As April drew to a close, the crabapple tree beyond the lintel had nearly finished blooming. Its once-rosy buds had faded into pale pink clouds, scattering petals across the stone steps. The lotus flowers, on the other hand, had only just begun to bloom, filling the lake with soft hues of white and pink.
From the flower hall in Qingtong Courtyard, one could see the fading crabapple blossoms—so densely fallen, they resembled a drift of snow.
A sparse bamboo screen hung inside the flower hall, behind which the newly hired teacher was instructing Jinchao in the art of the qin.
A few days prior, her father had received a century-old cinnabar-red qin made from aged Chinese fir from his colleague Liu Binghu, an Assistant Section Chief in the Ministry of Revenue. As he had little interest in music himself, he thought to send it to Jinchao and promptly hired a renowned instructor to teach her once again. These days, whenever he came upon something of value, he seemed eager to send it her way. Jinchao understood it was out of guilt—but said nothing and accepted it all.
Her former teacher, the elderly Master Zixu, had returned to his hometown to retire before she came of age. The new teacher was still in his thirties, a disciple of the Yushan School who went by the courtesy name Wangxi.
This Wangxi gentleman was quite accomplished in qin music, but he adhered strictly to propriety between men and women. During lessons, he insisted that a screen be drawn between them. Even when Jinchao made mistakes, he would not cross over to correct her fingering.
She had first taken up the qin after returning to the Gu household, at the age of ten, and studied for three years. But young children cannot properly learn to play—their fingers lack the strength. If the pressure is too light, no sound comes; too hard, and the strings cut into the skin. Only when calluses form at the fingertips does the pain lessen. Having not practiced for over a year, Jinchao’s calluses had long since faded. Her fingers ached after just a short session in front of Wangxi, and her playing was clumsy and uneven.
Wangxi, upon hearing her, was clearly displeased and murmured under his breath, “Wasn’t she supposed to have studied under Master Zixu?”
Jinchao pursed her lips slightly. Master Zixu’s name held high regard in the capital; Wangxi must have thought her performance had shamed the old man.
Today, he played through Pu’an’s Incantation1 once and then listened to her attempt. Unable to contain himself, he scolded, “I played this just yesterday—how are you still so unfamiliar? You claim to have been taught by Master Zixu, yet this is what you produce…?”
Jinchao could hear the impatience in his voice. She wasn’t sure how her father had managed to persuade this man to teach her, but it was obvious he found her a burden. Though he had demonstrated the piece yesterday, with the bamboo screen drawn between them, she couldn’t see his fingering or the movement of the strings—how could she possibly replicate it?
She couldn’t help but say, “Master, why not lift the screen? Since this is a lesson in music, a bond of teacher and student, there is no need for such formality.”
But Wangxi was firm in his refusal. “No need. I’ll just play it again. Listen carefully.”
So Jinchao held her tongue.
When he finally left, she peered through the edge of the screen and caught a glimpse of him—a Daoist topknot, clad in plain blue robes, departing Qingtong Courtyard with his young pageboy in tow.
She had Caifu put the qin away. A wave of irritation welled within her.
Qingpu entered, holding a black-lacquered tray. “Miss, the weather’s warming up. Why don’t you have a cup of sour plum soup to cool your temper?”
From her sleeve, she produced a small paper scroll, no thicker than a finger, and handed it over. “This morning I saw a pigeon perched in the crabapple branches. Looking closely, I realized it had something tied to its leg. When it saw me, it flew down. I retrieved the letter, and it flew off again.”
Jinchao was puzzled. Carrier pigeons were typically used by wandering folk, not something one would expect here.
She took the scroll and saw it was sealed in red wax, stamped with the character Ye (叶).
Ye… Could it be Ye Xian?
Jinchao recalled that the Marquis of Changxing, in his early years, had fought bandits in Sichuan and taken in all manner of outcasts. Some became his personal guards, others earned titles through valor in battle. These men later served Ye Xian. Once, they had even infiltrated the Chen household by night, leaving claw marks from grappling hooks on the compound walls.
For Ye Xian to send her a message like this—had something happened with Mr. Xiao?
Jinchao withdrew into the inner chamber and had Qingpu close the door before carefully unsealing the letter. As she expected, it was from Ye Xian. She thought it would contain urgent news—but the beginning recounted his turtle biting his prized koi and how his pet thrush had laid a clutch of pale green eggs. The paper was small, yet densely filled with these trivialities. Jinchao couldn’t help but laugh.
Only at the end did he mention that Mr. Xiao had been delayed and would arrive in half a month. He added that upon hearing of her mother’s condition, Mr. Xiao had written to him, noting that such frequent relapses should not occur if the ailment were merely from frailty and long-term melancholy. They should consider whether something unusual was at play.
Qingpu had already lit the candle nearby. After reading, Jinchao used the flame to burn the letter.
In her past life, her mother had died coughing up blood, so much that it soaked through her clothes. The sight had been terrifying. Yet she had never questioned whether someone might have tampered with the illness. Now, hearing this from Mr. Xiao, it did seem suspicious…
But Nanny Xu had served her maternal grandmother for years. If there had been poisoning involved, could it truly have escaped her notice?
After a moment of thought, Jinchao said to Qingpu, “Go find Nanny Tong and ask her to invite Doctor Liu over. Say that I’d like another prescription to help Mama recover.”
Qingpu acknowledged and left. Jinchao stepped outside to sit in the sun.
Baopu was lying atop the opposite roof, lazily swishing its fluffy tail as it watched her. It now looked like a bundle of down. Just days ago, it had caught a mouse in the side room—whole and intact.
Basking in the sun, Baopu seemed to grow drowsy. It stood, stretched languidly, leapt onto a nearby locust tree, and climbed down into its nest to nap.
Jinchao found it rather amusing—Baopu was lazy and aloof, thoroughly antisocial.
As she watched the cat, she suddenly saw Yuzhu rushing in from outside, flustered and breathless. Baiyun was about to scold her, but before she could speak, Yuzhu had already dropped to her knees before Jinchao with a thud, her eyes brimming with tears.
“Miss, please—you must save Xiùqú!”
Jinchao noticed that Yuzhu was clutching a black lacquer box—the box of sweets she had gifted her.
“What’s the matter? Get up and speak properly.”
Hearing Jinchao’s gentle tone only made Yuzhu feel worse. She wiped at her tears and said, “I went to look for Xiùqú today. I thought I’d bring her some sweets as well… but she’s no longer at Song Yiniang’s place. One of the sweeping grannies told me she’d gone home to visit her family…”
Jinchao frowned. “If she’s only gone home to visit family, why are you in such a panic?”
Choking back a sob, Yuzhu explained, “Miss, you don’t understand. Xiùqú’s family is in Taiping Prefecture, Anhui—there’s no way she could just go back like that… Song Yiniang must have found out that she revealed something and is punishing her. It’s my fault… she didn’t want to talk, but I pushed her to… it’s my fault…”
Jinchao motioned for Baiyun to help her up. “You can’t blame yourself entirely. You didn’t know it would come to this. Don’t torment yourself.”
Still gripping Jinchao’s sleeve, Yuzhu couldn’t stop crying. “Miss, please, you must help her. Xiùqú is a good person.”
Jinchao nodded. “She’s suffering on my account too. Get up now—I won’t ignore this.”
Only then did Yuzhu stand. She trusted Miss more than anyone. If Miss said she’d help, then she definitely would.
But Jinchao herself wasn’t so sure. If Song Yiniang had wanted to punish Xiùqú, she could’ve just sent her to the outer kitchen or the stables—those were the hardest, most degrading duties. But to make her vanish without a trace… That was silencing someone permanently.
How vicious must Song Yiniang be to do something like this!
And who knew how many days had already passed? If too long, Xiùqú might already be—
She wanted to call for Nanny Tong but remembered she had already sent her to fetch Doctor Liu. So instead, she changed into a fresh set of clothes and took Baiyun and Caifu to visit her mother.
It was already past noon. Her mother had just awakened from her nap. Though she could not sleep at night, she often found rest in these quiet daylight hours.
“Come sit. I just had a pot of white fungus soup with goji berries and red dates stewed—it’s still warm, have some…” Ji Shi smiled and motioned for her to sit, then told Xu Mama to serve her a bowl.
Jinchao took a sip but found it slightly bitter and frowned. “Why is Mother’s soup bitter today?”
Ji Shi smiled. “I added a few medicinal herbs. You prefer it sweet, I know… but bitter things must be taken now and then—better this than swallowing pills.”
Jinchao disliked anything bitter. She wouldn’t even touch bitter melon in the summer. She put down the soup and turned to her mother. “I actually came to ask Nanny Xu something. You go ahead and finish yours.” She then asked Xu Mama to follow her outside.
Ji Shi shook her head with a smile and simply took Jinchao’s untouched bowl to drink as well.
Under the covered corridor, Xu Mama asked with a pleasant smile, “What would the young miss like to ask?”
Jinchao thought for a moment before speaking. “I suspect someone may be interfering with Mother’s illness. Do you oversee her meals personally?”
Xu Mama nodded. “If not me, then Moxue or Moyu watch over it closely. Even the medicine decoctions are supervised. There’s no room for tampering. But if you’re concerned, I can conduct a full inspection of everyone in Xiexiao Courtyard. Beyond food, incense burners, tableware—those too can be tampered with. Back in the Ji household, one of the concubines miscarried after another smeared medicine on her bowl. These things are hard to guard against.” Xu Mama had certainly seen much in her years.
Jinchao nodded thoughtfully. She wasn’t certain—after all, her mother’s condition hadn’t relapsed recently—but caution was always wise.
“There’s one more thing I want to ask,” Jinchao lowered her voice. “If a maid committed a serious offense, and the mistress wanted her quietly gone—how would she be dealt with?”
Xu Mama didn’t hesitate. “The usual method is to suffocate her in a sealed room. A crueler one is to gag and beat her to death. Either way, no one is alerted. They don’t die right away, either—it takes a few days of pain and hunger for the body to give in.”
Jinchao fell silent, absorbing her words.
After a while, she asked, “Mother brought a few guards with her from the Ji household. Could I borrow them for a task?”
Xu Mama smiled. “Of course. I’ll bring them to you myself shortly.”
She neither questioned nor showed doubt—no wonder she had served under Grandmother Ji for so many years.
- “Pu’an’s Incantation,” also known as “Pu’an Zhou,” is a popular melody in Chinese music, especially for the guqin (a seven-string zither). It originally served as a Buddhist chant and is documented in various forms and contexts across China, from villages to temples. The melody has been adapted for other string instruments like the pipa and even incorporated into genres like opera. ↩︎