Volume One, Chapter One: My Lord, Please Save Me

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Shengjing, capital of Qi, was deep in the heart of winter.

Snow had fallen all through the night, blanketing the city in a swath of white. In the misty morning, four servants clad in brown cotton jackets struggled through the snow, bearing a small sedan chair draped in blue cloth. The biting wind flung snowflakes against their faces, stinging cold.

Before dawn, the four had been ordered by the steward to carry the sedan to the Music Bureau and fetch the new concubine the heir had taken a fancy to. Having now collected her and set off toward the Marquis of Pingyang’s residence, their steps had grown somewhat lax.

“Damn this weather—the snow’s too much, it’ll freeze us to death,” grumbled the pockmarked youth leading the way, rubbing his numb face to chase the cold.

“Heh, the last time I saw snow like this was ten years ago. People froze to death in the outer city, and a whole swath of houses collapsed beneath the weight,” replied a companion with a scarred face, smiling as he spoke.

“We’re lucky to have work at the Marquis’s house at all—at least we’re not out there freezing,” another added.

The pockmarked youth curled his lip. Among all the noble houses in Shengjing, servants at the Marquis of Pingyang’s were the worst off. The steward never had much use for them, always pushing the hardest chores their way, yet this fool beside him still couldn’t see the truth.

“Yeah, yeah,” the first youth muttered, then lowered his voice and glanced at the sedan’s curtain. “Is she still crying?”

The scarred one grinned. “Just mind your footing. Don’t trip and hurt the young lady.”

The marquis’s household was teeming with beauties. Every time the heir left the residence, any pretty face he set eyes on would be brought back—sometimes favored for a while, sometimes forgotten. These beauties bloomed and faded like the flowers in the marquis’s gardens, none truly worthy of the title “young lady.” Only Lady Xue held lasting favor.

But the girl in the sedan was the most exquisite he had ever seen, surpassing even Lady Xue herself. Who could tell what her future might hold?

Twice his words had been stifled, so the pockmarked youth fell silent.

Behind the thin sedan curtain, Liu Wuyi was dressed in a peach-pink robe, wrapped in a white fox-fur cloak that spoke more of nobility than her station as a courtesan. Her petite face nestled amid the fur was exquisitely beautiful, her reddened eyes only adding a touch of pitiful charm. Her hair was styled in a woman’s chignon, adorned with several silver hairpins.

Liu Wuyi lifted the curtain at the window to peer out. At the next corner, they would turn onto Shenwu Avenue. She often bought rouge at the Guilan Lane there; once past Shenwu Avenue, they would arrive at the Marquis of Pingyang’s residence.

The matron had chosen an auspicious day for her defloration banquet: the fifteenth of the next month.

Liu Wuyi was famed for her beauty and grace. Carefully raised in the back quarters until she was fifteen, she had mastered all the arts. Three months before her debut banquet, rumors had quietly started to spread, preparing to launch her as the next Flower Queen of the Music Bureau.

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Liu Wuyi herself had looked forward to that day. Her elder sister Huayang, by virtue of her rank as Flower Queen, had earned the chance to overturn her family’s case. If she could do the same, perhaps there was hope for the Liu family.

But two months ago, during the Cold Dew festival, she had disappeared for an entire night. The next morning, the matron needed only a glance to know she had lost her chastity. Her value gone, she was spared a beating only because of the priceless fox-fur cloak she wore. They waited, thinking perhaps that gentleman would come to redeem her, but no word came.

Liu Wuyi knew she had been forgotten. Just as the matron prepared to move her to the Red Pavilion to receive clients, the heir of Pingyang suddenly sent word that he wanted her. At that very moment, she was discovered to be pregnant, and the matron, having lost all hope, accepted the heir’s price.

The heir’s reputation in the Music Bureau was infamous. None of the women sent to his house had ever come out alive, and she herself harbored old enmity with Lady Xue.

Liu Wuyi was terrified. Rather than be beaten to death in the marquis’s household, she thought it better to end things herself.

She touched her flat belly; she felt no sense of impending motherhood, but the thought of taking this unborn child with her into death brought a pang of guilt.

“Little one, you chose the wrong mother. May you be born to better fortune in your next life.”

“If I’d known it would come to this, I wouldn’t have clung to life when our home was seized…” With trembling hands, Liu Wuyi took a packet of powder from her sleeve. Her tears fell on the paper, leaving a damp stain. “Grandfather… Father… Mother… your unfilial daughter is coming to join you…”

Just as they turned a corner, three carriages raced up the official road, flanked by two rows of armed guards in brocade uniforms. Two of them, riding ahead, called out, “Eastern Depot business—clear the way!”

The four servants, terrified, set the sedan down and knelt in the snow.

Liu Wuyi’s powder packet was jolted from her hand. She hurried to retrieve it, the wind lifting the curtain and revealing the passing carriage—a vehicle forbidden to any below the third rank, bearing a family crest on a wooden plaque that swung with the horse’s movements.

The familiar flame pattern sent a jolt through Liu Wuyi. Forgetting the packet, she pulled the curtain wider and drew the edge of her cloak across her lap, comparing the embroidered motif. It was the same flame design!

It was that lord’s carriage! Even if not his, it belonged to his kin.

A desperate plan formed in her mind. Heart pounding, she made her decision.

The sedan curtain was flung open, and Liu Wuyi, like a moth to flame, hurled herself toward the carriage surrounded by guards.

“My lord, this servant has urgent matters to report to you!”

Before she could finish, a sheathed sword crashed down on her shoulder. The carriage rolled on, undisturbed.

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Liu Wuyi cried out in pain, clutching her nearly broken shoulder. The fox-fur cloak was thrown back, revealing the unique flame pattern embroidered on the lining.

He Yong, captain of the brocade-clad guards, stared. Wasn’t that the Grand Director’s cloak? Could this woman be the one from two months prior?

He glanced at the carriage, saw no sign to stop, and barked, “Back! Any further and you die where you stand!”

The murderous threat struck Liu Wuyi like a hammer. She was afraid, but more afraid that the carriage would simply drive away.

“Cold Dew, tenth month, my lord! Cold Dew…” she cried.

Another blow fell, this time with less force. Weak as she was, Liu Wuyi collapsed to her knees in the snow, blood trickling from her lips. Seeing the carriage still did not stop, she summoned all her strength and screamed, “Late Cold Dew, in Spring City the flowers grow deep!”

He Yong met the bewildered eyes of his men and faltered. He had shown mercy, thinking she had ties to the Grand Director, but still the carriage did not halt. After a moment’s silence, he drew his sword with a ring.

Liu Wuyi slumped in the snow, her gaze fixed on the carriage ahead, oblivious to the blade about to fall.

Inside, a man in a purple-gold robe reclined with eyes closed, long fingers idly turning a string of jade beads. His hands were pale, the veins beneath the skin plainly visible.

He repeated softly, “Late Cold Dew, in Spring City the flowers grow deep.” What was this—poetry? Some half-remembered verse?

Suddenly, something clicked. The beads stilled in his hand.

The carriage stopped. The eunuch alighted and called, “Stop. Bring her here.”

“The rest—kill them.”

On the silent road that winter dawn, the wind carried every word. The four servants, terror-stricken, scattered and fled.

“Yes, sir,” the guards responded, stepping forward.