Chapter 2: Not a Dream

“Someone, take this seductive fox and make her ride the wooden donkey.” Lady Zhou lashed at Liu Chuyan twice, marring her beauty and finally venting her anger. She snorted coldly, glaring at Zhou Baiqing.

Such a beauty—if she’s made to ride the wooden donkey, she’ll be ruined and useless. What a pity. He hadn’t yet tasted her, and he was unwilling to let go. Yet, no matter how reluctant he felt, in front of this tigress of a woman, Zhou Baiqing could only bow his head and admit fault. After all, he still relied on her power and influence.

Two old maids, having received Lady Zhou’s orders, swiftly stepped forward and dragged Liu Chuyan away.

“That woman is truly pitiful. She was living quietly as a cousin in the Marquis of Wukang’s household, but when Old Madam Han passed away in haste, she wasn’t properly settled. The lady of the house was jealous and shamelessly made her serve as a maid. Later, she was forced to marry that unlucky Zhao Panyu, and when he met with disaster, she was sent to serve the Grand Eunuch. Who knows what a man like that, incapable as he is, would do to her? And now, the Grand Eunuch has cast her aside and handed her over to our master.”

“If it were anyone else, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, but our master is famous in Jinling for being utterly henpecked. Tsk tsk…” The two maids glanced at her closed eyes and deathly pale face, figuring she’d fainted from fright. They muttered to each other, repeating Jinling’s open secrets.

Liu Chuyan, however, felt release drawing near. How many women could endure the wooden donkey? Besides, she was already covered in wounds, only awaiting that final, liberating punishment. Her eyelids were too heavy to lift.

Dying would be preferable, an end to everything. Only, she’d let down her grandaunt, who’d harbored such hope for her.

“She’s so wretched already. Why not just throw her into the water? She won’t survive anyway. I couldn’t bear to make her ride the wooden donkey,” one maid said.

“It’s not convenient to use the water. If her body floats up in a few days and Lady Zhou finds out we never sent her to the wooden donkey, we’ll be in even more trouble. She’s barely breathing now, her body’s going cold. Best wait for nightfall and take her to the mass graves. It’s the twelfth lunar month, bitterly cold this year. Even if she doesn’t die from pain, she’ll freeze to death. Many strong young men in the capital have frozen this winter—how could a delicate young lady survive? We’ll just say she died of fright on the way. At least we’ll leave her body whole and save ourselves some bad karma.”

“Very well, we’ll do as you say.”

The two old maids, afraid of retribution for their many sins, agreed to abandon her in the mass graves and leave her fate to chance.

Half an hour later, Liu Chuyan felt herself laid upon the icy ground. The wind howled mournfully in her ears, and the occasional shriek of a wild cat pierced the night. To her, it all sounded like celestial music.

Her body grew colder, so stiff she could no longer move.

Her breath came short; she couldn’t breathe.

In another moment, it would all be over, her suffering ended.

She only wished she could see her grandaunt one last time, to apologize for letting her down.

“Yanyan, wake up, wake up. Having a nightmare?”

“Grandaunt?” Liu Chuyan heard that familiar, gentle voice. She slowly opened her eyes, a weak smile on her lips as tears of bitterness slid from her eyes. “Grandaunt, I’ve finally seen you. I’m sorry I disappointed you.”

“There, there, don’t cry. It wasn’t your fault. Rong-shi fell into the water by her own misdeeds. Fortunately, she was saved in time, so nothing serious happened.” Old Madam Han stroked her forehead. “But you—she dragged you down with her. And now, the first frost has just passed and the weather is turning cold. You’ve always been a bit frail, and after falling in the water like this, you’ll need a long time to recover or you’ll be left with lingering illness.”

Fallen into the water? Wasn’t that on the twenty-second day of the ninth month this year?

She remembered that day clearly: she’d accompanied her grandaunt to pray at the Jiming Temple for blessings upon the family. The Marquis of Wukang’s first and second wives had gone too, along with the newlywed Han family daughter-in-law, Lady Rong. Perhaps there were others, but her mind was a muddle now, hard to recall.

The Marquis’s eldest son had always coveted her beauty, and after marrying, he’d only grown bolder. Lady Rong had noticed his behavior, grew jealous, and when no one was looking, pushed her into the lotus pond.

Liu Chuyan, on reflex, had grabbed Lady Rong’s skirt. Lady Rong couldn’t shake her off, and in her panic tried to tear her own skirt away, but lacked the strength. The two women tumbled into the water together.

Liu Chuyan couldn’t swim well, but she managed to cling to some sturdy lotus roots and keep herself afloat.

Lady Rong, however, was hopeless in water. As soon as she fell in, she choked and couldn’t call for help. The water was icy, stiffening her limbs, and she quickly sank beneath the surface.

Luckily, the maid who had been sent away by Lady Rong soon returned, saw the scene, called for help, and both women were rescued.

Having fallen into the water, shocked and chilled, both developed high fevers.

The entire struggle had been witnessed by the second wife from a distance and reported truthfully to Old Madam Han. Thus, Liu Chuyan was not blamed, and Lady Rong’s reputation for jealousy was solidified.

Liu Chuyan listened as Old Madam Han fussed over her, her tone filled with concern, her expression as kind as ever. Outwardly, Liu Chuyan appeared vacant, but inwardly, a storm raged.

“Madam, I see that the young lady is awake, but her eyes are dull and her complexion is even worse than before. Shall I call the physician to examine her?” The speaker was Yunling, Old Madam Han’s chief maid, her voice soft lest she startle Liu Chuyan.

Old Madam Han pressed her hand to Liu Chuyan’s forehead, anxious. “The fever’s gone, but she’s still dazed… Go call—”

“Grandaunt,” Liu Chuyan cut in, clutching the hand still pressed to her brow. “No need to trouble the doctor. I just had a dream and haven’t fully come to myself yet.”

“I suppose that’s it.” Songling, another maid, entered carrying a bowl of pitch-black medicine. She was personally assigned by Old Madam Han and was Yunling’s sister. “Please drink the medicine, young lady. You must get well soon or my heart will never be at ease.”

Old Madam Han fixed Songling with a steely glare. “Next time, be more careful and stay close to the young lady. Don’t let anyone harm her again.”

“Yes, madam, I will remember.” Songling, ever cautious at the old lady’s urging, had only been tricked away that day, nearly resulting in disaster for Liu Chuyan.

Supported by Yunling, Liu Chuyan rose, drank the bitter medicine, rinsed her mouth, and sucked on an overly sweet honey date, yet the bitterness lingered and her brows knit tightly. She looked around—this was the monastic room where she’d stayed before: small but elegantly appointed, cleverly arranged. On the table lay the talisman she’d requested for peace, and incense burned, obtained from the abbot.

“This medicine will help you sleep. It’s late—are you tired, young lady?” Yunling’s voice was gentle as she guided Liu Chuyan to lie down.

“I’m… not tired.” Yet as soon as she denied it, she let out a tremendous yawn, making Old Madam Han laugh. “Silly girl.”

Liu Chuyan silently mocked herself for contradicting her own words, then squeezed Old Madam Han’s hand. “Grandaunt, you should rest too.”

“Very well. Rest, Yanyan, and tomorrow I’ll see to that poisonous woman and make sure you get justice.” Old Madam Han rose slowly, still seething with anger. But age had drained her stamina; after today’s ordeal, she was exhausted, her steps faltering as she left the room.

Yet Liu Chuyan knew that talk of punishment was only words. The Marquis of Wukang’s household had risen in rank by marrying the precious daughter of the Marquis of Yongkang, Lady Rong. Though a legitimate daughter married beneath her status, her maiden family’s influence remained. Old Madam Han had to weigh the power of the marquisate before acting. That was why Lady Rong acted with such impunity, daring to harm Liu Chuyan.

“Songling, you should rest as well,” Liu Chuyan said, striving for calm and taking a deep breath.

Songling nodded respectfully and moved to trim the lamp wick.

“Leave the lamp burning—you may go,” Liu Chuyan said hastily, suddenly afraid of the dark.

“Doesn’t the young lady usually need total darkness to sleep?” Songling asked, surprised.

“No, tonight I want the light left on.” Liu Chuyan closed her eyes, unwilling to say more.

Seeing her mistress’s somber mood, Songling pouted and quietly withdrew.

As soon as the door closed, Liu Chuyan buried herself in the covers and bit hard on her arm. The pain was real—this was no illusion. She broke down sobbing.

After a while, she abruptly threw off the quilt, stood, and looked about the room until she found a bronze mirror. Her face, though pale, was still round and healthy; her neck smooth as silk. She swiftly pulled off her inner garment and unfastened her bodice. Her skin was ivory, unmarred—her breasts full, her waist slender, her limbs delicate, her wrists like snow—her entire body flawless as white porcelain.

This was her original form, the hands untouched by Lady Rong’s abuse, the body unspoiled by the Grand Eunuch, the face unmarked by Lady Ye’s whip.

Yet Lady Rong had forced her to marry, Zhao Panyu had claimed her by force, Madam Zhao had heaped insults, the Grand Eunuch was depraved, Zhou Baiqing malicious, Lady Ye cruel—everything had unfolded before her like a painted scroll, vivid and agonizing, each scene cutting into her flesh.

No, it was not a dream.

She was certain—she had lived through it all.

The sting of wax, the searing pain of the whip, the humiliating words, the vile actions—each remained etched in her memory, searing her soul, hatred filling her bones.

The pain was too real for her to doubt its truth.

But why? Why, after death, had she come back to life, and at a time four months earlier?

Did fate intend to torment her, to make her suffer all over again?

What hope was left in such a life? What longing could remain?

Was this the so-called mercy of heaven? Or did she owe some ancient debt, doomed to endure suffering twice in this life?

No—Liu Chuyan knew she had never wronged anyone. The person she was in her previous life wasn’t her; she owed nothing.

In the past, she had always accepted her fate.

But now, in this moment, she refused. She could not accept it any longer.