Chapter 131: Nightmare

Zaiqing paused, smiled with puzzled grace. "Fifth Miss—this is…"
"Last time you came and went in haste—we barely talked. You said you'd come again—I waited long without word—so I sent the note myself. I feared my seal was not proper—used Mother's. Aunt Qing won't blame me?"
The girl before her smiled easily, open and poised—no embarrassment. To press on would make Zaiqing petty—she laughed at once. "How could I blame—Fifth Miss's invitation is my fortune." Yet she measured Shen Miao again in secret. Last visit to Shen house—Shen Miao was not cold but not warm either—several rude moments. Sudden invitation—wariness grew in her heart.
"The main hall is bitter cold—Aunt Qing, sit in my room." Shen Miao stood smiling. "Not far—I truly cannot bear this wind."
Zaiqing agreed. In Shen Miao's chamber maids served tea and cakes—the brazier fierce—a window cracked open—then the door closed—warm yet not stifling.
Shen Miao pushed a cup toward her—Zaiqing sipped—her face turned strange.
"This is Zhudan tea—bitter, astringent, little fragrance—Aunt Qing likely cannot abide it." Shen Miao explained with a smile.
Zaiqing stiffened slightly—she could not read the move. Guests deserved best leaf—why serve coarse tea—to shame her? Yet Shen Miao's manner did not seem so.
"The tea is harsh but good for the body—in winter it warms and drives cold. Father and my brothers are warriors—we drink Zhudan in winter—later the whole house did." She looked at Zaiqing. "Aunt Qing is from a literary house—perhaps dislikes such tea—but in a martial family we have fewer niceties."
Zaiqing waved, smiled. "Fifth Miss jests—Chang family is ordinary—Zhudan is bitter but excellent—drink long and the astringency fades."
Shen Miao shook her head. "Force yourself a while—easy. Force yourself a lifetime—hard."
Zaiqing paused—words seemed layered—she looked at Shen Miao involuntarily.
Shen Miao smiled. "Speaking of it—I hear Aunt Qing lives at Shen mansion now—are Shen people good to you?"
"All very good." Zaiqing smiled. "They all care for me."
"You and Third Aunt share tastes—must be close." Shen Miao smiled. "Third Aunt always loved letters and ink—Uncle respected her for it. You see how good he is to her—only one mistress in third branch." She sighed. "Pity—no legitimate son—if she had one, she need not worry so."
Zaiqing had stayed in Shen house long—knew third branch's childlessness made daily quarrel between Chen and Old Madam—yet she had not expected Shen Miao, an unmarried girl, to speak of third branch affairs—awkward. Yet Shen Miao looked natural—as if nothing unfit—Zaiqing could not tell precocity or naivety.
"Third Madam is so kind—sons and grandsons will fill the house someday." Zaiqing followed her lead.
"We always compare first and third branch—" Shen Miao lifted her cup, blew the leaves, smiled—"one literary, one martial. Each yard has only one mistress—our house is luckier—at least my eldest brother—soon to choose a wife in Ding—a sister-in-law—then nephews—the house will bustle." She seemed proud. "Third branch cannot match our warmth."
At first Zaiqing thought childish spite against third branch—hearing the full line—her face shifted.
Yes—Shen Xin's house—Luo Xueyan blunt, no schemes—rear court clean—easy to manage. She had almost forgotten Shen Qiu—Luo's legitimate eldest—young and rising—marry a strong clan—even without fighting for favor, she would be pressed down three parts.
Shen Miao saw the color change—her eyes cooled slightly.
In her past life Zaiqing entered Shen Xin's rear court when Shen Qiu was already ruined—Shen Miao married to Prince Ding's house—the rear court held almost no threat to her—smooth road—how could she not seize it?
Now different—Shen Qiu healthy, living heir—Zaiqing's chance as wife forever empty.
This woman who weighed gain and loss—what path would she choose?
She picked a pastry from the table, smiled. "Third Uncle is a pity—when Grandfather lived he said Uncle had the cleverest mind in Shen house—handsome, full of books—if he had a son, surely as clever. Pity third branch has only Second Sister—a girl—soon to marry—after she leaves only Uncle and Third Aunt—too lonely."
Zaiqing had listened absently—now her heart stirred.
Shen Xin and Shen Wan's rear courts were alike—one woman each—so-called devoted men. Shen Yue was two years older than Shen Miao—soon to wed—third branch childless—rarer still.
"Aunt Qing's temper resembles Third Aunt's—bearing too—gentle, understanding, versed in elegant things—strangers might think you sisters." Meeting Zaiqing's probing look, Shen Miao spoke unhurriedly. "In my view Aunt Qing outshines Third Aunt—because… Aunt Qing is younger."
Zaiqing's lip curved without will. Shen house compared her to Chen—both frail literary talents—Shen Miao was right—even the finest woman aged—color withers—Zaiqing more vivid. Chen was proud high-born daughter—sometimes aloof—Zaiqing raised common folk—knew when to bow, read faces—all praised her good.
Zaiqing thought darkly—she was stronger than Chen.
Shen Miao drank—the tea astringent—yet she drank as if honey, pleased smile.
Zaiqing was twenty-six—in Ding women that age usually married as second wife—raising others' children—hard stepmother role. Chang house was small—even with Shen name—high gates were difficult.
This woman abandoned husband and child for better life—not easily satisfied. She had not noticed Shen Wan—since weighing gain was her skill, Shen Miao laid third branch's openings plain—let Zaiqing choose.
Zaiqing's face shifted—a tangle in her chest—Shen Miao's hints stirred another thought—things never seen before.
Yes—if Shen Wan loved Chen's type—she surpassed Chen everywhere—how not win Shen Wan? Compared to martial Shen Xin, Shen Wan was gentle gentleman—still handsome—more to her heart.
Yet how had today turned so—she came to test Shen Xin per Chen's word—her eye had been Shen Xin—why turn against Chen? Shen Miao's rambling distracted her—Shen Miao—Shen Miao?
Zaiqing looked sharply at Shen Miao.
Purple-clad girl by the window—snow outside had stopped—sun on her half profile, jade-white. Slender neck—cup in hand—small sips.
Unmarked authority.
Zaiqing shivered—as if only now seeing—from first to last she had been led by the nose. East hammer west stick—casual words—yet every line pointed at third branch. Every sentence made her think of Chen's yard.
This girl was no fool—more like a monster.
Zaiqing remembered first visit—Shen Miao's rude moments—heart hammered—had she known Zaiqing's plan then—rudeness deliberate? Today's invite—for this?
Shen Miao smiled at her. "Aunt Qing—why sweat—is the room too hot?"
Zaiqing snapped alert—twelve parts vigil—smiled. "Perhaps."
Shen Miao said flatly. "Shut the window too tight—the room feels like a cocoon—stifling. Open it—cooler outside." She told Jingzhe to open the window, looked at Zaiqing. "Am I right, Aunt Qing?"
"Fifth Miss is right." Zaiqing forced a smile—Shen Miao's smile brought more fear. Her mind was buried deep—yet one meeting and Shen Miao read her. Monster—grace. Zaiqing was glad she saw early—if she entered Shen Xin's rear court against such a thing—no confidence.
Shen Miao smiled as if it mattered little.
She told Zaiqing plainly—want Father's yard? First see if you can handle me. If not—die here—perhaps the road home is sealed—watch who spins the cocoon.
Zaiqing would not gamble—she always chose safest, best gain.
Soon after, Zaiqing took leave. Shen Miao did not keep her. After she left Guyu wondered. "That Chang girl was odd—like hiding from something—who scared her?"
Shen Miao said. "Tell servants—today never happened—Chang Zaiqing did not visit—remember."
The maids agreed and left—puzzled why she cared—yet Shen Miao always had reason—they did not question.
Alone she sat at the table—staring at the bronze mirror, lost.
Sending Zaiqing to harm Chen—because Chen was hateful and had strutted too long. In past life Chen "accidentally" found the marriage document between Zaiqing and Shen Xin—mouth full of not wronging Zaiqing—perhaps Chen pushed Zaiqing toward Shen Xin.
Twin sister flowers—good sisters—let them duel in one yard—see whom Shen Wan loved—Shen Miao's eyes cooled—throw Chen to Zaiqing—ease for herself—yet Zaiqing would not be gentle.
Still—she frowned—in past life what had Zaiqing done that Luo Xueyan died—still a mystery.
Brooding over Zaiqing all day—even at family dinner her mind wandered—they saw worry—she claimed fatigue—Luo Xueyan had sweet milk soup sent—early rest.
In bed Jingzhe and Guyu tucked the quilt—blew out the lamp—lowered the bed curtain—Shen Miao closed her eyes.
Darkness fell—breath steadied—night wrapped Ding—her body grew light.
Sun blazed sudden—eyes opened—dazzling—air hot—as summer.
It was early winter—how summer. She sat up—head splitting—looked down—on the couch in the inner room. Women's voices inside—bitter medicine drifting out.
The scent was familiar.
She stood—no maid in the room—voices clearer—she walked in.
Wide inner room—windows shut—heat stifling—bitter medicine—chest blocked.
She stepped to close the window—heard a voice. "Open the window—I cannot breathe."
She froze—on the bed a woman haggard—deep apricot thin cotton—too hot—hair sweat-soaked—front soaked—face ash-dead—eyes dead color—Shen Miao stared—Luo Xueyan!
When had Luo Xueyan looked so broken?
"Sister lie still." The woman by the bed comforted. "Catch cold in this weather—worse."
Shen Miao turned—the woman in plain blue-green—simple yet costly cloth—fresh and literary—prime age—sharp contrast to dying Luo—who but Chang Zaiqing? Hair in married woman's style—holding Luo's hand. "Sister must recover."
"I cannot." Luo's breath thread-thin—little life in her eyes. "My child is gone—nothing to hope. Live or not—what matter—waste these herbs."
"Sister mustn't say so." Zaiqing said. "If Fifth Miss knew you'd grieve beyond bearing."
"Jiaojiao—" Luo's eyes pained—Shen Miao stepped—her hand passed through Luo's—as if she did not exist.
"Jiaojiao hates me—" Luo closed her eyes—"what can I do—Shen house cannot bind to Prince Ding—Ding deceives Jiaojiao—not me. Jiaojiao hates even me and Xin—won't see us—Ding moves so—what will become of Jiaojiao? No road—either way—I—" grief peaked—she coughed into a handkerchief—opened it—bright red blood.
"Sister don't think." Zaiqing held her. "Fifth Miss is only confused—perhaps Prince Ding truly treats her well. Parents and children—no overnight hate—she'll understand—hatred is momentary."
Shen Miao glared at Zaiqing—comfort that was fuel—fixing Shen Miao as hating Luo. Past life married to Fu Xiuyi—wanted Shen help—Shen Xin refused—some resentment—never hate. Now Luo dying—hearing daughter hates her—how not break?
Vision swam—opposite Zaiqing sat a woman in autumn-gold locked brocade—impatient. Young—once fair features—heavy makeup—strange—Shen Miao opened her mouth—that was herself.
Zaiqing smiled. "Fifth Miss don't blame Madam—troops matter always. General and sister have their reasons."
"All one family—I married into Ding—Prince is half Shen—why do Father and Mother treat him outsider? I know—they never loved me—left me in Ding—Prince suffers too."
Zaiqing laughed again. "Fifth Miss speaks wildly—General and sister may not be close like Eldest Young Master—but blood is thick."
"I don't care—" young Shen Miao spoiled—"they say Aunt Qing is clever—think of a way—make parents lend troops to His Highness?"
Zaiqing seemed troubled—after a pause. "Fifth Miss is Madam's own daughter—Madam surely pities you. Besides that—coax and complain—perhaps she'll agree. If not—like a child—make a scene—also possible." She smiled. "But I speak nonsense—Fifth Miss consider."
Watching, Shen Miao's face was iron green—Zaiqing was not mediating—she was stoking fire!
She remembered—past life Luo's pregnancy and miscarriage were hidden—wait until stable to announce—midway disaster. Prince Ding wanted Shen Xin's troops—Shen Xin refused—Shen Miao confided in Zaiqing—Zaiqing led her tongue—made her quarrel with Luo.
She did not know Luo had miscarried—went to her—words seemed ordinary—in Luo's fragility they cut off her life. To a mother—daughter's hate—what worse. Shen Miao stabbed Luo and spoke vague words that Prince Ding treated her ill—Luo worried.
Too much thought—Shen Xin away—Luo grieving and fearing—lost child—iron will could not bear.
She wanted to claw Zaiqing's false smile.
Scene shifted—a elegant courtyard—Zaiqing in emerald long dress—a maid fanning slowly. Summer wind hot—the fan chilled with ice—cool breeze.
"Heard Madam is failing." Zhao at her side. "Doctor says days left."
"Serve her well." Zaiqing said. "Leave no handle."
Zhao agreed—added. "Aunt at last has her day."
"Yes." Zaiqing plucked purple grapes from a jar. "Years—at last."
"But Master—"
"General loved sister—naturally grieved." Zaiqing smiled lightly. "What is that to me? I only need the sole mistress seat in first branch. General denies me—servants know me."
Zhao nodded. "Aunt is right—we thought Madam would last—didn't expect so fast—"
"Heart broken—daily worry—she lasted long enough." Zaiqing said flatly. "Luo Xueyan had good fate—good house—no other women in the yard—pity she bore Shen Miao—that daughter ruined her luck."
Shen Miao froze—Zaiqing went on. "Believed whatever was said—Prince Ding's skill high—made Shen Miao devoted—even abandoned parents. But if Shen Miao weren't fool—how would my luck come?"
Shen Miao stood opposite—in blazing summer—heart fell to ice cellar.
"New Year gifts and food Shen Miao sent from Ding house—all tampered—she knew nothing—fool herself—Luo loved her—ate every medicinal dish. Didn't know her daughter sent poison. You saw—Shen Miao feeding medicine—spoon by spoon—all poison—yet Luo was glad."
Shen Miao trembled—nearly fell.
Then to please Fu Xiuyi and move Shen Xin she bought herbs, made medicinal food for Luo—Luo felt daughter cold before—sudden warmth delighted her—ate every drop. So—those things were tampered?
Luo would not suspect her daughter—but aides already had opening. Cold—head roaring.
As bystander—how vicious, how stupid—no right to forgiveness. She pushed her mother to yellow spring—most unfilial!
"Luo fought strong—all life—broke on her daughter. I should thank Shen Miao." Zaiqing smiled free. "Handed her mother's life to me. After this—Shen rear court is mine. Luo's life not wasted—her worst act—bearing Shen Miao. Shen Miao—true bane."
A maid ran—shadow long in summer sun—voice slow, sweat-wet. They said.
"Aunt Chang—Madam just stopped breathing."
"Madam is gone! Madam is gone!"
Thunder rolled—heaven and earth lit—night Ding in flash—rain and thunder swallowed cries in the house.
Shen Miao's face tear-streaked—she screamed. "Mother—Mother—I was wrong! I was wrong! I won't love Fu Xiuyi—I won't love him anymore! Wrong—my fault—Mother!"
By the bed—winter thunder on her white face—ghost despair. Purple-robed youth stood by the couch—complex gaze on her struggling in nightmare.
After a moment he sighed softly—reached out his hand.