Chapter 45: Darkness Beneath the Lamp (Part Two)

“I never expected Meng Chongyuan to be so unruly,” Qiuyun remarked, supporting the sedan chair as she glanced at the pitch-black sky, her brows furrowed.

“She looks so mean, clearly the type who never lets things go,” Xia Ji said, curling her lip.

“To be fair, it’s not really her fault. Meng Chongyuan is a mistress of high rank, with a respectable family. If servants dared to bully her so blatantly, of course she’d make them pay. The worst are those shameless ones who flatter the powerful and trample the weak, obsessed with wealth,” Chunmo sneered.

Qiuyun sighed. “Things like skimping on food for unfavored concubines—those in charge of provisions have done it plenty of times in private. Not just them, but even those who oversee wine and sweet drinks, or manage charcoal and firewood, all find ways to withhold the mistresses’ shares. Even if we remove this batch of offenders, the next won’t be any cleaner. The book says, ‘If the water is too clear, there are no fish.’ It’s helpless, really.”

“Enough about that—I see the rain’s getting heavier. We’d better hurry back,” Dongcang said, her face serious, holding up her umbrella.

After over an hour of listening to women’s disputes, Daidai felt more invigorated than ever. If Qiuyun hadn’t pulled her away, she’d have lingered at the supply bureau even longer.

“If there’s another lively scene like this, let’s go watch again,” Daidai said with a bright smile.

Chunmo burst out laughing. “Your Grace, you really are something. Meng Chongyuan was kneeling and crying pitifully, but you just seemed amused. I wager she’ll fall seriously ill after tonight.”

“If she’s sick with anger, it’s her own doing. I’ve never seen anyone so relentless. Our lady personally intervened, giving her so much face, but she just kept crying and shouting like a fishwife in the market,” Xia Ji complained. The Bureau of Culinary Affairs was under her supervision, and the incident happened in her jurisdiction. Having the mistress come in person was a slap to her face, leaving her fuming.

As they spoke, the group arrived at the rear hall of Harmony and Peace Palace. The palace lights shone brightly, and from afar, they saw the chief maid waiting at the door with her attendants.

“Your Grace, please step down,” Qiuyun said, helping Daidai.

“I don’t need your help; I’m not old and frail,” Daidai retorted, hopping down and running into the palace, calling for Ji Ye.

Chunmo and the others hurried after her. The chief maid, her face anxious, rushed over and grabbed Qiuyun’s sleeve, whispering urgently in her ear.

Qiuyun’s expression changed. She seized the maid’s wrist. “Is it true?”

“It’s absolutely true.”

Qiuyun bit her lip. “Pass the word—no one is to speak carelessly in front of the mistress. Tonight, keep it quiet. If Her Grace wants to punish someone tomorrow, blame it all on me.”

Considering Qiuyun’s standing in the Sweet Spring Palace, the chief maid nodded and left. Qiuyun hurried into the inner hall, where Daidai was searching the rooms. Qiuyun forced a smile as she approached. “No need to look, Your Grace. Half an hour ago, Grand Steward Li Fuquan sent word: His Majesty will not return tonight. He is to confer with his ministers all night about state affairs. His Majesty instructed you to rest early.”

Unlike Qiuyun’s forced cheer, the maids and eunuchs in the Fragrant Orchid Pavilion were genuinely delighted. They felt proud—of course their mistress was most favored. She only played a tune on the ocarina, and His Majesty was drawn in. What did that mean? It meant their mistress never fights unless she must, but when she does, no one else stands a chance. What’s the Empress worth? A hundred Empresses couldn’t match a strand of their mistress’s hair.

The Grand Celebration Palace had four main halls: Harmony and Peace, Phoenix Perch, Long Wind, and Fragrant Orchid Pavilion. Only the Fragrant Orchid Pavilion, where the favored consort resided, had a hot spring.

Soaking in the hot spring was therapeutic, relieving fatigue, beautifying the skin, making it soft and smooth. Even the Noble Consort failed to claim this palace, showing just how favored and protected the consort had been in earlier years.

To illustrate: the Noble Consort’s and Empress’s favor was gilded but hollow, while the favored consort’s was substantial, discernible only to those closest to His Majesty, like Li Fuquan.

Standing by the wall, listening to the rain, Li Fuquan hummed a tune in delight, thinking to himself: this is how it should be. The favored consort is the one in His Majesty’s heart; the Empress is merely a stepping stone for their feelings. Now that the favored consort understands herself and loves His Majesty wholeheartedly again, the Empress can quietly retire.

In the steamy bath hall, hot spring water gushed from golden dragon taps. Ji Ye reclined against the marble pool wall, bare-chested, eyes closed in repose.

The favored consort wore a plain white dress, carrying a basket of flowers as she scattered petals into the pool. Her lips were red, her teeth white, her figure graceful, her eyes clear as water lilies. The steam brought color to her cheeks, and her usually unremarkable beauty gained a pure allure.

“Ye,” she called.

Barefoot, she stepped into the water and approached him, her voice gentle and affectionate, shy and tender.

Ji Ye opened his eyes, his gaze clear as lotus blossoms, making the favored consort pale in comparison.

She was momentarily dazed, gently wrapping her arms around his waist. “Ye, you’re so wonderful, I feel almost inferior.”

He didn’t reply, and she felt a moment’s awkwardness. Just then, thunder rumbled outside, and Ji Ye asked, “What time is it?”

“The end of the Hour of the Dog,” she answered softly.

She pressed against him, rubbing tenderly in his arms, but he showed no sign of desire. The favored consort grew anxious, looked up at him, and pouted in grievance. “Ye…”

Ambiguous atmosphere, unspoken hints.

Ji Ye gently stroked her damp hair and smiled faintly. “I’m tired. How about we rest when we retire?”

Her cheeks flushed as she nestled closer. “Mm,” she murmured.

Outside, Li Fuquan practically pressed his ear to the window, but heard nothing. He couldn’t help but complain about the consort’s ineptitude. Look at the Empress: once she got His Majesty into her tent, she made the most of it. Yet here, His Majesty offered himself, and the consort remained endlessly reserved.

He paced anxiously in the corridor.

After supper, Qiuyun coaxed Daidai into bed, and in a quiet moment, told Chunmo and the others about His Majesty’s favor toward the consort. Chunmo was indignant, but they all knew there was nothing to be done.

“Tonight, let’s keep watch over the mistress,” Qiuyun said quietly outside the sleeping chamber.

“These days have been like a beautiful dream, but dreams end, and I pity the mistress. Tomorrow, when she wakes, who knows how heartbroken she’ll be,” Chunmo said, dabbing her tears.

Xia Ji’s tears kept falling, soaking two handkerchiefs as she nodded vigorously at Chunmo’s words.

Dongcang, the toughest of them, slapped Xia Ji and whispered, “Don’t be so weak.”

The chamber fell silent, save for the crackle of lamp flames.

Qiuyun sent them off to rest in the warm alcove and took the first watch herself.

“I can’t sleep. Let’s stay together,” Chunmo said.

Qiuyun glanced at Xia Ji and Dongcang, sighed, and said, “Fine, let’s all nap on the outer couch.”

In the Fragrant Orchid Pavilion, even after the favored consort finished bathing Ji Ye, she didn’t receive so much as a kiss; Ji Ye was as disciplined as a meditating monk.

The consort felt unsettled, unable to read Ji Ye’s mood. She sat before the bronze mirror for a long while before instructing the chief maid attending her hair, “Light that incense.”

The chief maid, an old retainer, hesitated and ventured, “Your Grace, you never used that before.”

The consort gave her a cold glance, which startled her into immediate obedience.

That incense was the kind meant to enhance intimacy, specially prepared for palace consorts. Its effects were milder than those found in brothels, designed not to harm the emperor, and used sparingly. The consort had always scorned its use.

Suddenly, a flash of pale light filled the room, followed by a thunderclap that shook the walls.

The consort, fragrant and alluring, entered, seeming startled by the thunder as she called out softly, “Ye.”

“Come here,” Ji Ye said, putting down his book and reaching for her.

She rushed, feigning fright, into his arms, clinging tightly and trembling.

Lightning, thunder, fierce wind, pouring rain—the world outside was black and chaotic, as if demons were rampant.

When a gust of wild wind swept under the eaves, rain spattered her eyes. Qiuyun felt a sudden sting, slammed the window shut with a bang, startling Chunmo and the others awake.

“What happened?” Chunmo asked, alarmed.

“Qiuyun, why is your face so pale?” Xia Ji yawned, then hurried to help the limp Qiuyun.

“Maybe she was frightened by the thunder,” Dongcang said, seeing the wind had blown the window open. She braced against it and shut it tight.

“She’s leaving,” Qiuyun said, clutching Xia Ji’s hand, both fearful and reluctant. Her eyes grew red.

“Who’s leaving? Explain!” Chunmo cried.

Two streams of tears fell, and Qiuyun suddenly shoved Chunmo aside and ran to the treasure cabinet, where a large jade Buddha sat atop.

“I’ll help you—don’t drop it,” the others said, exchanging glances as they rushed to assist.

The four of them were childhood friends: Chunmo and Xia Ji were close, Qiuyun and Dongcang too. Chunmo and Qiuyun, perhaps due to their temperaments, always clashed. Qiuyun’s poised dignity often made Chunmo seem brash, so Chunmo liked to compete with her. After they were chosen as bridal attendants to support their mistress in the palace, Chunmo secretly vied for favor, but Qiuyun never quarreled with her, always yielding graciously.

Chunmo resented being patronized. If she was favored, it was on her own merits, so she grew wary of Qiuyun, seeing her as calculating. Deep down, though, she had to admit, she wasn’t Qiuyun’s equal; in truth, she respected her.

But tonight, this always proper sister had lost her composure, her expression bleak, as if about to lose her only light.

When Qiuyun used the jade Buddha to block the chamber door, knelt in prayer, and wept in the thunderstorm, what could their fellow attendants not guess?

As servants, sometimes they truly became blind and deaf, telling themselves everything was normal—until they believed it. Self-deception, believing all was well, until the darkness right under the lamp was ignored.

If one could gloss over chaos and survive, who would willingly admit they lived in troubled times?

If the Empress was a demon, how could they escape complicity?

“Impossible!” Chunmo screamed, her face ashen as she dropped to her knees.

Xia Ji and Dongcang followed, collapsing in panic, but none cried aloud.

Inside the chamber, windows gaped open, wind whipping the curtains like ghosts.

The wind tangled Daidai’s hair, lightning flashed across her pale smile, and thunder crashed above her head.

“Ye, I’m afraid,” the favored consort said, tears in her eyes, her white dress slipping to reveal her fair shoulder and creamy breast.

At that moment, a wicked wind blew open the tightly shut windows, truly frightening the consort.

Under the pale lightning, the palace’s flying eaves lost their grandeur, replaced by a sinister aura, as if the buildings themselves had come alive, frightening those who looked.

The door to Daidai’s inner chamber opened. The imperial snake poked its head out, glanced around, and slithered forth. Qiuyun and the others retreated, and Daidai emerged, hair disheveled and soaked.

She was still herself—human eyes, nose, mouth—but her gaze held a ghostly, cold allure.

Qiuyun, for reasons she couldn’t name, wasn’t afraid. She crawled forward and smiled softly, “Your Grace.”

Daidai nodded, walking past her, her skirt trailing gracefully.

“Your Grace, where are you going?” Qiuyun rose to follow, as if asking to be taken along.

Chunmo thought Qiuyun had lost her mind, but hurried to fetch an umbrella. With such wind and rain, the mistress would surely catch cold if she went out.

When Chunmo reached the pavilion door with the umbrella, she felt mad herself—not only was she unafraid of the mistress’s sinister aura, she was willing to serve her, to join her in her madness.

Author’s note: On the 27th.

This small drama has been turning in Lord Dashan’s mind for a long time, edited several times, but still feels mediocre.

I’ve realized that the harder I chase perfection, the less I can write. It’s better to let things flow naturally.