Chapter Twenty: True Colors, Espionage

After Shen’s parents urged her to go back and get some rest, Song Qingcheng lay on her bed for a while, eyes closed, before getting up to squat on the ground and sort through medicinal herbs. Suddenly, two figures dropped before her, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Shiwu and Shiliu lay on the ground, wounded. Shen Runzhi strolled in slowly. "I tasked you with protecting Yaoyao. Why did you abandon your post, nearly causing a disaster that could have resulted in her injury?"

Song Qingcheng patted her chest, set down the herbs, and ground two of them into a fine powder. "Cousin, wait until you hear them out before deciding." She believed in weighing the facts before determining the severity of a punishment, though this was merely her suggestion; she knew Shen Runzhi had his own ways.

Shen Runzhi nodded. "Speak!"

He deliberately showed his true colors before her, wanting her to know him, to understand him, and to see if she would fear him. If she did... then he would draw a circle around her, a prison of his own making. Wherever she went, he would move that cage, keeping her before his eyes at all times.

Shiliu pushed herself up and knelt, blood streaming from the back of her hand. "Someone used Miss’s name to lure us away to another location, where they had set an ambush."

Fifteen wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth and knelt straight. "This subordinate accepts the punishment."

"Where is the message?" Song Qingcheng asked curiously, her hands never stopping. She remembered never having sent such a message; she wondered why Shiwu and Shiliu would have thought it came from her.

Shiliu produced a blood-stained letter containing a token that belonged to Song Qingcheng. Because they were familiar with her, they had been careless and deceived.

Song Qingcheng took the letter and examined the handwriting. "How strange. This handwriting is identical to mine. I suppose they must have learned it from the prescriptions I write." However, there was a difference: at the end of her writing, she had a habit of drawing a circle, as if correcting a mistake. This was likely the work of someone she couldn't track down; she had written thousands of prescriptions, and the trail was cold.

Song Qingcheng stirred the powder and applied it to their exposed wounds. "This is for the bleeding. You’ll be dead if you keep losing blood like this."

Shiliu curled her pale, bloodless lips. "Thank you, Miss Song."

"Many thanks. Fifteen was incompetent," Fifteen said, bowing her head. This time, she was willing to accept her punishment. "Master, Fifteen accepts the penalty."

"Shiliu accepts it as well," Shiliu added.

Song Qingcheng remained silent, looking toward Shen Runzhi. He tossed two jars of medicine at them. "Ten lashes once your wounds heal. If there is a next time, don't bother coming back alive."

"Yes."

Fifteen helped Shiliu up, and they left step by step. Ten lashes was already a mercy; for such a mistake, fifty would have been expected. Song Qingcheng did not intercede. Everyone had their own way of doing things. Even in the Manlou Pavilion, mistakes were punished, though hers never involved blood. She would simply hang people upside down and make them recite medical texts until they could recite them backward. By comparison, she felt her own punishments were quite mild.

Shen Runzhi leaned over and knelt on one knee to help sort the herbs, his gaze burning as it fixed on her. "Yaoyao, do you think I am cruel?"

Song Qingcheng met his eyes for only a second before the intensity scorched her, and she quickly looked away. She thought of how Bai Qi addressed him and felt the moment was right. She tilted her head, about to speak.

"Cruel."

Shen Runzhi’s eyes flickered. He swung his hand, slapping the person behind him. Bai Qi clutched his face and wailed, "Old Shen, what are you doing! You actually hit my handsome face!"

Bai Qi, covered in soot, bared his white teeth and leaned toward Song Qingcheng to complain. "Beauty, he is truly wicked, cruel, and ruthless. He threw someone as handsome as me into a coal mine. It’s ruined my beautiful face!" Bai Qi puffed at his hair.

Song Qingcheng looked at him with slight distaste. "Shouldn't you take a bath before coming here?" He was covered in coal dust from head to toe, and she was afraid of getting dirty.

Bai Qi looked down. "Damn, my image!" He had rushed over to settle scores with Shen Runzhi the moment he emerged and had forgotten to bathe. He refused to give up and began bad-mouthing Shen Runzhi. "Don't be fooled by how much he loves you now, Miss Song. Just wait until later. Old Shen will lock you... wooo, lock..." Bai Qi was dragged away, struggling fiercely.

Song Qingcheng was stunned. Lock? Lock what? She wished he had finished his sentence.

Shen Runzhi pinched her chin and forced her to look at him. "Do not believe his words. You should only believe what I tell you, Yaoyao."

Song Qingcheng blinked. The words she wanted to say wouldn't come out, so she hurriedly fled. "Oh, well, I have things to attend to. I'm going back to my room."

Shen Runzhi clutched her pouch, staring at the direction in which she had disappeared for a long time.

...

"Excuse me, is anyone here?" Song Qingcheng poked her head in and knocked on the door.

Footsteps sounded from within, and a man with a handlebar mustache opened the door, eyeing her. "Who are you?"

Song Qingcheng frowned slightly. "I am looking for the embroiderer from West Street. I heard Miss Wang is here."

The mustachioed man glanced back, then looked at Song Qingcheng’s pouch. "Did you bring silver?"

Taohong stepped forward imperiously. "We have money, but you’d best show some respect." The man looked like a sleazy rascal, and she began to doubt the veracity of what Miss Wang Meng had said.

The man scoffed. "Wait." He turned and walked inside. After a long while, a woman in thin clothing appeared. As the cold wind blew, she shivered violently. She walked up to Song Qingcheng and pointed to the restaurant across the street. "We will talk there. Otherwise, I won't help you with anything."

Fine, thought Song Qingcheng, stepping aside. "Very well. Lead the way, Mistress Embroiderer."

"My surname is Wang. Just call me Embroiderer Wang." She hugged her arms and walked quickly toward the restaurant, ushering Song Qingcheng to pay. "Give me the money."

Song Qingcheng signaled to Taohong, who was annoyed by the woman’s attitude, as if they were desperate for her help. Taohong handed over the money resentfully and followed the owner to a private room.

Embroiderer Wang was very thin, her meager clothing making her look even frailer. Anyone who saw her would wonder if she could even survive the winter. She huddled by the fire to warm herself, while Song Qingcheng pulled up a chair and sat down, waiting patiently.

"Here. This contains the list of officials responsible for the imperial selection, and the book behind it details the Emperor's preferences. Fifty taels of silver and it's yours," Wang said, handing over two books.

Song Qingcheng was puzzled. "I didn't say I wanted this. You must have mistaken me for someone else, Embroiderer Wang."

The Emperor was so old; she wasn't suicidal enough to want to become an old man’s concubine.

Wang looked surprised and reached out to take the books back. "You aren't here for this? Then for whom? The Crown Prince or one of the Princes? The prices are all different."

Embroiderer Wang used her reputation as someone who had come from the palace to attract those looking for shortcuts. With the imperial selection coming after winter, people sought to influence the Emperor, the Crown Prince, or the Princes, and she had made quite a bit of money this way.

"You seem very knowledgeable about the Crown Prince. I find it hard to believe a mere embroiderer would know such things," Song Qingcheng said, not explaining herself but probing instead.

Wang pointed to the books confidently. "I guarantee these are true. If you don't believe me, Miss, name one thing, and I shall prove I know everything."

Song Qingcheng smiled. "A few days ago, I saw the Crown Prince wearing a copper bell. I heard he has worn it for a very long time. Could it be a gift from a lover?"