Chapter 94: A Demonstration

Since Jing Chuchu and Jing Guansheng arrived, the Shen mansion had taken on a subtle atmosphere. Everyone knew Old Madam Shen was selfish and stingy—not warm or generous. Yet toward kin she had not seen in years, who had come begging at the door, she showed no cold face at all. She treated them with affection and often sent silver and gifts.
The pair seemed intent on staying long-term—they showed no sign of leaving. Because Old Madam was courteous, the servants read the room and treated them the same.
In East Court, a side room in Caiyun Pavilion—Wan Yiniang sat at a table knotting cords, colored threads taking shape in her hands. To Shen Dongling behind the screen, practicing calligraphy, she said: "Has Old Madam changed her nature? Treating the cousin girl and boy so well—almost better than you, Ling'er."
"Old Madam's schemes are never wrong." Shen Dongling sat behind the screen, complexion much improved—not the bloodless mask of before. Shen Gui now visited Wan Yiniang often and, with him, paid more attention to Dongling, sending many medicines. That shift made Caiyun Pavilion's servants see the wind—but some still watched. Ren Wanyun was mad, yet Shen Yuan remained legitimate heir; however favored Wan Yiniang became, Dongling was only a daughter.
"Ling'er finds it odd too?" Wan Yiniang paused. "But what is Old Madam flattering them for?"
Dongling smiled. "Young miss and young master—Old Madam naturally hopes beauty will draw someone in."
Wan Yiniang started, understood, looked at Dongling. "Who does she want them to attach to?"
"People from humble doors, powerless—yet Old Madam's kin." Dongling set a careful stroke. "Who does Old Madam hate most? Naturally them."
As Dongling said, in West Court's sword-practice yard, Qiu and Shen Xin finished a round, let the men continue, and were resting when a girl in yellow walked slowly from the far end.
Flower face, soft and timid, bamboo basket on her arm—utterly pitiable. She reached them, head down, and called softly: "Cousin—Uncle."
Jing Chuchu.
Luo Xueyan was instructing the soldiers' forms; Shen Xin and Qiu looked surprised. Qiu stepped forward. "Cousin—what brings you?"
He still sounded awkward on "cousin"—over ten years without seeing Chuchu; a cousin appearing from nowhere was hard to accept.
Chuchu smiled shyly, set the basket on a stone ledge, whispered: "Chuchu made some pastries—thought you might grow tired from sword practice—hoped Cousin and Uncle wouldn't disdain them." She bowed her head and lifted the lid—several plates of sweets, delicate and fragrant. Before Shen Xin spoke, Qiu the glutton had swallowed.
Shen Xin was somewhat pleased. Chuchu seemed shy and gentle, sincere if timid—whatever else, a girl who could cook would be welcome anywhere, especially a pretty one. Luo Xueyan was a woman general—she did not wash hands to make soup. Such a young woman who could cook left a fine impression on father and son.
Chuchu said: "We've imposed so many days—I was anxious. Chuchu has no other skill—only pastries to show gratitude."
See—she knew how to repay kindness. Shen Xin and Qiu valued propriety most; soldiers prized loyalty—Chuchu performed well.
Qiu said: "Don't worry, cousin—treat this as home. Family doesn't 'impose.'"
Chuchu shyly lowered her head. Qiu picked up a pastry, smiling. "Then I won't stand on ceremony—" He was about to bite when a voice behind him: "Elder Brother."
Qiu turned. Shen Miao stood at the yard's edge with four maids, icy eyes on him. For no reason he felt guilty, set the pastry down. "Little sister—why are you here?"
Shen Miao said nothing, walked over. Up close—Gu Yu, Jingzhe, Bailu, Shuangjiang each carried a basket. Shen Xin asked: "Jiaojiao—what's in those?"
"Cold today—thought everyone practicing would be tired and thirsty—made soup." Shen Miao swept Qiu with a cool glance; his spine chilled. "Call the soldiers over. Mushroom chicken stewed all morning—good for warming up."
"I'll go!" A Zhi beside Qiu lit up, ran to the practice ground—in moments dozens of men crowded over.
Shen Miao had Jingzhe and the others ladle out portions. These were Shen Xin and Qiu's best men—kept in the general's mansion for that reason. Seeing soup, they laughed: "Miss thinks of us! Miss has a kind heart!"
Rough men were easiest to win—Shen Miao knew it well. A Zhi tasted, exclaimed: "This is good!" Finished in gulps, held out the bowl. "Another!"
Jingzhe rolled her eyes. "Of course it's good—our young lady brewed it herself."
Shen Xin and Qiu stared. Qiu: "Little sister made it herself?"
"Yes." Shen Miao said flatly.
"Damn it—none of you drink!" Shen Xin roared. "Not a drop!" Then to Gu Yu: "A big bowl for me!"
Luo Xueyan had already tasted Bailu's portion—also startled. "Jiaojiao—you made this? Your cooking improved so much?"
Fragrance drifted out—mouths watered. Shen Miao lowered her eyes, smiled. "Just threw it together."
In her first life she had honed cooking to please Fu Xiuyi; later in Qin, under their harassment, she learned rare dishes. She had seen palace fare in two kingdoms—skill and eye far above common folk. As for that girl from humble doors, first time in Dingjing… Shen Miao's gaze slid to Chuchu. Chuchu stood behind a pillar—this time not head down. She bit her lip, tears in her eyes, watching the rough men drink merrily—as if deeply wronged.
The legitimate eldest daughter's hand-brewed soup outweighed a cousin's pastries. Shen Miao had given every soldier in the yard a share—against that, Chuchu serving only Shen Xin and Qiu looked petty, unworthy.
Chuchu flushed with shame and anger; hatred flickered when she looked at Shen Miao.
Qiu wanted soup too—but Gu Yu and the others would not serve him. He sensed something—likely Shen Miao was angry at him, but could not guess why. He could only watch her pleadingly. Shen Miao waited until most had finished, then had Bailu take a bowl from the bottom layer of a basket. "You like sweet—this one has honey. Drink."
"Little sister's the best!" Qiu seized it and gulped—such a glutton that Shen Miao could hardly bear to look.
The soldiers, having drunk Shen Miao's soup, half moved, half fond, praised her again—no haughty eldest-miss air; approachable and beautiful—a fairy, almost.
Shen Miao was surrounded; Chuchu was utterly sidelined. Several times she almost left—then gritted her teeth and stayed.
When everyone returned to practice, Shen Xin and Luo Xueyan went too. Qiu sat on a stone lion to rest. Shen Miao came to Chuchu, smiled. "Cousin's pastries are well made—but men who practice swords by day grow tired and thirsty. Pastries only make them drier." Sweet smile. "Next time make soup."
Chuchu's face went green and white. The words stripped her pretense—if she truly cared for the swordsmen, she would not bring dry things. Furious inside, she still bowed her head in panic, as if afraid. "Thank you, Cousin, for the advice—Chuchu understands." She looked to Qiu for rescue.
Qiu was honest and open—but a blockhead in affairs of men and women. Chuchu's look baffled him. Shen Miao laughed. "Elder Brother wanted Cousin's pastry just now—eat some."
"Cough." Qiu waved. "Drank a bowl of soup—rather full. I'll eat later."
Shen Miao was satisfied. Qiu's bowl had been extra large—she did not believe he could still eat Chuchu's sweets unless he were a pig.
Chuchu disappointed. Qiu stood. "I'll practice some more." Walked into the yard.
Watching him go, Chuchu wanted to speak—could only bite her lip. Shen Miao smiled, patted her hand. "Pastries grow stale when cold—if Cousin doesn't mind, take them to Second Brother."
"Second Brother?" Chuchu looked at her.
"Yes." Shen Miao smiled. "Elder Brother and the others spend years in the bitter northwest—they can't appreciate delicate things. Second Brother is different—young already in office, serving in the capital—future unlimited." She sighed. "Pity no one tends his daily life—men careless about food and dress. Cousin's Suzhou pastries might suit him."
Chuchu's eyes turned uncertain. Shen Miao laughed: "Maybe when Second Brother has a wife she'll feed him often—who knows which girl will be lucky enough to be my sister-in-law. Cousin may not know—Second Brother is the dream of many official daughters in Dingjing."
"Second Young Master—" Chuchu hesitated. "He has no favored girl yet?"
Shen Miao sighed. "Second Brother is buried in court affairs—when would he meet other girls?"
Chuchu thoughtful. Shen Miao did not press. They chatted; Qiu and the others showed no sign of stopping—Chuchu staying longer would look odd. She left.
After Chuchu went, Qiu came over, studied Shen Miao carefully. "Little sister—you're odd today."
"What's odd?" Shen Miao snapped. "Are you angry I stopped you eating Cousin's pastry?"
"That's not what I meant." Qiu flushed. Shen Miao waved it off. "Forget it. You're in your prime—girls everywhere watching you. When you pick a sister-in-law, open your eyes wide."
Qiu understood that much, helpless. "What are you saying—Cousin didn't mean that. She just brought pastries."
"If you really like her, eat your fill." Shen Miao walked off without looking back. Since her return Qiu had never seen her this angry with him—he stood stunned as she vanished.
On the way back Gu Yu asked: "Miss—you dislike the cousin girl? Why such anger?"
"Yes. I dislike her." Shen Miao rubbed her brow. She hated Chuchu to the bone. For proud Qiu—broken leg, cuckold's shame, finally jailed on murder charges—that serpent heart, she would flay Chuchu alive. Yet Qiu was kind and could not imagine such evil; seeing him nearly fooled again this life, rage boiled over.
"But Miss told her about Second Young Master?" Gu Yu said. "Maybe her interest will turn that way."
Shen Miao's talk with Chuchu had not been hidden from the maids—Gu Yu caught the intent.
Shen Miao shook her head. "She's not stupid. If three sentences moved her, she wouldn't be Chuchu." A small smile. "Still—planting the seed is good."
The maids wondered why she treated this shy, gentle cousin like a mortal enemy.
……
Baoxiang Tower was Dingjing's greatest money pit. Among pleasure houses, tiers existed—Baoxiang stood at the top. Any girl there could head another house—plump or slender, bold or gentle, spoiled or innocent, every type imaginable.
Therefore Baoxiang's girls cost the most.
Pretty girls at the door waved scented handkerchiefs. A man in armor entered—several girls looked twice.
Baoxiang's patrons were rich or powerful—wealthy sons, officials. This man did not look wealthy; the killing air on him made girls retreat. Then a woman in red, half past her prime, came out, smiled at him. "Young Master Mo again? Still looking for Liuying?"
Mo Qing nodded, pulled a silver note from his robe. The woman, satisfied, smiled. "Follow me—upstairs. Liuying's been waiting these days."
Mo Qing swallowed his discomfort and followed upstairs with a straight face.
Baoxiang's girls were dearest—and best. Liuying was not top rank but had a name—outside rumor, anyway. New girls arrived daily, talented and fresh; men loved novelty—Liuying's custom had thinned.
Lately though, the girls knew cold Liuying had landed big business—a young man came every few days. In Baoxiang, a patron who ordered one girl alone was rare—everyone guessed he meant to buy her freedom.
Mo Qing followed the woman to a small pavilion upstairs; she withdrew with a smile. On the couch a young woman in thin crimson gauze leaned against a zither, playing—wet eyes, ambiguous smile, bare shoulder showing—utter temptation.
Mo Qing breathed deep, eyes forward, sat at the table, poured tea, and began the day's routine—staring into space.
The music stopped. Liuying's face showed fury. She came to Mo Qing. "Young Master Mo—several visits—you ignore Liuying. Are you mocking me? Or find me filthy?"
Her sisters envied her—one man, her alone. They did not know he was all show—whatever she tried, he would not look, let alone more.
Mo Qing shook his head, said nothing, stared at the teacup. Inwardly helpless—Shen Miao had been right; Liuying was dangerously seductive. When she teased him before, he had nearly lost control. Every moment here was torment—yet Shen Miao wanted him to sit on.
The angrier Liuying grew, the more seductive her smile. She plopped onto Mo Qing's lap, hooked his neck, breathed in his ear: "Young Master Mo—can you bear to let me sit like this?"
A slap—Mo Qing shoved Liuying to the floor.
Across from Baoxiang, in a private room at Kuaihuo Tower, jade dishes crowded the table, silk music in the air—three men seated. A guard entered, bent to whisper in the ear of the purple-robed youth in the center.
"By the way," Ji Yushu said, puzzled, "why does Miss Shen send her guard to Baoxiang for a girl?"
"And he only looks—doesn't eat," Gao Yang added.
They no longer treated Shen Miao as an ordinary general's daughter—everything she did seemed weighted. Learning Mo Qing went to Baoxiang, their first thought: who was she setting up?
Fengxian's men had watched for days. The shock: the guard ordered Liuying and did nothing—sat in her room all night and left. They checked Liuying's background—a sold-into-brothel woman, nothing special—so they could not fathom Shen Miao's purpose.
"Maybe she's training a eunuch confidant?" Ji Yushu's ideas ran odd. "Getting the guard used to a eunuch's life early?"
"Your ideas are always wonderful." Gao Yang pondered. "I think she wants to win Liuying—perhaps against the other Shen branches. But why Liuying? Baoxiang has girls far more alluring." He looked at Xie Jingxing. "Third Brother Xie—what do you think?"
Xie Jingxing watched the window. Lazy glance at them. "Are you that idle?"
"You've some friendship with Miss Shen—don't you care?" Ji Yushu said. "Third Brother, you're clever—you must know."
"I don't want to know." Xie Jingxing cut him off. "I'm leaving the city soon."
"For the Jade Rabbit Festival?" Gao Yang frowned.
"The Emperor plans to send Old Xie on campaign after spring opens." "Old Xie" meant Lin'an Marquis Xie Ding. "Can't wait."
Gao Yang was silent, then: "If so—time may be short."
"I hear Shen Yuan has grown close to Prince Ding lately." Xie Jingxing's lip curved. "Seems he's moving against first branch?"
"Miss Shen's in trouble again?" Ji Yushu was startled. "Why does she always draw ill intent. Prince Ding's no good bird—who he marks ends badly?"
"Prince Ding is unfathomable," Gao Yang said. "Looks indifferent to power—yet private troops match anyone's. Shen Xin holds military authority—innocence with a jade invites disaster. The Shen house is large—the throne already wary. If Prince Ding strikes, Shen Xin could be badly hurt."
"Won't Miss Shen be in danger?" Ji Yushu looked at Xie Jingxing. "Third Brother—how will you help her?"
Xie Jingxing raised a brow. "Why would I help her?"
"You—you're… friends, more or less." Ji Yushu stared. "You saved her before—you won't help Miss Shen?"
Xie Jingxing looked at him with a half-smile—eyes deep as still water, face utterly romantic, words cold and indifferent: "I need the Shen house to buy me time. Prince Ding moving on Shen Xin… excellent."
Ji Yushu sucked in a breath.
……
Prince Ding's mansion, Dingjing.
On the high seat a young man in pale finery—features stern, yet when he spoke to those below, warmth melted the chill by a degree or two.
Prince Ding, Fu Xiuyi.
Strangers sat in the hall—his strategists. He knew talent and honored the wise. Ordinary princes paid strategists silver and land but not respect—none sat as equals, spoke as equals. That posture had drawn many minds—and those minds kept Fu Xiuyi's schemes hidden from the world, even from Emperor Wenhui.
Among them a young man in blue looked out of place—too young. He stood. Fu Xiuyi asked: "Shen Yuan—share your thoughts."
Yuan bowed. Fresh in office, he had privately become Fu Xiuyi's man. Fu Xiuyi recruited well—Yuan had talent, ambition, patience for provincial exile—naturally favored.
Yuan said: "All sides now fight secretly for troops—whoever holds them holds leverage. Ming Qi's forces: Xie in the south, Shen in the north. Xie troops are strong—but after spring the Emperor sends Lin'an Marquis to war; that has design. Xie cannot be touched—Shen is different." Pause. "Shen Xin volunteered half a year in the capital—many wish to pull him in. Shen army is too variable—if we cannot have them, better destroy them. One bold stroke may suit His Majesty and prove Your Highness has no other ambition."
Yuan was Shen kin yet said "Shen house" as if Shen Xin were not his—clear targeting. Fu Xiuyi smiled at him—perhaps understanding, perhaps pretending not; Yuan's words only helped. He said: "Well said—but Shen house shows no crack now. Even hunting fault, we lack cause."
Yuan said nothing.
Fu Xiuyi's eyes flickered; tone grew warmer. "Yet you live in Shen mansion—you must know what others don't." He looked at Yuan. "If we truly bring Shen house down—your merit will be greatest."
Hearing the promise he wanted, Yuan spoke respectfully: "Your Highness—long ago my men mixed into the ranks. In northwest campaigns Shen army did things against regulation. We still gather proof—once complete, I will present it with both hands. I guarantee—even if Shen army does not fall entirely, they will be badly wounded."
Fu Xiuyi smiled lightly. "Then I leave it to your care."
Yuan bowed, smiling.