In the most remote northwest corner of the Qiu Mansion, a small courtyard had its gate half-open. This courtyard had no name. Originally it had been part of the servants’ quarters, later allocated for the Qiu family’s aunt to live in. At least she was still considered a master, so a low wall was used to separate it from those servants’ rooms—this counted as a bit of dignity for the former Qiu family’s eldest miss. But it was only this bit of dignity and nothing more. Beyond this, all furnishings and provisions were the same as on the servants’ side.
Originally the house had been personally allocated by Madam, who had thought her proud and arrogant sister-in-law would surely make a great scene. Who would have expected that after Madam Feng, Qiu Mingying, eloped from home and many years later returned with a pair of children, she had completely changed from her former nature and very agreeably accepted all of her elder brother and sister-in-law’s arrangements.
Well, naturally—someone who had once disgraced the family and later had nowhere to turn and came back on her own, what qualification did she have to quibble about anything?
Feng Zhiwei entered the courtyard and made straight for the dining table—early this morning she’d killed someone, fallen into water, been hugged and embraced by someone. She was long since hungry enough for her belly to meet her ribs.
On the dining table sat a bowl of cabbage with glass noodles and two steamed buns, all having lost their heat. The glass noodles had become murky soup water. The steamed buns were hard as city wall bricks. The former Qiu family’s eldest miss, now Madam Feng, sat beside the low table with one broken leg, strenuously trying to use a small knife to scrape away the unsightly black grime marks on the table.
Seeing Feng Zhiwei enter, she carefully took one steamed bun, calling to Feng Zhiwei: “Wei’er, come eat.”
Feng Zhiwei frowned as she sat down: “Clearly three people, why only give two steamed buns?”
“Manager Zhao said His Majesty will grace the Qiu Mansion with his presence tomorrow. The kitchen is very busy, so there’s only this much.” Madam Feng didn’t touch the steamed bun, carefully ladling a bit of glass noodle soup to drink slowly.
Feng Zhiwei said nothing, biting her steamed bun while watching her. The pair of eyes exposed above the steamed bun were hazy and misty, seemingly showing several parts soft charm and glamour. When her gaze fixed unmoving, it naturally generated brilliant noble bearing.
Madam Feng helplessly had to say: “I heard Princess Shaoning will also come.”
Feng Zhiwei said “Oh,” immediately withdrawing her gaze to continue gnawing her steamed bun—Shaoning coming—Uncle’s sons all collectively excited—the entire mansion in chaos busy trying to curry favor—the kitchen all going to serve the picky princess—their place could only eat leftover food.
Very normal. Just get used to it.
Mother and daughter chatted while eating.
“What’s His Majesty leaving the palace for?”
“A few days ago there was a cold snap. The capital froze quite a few people to death. The Nine Cities’ government offices are providing disaster relief and serving gruel. His Majesty is probably going to look at the situation.”
“Inspecting disaster relief is false. Checking whether Prince Chu, who oversees the Nine Cities’ government offices, has been negligent or derelict in duty is true, right?” Feng Zhiwei forcefully tore the steamed bun skin. “A few days ago the Crown Prince was impeached for taking several Xi Liao beauties as consorts. His Crown Prince seal was suspended. The wind direction in court became chaotic again. Prince Chu is in the Crown Prince’s camp, so naturally some people are adding insult to injury.”
“Zhiwei.” Madam Feng set down her chopsticks. “I’ve told you how many times—women of the inner chambers should not speak rashly about court politics.”
“These words are truly strange.” Feng Zhiwei set down her steamed bun, smiling as she looked at Madam Feng. “Those who don’t know, hearing this, would probably truly think our Madam Feng is a gentle, virtuous, devoted woman of the inner chambers who doesn’t hear of national affairs and wholeheartedly teaches her children.”
“Isn’t that so?” Madam Feng ignored her, very preciously picking up a chopstick-full of glass noodles, frowning while thinking that similar things in this world were sometimes vastly different as heaven and earth. For instance, these glass noodles—they looked very much like the Jade-Cover Shark’s Fin she used to eat often—top-grade small row fins, simmered over low heat in chicken broth, then using large purple abalone and premium Yunnan ham, wrapped together in lotus leaves to stew. When finished, it was pure, mellow, smooth and fine, overflowing with lotus fragrance… Or for instance, that person—Zhiwei and Shaoning with such similar appearances, yet their status and circumstances were as different as clouds and mud… Forget it, why think so much? It’s all fate.
She ate fragrantly, not raising her head. Feng Zhiwei glanced at her sideways, saying in a drawn-out voice: “Yes, nothing wrong. Madam Feng has always been like this. As for what general’s tiger daughter, natural commander material, at ten years old following father to battle, at twelve years old killing with her own hands, at fourteen years old on the battlefield receiving command in crisis and turning the tide, leading thirty thousand bare-chested warriors to meet the enemy army, killing until heads rolled and blood danced in yellow sands, becoming famous in one battle with all under heaven revering her, called Fire Phoenix…”
“Enough.” Madam Feng calmly interrupted her, considering the amount of cabbage and glass noodles, carefully pouring out a bit more.
Feng Zhiwei acted as if she hadn’t heard.
“…Called Fire Phoenix Lady Commander, Qiu Mingying…” She suddenly stood up, bracing the table, bringing a face like a charming flower piled with snow directly opposite Madam Feng’s face, her eyes looking straight into the depths of hers. “…Is dead, already dead.”
“Smack!”
The bowls and chopsticks on the table shook violently, clanging chaotically. Madam Feng’s hand pressed on the tabletop, her brows raised and eyes focused. In an instant, her gaze was like lightning, her killing aura oppressive—faintly showing the mighty wind and clouds lady commander’s demeanor from those years.
Yet Feng Zhiwei only smiled slightly, not moving.
The aftershocks not yet settled, that cabbage bowl with half its rim broken tilted. Soup water splashed straight toward Feng Zhiwei. Feng Zhiwei lowered her head to watch, holding a faint smile, still not moving her body, not even moving her lashes one bit.
Instead, it was Madam Feng glaring at her who stared blankly at her face, suddenly sighing, extending a finger to press. The spinning bowls and chopsticks on the table immediately all stopped together. A bit of splashed soup water landed on Madam Feng’s fingers. Madam Feng regretfully wanted to suck it, but raising her head to meet Feng Zhiwei’s gaze, she immediately wiped her hand on her apron.
“Alright… it’s all past.” The severe lady commander instantly disappeared. Sitting opposite Feng Zhiwei was still that woman holding a broken bowl, preciously drinking vegetable soup. “Hurry and eat. After eating, go help Nanny Zhao at the front.”
Feng Zhiwei gazed at Madam Feng’s beautiful but already slightly aged face, slowly withdrawing her hands bracing the table, sighing as she was about to sit down. Behind her, someone suddenly banged open the door, carrying bone-chilling cold air as he rolled in, plopping down beside her. He grabbed the steamed bun Madam Feng had never touched and gnawed on it, muttering with his mouth full: “Steamed buns again!”
“Hao’er, what’s the rush? Careful not to bite your tongue.” Madam Feng immediately lovingly reached out to stroke that child’s hair. “Are you cold? Shall I take it to heat up for you?”
Feng Zhiwei lowered her eyes to look at the hard steamed bun in her own hands—take it to heat up? Said so lightly. The kitchen was currently busy in full swing. Where was the time to heat steamed buns for you?
The steamed bun in her own hands was also hard as iron. Why didn’t she say take it to heat?
“How can I eat something this cold?” Feng Hao took a bite, frowning. With a flick of his hand, he threw the steamed bun out. The rock-hard steamed bun struck the ground with a resounding clang. “I won’t eat it!”
Feng Zhiwei stared at that steamed bun—this was this morning’s breakfast. For three people, two steamed buns divided. Mother hadn’t touched hers at all, only drinking that overnight vegetable soup. Now, this precious steamed bun had been arrogantly thrown out by her younger brother, covered in dust.
Then she slowly turned her head, staring at Feng Hao.
“Pick it up.”
Feng Zhiwei’s tone was as always gentle and soft. Her eyes seemed to still hold smiling intent. Her eyes were naturally misty and hazy—no matter how she looked at people, it never carried dominance. That flash of severity and sternness Madam Feng had shown just now could not be found on her.
Yet Feng Hao shrank back. He didn’t know why, but every time Elder Sister spoke to him with a smile like this, his heart would grow cold without reason. In those bright, fresh, beautiful water-cut pupils seemed to hide something ordinary people couldn’t see, constricting his heart until it tightened.
Only Mother’s favoritism had always made him fearless. He retreated a step, leaving the range around Feng Zhiwei, then raised his head, disdainfully snorting coldly through his nose.
Feng Zhiwei looked at him, her gaze still smiling. Smiling, she sat back down, continuing to gnaw her steamed bun, saying lightly: “Not picking it up? Fine, you’re grown now, you have your own ideas. Tomorrow I’ll go beg Madam to let you accompany Third Young Master in his studies. You’re so clever—who knows, in the future if our Feng family brings glory to our ancestors, we might still have to count on you.”
“Don’t!” Feng Hao’s expression changed drastically, glaring at her furiously. “Are you still my sister? Sending me to that hellhole? You vicious woman—you won’t live long yourself, yet you still want to drag me down with you…”
“Hao’er!”
Feng Hao was startled by that stern shout, resentfully shutting his mouth. Madam Feng looked straight at him, then looked at Feng Zhiwei. The smile in Feng Zhiwei’s eyes faded somewhat, but the corners of her lips curved up slightly.
“It’s just a steamed bun, isn’t it?” Madam Feng smiled, hurrying to the corner to pick up that steamed bun, carefully blowing on it, gathering it in her hands. “I’ll go have the kitchen heat it up.”
Feng Zhiwei lowered her eyes, looking at the steamed bun in Mother’s hands, looking at Mother’s hands that had once been smooth and delicate but were now full of rough cracks, then looking at Mother’s lowered temple hair. She didn’t know when black hair and green silk had changed to temples already speckled with stars. That bit of grayish-white stabbed her eyes painfully.
Decades of frost and stars exchanged, looking back her beautiful countenance changed. The peerless heroine of her generation in the past, the lady commander reputedly fierce as fire in legends, had long been buried in old papers, leaving only that vivid outline, gazing back alone in various distant legends.
She didn’t even know what kind of experiences could grind down such brilliantly radiant stern edges, exchanging them for this moment’s enduring, difficult life.
“I’ll go.” After a long while, Feng Zhiwei sighed, taking the steamed bun from Madam Feng’s hands—those people in the kitchen climbed high and trampled low, extremely snobbish. She didn’t want to see Mother humbly begging people, then being wounded again by verbal blade edges.
Stepping over the threshold, Feng Hao’s loud voice called out after her.
“See if there’s anything good to eat, bring some back!”
Feng Zhiwei’s footsteps paused briefly at the threshold, then she left without looking back. Faintly she heard behind her Mother seemingly gathering Feng Hao into her embrace, softly comforting him.
Feng Zhiwei had no expression—as an adopted daughter, she should not express any dissatisfaction about someone else’s son being favored.
Although, only she knew Feng Hao was actually also an adopted son. But at least he was male, the seed who could pass on the Feng surname in the future.
Honestly speaking, that Madam Feng could carry her, this burden, through the most difficult times, and moreover had never told anyone she wasn’t her biological daughter, allowing her therefore to stay in the snobbish Qiu Mansion—she was already sufficiently grateful.
As for that familial affection and warmth… Forget it. Even life might not be grasped in one’s own hands—what else could one extravagantly hope for?
The main kitchen was currently in complete chaos, busy preparing the most novel and exquisite pastries for the picky princess. Princess Shaoning was His Majesty’s most beloved daughter. Allegedly in the early days of founding the nation, amidst the chaos of war, the princess while still in swaddling clothes had once been separated from His Majesty. After considerable effort she was found. On the day the princess was found, heaven manifested auspicious signs. Not long after, the capital was conquered and the Tiansheng dynasty established. Therefore His Majesty had always viewed this daughter as his lucky star, favoring her extraordinarily.
Feng Zhiwei quietly entered the kitchen through the side door. She still had that yellow face, her eyebrows painted drooping and listless. Changing just these two places, her entire appearance and bearing transformed dramatically like heaven and earth flipped, leaving no one interested in even a second glance.
Inside the kitchen, large and small steaming pots were specially set up. Hot steam filled the air, making faces unclear. In the air was a strange sweet fragrance—who knew what new pastry was being made. Feng Zhiwei didn’t want to alarm anyone. She quietly found an empty stove, poured water into the pot, preparing to reheat the steamed bun.
On the cutting board were quite a few good foods. Yet Feng Zhiwei didn’t even look at them once—Feng Hao asking her to bring back something good to eat was him being ignorant. With her and Mother and the three of them’s awkward position in the mansion, just asking others not to make things difficult was good enough. How could they stir up more trouble?
Only that fragrance was truly unbearable… Feng Zhiwei touched her belly, feeling even hungrier.
She focused on waiting for the water to boil, not noticing that at the kitchen doorway, someone had quietly slipped in. Even less did she notice that several kitchen maids, while seemingly very earnestly busy, were intentionally or unintentionally sweeping glances in this direction.
The water in the pot bubbled and gurgled, emitting hot steam. Feng Zhiwei didn’t dare stay long. After the water had boiled for a while, she went to lift the lid. Figuring the steamed bun would be half-heated would suffice. Her hand had just touched the steamed bun skin when she suddenly heard a crisp sound.
“Crack!”
Simultaneously, as if waiting at the side, the kitchen maids’ shrill screams rang out.
“There’s a thief! The imperial meal offered up has been stolen!”