Chapter 88: Jade Rabbit Festival

At Xie Jingxing's words, Gao Yang's teasing vanished. "You mean—they've reached Dingjing?"
"Keep your eyes open these next few days." Xie Jingxing frowned. "Something from Prince Yu's estate may have leaked. To avoid exposing your identities, neither of you goes out."
"But what about you alone?" Yushu cut in before Gao Yang could speak. "You already drew their notice. Now they're in the capital—they'll come for you first. And you can't alert anyone else in the city."
"Don't worry." Xie Jingxing stretched, and his smile flashed with something sharp. "I've waited a long time for them."
"Third Brother Xie—going to teach someone a lesson again?" Yushu's eyes lit. "Can I come this time?"
"Sure." Xie Jingxing sounded bored. "You can be the target."
Gao Yang: "……"
……
The Prince Yu affair and the Shen household faded quickly beneath the joy of the approaching New Year. Everywhere bustled with festivity; the slaughter on that storm-swept night, the despair of a yin-dark cell—all seemed forgotten.
Nothing mattered more than greeting a new year. Time did not stop. Fresh snow covered old; fresh gossip covered old talk; fresh hope always pleased more than the past.
Even the palace showed no gloom. The Emperor spent heavily on banquets, inviting consorts to celebrate—brother's death clearly did not grieve Wenhui. Common folk took this as proof that royalty was heartless; cleverer ones knew he had removed a threat cleanly and was pleased. So when the yamen still could not name the massacres' killer and the case went cold, Wenhui did not press.
Shen Qing was buried in the royal tomb with Prince Yu. Because she had died by her own hand and her status had been awkward, the court offered no compensation—much to Old Madam Shen's indignation.
In the Shen estate's west wing, Bailu and Shuangjiang carried books from Shen Miao's room into the sun.
Shen Xin and Luo Xueyan had gone early to the drill ground to train new recruits—year-end levies brought fresh soldiers who needed shaping. Shen Qiu went along for the sport. Shen Miao alone remained in the west courtyard.
"Young Master sent more books the other day—shall we sun those too?" Guyu asked.
"I still need those. Leave them." Since Shen Qiu had spotted the military texts in her room and gleefully told Shen Xin and Luo Xueyan, her parents assumed a passing fancy—yet still sent volumes by the stack. Outsiders might think the Shen family meant to raise a girl general. Shen Miao had no such ambition; she only knew how many dangers awaited the Shen army and used her last life's knowledge to help them through. Reading could not hurt.
Bailu turned pages as she worked. "Tomorrow is the Jade Rabbit Festival. They say ten thousand lanterns on Wanli Lake this year—will you go, Miss?"
The Jade Rabbit Festival was a Ming Qi holiday: on the eve of the New Year people filled streets with lanterns and riddles. Among the lights stood a great jade rabbit, blessing the realm with fair weather and good harvest. This year's difference—the rabbit would float on water, and folk could set their own river lanterns and pray. Bailu and Shuangjiang were young; novelty tempted them.
"Don't talk nonsense," Guyu scolded. "The streets will be packed—what if something happened to Miss?"
"But we always went before," Bailu protested.
"Before is before—this year is this year!" In past years Shen Xin and Luo Xueyan were back in the capital and the whole household went together. After Prince Yu's affair, with the killer still unknown, anyone seeking revenge might target Shen Miao. No festival was worth her safety.
"No matter." Shen Miao smiled faintly. "I wanted to see the bustle myself. With Father, Mother, and Elder Brother beside me, nothing will go wrong."
"Still—" Guyu began.
"Settled." Shen Miao cut her off and returned indoors. Guyu swallowed her worry. Somewhere along the way Shen Miao had become someone who decided and did not ask second or third branch for help—a good change, though stubbornness could be maddening.
……
Back at her desk, Shen Miao's gaze rested on plum branches outside, red buds like the letter she had received.
The Chen brothers had returned to Jiangnan and cut contact after Prince Yu's house fell. Shen Miao was careful—all dealings went through Mo Qing and letters to Fengxian Pawnshop. Mo Qing's indenture was no longer held by the Shen family; no one would trace matters to her.
This time Mo Qing brought another piece of news: the courtesan Liuying, whom Yushu had been asked to find, was at Baoxiang Tower—Dingjing's greatest pleasure house—one of its celebrated beauties. On Jade Rabbit night she would dance as the Jade Rabbit fairy beside Wanli Lake. Shen Miao very much wanted to see her; the festival was the chance.
As for Guyu's fear of retaliation—Shen Miao thought little of it. The Chens were partners, not enemies. In the estate, Old Madam Shen fumed daily and saw no one except her two sons and second branch's grandson. Second branch had collapsed; Yuan was busy currying favor with officials and would not move against her soon. Third branch kept its head down—they would not stir now.
Looking back, no year had ever promised to be more comfortable than this one.
Her lips curved slightly. Guyu, watching from outside, startled—then Jingzhe's voice: "Miss, Concubine Wan from the east wing asks to visit."
Concubine Wan? Guyu frowned. "Her again?"
"Why does she keep running to our courtyard?" Bailu and Shuangjiang murmured. "Too eager to fawn."
The maids disliked Wan. After Ren Wanyun and Shen Qing's affair, they loathed second branch. Whatever Wan wanted, she was still one of them—constant visits felt wrong.
Shen Miao had refused her before with one excuse or another. Today she said: "Let her in."
Jingzhe blinked, bowed, and went out. Guyu and the others looked uneasy, afraid Wan plotted again.
Shortly Wan followed Jingzhe in. Shen Miao looked up.
Wan wore a dark blue padded jacket and green mamian skirt, a plain silver bracelet—outwardly modest. Look closer: the jacket bore tiny white flowers; the hem was scalloped; her fair hands wore bright nail lacquer, swaying and catching the eye. The cut of the jacket emphasized a figure that invited imagination. Above—a oval face, large eyes, white skin, red lips; even when she tried to restrain herself, coquetry showed through.
She knew how to hide—years unseen for Shen Dongling proved that—and she could not hold still. Qing dead, Ren Wanyun mad—Wan rushed into the open. Shen Miao had seen such women in her last life's palace: a little wit, a little beauty, believing she could hold a man's heart forever, not knowing fresh faces were endless and men's hearts unfathomable. Patience might win a special place; impatience turned cleverness into self-defeating farce.
Wan was the self-defeating sort.
She curtsied and sat sideways on the low table opposite Shen Miao, legs angled, body soft and flowing—the posture of a leading dan actress. Shen Miao watched calmly and asked straight out: "What do you want, Concubine Wan?"
Wan had not expected such directness and choked a moment. She had heard Shen Xin's branch held power now and the once rough Fifth Miss had become formidable—she came to curry favor. Shen Miao offered no pleasantries; Wan could not tell whether she lacked manners or played a game.
Wan overthought. Shen Miao simply did not consider a concubine worth courting.
Wan smiled ingratiatingly. "Near the New Year—I came to wish Fifth Miss well." She added: "There was unpleasantness over the Eldest Miss—I beg forgiveness on Second Uncle and Second Aunt's behalf."
Shen Miao looked amused. "You 'beg on their behalf'—do they know?"
Wan stiffened, then laughed on. "I am nobody's voice—but Master once said he had been rash; I took it on myself to apologize."
Shen Miao stared without blinking. Wan grew restless, then forced calm. "Third Miss wanted to visit too—sisters should be close—but she catches cold easily and feared the wind. She'll come when she's better."
Shen Dongling? Shen Miao raised a brow.
Besides the three legitimate daughters, second branch had a fourth: Dongling, Wan's child. Third branch had only Shen Yue; first branch Shen Miao and Shen Qiu. Shen Gui kept many concubines; other daughters had been born and died young—hence the odd numbering. Dongling ranked third—Third Miss. Ren Wanyun was jealous; after Dongling's birth Wan stayed in her courtyard and the girl was sickly. In both lives Shen Miao barely remembered her—a transparent person. Even an unloved illegitimate daughter in a great house might be bullied or scolded, yet not forgotten like this.
Either truly negligible—or strong enough to endure what others could not. Last life Ren Wanyun eventually traded Dongling for Shen Gui's career. This life, with Ren Wanyun fallen and Wan rising again, Dongling's fate might change. Unknown.
"Third Sister's health is poor—best she stay indoors." Shen Miao's tone was flat. "If she caught cold because of me, I could not answer for it."
Wan disliked that but kept smiling. "It is Third Miss's affection for Fifth Miss. All my fault—she was born ill; all these years she could only watch others play from her courtyard—"
Shen Miao had no patience for the performance. "No one chooses their body. And staying in a courtyard is not always worse. Eldest Sister enjoyed every pleasure—who expected an early grave?" Her lip curled. "Fortune is not always what it looks like on the surface."
Wan stared, uncertain, then laughed strained. "Fifth Miss speaks wisely." She stood abruptly. "I suddenly remember business—I must go. When Fifth Miss has time, Third Miss will surely visit—her health is poor; please bear with her." She curtsied and left—far less graceful than when she arrived.
Jingzhe, who had been serving tea, watched the hurried back. "What was that—showing goodwill? And Third Miss—she's hardly left her courtyard in years, barely met Miss—why talk as if they were close?"
"True," Guyu said, clearing Wan's cup. "I can hardly recall Third Miss's face. A daughter of the house, hidden all this time to dodge Second Madam—pitiful."
"Pitiful?" Shen Miao sipped her tea. "In her eyes, perhaps you are the pitiful ones."
"She?" Jingzhe said. "Third Miss?"
Shen Miao smiled. "I was wrong. This house still has a clever one."
Wan's visit was a probe. For someone who wore her wit on her sleeve, the move looked like haste to announce Shen Gui's renewed favor—but think again and it was not so simple. Dragon shows head, not tail: the unseen Shen Dongling was cleverer than Shen Qing.
No matter which side she stood on, Shen Miao would never call her friend—let alone sister.
"Stay alert," she told the maids, setting down her cup.
……
Wan hurried to her own courtyard, shut the door, and crossed to the figure behind the screen. "Ling'er."
The figure paused. Wan exhaled, sat, and repeated the conversation word for word—years on stage had trained her memory; she played both parts as if the scene were live. Then: "Ling'er—what did Fifth Miss mean? It chilled me. Do you think—the Eldest Miss's affair had something to do with her?"
"Aunt, watch your tongue." From behind the screen: "Eldest Sister's matter is closed. Out there says what it says. Mention it again and you only harm yourself."
"I just feel uneasy," Wan said.
A soft sigh. Embroidery was set aside; the girl stood and came to Wan's side.
She was a delicate beauty. Shen Qing was bold, Shen Yue refined, Shen Miao dignified—this girl seemed fragile. Features followed Wan's—oval face, large eyes; livelier eyes might earn the label "little fox spirit," but her color was pale, lips bloodless, muting any seductive air into harmlessness.
She wore a faded goose-yellow jacket and skirt—likely Wan's; slighter than her mother, the clothes hung loose, dulling whatever charm remained. Ordinary, at a glance.
Shen Dongling, second branch's illegitimate daughter.
"Things are better than before," Dongling comforted. "At least you and I can go out openly—we need not fear Madam's threats."
"This house is hard," Wan said, looking at her daughter, heart sore. "I wanted wealth and thought the Shen gate meant ease—who knew great families suffer too. And I dragged you into hiding all these years under Madam's eye. Everyone here is sharp—even the quiet Fifth Miss is frightening now—"
"Aunt," Dongling shook her head. "Whether Eldest Sister's death touches Fifth Sister or not, whoever was behind it helped us. Madam will hardly rise again. Second Brother may be capable, but without her old hope she cannot match us."
"True." Wan looked relieved. "We finally see daylight. But Ling'er—you sent me to test Fifth Miss. She was cold—won't accept our goodwill. What now?"
"Then don't." Dongling smiled. "Fifth Sister is clever too. From now on, best not provoke her. If we can, let her deal with Second Brother."
"Second Young Master?" Wan blinked. "He's in office—Fifth Miss is only a girl—how could she?"
"Rest easy, Aunt." Dongling said: "Fifth Sister is no simple girl. She is the sharpest blade in this house."
……
East and west wing whispers stayed inside the walls. To outsiders, the general's mansion still looked harmonious—affection above, filial piety below—as it had for years. Human affairs shift; seeds buried deep sprout when least expected.
In the drill yard outside the estate, Mo Qing sparred with Shen Qiu's personal guard Azhi—among Qiu's best. Mo Qing held his own. Shen Miao had recommended him; Qiu tested and was pleased. A strong commander wants strong soldiers; more of them meant louder fame for the Shen army. Since taking Mo Qing on, Qiu praised Shen Miao's eye and sometimes begged her to "stumble upon" more talent in the markets—she answered with exasperated looks. One lifetime, one guard captain—did Qiu think the streets were full of them?
Azhi and Mo Qing broke off, both sweating. Azhi gulped water. "Sparring with Brother Mo is a joy! Your swordwork is uncanny—I envy it."
Mo Qing bowed. "Brother Azhi flatters me. There is always someone better."
"Someone better than Brother Mo?" Azhi laughed. "I'd like to see that!"
Mo Qing said nothing. He thought of Wolong Temple night—carrying Shen Qing, swapping rooms with Shen Miao, changing two fates—a black-clad figure through the window, disarming him in five moves, leaving him helpless as a child. Shen Miao had called him: Young Marquis Xie.
That young man's sword was what "uncanny" meant.
Azhi sighed. "I wonder how it feels to kill beside Brother Mo on the battlefield—I'm impatient. The General stays in Dingjing half a year for Miss—we'll have to wait to fight together." He looked at Mo Qing. "Our Miss truly has an eye—finding someone like you is rare."
"Miss is extraordinary." Mo Qing said. Long association had shown him things he disliked in a woman—cruelty, lack of pity, venom, cold blood—yet she was hard to hate, because those she struck had meant to destroy her.
He remembered her lifting the carriage curtain, smiling: "Will you sell your skill to my Shen house of generals?"
A warrior serves one who knows him. In that sense Shen Miao was his benefactor.
Azhi punched his shoulder. "I know—you're her pick, so of course you praise her. Just guard her well at tomorrow's festival."
"Hm?" Mo Qing suddenly looked upward.
"What?" Azhi followed his gaze. "Nothing there."
"Probably my mistake." Mo Qing shook off the odd feeling.
On the other side of the wall, two men crouched in hemp clothes and wide hats, faces hidden.
One said: "The Shen house breeds talent—even a guard nearly spotted us."
"Right," the other whispered. "Guards everywhere outside, Shen Xin's soldiers at the gate—moving from within is too risky and may fail. We'd alert them—and then Shen Miao would be guarded so tight we'd never get close."
"Orders from above—we finally have a thread." His companion said: "Grab her, get answers—this trip won't be wasted—we're looking at promotion. How can we quit?"
"Of course not." The hat tilted. "Those two guards said Shen Miao goes out tomorrow—crowds everywhere—easy work. One group draws the Shen family off; another takes her."
"Clean and quick." The voice turned cold. "For good—once you have what you need, bind her and throw her in the lake. No other ideas."
"Naturally."