Hu Shanwei lost her mother at age six. Her father Hu Rong raised her alone. After the family opened a bookstore, she began copying books in the library, her small body sitting in a chair like a porcelain doll, legs dangling with her shoe tips unable to reach the floor.
With her mother absent from childhood, Hu Shanwei felt as if something was missing in her heart—something she desperately craved but could never fill.
At twelve, she became engaged to Company Commander Wang Ning. Her future mother-in-law was a humble and gentle widow who treated her very well. Whenever she obtained anything delicious, fun, or rare, she would eagerly bring it to the library to please her.
Hu Shanwei thought this must be what maternal love felt like.
When Wang Ning’s urn arrived home, the widow collapsed. She died within three months, and before her death, this kind widow tearfully urged her to forget Wang Ning and remarry.
Jiang Quan resembled her mother from her fading memories even more than the widow had. Hu Shanwei’s mother came from a prominent Shandong family—beautiful and dignified, eloquent and elegant, with outstanding temperament. When little Shanwei was naughty and crying, her mother never lost her temper, patiently reasoning with her over and over, gentle to the bone.
If her mother were still alive, she would probably be like Jiang Quan.
Therefore, Hu Shanwei couldn’t refuse Jiang Quan’s invitation to share a bed. The warmth that revived in this moment came too late to verify its authenticity, like the moths stuck on the copper wire windows of the street lamps on East Long Street—no one forced or drove them, they simply couldn’t help but rush toward the light.
Jiang Quan prepared tea for Hu Shanwei. Shanwei said, “Please don’t trouble yourself—I must be punctual at the third quarter of the fifth watch tomorrow to get keys from the Key Department. If I drink tea and lose sleep, I won’t be able to get up tomorrow morning.”
“It’s just lotus leaf herbal tea, it won’t make you sleepy.” Jiang Quan took out a set of cups about the size of a thumb, just enough for a light sip.
“Good tea should be paired with good fruits.” Jiang Quan opened a red lacquered compartment box about the size of a blooming lotus flower. The box had layers upon layers of small, delicate compartments—about ten or so divisions.
Each compartment contained a piece of exquisite preserved fruit. Hu Shanwei had tasted each type before and they tasted similar, but these fruits here didn’t look like fruits at all—they looked like flowers.
For example, winter melon candy was carved into snow plum petals, sweet almonds were shaped like yellow peonies, what looked like rose flowers turned out to be raisins when eaten.
“Food should be refined in preparation and fine in cutting”—the luxury of the palace was evident.
These things wouldn’t be available to an eighth-rank Female Historian; they must have been gifts from Noble Consort Hu.
Jiang Quan invited Hu Shanwei to drink tea and eat fruits while chatting about other female officials’ recent situations. At the third watch, suddenly there came a “clang, clang, clang” sound from the adjacent room—twelve strikes in total. Hu Shanwei was so startled that she loosened her grip, and the rose-shaped raisin fell onto her skirt.
“What’s that sound?”
Jiang Quan led Hu Shanwei to the study room. In the northwest corner stood a Western large wooden clock about as tall as a real person, with a hammer-like pendulum swinging left and right.
Needless to say, another gift from Noble Consort Hu.
Hu Shanwei crouched under the large wooden clock like a country girl who had never seen the world, her head unconsciously swaying with the pendulum’s frequency.
Hu Shanwei wasn’t naturally strong, naturally capable of concealing everything from everyone with composure. She who had secretly taken the family’s household registration to take the female official exam had once been a girl pampered by her mother, had lived carefree days. It was just that reality was cruel—she had no time to be innocent before being forced to grow up.
Jiang Quan had never seen Hu Shanwei’s childish side. This girl was only twenty years old, yet those eyes were deep as pond water, like an old spirit living in a tender shell.
Jiang Quan joked, “Do you know why such a heavy clock can swing automatically? Because there’s a living person hidden behind the clock.”
“Sister Jiang is teasing me again.” Hu Shanwei didn’t believe it, but still walked over to touch the back of the clock.
Jiang Quan couldn’t help but laugh aloud.
Since Shanwei had to wake early tomorrow, after viewing the clock, Jiang Quan pulled her to share the bed. With the cool air from the ice blocks in the large jar and covered with a thin blanket, Hu Shanwei was so comfortable that she quickly fell asleep.
Youth indeed—she could actually sleep. Jiang Quan looked at the sleeping Hu Shanwei by the moonlight from the window for a long time, trying hard to find traces of another person in her face.
A night of sweet dreams.
Hu Shanwei dreamed of her mother. Her mother hadn’t died but had always stayed with her and her father. Naturally, her father hadn’t remarried, and the family of three lived contentedly and happily running the bookstore.
Her fiancé hadn’t died either. He returned triumphantly, whole and uninjured, and the wedding proceeded as scheduled.
Her mother embroidered wedding clothes for her. She wore the wedding dress to bid farewell to her parents, lived in harmony with her husband, and in the blink of an eye, aged gracefully…
This dream was too beautiful; Hu Shanwei didn’t want to wake up. Suddenly she heard tearful sleep-talking: “Bao’er, Bao’er, where are you?”
“Bao’er, where have you run off to…”
Hu Shanwei woke up. Thin morning light filtered through the window. Beside her pillow, Jiang Quan seemed to be having a nightmare—her hair was soaked with sweat, her body trembling restlessly.
“Sister Jiang? Jiang Quan?” Hu Shanwei gently woke her.
Jiang Quan suddenly sat up, covering her chest and breathing heavily.
Hu Shanwei got up and poured her a cup of water. Jiang Quan drank it all and said, “Sorry, I had a nightmare and woke you up.”
As Hu Shanwei dressed, she wondered who “Bao’er” from Jiang Quan’s sleep-talk was.
Ah, they were all people displaced by chaotic times—who didn’t have heartbreaking matters? Hu Shanwei pretended to have just awakened, “No matter, I get up around this time every day anyway.”
Hu Shanwei bid farewell to Jiang Quan, went to queue for keys at the Key Department, and began another day of heavy work.
In the evening, Mei Xiang came to Hu Shanwei’s residence to study. Shanwei asked about Noble Consort Hu and Jiang Quan. She dealt with books all day, almost completely isolated from the world, and didn’t know about the undercurrents in the rear palace.
Mei Xiang, the palace know-it-all, was different. Although demoted to the Imperial Kitchen as a kitchen servant, her information remained well-informed.
It turned out that Jiang Quan, having gained special favor from Noble Consort Hu with gifts of clocks and ice, had become the hottest figure among the new female officials, second only to the female champion Wu Qionglian.
Mei Xiang meaningfully pointed toward Kunning Palace: “…Empress Ma has given birth to two princesses, Princess Ningguo and Princess Anqing.”
She then pointed toward the Western Six Palaces, “Western Palace Lady Consort Sun is about the same age as Empress Ma and has also only given birth to two princesses, Princess Lin’an and Princess Huaiqing. Among them, Princess Lin’an is the Emperor’s eldest daughter and is extremely favored by him.”
Finally, Mei Xiang raised her chin toward Yanxi Palace, “So among the Three Palace Consorts in the rear palace, only Eastern Palace Lady Noble Consort Hu has given birth to an imperial son—Prince Chu Zhu Zhen, ranked sixth. Now the lady is pregnant again. If she gives birth to another prince… oh my, future matters are hard to say.”
Hu Shanwei asked, “What’s hard to say?”
Hu Shanwei’s scholarship was good, but for palace matters, veterans like Mei Xiang who had served the imperial family since the former residence were the experts.
Mei Xiang whispered, “Empress Ma is already over fifty and in poor health. If someday in the future… based on birth, qualifications, favor, and rank, Noble Consort Hu would definitely enter the Central Palace and become the subsequent empress.”
After three months in the palace, Hu Shanwei had a general understanding of the rear palace consorts’ backgrounds.