Chapter 52: Truly a Woman Who Brings Prosperity to Her Husband

Dressing table.

Wang Shou knelt on a mat, slowly drawing a brocade pouch from his breast. With utmost care, he opened it and took out a comb. The comb was somewhat worn, with several teeth already broken.

He untied his cap and let his hair fall loose. Sunlight poured in through the door as Wang Shou bowed his head and began to comb his hair in slow strokes.

In his childhood, his family had been humble, but warmth abounded. On fine days, his mother would have him sit on a small stool while she sat behind him, gently combing his hair.

Wang Shou sang softly.

“Mother’s good child, next year you’ll grow tall…”

“Gatekeeper!”

A man had appeared behind him at some unknown moment, thin and spare.

“Huang Huang, how did it go?” Wang Shou cautiously tucked the comb back into the pouch.

The man said, “Liang Jing brought in people for the Yang clan. I tossed a stone, and our men heard the noise and gave chase… I let Liang Jing go, sent him back.”

Wang Shou began to gather up his long hair, nodding faintly.

“I slipped into the drain during the chaos. When the Noble Consort came out, I struck…”

Wang Shou did not move.

“Did you kill her?”

“Someone interfered,” Huang Huang said with regret. “I held back the first blow, not expecting that youth to be so strong—he only coughed blood and staggered back. On the second blow, I put in more force; the youth was hurled away, but I don’t know if he lived or died. People from the dressing table arrived, so I had to flee far.”

Wang Shou tied up his hair. “The alliance between the Noble Consort and the Yang clan being broken is what matters. You weren’t discovered, were you?”

Huang Huang shook his head. “The dressing table’s men could never catch me.”

Wang Shou looked up. “Yang clan! We’re watching you! The years go by—take care of yourselves, live well, and wait for us…”

At this moment, a man entered the palace in secret.

The emperor was reviewing memorials, his brow furrowed, an occasional cold smile upon his lips.

The man entered.

“Your Majesty.”

The emperor did not look up. “How did it go?”

The man said, “The Yang clan sent one of Yang Songcheng’s advisors—a skilled fellow. I meant to act and draw the attention of the dressing table’s people, but someone struck first. That person then slipped quietly inside. I followed, saw him ambush the Noble Consort…”

He glanced at the emperor, then continued, “I thought to wait before making my move, but someone blocked the assassin, taking two blows for the Noble Consort. The assassin fled at once…”

The emperor continued reading the memorials. “Fools! The people are on the verge of revolt, and still they’re unprepared!”

The man stood with hands respectfully clasped.

The emperor made a note on the memorial, then pressed his fingers to his brow.

“Who sent them?”

“That person entered the dressing table.”

“I see.”

Later, when the Noble Consort returned to her palace, the emperor offered her comfort, then erupted in fury, ordering the dressing table and the Imperial Guards to hunt down the assassin thoroughly.

Yang Xuan was sent to Chenqu, and soon after, the Noble Consort’s rewards poured in like water.

“How is he?” Yi-niang asked.

Cao Ying, just emerging, said, “The physician said his injuries are not minor…”

Yi-niang’s chest heaved, her eyes reddening. Cao Ying quietly stepped back, touching the leather bracer on her right arm.

The old thief in the front courtyard sighed, “If the young master dies, where will this old man find another post? Must I go back to grave-robbing? But whose grave? The young master is poor—there’d be nothing buried with him…”

Yang Xuan awoke soon after.

“Young master!”

The physician left, Yi-niang gritting her teeth. “Why save that wretch, young master?”

To Yi-niang, all those associated with the two pretender emperors, Li Yuan and Li Mi, were nothing but wretches.

Cao Ying explained from the side, “Young master is fifteen now. If he followed the usual path, how long before he could hold real power? He had no choice!”

“Nonsense!” Yi-niang glared, “He could have rebelled at fifty and still been in time.”

Cao Ying gave a bitter smile. “Rebel at fifty… When would the young master ascend the throne, the year of the monkey?”

“A taste of being emperor is enough.” Yi-niang gazed with pain at the pallid Yang Xuan, wishing she could slap the current emperor dead and set Yang Xuan in his place.

“A taste, then die.” Vermilion Bird was in a caustic mood today.

Yang Xuan knew he had taken a risk this time, but as Cao Ying said, he could not afford to wait for promotions in due course. If he wanted to rise quickly, the best way was to be picked out for merit.

Who would pick him?

The one he saved!

So he had taken the risk.

“Young master, how do you feel?” Yi-niang was desperate.

“I feel a bit unwell.” The assassin’s inner force had been fierce; two blows had sent Yang Xuan flying.

“This physician won’t do. I’ll fetch two more.” Yi-niang had lost her composure.

Yang Xuan said, “Go… to the Imperial Academy. Call for Zhou Ning.”

He thought of that gentle, nurturing woman.

“An older woman, with both strength and sweetness,” said Vermilion Bird.

Yang Xuan had no strength to banter; he lay there unmoving.

Zhou Ning arrived quickly, bringing Bao Dong with her.

“Are you all right?” Bao Dong asked, worried at Yang Xuan’s ashen face.

“I won’t die,” Yang Xuan replied with a wry smile. “How’s business?”

Bao Dong grinned. “The Spring-Return Pill is even better. Let me tell you, women mostly don’t care about such things, but men—ah, they mind their dignity…”

He suddenly noticed Yang Xuan’s strange expression and slowly turned.

“Out!” The older woman pushed up her tortoiseshell glasses and spoke coolly.

“Yes, Assistant Zhou,” Bao Dong replied instantly.

In the face of this teaching assistant who had once saved him, Bao Dong dared not make a single peep.

“Sorry to trouble you,” Yang Xuan said, then began coughing, a trickle of blood at his lips.

Yi-niang hurried to wipe it away. “Be careful.”

Yang Xuan panted, “I’m used to coughing up blood by now.”

Zhou Ning placed her hand on his chest.

“Ugh!” With a retch, Yang Xuan spat out a mouthful of blood, stars spinning before his eyes.

“What ails you?” Zhou Ning asked, ignoring Yi-niang’s angry glare.

Yang Xuan caught his breath. “Struck twice by an assailant.”

Zhou Ning reached out, her fingers cool against his wrist.

After a moment, she said, “Everyone else, out.”

Yi-niang hesitated, but Yang Xuan nodded and she left.

“That woman… is so cold,” Cao Ying grumbled outside.

Yet Yi-niang was thoughtful. After a long while, she said, “Her medical skills are very fine…”

“She’d make an excellent consort,” Cao Ying finished her thought. “But shouldn’t the young master’s kidneys be nourished as well?”

“I’ll prepare some good food for him,” Yi-niang mused. “But what if she poisons him? In the palace, rivals for favor act without a trace—what if she renders the young master a eunuch? Then there’d be no need for any more rivalry.”

Inside, Zhou Ning focused her mind, her hands weaving complex patterns before her chest.

Yang Xuan watched her, suddenly struck by how alluring a woman looked from below.

A chest blocking his view… He could not see her face.

Then he fell into a dream.

“My son!”

A middle-aged man beckoned with a smile.

Inside the palace, the faces of the ministers were indistinct.

“My son, where do you wish to go?”

“I want to see the world,” Yang Xuan replied.

The man smiled. “Isn’t the world already in your hands?”

Yang Xuan lowered his eyes, turning his hands over, gazing at the countless lines on his palms, as though they were rivers and mountains.

The wind blew, scattering the ministers.

The middle-aged man remained, but was buffeted, fading.

A sudden ache seized Yang Xuan’s heart, as if the man was about to leave him.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

The man smiled gently. “I must go far away. Son, remember—never be too kind, remember this…”

“Ah!” Yang Xuan started awake, glancing up.

Night had fallen. Yi-niang, dozing at the bedside, was startled awake. She rubbed her eyes blearily. “You’re awake, young master. How’s your injury?”

“Much better.” Yang Xuan felt the tightness in his chest and belly had eased.

“A woman who brings luck to her husband!” Yi-niang was overjoyed. “That Assistant Zhou said you can’t eat mutton for a few days, so I’ve made chicken instead… I’ll go cook now.”

Yang Xuan could only roll his eyes.

The chicken broth porridge was delicious. After eating, Yang Xuan inquired about matters.

“Both constables have come to check on you. Zhao Sanfu from the dressing table came too…”

“Oh, right.” Yi-niang suddenly remembered, “That Officer Liang also visited. Brought two cartloads of gifts, and all the medicines were the best—never seen such things outside the palace. He said… when you’re recovered, you can drink together and visit the pleasure quarters—hmpf!”

Liang Jing?

Yang Xuan fell silent.

“The Noble Consort’s people inquired as well, but hearing you were better, they left.” Yi-niang was dissatisfied. “Those women of the pretender—may they all die!”

Yi-niang went off to bed, happy. But Yang Xuan could not sleep.

The Noble Consort…

What would this favored concubine do now?

…

“That boy was truly valiant,” Noble Consort Liang was drinking. The emperor had said she needed to calm her nerves, so hot wine had been prepared.

“Oh? Loyal, then,” the emperor said indifferently.

Noble Consort Liang sipped her wine; a flush bloomed on her alabaster face. She waved a hand by her cheek and clicked her tongue. “He fell to the ground. Your Majesty, you’ll never guess what he said.”

“What did he say?” The emperor raised his cup, his eyes calm.

To an emperor, the people were cattle and sheep; gratitude from such was both foolish and meaningless.

Noble Consort Liang replied, “He said, ‘Your Ladyship is so beautiful.’”

The emperor was briefly taken aback, looking at her.

Then he burst out laughing.

…

Yang Xuan needed to rest, but for a fifteen-year-old boy, idleness was torture.

“Yi-niang, I want to go for a stroll in the market.”

“No.”

“If I don’t move around, I’ll be dead soon.”

“…”

So, on the fourth day of bed rest, Yang Xuan finally ventured out.

The tragedy was that Yi-niang insisted he ride an ox cart.

“We’ll talk about walking when you’re better.” Yi-niang took charge.

Swaying on the ox cart, Yang Xuan set off.

“Master Yang.” Lord Xie passed by, eyes straight ahead.

“Good morning, Lord Xie.” Yang Xuan was full of energy.

As the cart left Chenqu, Cao Ying said, “Since he learned you were the constable, he’s never dared look at Yi-niang again.”

Vermilion Bird’s voice sounded in Yang Xuan’s ear. “The more lecherous an old snake appears, the more timid he is. The truly bold ones are those upright gentlemen—they don’t speak, they act.”

You know so much.

Yang Xuan glanced at the gentlemanly Cao, who looked baffled.

At the eastern market, Yang Xuan ogled the delicacies, and while Yi-niang wasn’t looking, had the old thief buy him a steaming hot meat pie.

Jia Ren returned stealthily, sniffed it, and said, “Forgive me, young master, but it’s mutton.”

Mutton was strictly forbidden for Yang Xuan these days by Zhou Ning.

Alas!

Yang Xuan knew that if he ate it, Yi-niang would surely catch the scent.

And mutton with no smell—could it even be called mutton?

The ox cart rumbled toward the east gate of the market.

By the gate squatted a man in his twenties, in rags so filthy even beggars shunned him. His hair was wild, his face—apart from his teeth and eyes—pitch black. He grinned foolishly at Yang Xuan.

With the unwanted pie in hand, Yang Xuan said to Jia Ren, “He looks pitiful. Give it to him.”

Jia Ren sighed. “There are many such wretches, young master. You can help one, but not all.”

“I help every one I see,” Yang Xuan replied.

Jia Ren handed the pie to the man, who took it, pointed at his face, and laughed.

Yang Xuan nodded firmly, and the man grinned, took a big bite, then looked up and mumbled, “It’s meat! Mother, it’s meat!”

He shouted so loudly it startled others, who, seeing it was Yang Xuan, burst into laughter.

“Hey! Isn’t this Master Yang?” A man, followed by several attendants, stood at the east gate, greeting Yang Xuan with mock respect. “Who broke your legs, Master Yang? Both of them?”

Yang Xuan found the man familiar—wasn’t this the He family guard who tried to kill Yan Cheng, whom he had stopped? Promoted, it seemed.

Yi-niang’s eyes blazed. “You look like a man, but your mouth spews filth. Go home and ask your mother if she swapped your mouth and backside by mistake when she was pregnant.”

That…

The man’s face darkened. He sneered, “I hear things are chaotic over in Chenqu, Yongning ward. Better watch out, or you’ll break your third leg too.”

Yang Xuan narrowed his eyes, and the old thief whispered, “I’ll remember him, young master.”

The two groups passed each other.

The man eating the pie glanced at Yang Xuan, then silently followed behind the He family guards.

Up ahead, the old thief said, “I have a feeling something will happen today.”

Since Yang Xuan had awakened, the old thief had started calling himself “this humble one.”

Cao Ying scoffed. “Nonsense. Any proof?”

The old thief replied seriously, “When I was a grave robber, if I ever had a bad feeling, I’d crawl out at once—otherwise, the tunnel would collapse, or there’d be some strange thing inside.”

“What kind of thing?” Cao Ying’s back prickled.

“Something even I couldn’t recognize.”