Entering June, as the belly reached a certain impressive scale, Minglan could lie flat on the couch and prop her book up on her belly to read. The little rascal inside had begun to disregard convention — sometimes going still for long stretches, other times suddenly giving a few strong kicks all at once. The physician took her pulse repeatedly, examined her thoroughly, and said with a smile that everything was perfectly normal. Faced with this situation, Minglan only cursed her past self for not having studied obstetrics.
With the birth drawing near, Nanny Cui grew ever more vigilant. She looked at everyone in the household with those glowing greenish eyes of hers — rather alarming — as if every single person was a suspect. Every soup, every meal, every cup of tea Minglan put in her mouth had to be carefully checked, and even Nanny Cui’s own eyes were sinking further into their sockets from the effort. Xiaotao privately told Minglan that Nanny Cui had grown up serving in a great family where the struggle between wife and concubines had been particularly vicious, leaving her permanently traumatized.
Unfortunately for Xiaotao, Nanny Cui happened to overhear her whispering, and promptly grabbed her by the ear and marched her outside to be punished with sweeping duties. Perhaps feeling she had been somewhat overly paranoid, Nanny Cui couldn’t help sighing: “Old Chang says everyone has their fate. In those days, the old master’s boy was born safe and sound — a big healthy baby, six catties and six taels. But who could have known that later, over such a small thing, the child was lost…”
Minglan sat quietly, one hand on her belly. She had done all she could — what came next was in heaven’s hands.
Over the past month and more, the Marquis’s household had been broadly peaceful. During that time, Tingcan had come to weep on two more occasions. The first was when the princess publicly elevated a concubine for Han’s son-in-law in grand fashion — the Madam managed to coax her daughter back home with kind words. The second time was when the son-in-law spent five consecutive nights at that concubine’s quarters, and this time the Madam finally hardened her heart and sent her daughter away with a scolding. After Tingcan left, she wept openly in front of a daughter-in-law, repeating: “Now I only regret that I didn’t discipline her properly growing up — she was so spoiled she has no idea how the world works!” And every so often she would grasp Minglan’s hand and go over and over: “I only hope that brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law will show compassion and give her more support. Otherwise, otherwise…”
When Minglan returned to her room, she puzzled over this for a long while. Danju, knowing her mistress’s thoughts well, waited until they were alone and whispered: “Madam, what can you not work out? The Seventh Young Lady brought this on herself — it’s cause and effect.” She had served at the young lady’s side since childhood, and had grown up immersed in the ways and manners of a proper household. Never mind Minglan — even the falsely refined Molan, or the haughty and domineering Rulan — all of them had strictly kept to a young lady’s duties: needlework, keeping accounts, managing servants, cooking and arranging… they all knew how to do it. Unlike the Seventh Young Lady of the Gu household, who spent all day with a scroll of poetry, wielding ink, neglecting everything useful, speaking to people in a half-dark, half-light manner, taking pride in her own loftiness, and acting as if the whole world should adore and pamper her.
“To play the maiden in a husband’s household — isn’t that just asking for suffering?”
Minglan shook her head. She stroked the white jade bracelet on her wrist slowly. “Something is off about this. She should indeed be weeping — but she shouldn’t be weeping in front of me.” Danju laughed: “Perhaps she’s trying to ask you to stand up for Seventh Young Lady?”
“Would I go and help just because she’s said a few tearful words to me?”
Danju was momentarily silenced.
Minglan’s expression grew heavy and pensive, her gaze resting on the seven-colored glazed bead curtain hanging at the doorway: “She’s a clever woman. She knows perfectly well what my nature is — she wouldn’t do something so pointless. Instead, she showed her weakness.”
If someday Gu Tingcan’s situation outside became so bad it damaged the Gu Family’s honor and standing — say, if she were to be cast out — then without the Madam even asking, Minglan would be obliged to step in and defend this unlikeable sister-in-law. But if it was merely a matter of suffering some hardship in her husband’s household — well, that was called tempering one’s character. So if the Madam knew she had nothing to ask for, why had she come at all?
“Was it merely to play the pitiable and earn sympathy?” Minglan puzzled over it long and hard.
And it wasn’t only this that puzzled her. After the day Nanny Chang had given Kang Yima a thorough dressing-down, Kang Yima had for a good while not shown her face. Minglan had assumed that, given this Madam Wang’s temperament, she would never step through the Gu household’s door again for the rest of her life. But who knew what sweet words the Madam had used — barely half a month later, Kang Yima came back. This time, however, her manner was considerably softer: she made no unreasonable demands, did not throw her weight around at every turn, and with face too thick to do otherwise, actually sent her own concubine-born daughter ahead as a vanguard, up to Jiahi Residence to apologize to Minglan.
“She sent me to beg your pardon, and to say that she was muddled in her old age, and to ask that Elder Sister not take it to heart.” Kang Zhao’er stood timidly in the center of the room, her face full of fragile, frightened anxiety, yet unable to conceal a naturally delicate beauty — fine features, a graceful figure. She and her legitimate elder sister Yuan’er were only two years apart, and she had been wearing Yuan’er’s hand-me-downs since childhood. Now that she had a new garment of her own — a bright peach-colored silk robe with woven floral patterns — it made her uncomfortable rather than pleased.
Looking at this girl, Minglan couldn’t help but let out a quiet sigh. Before her own marriage, she had met Zhao’er a few times and knew that her birth mother had been Kang Yima’s personal maidservant-turned-attendant. She had grown up from childhood as a shadow behind Yuan’er, raised to read her mistress’s expressions.
“There’s no anger to speak of. It was only Nanny Chang’s temper getting the better of her — I was the one in the wrong for letting her be rude to Yima.” Minglan smiled gently, and had Danju bring out a freshly arrived agate-and-grape decorative piece to present to the girl, then let the matter pass lightly.
The following day, the Madam, Kang Yima, and Zhao’er arrived at Jiahi Residence in a procession, maids and matrons in tow. They fussed and asked after Minglan’s great pregnant belly for a good long while. Kang Yima’s smile was warm as spring sunshine, her concern lavish and attentive — the excessively affectionate tone sent Minglan’s spine crawling with cold sweat. Abnormal behavior always signals something amiss; Minglan felt alert in her heart, refused to join in the grand family reunion, and remained coolly detached.
Seeing that Minglan wasn’t cooperating even after all her overtures, Kang Yima took her leave with a forced smile. From then on, she would frequently bring Zhao’er to visit the Gu household. Even when she didn’t come to Jiahi Residence herself, she sent Zhao’er to offer Minglan a greeting.
Days continued in this manner without incident. Kang Yima truly seemed to be kindred spirits with the Madam — coming and going as friends, without any excess or inappropriate moves. Yet Minglan grew more and more vexed with each passing day. Kang Yima was a person who never paid a call without a purpose — there was always something she wanted. Yet she hadn’t opened her mouth for anything. If she wanted nothing, then why go to all this trouble to make peace?
Surely she hadn’t suddenly laid down the butcher’s knife and become a saint.
The pregnancy was nearing its end, and Minglan was at her most weary and sluggish. She spent each day drowsing against her pillow, only wanting to eat and sleep until the day of the birth arrived. It was absolutely infuriating that she still had to rack her brain wondering whether someone was scheming against her.
There were no maids or matrons quarreling, no stewards or manservants being bullying, the Madam spent all day worried about Tingcan’s marriage, Shao Shi was busy managing her daughter’s upbringing, Zhu Shi was busy with her husband and children — the whole household was harmonious, with not a single warning sign. Perhaps there really was nothing after all? Perhaps she was overthinking? Since no matter how she thought about it, there was no clue — could it be that she was just being needlessly anxious?
A gentle, warm breeze drifted through the room, knocking a half-read storybook off the desk onto a chair. Minglan waddled over to pick it up, stifling one yawn after another, thinking she’d go take an afternoon nap — using the storybook to lull herself to sleep seemed like a fine idea. She reached for the book, glanced at the page — and there at the very top of the open page was the sentence: All seemed quiet and peaceful, yet every corner concealed a hidden deadly trap.
Minglan stared at it blankly for a moment. For no reason she could explain, a sudden cold sweat broke out down her spine.
“Go to the outer parlor — invite Second Master Tu.” Her voice shed all its former languid drowsiness, and became suddenly, unnervingly clear.
Tu Hu had a naturally rather fierce appearance to begin with, and added to that a vicious scar that ran from his left brow, across the bridge of his nose, all the way to his chin — precisely the kind of thing the storytellers called a “Great Ruin Sign, Heaven-covering, Earth-encircling.” People who saw him were either frightened or repulsed. However, the Tu brothers had a formidable set of skills: they specialized in intelligence and covert mechanisms, and were most brilliant at scouting and covert operations.
“Whatever the Madam needs Lao Tu to do, just say the word.” These days Tu Hu had been so idle his very bones were itching. Before his elder brother left, he had given a thousand reminders and ten thousand instructions that Tu Hu was to guard the Madam’s safety at all costs. He had no choice but to wait patiently, only hoping that heaven would send down some opportunity to demonstrate his abilities.
From behind the screen, Minglan slowly set down her teacup. “Second Master Tu, I’m afraid this task may be somewhat difficult.”
At that, Tu Hu perked up immediately. Standing in the center of the room, he clasped his hands in a bow: “The Marquis saved my brother’s life and my own — the Madam need only speak.” After all, difficult tasks were the ones that showed off a man’s skills.
And what’s more, this Marchioness treated people with great generosity. On top of regular wages, there were seasonal garments, annual holiday bonuses, fine tiger bone and leopard tendon, imperially bestowed medicinal plasters for injuries — all of it flowing in an uninterrupted stream. Before the new year, she had even bizarrely tried to play matchmaker for him and his elder brother. He and his brother had grown weary of the blood-edged life of the rivers and lakes and were happy to attach themselves to the Marquis — these days suited them very well. So of course they would do everything in their power to serve faithfully.
Minglan thought long and carefully, and then said with deliberate consideration: “I can’t exactly say what I want Master Tu to do… only that…” She found it difficult to begin, because she had no clear thread herself. Outside the screen, Tu Hu stretched his neck and waited a long while. Minglan steeled herself and went ahead, outlining in broad strokes the unease that had been troubling her of late.
“I can’t say where the wrongness is — yet it is unmistakably, thoroughly, wrong.”
Minglan’s tone grew steady, and she struck the armrest lightly once, speaking word by word: “When I was studying, a teacher once said something to me. Omissions do not happen because of carelessness — and carelessness comes from laziness. As long as one is meticulous and diligent in one’s investigation, one will always find the crack in the egg.”
Tu Hu composed his expression and listened quietly. Minglan paused, then said: “Now I am asking Master Tu to investigate these matters. My Yima — and the Madam — and everything connected to them. From the Kang Family, the Qin Family, even the Zhu Family, the Sheng Family, and all the branches and leaves beyond — including which temples or nunneries they visit for incense, which monks or nuns they regularly associate with. Whatever Master Tu can find — I want to know all of it. Every detail, no matter how small — I want to know everything.”
Tu Hu couldn’t help but glance over the screen in that direction, thinking to himself: this woman from the inner chambers — how is it she talks like someone from the trade? He was an expert himself, and he knew perfectly well that the most difficult things in the world to investigate were not the deep courtyards of great houses, nor the labyrinths of palace halls, but rather an apparent absence of anything to investigate — a surface of apparent calm. He gave a firm bow with both hands clasped together: “The Madam’s meaning is entirely understood. The Madam need only wait for good news.”