Chapter 3
He Yan Zhou once again briefly reported the progress of the marriage to his parents: “Everything is proceeding as usual.”
But now, the most pressing matter was the situation within the palace.
Public discontent was boiling over both at court and among the populace. Tomorrow was the Mid-Autumn Festival, yet the capital city of Qingjing still sweltered under a scorching sun. When the final batch of official reports from the neighboring provinces arrived at Elder Minister He Wenxuan’s desk at noon, despair deepened.
The message remained unchanged: no rain in Jiangdong, no rain in the northern borderlands, no rain in Hexi!
No matter how deeply Emperor Jingli indulged in wine and women, after conducting several rain-invoking rituals, the sun still hung bright and golden overhead, looking down upon all with disdain. Even he could no longer remain idle.
At the height of the afternoon’s fiercest heat, Elder Minister He Wenxuan, his son He Yan Zhou, and all members of the Grand Secretariat were urgently summoned to the palace.
The prolonged drought had sparked endless rumors among the people, all pointing fingers at the current sovereign’s lack of virtue, seeing the drought as a celestial warning.
No matter how much Elder Minister He tried to suppress these voices, inevitably some had reached the emperor’s ears.
Emperor Jingli sat on the dragon throne, holding a birdcage in one hand, teasing the bird inside with a single finger.
The highest governmental body of the Đại Việt dynasty—his direct administration—was all present.
Outside the hall came bursts of wailing—surely yet another batch of palace servants had incurred the emperor’s wrath and were dragged away to be flogged to death.
The emperor, still playing with the bird, spoke slowly: “I have called you here to ask a question—this heaven above refuses to send rain; is the fault of the heavens, or is it mine?”
Qin Xiangyi emerged from the general’s mansion, entered the palace through the women’s gate beside the main entrance, and proceeded along the long palace corridor, beneath the unshielded blazing sun, past the vermilion palace walls, until she reached the Sizhēn Workshop near the rear palace.
“Qin Mistress of Ornaments, you’ve finally arrived. The hairpin for Consort Shu has already been delivered. Hurry and repair it.”
Qin Xiangyi had only entered the Sizhēn Workshop a year ago after divorcing her former husband. Mistress Xiao, who had spotted one of her handmade pearl hairpins in the market, had been eager to recruit her into the workshop. Qin had refused until she resolved to separate from her husband, then accepted Xiao’s invitation. Before that, she had no desire to enter the palace.
Over the past year, she had lived up to expectations, crafting many pearl hairpins and accessories perfectly suited to the ladies of the harem.
This position gave her some courage to return home alone, though as a woman in this world, she had no place solely her own.
An eighth-rank Mistress of Ornaments title could not guarantee her a stable life.
Although a palace maid, her rank and background were respectable; as with imperial physicians, outside of duty hours, she returned to her own home.
Inside the palace, except when summoned by select consorts, she remained mostly within the workshop. The palace was a place of complex intrigue; she wished to avoid trouble by strictly limiting her movements.
The Sizhēn Workshop was relatively harmonious. The women serving here came from decent families, though none hailed from truly noble households—highborn daughters were rarely ever permitted to serve as palace maids.
Most colleagues here concentrated obsessively on their craft. The palace atmosphere was oppressive; few dared to speak of anything beyond their work, lest they invite disaster.
Even with her divorced status, no one paid her any mind here.
“The emperor has again punished several palace servants with fiery temperaments. Be extra cautious when moving within the palace,” Mistress Xiao warned.
The emperor’s temperament had become violent and unpredictable, and he was especially sensitive about the ongoing drought.
Palace maids were women of rank and background; as long as they avoided offending their masters, they generally remained safe.
Although autumn had arrived, the weather had grown hotter. Qin Xiangyi replaced a pearl that had fallen off Consort Shu’s hairpin with a translucent, teardrop-shaped white crystal. In this season, the cool shimmer brought a sense of refreshing relief.
If Consort Shu wore it and pleased the emperor, Qin often received silver as reward. Over the past year, these gifts had accumulated significantly.
After finishing the hairpin, Qin summoned a palace servant who ferried messengers between the various palace departments.
“Press your fingerprint here, sign your name, and deliver this to Consort Shu’s pavilion in the Pleasure Garden.”
With that, her task was complete. With no further errands for the day, she could finally return home.
Qian Song lifted her toolbox, and the two—mistress and servant—set out along the palace path, walking with measured, steady steps, moving swiftly yet discreetly toward the palace gates.
They inevitably encountered some nobles, but fortunately, the grandeur of such figures often gave advance notice; Qin could detect and avoid them before being seen.
Thus, in the past year, she had never collided with anyone along this route, and none within the palace knew of her presence in the Sizhēn Workshop.
Among all the consorts, only Consort Shu had a cordial relationship with her. The consort had once warned: “Mistress Qin, given your appearance, I must caution you—never let yourself be seen by any man you cannot outmatch. In their eyes, women are mere objects, regardless of your wishes.” Especially not the emperor.
“I advise you to marry soon. No matter the husband’s character, a man at least won’t lightly lay hands on another man’s wife.”
Qin understood well the wisdom of this advice. But for now, she could only rely on careful avoidance to sidestep the ever-present dangers within the palace.
The two walked silently, one after the other, when suddenly a commotion arose ahead—a line of palace servants rushed by, carrying buckets.
“Water’s flooding! Water’s flooding! Yongning Hall is flooding!”
Qin wished to avoid involvement and quickly sought shelter in a corner, planning to wait until the servants passed before hurrying toward the palace gate.
But in her haste, she found herself at a dead end. Closing her eyes, she pressed her body tightly against the wall to calm herself.
Looking toward Yongning Hall, despair filled her heart. Thick black smoke obscured half the sky. The acrid scent of burning had crept into her nostrils. The situation was dire.
She feared she would not be able to leave the palace today.
Her mind raced, considering whether to press on toward the gate or immediately return to the Sizhēn Workshop, where at least Mistress Xiao’s protection awaited. Standing exposed in this open area was too dangerous.
Qin was decisive; she chose to turn back to the workshop. With such a major incident in the palace, the gates would surely be closed. Better to avoid being arrested as a bystander and stay with her colleagues.
As she rounded the corner, she suddenly collided with a young man.
Her heart skipped a beat.
He Yan Zhou had just left the emperor’s presence, burdened with heavy thoughts as he made his way outside. From a distance, he spotted the two figures walking in single file—exactly the same silhouettes he had seen that morning. Observing their steady steps, his irritation momentarily eased.
The emperor asked them: “The heavens refuse to send rain—is that heaven’s fault, or mine?”
No one dared answer, yet all knew the court’s condition was graver than the months-long drought. The emperor squandered resources, condoned official corruption, and the court was mired in a poisonous atmosphere. The treasury was empty, unable to aid disaster relief, while popular grievances festered unchecked.
But who dared speak such truths? Neither He Yan Zhou nor his father He Wenxuan would. Yet today, someone had dared—and was immediately ordered by the emperor to be dragged out and beheaded.
Even the most composed He Yan Zhou’s expression cracked slightly.
Walking alone toward the palace exit, he felt the crushing weight of responsibility. His father always said an official must preserve himself first, but he recalled the first lesson his teacher had imparted on the day he began his studies: “Establish the heart for Heaven and Earth; establish fate for the people; uphold the teachings of the sages; and open peace for all generations.”
A scholar must bear faith.
His father later patted his shoulder and said slowly, “Things must be done gradually.”
Later, when he saw the mistress and her servant quickly dodge the rushing servants, he was struck by her practiced grace. She wore the eighth-rank green uniform of the Mistress of Ornaments, and even in haste, every movement was measured, down to the delicate sweep of her skirt.
Her face was calm and indifferent.
Looking back, he saw the fire blazing—an immense conflagration.
The heavens had once again cast their curse.
He decided to step forward.
Seeing her turn to go back, he knew she understood she could not leave.
Qin Xiangyi did not recognize him but judged by his attire that he was an official, not a royal scion, and felt some relief. His embroidered bird emblem marked him as a civil official.
He called to her, “Aunt Qin, let me escort you out of the palace.”
Qin was sharp; she immediately understood who he was. “You must be the eldest grandson of Elder Minister He, Lord He.”
Strictly speaking, He Yan Zhou and Qin Yuling had not formally settled their engagement. Naturally, she could not presume to treat him as a junior, so this respectful address was appropriate.
He Yan Zhou observed proper etiquette, and he believed this woman deserved to be called “Aunt.” Qin, too, maintained her own manners.
The sun gradually descended, turning into evening glow. The golden sunlight that had warmed the day deepened into a rich orange, scattering fractured gold light over the straight palace path flanked by red walls.
Neither He Yan Zhou nor Qin Xiangyi wished to lead; side by side, they walked forward against the tide of palace servants rushing toward Yongning Hall.
The setting sun stretched their shadows longer and longer, until they seemed to stretch endlessly.
“Lord He, thank you so much today.”
The moment she recognized him, Qin Xiangyi breathed a deep sigh of relief. His willingness to help was a blessing beyond measure. She cared little whether she had taken advantage of the “Aunt” title—escaping the palace was the priority.
He Yan Zhou noticed she wore few accessories, and only a simple hairpin in her hair. As Mistress of Ornaments, she should have an abundance of jewelry.
There was also a faint, contained scent about her—so subtle that only his extraordinary observation could detect it.
“Aunt, you usually wash your hair with water brewed from hibiscus leaves and peach branches,” he stated plainly.