In the first year of the Shengli reign, just after the New Year had passed, snow fell heavily across the land. Buddhist pagodas of varying heights stood silhouetted in the white mist, and overnight Luoyang had been transformed into a realm of immortals. When Ming Huashang lifted her gaze, she could see the golden phoenix soaring into the clouds above the Wanshen Palace, nine dragons half-hidden in the fog — and even this great snowfall could not conceal the phoenix’s spirit, that magnificent air of wings poised for flight.
Ming Huashang looked away and sneezed from the cold.
Zhao Cai was her usual self, nattering on and on: “My lady, it is one thing that you love to sleep in on ordinary days, but today is the day you must pay your respects to the Old Madam — how could you dare oversleep again?”
A great red cloak wrapped Ming Huashang from head to toe, its edges trimmed with rabbit fur, the dense and soft collar covering most of her face, muffling even her voice.
Zhao Cai thought she heard her young mistress say something, but when she turned to look, that face — more exquisite than any New Year painting — was buried in the white fur, and it didn’t appear she was speaking. Assuming it was just the wind playing tricks, Zhao Cai went on as usual: “My lady, you really cannot go on being so careless. You are the eldest legitimate daughter of our Duke’s household, the true-born daughter of Duke Zhenguo himself. In the past, no one dared say a word when you were inattentive — but you turn sixteen this year after the New Year, and it is time to speak of marriage. The Madam passed away early, so your marriage must be arranged by the Old Madam. If you do not make yourself more agreeable, how will the Old Madam think of you?”
Zhao Cai went on from morning greetings all the way to marriage, as though a floodgate had opened — a long, ceaseless torrent of words. She first surveyed the eligible young gentlemen currently in Luoyang, then emphasized at length Ming Huashang’s superior family background, and concluded: “My lady, even though you have never fought for first place and have always been too lazy to compete for a reputation in music, chess, calligraphy, or painting, with the Duke’s household and Second Young Master on your side, you are certain to make a fine match.”
Zhao Cai truly earned her place as her personal maid — she could make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear and make it sound so pleasant. The imperial capital was packed with aristocratic clans; marquises and earls were everywhere, and noble young ladies were especially numerous. Was it that Ming Huashang never fought for renown in the four accomplishments because she did not wish to?
Even her hopelessly biased personal maid, when counting advantages one by one, knew that Ming Huashang’s sole edge lay in her family background — which showed just what a thoroughgoing deadweight Ming Huashang herself truly was.
Ming Huashang sighed again. Even Zhao Cai had more ambition than she did, and this made Ming Huashang feel a small, fleeting pang of shame. Of course, it was not shame at her own lack of effort — it was guilt that she might disappoint Zhao Cai.
Because she had lost even that one advantage of family background.
Today Ming Huashang had woken late not entirely from love of sleep, but because the night before she had suffered a terrible nightmare. In the dream, a slender and graceful young woman with an air as pure as orchids had come to the Ming household, claiming to be the true Ming daughter and producing physical evidence to prove it.
After a period of great chaos, her father, Duke Zhenguo, had emerged from the rear courtyard, apparently having completed his investigation. With an expressionless face he had spoken of an old affair from years past.
Long ago, Duke Zhenguo’s wife Wang Yulan had given birth to a rare pair of dragon-and-phoenix twins. The elder was named Ming Huazhang, and the younger was named Ming Huashang. Unfortunately, Wang Yulan had suffered severe hemorrhaging after delivery and had lost consciousness before she could even look at the children — which had given an evil servant the chance to act. When Duke Zhenguo named the children, he had not known that the younger of the twins had already been switched.
That evil servant was none other than Wang Yulan’s own wet nurse, Su Shi — addressed respectfully within the inner household as Nanny Su. Nanny Su had worked as a domestic in aristocratic homes but also owned land in the countryside, making her a woman of modest means by local standards.
Yet that small property was nothing compared to what the Duke’s household offered. It so happened that Nanny Su’s daughter-in-law had just given birth to a girl of her own. Overcome by greed, Nanny Su quietly swapped the two infants — letting the girl who should have been a farmer’s daughter, Ming Huashang, enjoy seventeen years of wealth and luxury in Luoyang, while the true daughter of the Duke’s household was left to wander among commoners, taking root in the countryside as the granddaughter of a servant: Su Yuji.
Seventeen years later, Su Yuji — raised in a farming household yet still remarkable — discovered the whole truth and went to the Ming family herself. Only then did Duke Zhenguo’s household learn that the legitimate young mistress they had lived alongside for seventeen years was a false one.
When the truth was revealed, the entire Ming family was in an uproar. Duke Zhenguo had even been ready to have the servants hitch the carriage and send Ming Huashang back to the farming Su family on the spot. It was Heir Ming Huazhang who could not stand by and stepped forward to stop him — only then did the Duke reluctantly relent.
But even so, Ming Huashang was driven to a remote side courtyard to fend for herself, while the true daughter Su Yuji reclaimed the Ming name and was welcomed back into the ancestral fold. The Ming Huashang in the dream remained as much a deadweight as ever — eating, sleeping, taking each day as it came, with nothing weighing on her.
This was very like Ming Huashang: regardless of fortune or misfortune, she consistently persisted in not bettering herself. So on a moonlit night, after she lay down to sleep, she died without a sound, without a trace.
She did not even know how she had died.
After jerking awake, Ming Huashang lay for a long time in the dark, heart-stricken with terror, that gut-wrenching pain seeming to linger in her body long afterward, slow to dissipate. She stared at the bed curtains for half the night and did not manage to close her eyes until dawn.
Before long, Zhao Cai and Jin Bao woke her to go and pay her respects to the Old Madam.
She had lain awake thinking the whole previous night; by the time she stepped out this morning, Ming Huashang had calmed considerably. But she still could not work it out — who had wanted her dead? And why?
Before Ming Huashang’s identity had been exposed, she was merely an unremarkable girl of a military-aristocratic family in Luoyang. Her father, Duke Zhenguo Ming Huaiyuan, had been a minister under Gaozong. Now that the Empress Regnant held power, the Ming family was no longer in favor — yet with the shadow of their ancestors over them, they were not destitute either. Families like theirs were a dime a dozen in Luoyang, and there was truly nothing special about them.
Her mother, Wang Yulan, was a daughter of the Wang clan of Taiyuan, born into one of the Five Surnames and Seven Clans, carrying a name of great prestige. But under the suppression of Gaozong and the Empress Regnant, the great clans had long since become empty shells — they still bore their illustrious names but held not a shred of political influence.
Wang Yulan and Ming Huaiyuan had three children together: the eldest son had not survived, dying at two years old. The remaining two were these twins.
Sadly, Wang Yulan had also passed away after delivering the twins — Ming Huashang and Ming Huazhang had lost their mother the moment they were born. Duke Zhenguo had lost a son and then a wife, so he was exceptionally tender toward this brother and sister pair, doting on them to a fault. For their sake, the Duke had not even taken a second wife, and over the years had devoted himself single-mindedly to raising the two siblings — he had not even a single illegitimate child.
Their father had already inherited the title. But since the Old Madam Ming Zheng Shi was still living, the household had not been divided; they all lived together with the concubine-born Second Uncle Ming Huaiyuan and the legitimate Third Uncle Ming Huaihan and their respective families. Both uncles were married with children.
This was the entire Ming household — not particularly complex. Ming Huashang thought: could it be that the Second or Third branch wanted to kill her?
Possibly. Nanny Su had dared to swap a Duke’s bloodline — and Ming Huashang carried such inferior blood in her veins. How could she deserve to go on living in the Ming household?
Or perhaps it was that true daughter Su Yuji?
That was also plausible. After all, Ming Huashang had usurped her identity and family, enjoying comfort and privilege in Luoyang for years, and was now shamelessly clinging to the Ming household. It would be understandable if Su Yuji’s anger drove her to act.
Or could it be her father, Duke Zhenguo — or her elder brother, Ming Huazhang?
Each seemed to have a motive, yet none seemed a certainty. The Second and Third branches would eventually have to be separated from the main household; Nanny Su had swapped the Duke’s bloodline, not theirs — why would they need to reach out? Frankly, if it was a matter of inheritance and title, the Second and Third branches should have poisoned Ming Huazhang; what was the use of doing away with Ming Huashang?
The true daughter Su Yuji had arrived with such force and swept Ming Huashang down from her position. Ming Huashang had already been cast aside to a remote courtyard and was behaving meekly, not causing trouble or scheming against anyone. What need would Su Yuji have to drive her to total extinction?
As for Ming Huazhang — there was even less reason. If he had truly wanted Ming Huashang dead, he need not have stopped Duke Zhenguo in the first place; he could simply have let her be sent back to the Su family, where an accident along the road or at the Su home would have made her disappear without a trace. Why would Ming Huazhang take the unnecessary step of letting her stay in the household, only to dirty his own hands afterward?
Was it Duke Zhenguo, then? Ming Huashang tried to imagine it and could not picture that father who had always indulged her every wish being so ruthless.
After so many years of father-daughter feeling — just because she had been swapped by an elder, and deceived the Ming family — would Duke Zhenguo hate her enough to want her dead? Were all those years of his companionship and indulgence a lie?
Ming Huashang’s head ached from thinking. She hated this feeling — suspecting every person around her of wanting her dead.
She had not failed to wonder about the dream’s truth or falsehood — but everything had been too detailed. The small habits Duke Zhenguo showed when he spoke in the dream, the behaviors of those around her — they were identical to the real world in every way. Even now, Ming Huashang could clearly recall the face of the true daughter Su Yuji.
Could a dream produce a face she had never seen? Ming Huashang did not know. From the corner of her eye she glimpsed a fork in the path ahead, and her steps faltered — then she suddenly changed direction.
Zhao Cai was still up ahead listing the eligible young gentlemen of various households. When she came back to herself and found the space behind her empty, she was rather startled, then turned to see Ming Huashang huffing and puffing off in another direction, and quickly chased after her: “My lady, the Yanshou Hall is this way — where are you going?”
Ming Huashang could not forget the agony of dying in her dream, and was unwilling to suspect the family members she had lived alongside all these years. She needed to verify something — to find out whether last night’s dream was real or false.
She remembered clearly: in the dream, after her identity was exposed, she had been moved to the side courtyard. There had been a tall osmanthus tree in the yard — it had been the season of fragrance throughout the garden — and before going to sleep she had collected the fallen osmanthus petals, planning to make osmanthus cakes the next day.
Then she had never woken again. When she died, the tip of her nose was still wreathed in the faint, soothing scent of osmanthus.
Ming Huashang could bear the suspense no longer. She needed to go to that side courtyard from the dream and find out whether there truly was an osmanthus tree.
This place was desolate and rarely visited; no one had swept away the accumulated snow on the path. Ming Huashang stepped forward and found the snow reaching well above her calves — yet she did not hesitate, pressing ahead toward the courtyard as she remembered it.
Zhao Cai chased behind her, struggling to keep up: “My lady, what are you doing?”
Ming Huashang said nothing. The side courtyard from the dream was right ahead. She gave herself no chance to waver, and shoved hard at the courtyard gate.
Snow had piled up against it; opening it was not easy. Ming Huashang threw all her strength into the effort and managed to push it open a crack. Zhao Cai, watching from behind and growing frantic, hurried forward to help push: “My lady, what brings you to a place like this? If you like it here, I’ll send the manservants to sweep the snow right away — do take care not to slip and fall.”