Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Si Yan ran all the way out of the imperial prison.
The sunlight outside made her squint. She climbed into the carriage before she had even properly put on her veiled hat.
The carriage still held the agarwood fragrance burned that morning, but it could not cover the stench she had brought from the prison.
She gagged.
At last, she could hold it back no longer.
Clamping her handkerchief over her mouth, she retched violently, tears streaming down her face.
“Miss! Are you all right?”
Linghe hastily poured a cup of warm tea and handed it over, then took out a small purse of sour plums.
“I told you that was no place to go! But you wouldn’t listen!”
Si Yan retched several more times and gulped down two mouthfuls of warm tea. She was even paler than before she went in.
She tucked a sour plum beneath the back of her tongue, suppressing the surge of nausea.
Eyes closed, she leaned against the carriage wall and waved a limp hand. Her voice was weak.
“I’m all right. It just stank in there.”
“Why put yourself through this?” Linghe stamped her foot in distress, her own eyes reddening.
“Your fever has only just broken, and you aren’t well yet! If you fall ill again, Her Ladyship will beat me to death!”
Si Yan did not answer. She only went over everything that had just happened, from beginning to end.
Jiang Youze had scarcely given her a kind look throughout the visit.
But when he said, “I’m a eunuch,” she had clearly seen his eyes turn red.
How proud he had once been.
A young rider by the slanting bridge, with red-sleeved beauties beckoning from every tower.
So many noble young ladies in the capital had strained every nerve to get close to him. He had not so much as lifted his eyes.
At the Mid-Autumn poetry gathering, he had worn a moon-white robe and never once given any girl a proper look.
Seven or eight young ladies had composed poems for him on the spot all the same.
He had left their verses on the tea table, taking none of them when he went.
He had only glanced back and winked at her where she hid behind a screen, mouthing,
“I’m off. I’ll bring you candied hawthorn when I come home.”
Back then, he had been so spirited, so peerlessly brilliant, like the brightest star in the sky.
To have fallen this far and still be holding himself together was already more than most could manage.
Si Yan suddenly opened her eyes. She lifted her sleeve to sniff her arm, her brows knotting together.
“Linghe, can you smell something on me?”
Linghe leaned closer and sniffed. Then, with painful honesty, she drew back half an inch, her expression impossible to describe.
“…Yes.”
Si Yan’s face fell at once. She yanked aside the carriage curtain and shouted out,
“Home! Hurry home! I need a bath!”
The carriage raced all the way back to the minister’s residence. Urged on by her, the driver all but sent his whip flying.
Si Yan jumped down and strode inside, making the maids and older serving women along the way turn in alarm.
“Hot water! Several more buckets! Find the rose essence Mother gave me last year! Quickly!”
Linghe trotted after her, answering at once and not daring to stop for a moment.
“Yes, I’ll see to it right away! Slowly, Miss! Don’t fall!”
The hot water was soon ready.
Si Yan stripped off every stitch of clothing, throwing even her inner garments out of the door.
“I don’t want those clothes anymore. Take them away and burn them.”
Jihe bent to pick them up and shook out the long outer jacket. A look of dismay immediately crossed her face.
“Miss, you only had this made last month. You’ve worn it twice, and the fabric was so expensive…”
“Burn it, burn it!”
With one foot already in the bath, Si Yan turned to wave at Jihe.
“Don’t let me see it again!”
She sank into the hot water until only her head remained above it. At last, her expression relaxed.
Linghe crouched beside the tub, drawing her fingers through the wet hair and working soap pods into a thick, fine lather.
“Miss, you were inside for a quarter of an hour. My legs went weak waiting out there. I was so afraid something would happen.”
“What could happen?” Si Yan leaned against the rim of the tub and scooped up water to pour over her arm.
She watched the droplets slide down her smooth skin, her tone careless.
“He can’t even stand up now. It’s not as if he could eat me.”
Her hand stopped as soon as she said it.
No.
She remembered the all-powerful Lord Jiuqiansui from her dream.
He had imprisoned her in the palace and filled her with dread.
Those scenes rose in her mind again, and she immediately forced herself to stop.
Stop, stop, stop!
What was she letting her mind wander to?
“Miss? Why has your face gone so red?”
Jihe paused with the dipper in midair, then leaned closer, puzzled, and tested the water.
“Is it too hot?”
With a splash, Si Yan plunged her entire face underwater. A string of bubbles rose to the surface.
Linghe, who had been washing her hair, hurriedly reached out and hauled her up in alarm.
“Miss! What are you doing? You’ll choke!”
“N-nothing!” Si Yan wiped the water from her face. The tips of her ears were red enough to bleed.
She hastily looked away. “Neither of you saw anything just now! Do you hear me?”
Linghe and Jihe exchanged a look.
Jihe mouthed to Linghe, “What’s wrong?”
Linghe mouthed back, “No idea.”
They both thought their mistress had grown strange since that high fever.
Si Yan snatched the dipper and poured two scoops of cold water over her face.
The shock made her gasp, forcibly cooling the heat in her cheeks.
She threw the dipper into the tub, braced both hands on the rim, and gulped for breath.
A dream was a dream. Reality was reality.
Everything she was doing now was to stay alive. Nothing else.
Yes. To stay alive.
For the next few days, Si Yan stayed quietly at home to recover.
Every day, she bought nourishing soup from Fanlou Restaurant and asked a guard to deliver it to Jiang Youze.
But she never went back to the imperial prison.
She was terrified that if she went again, she really would vomit right in front of Jiang Youze.
She could not bear even to imagine it.
Herself crouching in the cell, throwing up noisily, her face smeared with tears and snot.
Jiang Youze leaning against the wall beside her, watching without expression.
Knowing him, he might remember it for the rest of his life.
She could avoid the imperial prison, but not the day she had to see him off to the palace.
Early on the seventh morning, Linghe dug her out of bed.
Si Yan clung to her quilt and refused to let go, her eyes still shut as she mumbled,
“A little longer… Just a little…”
Without mercy, Linghe pulled away the quilt, dragged her out of bed, and sat her down before the dressing table.
“Miss, you can’t sleep any longer! Young Master Jiang enters the palace today. You promised to go! You mustn’t be late!”
Only then did Si Yan wake a little. She directed Jihe to find her clothes.
“Something plain. Yes, the moon-white one! Nothing too elaborate!”
She examined her face in the bronze mirror. Her color was a little better than it had been a few days ago.
“No jewelry set. Silk flowers will do. The plainer the better. I need to look as though I’ve just been crying.”
She dusted on a thin layer of powder, covering what little color she had.
Then she dabbed a fingertip in rouge and gently blended it at the outer corners of her eyes, like the lingering traces of tears.
She blinked at the mirror, pleased to see how vulnerable and touching her reflection looked.
Good. Exactly the effect she wanted.