.
Madam Shen had fallen gravely ill.
Among the ladies of the capital, few enjoyed robust health. Managing a household was an extraordinarily demanding responsibility — overseeing an official’s residence through the four seasons, handling the endless rounds of congratulatory visits and mourning calls in the capital, the flower-viewing banquets of winter and spring, the cool banquets of summer, the autumn examinations when former students and old acquaintances came to pay respects, and then at year’s end, the entire great flurry of New Year preparations. There were young ladies who had lost children because of these burdens, and those who managed to hold on until a daughter-in-law entered the household were considered exceptionally fortunate. Most ladies of the capital were therefore perpetually ailing, reciting sutras with a sickly expression while a nun sat beside them recounting fresh gossip from outside and tales from the Buddhist scriptures — six or seven out of every ten households presented exactly this picture.
But Madam Shen’s illness had struck fiercely, unlike the chronic ailments that most ladies dragged along year after year. Her constitution had always been somewhat weaker than others, a condition she had carried since birth. By spring of this year, she could no longer hold herself together. She had not attended the spring hunt, and had already been bedridden for half a month.
Shen Biwei had not initially realized the severity of the situation. Madam Shen had been chronically ill for years, and a few days of being bedridden was nothing unusual. Shen Biwei continued her routine as normal — paying her morning respects before going out, then returning in the evening to ask a perfunctory question, by which time Madam Shen had usually already fallen asleep.
Lately, the Duke of Yongguo had been suffering recurring headaches, and Shen Biwei had been busy chasing after woodpeckers all day long, giving her no cause to think further on the matter. It was only when Shen Yunze returned unexpectedly in the middle of the night that she realized something was wrong.
The entire household blazed with lamplight, servants rushing about in every direction. Shen Biwei walked in a daze into Nuanxiang Pavilion, where her mother resided, and was met with the familiar smell of medicinal herbs. Han Yueqi and Shen Yunze both sat at the bedside attending her, and her father, Master Shen, was also present. She stood by the window, looking at her mother’s haggard complexion as she lay on the bed with eyes closed, and was suddenly seized by a profound sense of dread.
She had never feared heaven nor earth, yet in that moment she felt utterly terrified.
Fortunately, Madam Shen opened her eyes before long.
She seemed to have no strength left, her eyes half-lidded as she glanced around at everyone present. When she noticed Shen Biwei still standing stiffly by the window, she said, “Biwei has come?”
Only then did Shen Biwei approach, taking a seat at the bedside and clasping her mother’s hand. Madam Shen’s hand had grown so thin — little more than a bundle of kindling. The bracelet Shen Biwei remembered from childhood, the one her mother had always worn, could no longer stay on.
Her mind was in utter chaos.
Fortunately, the imperial physician arrived shortly and prescribed numerous remedies. The medicines were quickly prepared and decocted. Madam Shen, who had been ill for so long that she had jokingly said Nuanxiang Pavilion ought to be renamed Yaoxiang Pavilion — “Medicinal Fragrance Pavilion” — had every herb imaginable on hand. Yet even after the dark, bitter decoctions were swallowed, she remained barely clinging to life, only her spirits recovering slightly, no longer seemingly exhaling without inhaling.
Shen Yunze went off to change his clothes. Han Yueqi busied herself arranging for someone to carry word to the Hanlin Academy, making preparations for Master Shen’s lodgings in Nuanxiang Pavilion, and organizing food and attendants for the long night vigil ahead. She also dispatched someone to summon Old Imperial Physician Liu. Old Imperial Physician Liu was unremarkable in most respects, but he had earned the nickname “Liu of the One Needle,” for not every patient could be roused to a final moment of lucidity — those who were unconscious and failing could be brought around with acupuncture to deliver their last words. Several great families of the capital had avoided bitter inheritance disputes thanks to him alone.
When Shen Biwei heard that Old Imperial Physician Liu was being summoned, she understood the situation all too clearly. When her maternal grandmother had been dying, it was Old Imperial Physician Liu who had administered the needles and revived her long enough to speak her final words — words that had reduced the old master of the household to a face streaming with tears. Her mother had told her it was the first time she had ever seen him weep.
Remembering this, she could not help but speak up in a hoarse voice: “Han jiejie, word must also be sent to the Duke of Yongguo’s household…”
Han Yueqi’s face was equally stricken with grief. She tried to dissuade her: “To see a white-haired parent outlive a dark-haired child — it may not be wise to inform him.”
“No,” Shen Biwei insisted. “He must be summoned. We cannot conceal this from him. If the old master finds out later, he will certainly not be able to bear it. If you won’t go, I’ll go myself.”
Han Yueqi could only hurriedly restrain her. “All right, all right — I’ll send someone. You stay here with Madam.”
And so Han Yueqi departed as well. Though the room was filled with servants and maids, not one dared breathe too loudly. Shen Biwei remained seated at the bedside, holding Madam Shen’s hand, lost in her own thoughts.
It was only the arrival of Lingbo that broke through the heavy silence.
“How is she? Is Madam all right?” she asked the moment she entered — her voice not loud, yet like a stone breaking the surface of still water. Shen Biwei startled out of her stupor and looked up at Lingbo. She could see that Lingbo too was still carrying the chill of the outdoors, snowflakes still clinging to the fur trim of her cloak, her face flushed red from the cold, her expression tight with anxiety.
“Why have you come? In such dreadful cold.”
“I heard Han jiejie’s message and came at once,” Lingbo said. “There’s a heavy snowfall outside — the roads are nearly impassable. How is Madam?”
Shen Biwei’s throat felt as though it had seized up. She had barely managed to exchange a few words before Lingbo asked, and she gestured for her to see for herself. Lingbo, still carrying the cold of the outdoors, did not dare draw too close, but peered from a distance and said to the maid: “Bring a basin of warm water.”
As she spoke, she unwrapped her fur-trimmed cloak and removed her gloves. Though they were made of fur, they were no match for this late spring cold. Shen Biwei saw that her hands were chapped bright red and knew she wanted the warm water to soak her hands. “Let me,” she said, taking Lingbo’s hands in her own and warming them inside her palms until the cold had passed.
Lingbo looked at the trembling lashes of the girl before her and knew that her heart must be a raging tempest.
Was there ever a daughter who did not feel terrified at the thought of losing her mother?
Once her hands were warm, Lingbo went to press her palm gently against Madam Shen’s forehead, then asked the attending maid a few questions, and glanced over the prescriptions. Her expression immediately lightened.
“It’s all right,” she said earnestly, comforting Shen Biwei. “I think these symptoms resemble my mother’s somewhat — even the prescription looks similar. Qinglan recently found a remedy, but it was missing two ingredients. Because of the war in the Northern Frontier, they’ve been unavailable for several years. We had originally planned to complete the prescription once this year’s fresh supply arrived, but hearing that Madam was gravely ill, and that the symptoms resemble our mother’s, she has already gone to search the household storerooms for any remaining stock.”
Shen Biwei knew she was mostly offering comfort, but still asked, “If you and Qinglan have both come out, what about Yanyan and the others?”
“Yang Niangzi is with them. Besides, they’re fifteen or sixteen now. At that age, we had already been managing on our own.” Lingbo took Shen Biwei’s hand and sat down beside her.
Madam Shen lay quietly on the bed. As it is with those who have been long ill, she had the familiar look of it — a yellowish complexion, dark circles beneath her eyes, thin yet slightly swollen. Seeing Madam Shen like this reminded Lingbo of her own mother, and so she could feel Shen Biwei’s emotions all the more keenly.
She reached out and took Shen Biwei’s hand — a silent, wordless comfort.
Outside, the snow fell heavier and heavier. The weight of it snapped bamboo stalks in the grove beyond the window with crisp, sharp cracks, each sound like the tolling of a death knell, filling the heart with dread.
“In this kind of snow, I wonder how Qinglan jiejie is managing,” Shen Biwei said, her worry shifting to Qinglan instead.
Lingbo had been through moments like this before, and she understood that in such times the mind simultaneously went blank and yet could not stop throwing up stray thoughts. She offered what comfort she could: “She’ll be fine — Qinglan is capable and measured. Pei Zhao is in the palace today for the ancestral rites, otherwise I would have called on him. It’s a pity the place isn’t closer to where the Northern Frontier Army is garrisoned — otherwise we could ask Cui Jingyu to come and help.”
Lingbo did not mean that she was still trying to play matchmaker at a time like this.
It was simply that even after four years, she still remembered: no matter the time, no matter the hardship, Cui Jingyu had always been the most reliable of elder brothers.