The heavens wept. Lightning tore through the charcoal sky, followed by a deafening roar of thunder that shook the foundations of the Feng-fu [The Feng Family Estate]. A torrential downpour lashed the vermilion walls, cold and relentless.
Amidst the storm stood a wandering soul. Her body was a scorched ruin, charred black by the gluttonous flames, her Ruqun [a traditional wrap skirt and top] torn into blackened shreds. She was a vision of pure horror, standing outside the gates she once called home.
The raindrops fell like silver knives, flaying the spirit of Feng Jinyao.
The agony of the fire remained etched into her essence—the way the flames licked her skin while the architect of her ruin laughed.
“A-Yao, may you be reborn into a better life,” Wen Mengsheng had sneered, his eyes bright with malice. “You were born into a pampered nest like the Feng family, but a bird in such a predicament inevitably meets a wretched end!”
“Wen Mengsheng, I curse you! You will die a death a thousand times more agonizing than this!”
But the physical fire was nothing compared to the cold despair of the truth. As the fire raged for hours, Jinyao watched her soul drift away from the Wen mansion, floating toward the gates of her father’s house. She staggered through the entrance, pushing open the doors to the main hall. There was no laughter. No scent of expensive tea. Instead, she found rows of heavy, lacquer-black coffins.
“Fu-qin [Father]!”
“Mu-qin [Mother]!”
“Ge-ge [Brother]!”
Silence was her only answer. Her eldest brother lay nearby, hacked to pieces by Shanzei [mountain bandits], his flesh a mangled tapestry of gore. Her second brother had withered away, dying of a broken heart after losing a limb. Her mother had become a skeletal ghost, coughing blood until her life ebbed away.
And her father… only his head remained, resting in a bed of silk.
Suddenly, the corpses stirred. They crawled from their coffins, eyes weeping blood, and stumbled toward Jinyao. They passed right through her, cold and blind, as if she were nothing but smoke.
“Ah!”
A piercing scream rent the air. Feng Jinyao felt her chest contort with a rage so violent it threatened to shatter her spirit. Hatred, dark and thick, flooded her veins. If she held a Jian [double-edged sword] in her hand, she would have flayed the skin from every member of the Wen clan while they still breathed.
The stench of blood grew suffocating. Just as her mind felt ready to fracture, a familiar voice pulled her from the abyss.
“Xiao-jie? Xiao-jie!”[ Young Miss ,Young Miss]
Feng Jinyao snapped her eyes open. The hatred had not faded; it was a living thing behind her ribs. Instinctively, she reached out and snatched a sharp, silver hairpin from the head of the girl leaning over her. She lunged, the cold metal poised to pierce the girl’s throat.
“Xiao-jie!”
The maid stumbled back in terror, collapsing onto the floor. The tip of the hairpin stopped a mere breath away from her jugular vein.
“Yunxu?” Jinyao whispered, her voice rasping.
“It is me, it is me, Xiao-jie! What is wrong? Did a E-meng [Nightmare] take hold of you?”
Images flickered behind Jinyao’s eyes like a bloody fan: the tragic ends of her kin, the ruthlessness of the Wen family, the whispers of the Liang family, and the shadowy treachery of the Ninth Prince.
This was no dream. These were the ghosts of a future that had already happened. She had been burned to ash—yet here she was, breathing.
“Is this the eleventh year of the Tianqi era?” she asked, her voice trembling with the weight of the revelation.
“Yes, Xiao-jie,” Yunxu replied, her face pale with confusion.
It is not too late.
Jinyao slammed her fists onto the bed, her knuckles bruising against the wood. She was grateful to the Heavens for this second chance. If fate had seen fit to return her, she would ensure that those who spilled Feng blood would taste the bitterness of their own extinction.
“Is Mu-qin’s cough any better?” she asked, forcing her voice to remain calm.
In her past life, her mother had died of a mysterious ailment. Jinyao had been too foolish to see the clumsy scheme, too busy chasing the “affection” of the Wen family.
“Mama Bai says the medicine from the Tai-yi-yuan [Imperial Academy of Medicine] has failed to help, even after two months,” Yunxu sighed.
“Listen to me,” Jinyao commanded, her peach-blossom eyes narrowing. “Go to the Ren family pharmacy in the south of the city. Purchase three bottles of their cough nectar. Go quietly. Let no one—especially not the servants of the other courtyards—see you.”
In her previous life, Jinyao had found a secret ingredient in her mother’s medicine dregs—something that aggravated dampness and heat, turning a simple chill into a death sentence.
While Yunxu slipped away under the guise of buying hair oil, Jinyao prepared herself for battle.
Her skin was as white as fine Zhen-zhu [pearls], her figure as slender as a willow. She applied a touch of Taohua-fen [peach blossom powder] to hide the dark circles of her vigil. Her ink-black hair was swept into a simple Bun [chignon], secured only by a plum blossom hairpin carved from mutton-fat jade.
Xiuqiu, another maid, brought forth a lilac-purple pleated skirt and a white satin jacket trimmed with snow-white rabbit fur.
“Tell Mama Bai that I shall have breakfast with Mu-qin this morning,” Jinyao instructed.
She stepped out of her quarters, the midwinter wind biting at her cheeks. She carried a gilded bronze hand-warmer, but it could not touch the ice in her heart.
As she walked toward the Yunhai [Sea of Clouds] Courtyard, she passed the red sandalwood plum trees. Their crimson petals looked like blood spilled upon the snow—a silent, flowering reminder of the debt she was owed.
At the entrance of the courtyard, the elderly Mama Bai greeted her with a bow.
“Xiao-jie, you are early today.”
“Mama Bai, you have worked hard,” Jinyao said, her gaze fixed on the inner chamber where her mother lay. “Tell me truly… was Mu-qin coughing badly through the night?”
At the mention of the lady she had served since her youth, Mama Bai’s cheerful facade crumbled. The light in her eyes flickered out, replaced by a weary, heavy sorrow.
In her previous life, following the death of Mu-qin [Mother], this loyal servant had tragically drowned. At the time, it was deemed a clumsy accident, but Jinyao now saw the truth through the lens of rebirth: Mama Bai had likely uncovered the traitor and was silenced in the cold depths of a garden pond.
Looking at the woman’s silver-threaded hair, Jinyao felt a sharp pang of grief. Loyal Mama Bai, I shall not let your devotion lead you to a watery grave again.
“Cough… I cannot fathom it, Xiao-jie,” Mama Bai whispered. “The medicine from Physician Wang is administered without fail, yet this cough persists. Fu-ren [The Lady] cannot eat, she cannot sleep; she is but a shadow of her former self.”
With a heavy sigh, she lifted the thick felt curtain for Jinyao.
Inside the main hall of the Yunhai [Sea of Clouds] Courtyard, the Di-long [underfloor heating system] radiated a dry, oppressive warmth and make the biting chill of the midwinter frost vanished instantly, replaced by the cloying scent of stale incense and bitter herbs.
Madam Feng lay propped against the headboard, her face a ghostly pallor save for the unnatural flush upon her cheekbones—the mark of a lingering, wasting fever. Despite her frailty, her eyes softened with maternal radiance the moment her daughter appeared.
“Why have you come in such treacherous weather?” she chided gently, her voice thin. “Are you not afraid the Han-qi [cold energy] will seep into your bones?”
“I missed Mu-qin terribly,” Jinyao replied, kneeling by the bedside. “I could not rest without seeing if you were improved.”
Cough, cough!
Madam Feng was seized by a fit, pressing a silk handkerchief to her lips to shield her daughter from the sickness. Mama Bai hurried forward with a cup of warm water, her face etched with worry.
“Ah, I drink these bitter decoctions every day, yet the relief never comes,” Madam Feng lamented once the fit subsided. “Tomorrow is your Zumu’s [Grandmother’s] birthday banquet, and I am too wretched to attend and offer my respects. Take a fitting gift and go early; see if there is any task you can assist with. And your Er-ge [Second Brother]… he has been absent all day. Tell him to behave, lest your father loses his patience again.”
Jinyao reached out to touch her mother’s brow. There was no fever, yet the mere act of speaking triggered more hacking coughs. Looking at her mother’s withered arms, where the veins sat like blue cords against bone, Jinyao felt a lump form in her throat.
She threw herself into her mother’s embrace, weeping softly. Madam Feng patted her back with the same rhythmic gentleness she had used when Jinyao was a baby.
“There now, it is only a chill,” her mother whispered. “I shall be fine once the winter breaks. When the spring sun warms the earth, I shall crave your Taohua-jiu [Peach Blossom Wine] and your sweet pastries once more.”
Jinyao forced a small laugh, but internally, her resolve hardened into steel. In this life, I will be the shield. I will burn the hands of those who dare reach into the Feng family nest, no matter how high their station.
Mama Bai draped a brocade cloak over Madam Feng’s shoulders and guided her to the octagonal rosewood table. The maids had laid out a spread for her consisting of : thin-skinned spring rolls, white jade dumplings, bowls of golden millet porridge, and Jinyao’s favorite milk-glutinous rice cakes.
For a moment, the atmosphere was domestic and peaceful. But then, the curtain swirled.
A maid named Hupo entered, carrying a steaming porcelain bowl. The bitter, pungent steam filled the room. Jinyao’s heart skipped a beat, her blood turning to ice.
“Fu-ren, the medicine is ready,” Hupo said, her voice smooth. “Drink it while the heat carries the strength of the herbs.”
Madam Feng looked at the black liquid with visible revulsion. “I have just eaten; it is unwise to take medicine so soon. Set it aside to cool.”
Jinyao watched Hupo with a gaze that could have frozen the morning rain. Before the maid could insist, Yunxu’s voice rang out from the courtyard.
“Xiao-jie, the hair oil you requested from the south of the city has arrived! Would you prefer the jasmine scent?”
“Bring it in,” Jinyao called out.
Yunxu entered, holding a lacquered box. She caught Jinyao’s eye, a flicker of understanding passing between them. Jinyao smiled; the girl had learned the art of the “hidden truth” quickly.
“Mu-qin, I heard the Dream Seeking Shop has released a new line of oils with an elegant fragrance. I thought we might both use it to prepare for Grandmother’s banquet tomorrow. Mama Bai, please fetch some warm water. I wish to help Mu-qin untangle her hair.”
“Xiao-jie is so thoughtful,” Mama Bai beamed, leading the other maids out to the kitchen. Hupo hesitated, opening her mouth to speak, but Mama Bai shooed her along. “Go, see to the hot water, be quick about it!”
The moment the room cleared and the heavy curtains fell still, the smile vanished from Jinyao’s face. She leaned in close to her mother, her expression deadly serious.
“Mu-qin, do not touch that bowl. From this moment on, you must not swallow a single drop of the medicine provided by Physician Wang.”
Madam Feng’s eyes widened, her hand trembling against the table. “What are you saying? These servants have been in our house for decades…”
“Someone has added a ‘hidden fire’ to your dregs—something that turns a simple cough into a rot of the lungs,” Jinyao whispered, reaching into the box Yunxu had brought and pulling out a small, differently marked vial. “I sent Yunxu to the Ren family in secret. This is their famous restorative. You must take this instead, and we must hide the truth from everyone.”
Madam Feng looked at the steaming bowl Hupo had left behind, then back at her daughter’s fierce, protective eyes.
“You suspect… Hupo?” the mother breathed, her voice laced with the horror of betrayal.
Jinyao looked at the medicine, the steam rising like a dark omen. “I suspect everyone whose hands have touched that bowl. But do not fear, Mu-qin. I am back now. And I will not let them take you.”