Gu Lan carried in the herb pillow and went to see Concubine Song.
Concubine Song was lying in the inner room upon a red-lacquered qian-gong bed, its lattice carved with a thousand delicate cuts. A maid fed her medicine, sweetened with preserved fruit. Hearing that Gu Lan had come, Concubine Song brightened at once and told the maid to invite her inside, then bade Gu Lan sit at the edge of the bed, drawing the girl close against her like kin.
Gu Lan studied her for a long moment, heat pricking at the rims of her eyes. “You look thinner. Have you not been eating? When I heard your stomach pains were so strange that day, I’ve been wanting to come, but the matrons guarding the courtyard wouldn’t let me in. Only when Father’s note arrived today did I dare…”
With Caoying and Huangli present, Gu Lan naturally dared not address Concubine Song as “Mother.”
Concubine Song glanced at the two maids standing by the bed and said coolly, “Go keep watch outside for now. I have a few things to say to Second Young Miss.”
Caoying and Huangli looked at one another. Xu Mama had given strict instructions—they were not to leave Concubine Song unattended.
Gu Lan laughed coldly. “You don’t listen to your mistress now? Are you begging for a beating?”
Huangli forced a smile. “Pray, Second Young Miss, don’t be angry. We shall go at once.” She set down the medicine bowl, pulled Caoying from the inner room, and closed the door.
Staring at the shut elm-wood panels, Caoying stamped with rage. “If we do this, Xu Mama will have our hides. I’d like to see what you say then!”
Huangli took her hand. “…Don’t fret. In the inner room, toward the west wing, there’s a little window behind the qian-gong bed. Let’s go and listen there—they’ll never notice.” She drew Caoying toward the west wing. Parting the dense cluster of yellow sophora shrubs, Caoying gave a soft gasp.
“Huangli, come look—there’s a small vat here, hidden so well!”
Huangli leaned in. It was a blue-and-white porcelain fish jar twined with floral scrolls, hardly the sort of vessel old servants used for water. Inside sloshed a dark brown liquid. Caoying bent close to smell it and whispered, “Medicine… It seems all the decoctions we’ve prepared—Concubine Song hasn’t been drinking them at all. She’s pouring them out here…”
Huangli peered too and murmured, “But these are all for securing the fetus—why wouldn’t she drink them, and dump them in secret?”
Caoying remembered what Xu Mama had charged her to do—something not to be breathed to anyone. So she only said to Huangli, “Who knows. Concubine Song has been feigning illness from the start. Perhaps she simply finds the medicine bitter…” The two maids fell silent, carefully prying open the little window. From there, they could just make out Second Young Miss seated sideways upon an embroidered stool.
Gu Lan first had Mujin bring the herb pillow to Concubine Song. “I borrowed this from the Household Administration Hall,” she said softly. “You’ve not slept well of late. This ying pillow—a headrest filled with mild, sleep-calming herbs—will help you rest.”
Since Ji Shi took her own life by hanging, Concubine Song’s sleep had been broken. Everything had turned upside down after Ji Shi’s death; she had little heart left for pretense.
Concubine Song clasped Gu Lan’s hand and spoke low. “…It is rare and kind of you to think of such things. I was just about to tell you something… In truth, I am not ill. I only pretended to have stomach pains because I wished to see you.”
Gu Lan started, about to speak, but Concubine Song pressed quickly upon her hand and went on: “Those two maids are Gu Jinchao’s people. Listen first—I fear they will barge back in a moment… I am confined at Linyan Pavilion and can do nothing. In a few days, you must take the pretext of offering incense and praying to the Buddha to make a visit to the Song family… and ask your maternal grandfather for help! Outside, Gu Jinchao must have done something. I am afraid that when the child is born, Gu Jinchao will really force me into a nunnery! If you can bring your grandfather to stand behind you, you needn’t fear them…”
Gu Lan’s chest ached at the words. She gripped Concubine Song’s hand. “Mother guessed right. Gu Jinchao found Yuxiang, who once served you, and had her spill all that you and I did before. That is why even seeing you now is so difficult! Don’t worry—I will go to Grandfather soon.”
Only then did Concubine Song understand why Gu Deshao had turned so cold. So—Yuxiang had betrayed her. Her face tightened. She murmured, “No… In that case, when you go to your grandfather, do not mention my situation at all.”
Gu Lan was baffled. “What do you mean—aren’t we asking him to save you?”
Concubine Song’s fingers trembled. “You do not understand. Your grandfather is on the cusp of promotion. If trouble falls on me, he might, for my sake, avoid a scandal and bargain with the Gu family. But if Yuxiang has already told what we did in the past, the outcome could pivot to the other extreme. To preserve his reputation, he may force me to hang myself…”
Gu Lan was jolted. She had wanted to protest—Impossible. How could Grandfather do such a thing? Yet the next thought cut her short: a man who could rise to Assistant Minister of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices was not one to waver. Not everyone had the Gu family, the Ji family, and an esteemed mentor to prop them up, as Father did.
She tightened her hold upon her mother’s cooling hand and soothed her. “Don’t be afraid. Don’t dwell on it. I’ll speak to Grandfather and will not mention your confinement. I’ll speak only of Ji Shi’s death and your pregnancy… When the child is born, we will invite Grandmother to come see you, and let others know that we have backing. I’ll present her a string of one hundred and eight bodhi beads; she will be pleased. Once your child is safely born, our fortunes may yet turn.”
Concubine Song, comforted by her daughter’s words, grew calmer by degrees.
The life in her belly was her one chance. So long as she bore it, she had every confidence of reversing her lot.
By then, what could Gu Jinchao do? She would be nothing more than a mourning eldest daughter.
Concubine Song nodded and entrusted one last thing to her daughter. “…If ever you truly need help, you can go to Concubine Du.”
Gu Lan hesitated. “Concubine Du? She has always been one to keep herself safe. Why ask her to help us…”
Concubine Song smiled. “Ah, but I hold a handle on her. Tell her only this—‘for the sake of Concubine Yun’s face, she ought to help me’—and she will understand. She may be a concubine, yet half a mistress all the same; she can still put in a word or two.”
Gu Lan heard the name “Concubine Yun,” and something stirred in her chest. So Concubine Du’s handle… ties back to Concubine Yun? What could it be? A vague suspicion flickered through her mind, yet she did not press her mother. If Mother chose not to say, it must be because such knowledge would do her no good. Better not to ask.
She took away the large green brocade headrest behind her mother and replaced it with the sapphire-blue herb pillow stitched with gold. Tucking the last corner of the quilt smooth, she lifted the medicine bowl set aside. “The decoction has gone cold… Let me feed it to you, Mother.”
But Concubine Song turned her face away and explained, “Gu Jinchao brought quite a few physicians, and none could find any illness. The other day, one came from the Marquis of Changxing’s household, saying he had treated their heir-apparent. He and Gu Jinchao sang from the same page, saying I was indeed unwell, and prescribed some bitter, astringent draft. I can’t swallow it, even with preserved fruits.”
At the name of the Marquis of Changxing, Gu Lan’s heart gave a start. “Mother, do you know what that household is? Among the most illustrious of hereditary nobility. They say the marquis’s own younger sister is the present emperor’s Imperial Noble Consort. The Marquis of Changxing himself is famed for his campaigns, laden with military merit. Their heir was granted his title early and enjoys the sovereign’s particular favor… How could Eldest Sister have invited someone from so high a house?”
Concubine Song shook her head. “Who knows how she linked arms with the Marquis of Changxing’s people… And speaking of it—doesn’t Fifth Madam Gu hail as the legitimate daughter of that very house? Perhaps Gu Jinchao knows this physician through Fifth Madam. You must be careful—do not let her tangle herself to the Changxing estate.”
A sourness rose in Gu Lan’s throat. She had seen the Heir of Changxing thrice, and thrice he had treated her as air. His rank stood too high; everyone fawned on him, lightly or heavily, and none dared gainsay him by so much as half a word.
When Ji Shi died, he too came to offer incense. After one stick, he withdrew to the side, standing straight as a pine. He seemed cut from different timber than the rest—he had no need to exchange courtesies with anyone passing by; instead, others were the ones to bow and greet him as “Heir.”
At the memory, Gu Lan felt a queer shiver in her heart. A man like that… who could possibly be a match for him?
Concubine Song told her to throw out the medicine. “…I never dare drink what they send. Go behind the bed—there’s a small window there. Pour it outside.”
Gu Lan, recalled to herself, took the bowl and stepped behind the qian-gong bed to tip the brew away. In the shrubbery beyond, Caoying tugged Huangli down into the grass. Only after hearing the liquid splash below did the two maids creep out again.
They exchanged a glance—no words needed—then hurried off to find the Eldest Young Miss, and recounted every phrase they had heard that day to Jinchao.
Gu Jinchao, having listened, was taken aback as well.
Concubine Du holds a weakness—tied to Concubine Song’s hand? What could it be?
She had Qingpu send each maid off with a small packet of amber sugar. The girls cradled their sweets, overjoyed, and skipped away.
Xu Mama lowered her voice. “So the concubine truly isn’t taking the medicine. If Eldest Miss were to add the decoction to white fungus soup, that would be best. With the herb pillow’s effects as well, I fear that in less than half a month the child won’t hold. Only… they mean to invite Madam Song to bolster their standing. I wonder what Eldest Miss intends…”
Jinchao set down her brush and gazed for a long time at the copied scroll of sutras upon her desk. She told Xu Mama to put it away—when they had gathered ninety-nine copies, they would burn them together for her mother. She did not speak first of Madam Song, but asked instead, “The Guanyin image she requested was set in the main hall days ago. Has she paid her respects?”
Xu Mama smiled. “She spends all day feigning illness and drilling her maids—what time has she for the Buddha? Even the kneeling mat has gathered dust.”
Jinchao sighed. “Leave Madam Song aside for the moment. If Gu Lan dares invite her, we have our own ways to deal with it. If she seeks Madam Song’s backing, we can make Madam Song lose face just the same. Once Concubine Song’s former deeds are aired, the Song family won’t dare protect her. Even if she does bear a concubine-born son, the end is the same.”
Xu Mama looked puzzled. “If it isn’t Madam Song you’re weighing… then what, Eldest Miss?”
Jinchao’s brows knit. “…This matter tangles far and wide. Let me think on it.”