The spirit of the Eight Trigrams can be found everywhere.

Lingran had actually already noticed their little gestures to each other and found it rather amusing. Deliberately, she set her chopsticks down with a sudden clatter and asked, “Ladies, did none of you hear anything from Lanzeshan House last night?”

Everyone exchanged glances, but no one answered. Only Tao Chunying remained composed, replying, “Hear what? Did something happen? I went home last night and slept outside the second gate. They said they seemed to hear you scream.”

Yet, the others shook their heads or waved their hands, some saying, “I didn’t hear anything,” while others quickly pointed to someone else, “She’s the one who said it.” That person immediately denied it, “It wasn’t me…”

Lingran thought to herself: As expected, they heard something but are pretending not to. Fine, if you’re going to act, I’ll play along too.

She finished the last of her porridge in one gulp and declared, “I didn’t shout. Whoever claims they heard it must be seeing ghosts! But this morning I discovered that the portrait from the mourning hall is missing. I’ll have to go over to the Prince of Xiang’s residence and report this to His Highness.”

The women all turned pale; even Tao Chunying stopped chopping. Lingran observed their expressions, sensing they knew about the “haunting” at Lanzeshan House but were too intimidated to ask more, which only confirmed her suspicion that she hadn’t seen a ghost last night—perhaps even Chu Liuxiang knew about those two strange people. But who were they?

As she pondered this, a woman called Liu, whom everyone addressed as Sister Liu, spoke up: “His Highness isn’t often in the residence. If you go to report this, you’ll likely have to see Lady Sun.”

“Lady Sun?” Lingran couldn’t help but ask. It was the second time she’d heard the name—the first being from Sister Li, the steward of Jingyuan, who mentioned that Xuexiang Cottage belonged to the Prince of Xiang’s estate and that without Lady Sun’s approval, no one could be assigned there. It seemed Lady Sun oversaw the prince’s household affairs.

Seeing that Lingran didn’t even know who Lady Sun was, the cooks couldn’t help but gossip about the inner workings of the Prince of Xiang’s household.

Sister Liu replied eagerly, “Lady Sun is actually the prince’s third wife, and her family is most distinguished. Her grandfather, Sun Jizhong, was the brother of Empress Dowager Sun, consort to Emperor Yingzong. Her great-grandfather was the Grand Tutor, Duke Anguo Sun Zhong, a hereditary noble—the family is illustrious, and she’s a legitimate daughter. Normally, her family would never allow her to become a concubine, but she fell for our young prince and was determined to marry in, even though His Highness refused to grant her the title of princess consort. She willingly became the third wife.”

Aunt Mao added, “Though she’s called the third wife, her status is nearly equal to that of the secondary consort, Fang Pin. You see, the secondary consort lives in Ningxiang Hall, and Lady Sun resides in Yihong Hall in Wanxiang Garden. There are only four halls in the entire garden—one is the prince’s, another is reserved for the future princess consort—so you can see how their status is far above the other wives.”

Sister Liu continued, “Of course, but she also manages the household! Why isn’t the secondary consort in charge? In the Ming dynasty, the highest title a non-imperial family could achieve was duke, so there’s little surprise at all the ways the Chancellor’s and Prince’s mansions surpass convention. Technically, only the emperor and crown prince should have places named ‘palace’ or ‘hall’…”

Lingran wasn’t interested in the prince’s harem. Ever since she found out that the stunningly handsome man was the Prince of Xiang, she’d lost all appetite for intrigue. Frankly, she’d have preferred if Chu Yu were still the unspoiled “male favorite” of the Chancellor—at least then there’d be some fantasy left to indulge. But she had no patience for competing with a horde of women for a man’s affection and looked down on such men with utter disdain.

So she stood up, waved farewell, and said, “I’m off to the Prince of Xiang’s residence. Whoever I report to, it’s all the same.”

She asked for directions and made her way to the courtyard gate that connected the Chancellor’s and Prince’s mansions, only to be stopped by the guards. She quickly explained her purpose.

When the guards heard that the portrait of the Dowager Princess had been stolen, they realized the gravity of the matter and dared not be negligent. She was told to wait while they went in to report.

Lingran expected someone would see her, but after a long wait, the guard returned and said, “His Highness has gone to the palace. Lady Sun says the prince’s residence has had a Buddhist hall for the Dowager Princess for years, and yesterday Master Wu painted a new portrait, which pleased His Highness greatly. He likely won’t visit Lanzeshan House anytime soon. There’s much to manage in the garden, and Lady Sun has no time to see you. She asks you to return for now; she’ll inform His Highness when convenient.”

Lingran hadn’t expected to be turned away so bluntly. It seemed the people at the prince’s residence didn’t much care for those from the Chancellor’s mansion. She’d noticed there were no guards on the Chancellor’s side, and people from the prince’s household came and went freely, but she wasn’t about to argue with the sentries. She left, planning to figure out an approach when Wu Wei visited again—or maybe when Yuan’er and the others had time, they’d come to the mountain to see her.

With nothing to do, she returned to the mountain to fetch a lantern and brought it down to the main kitchen to return to Aunt Mao.

The kitchen was already bustling. With little to occupy her back at the mountain house, Lingran pitched in, helping with odd jobs and picking up some cooking skills in the process. To her surprise, this gained her the favor of several women, who praised her for being so sensible.

And so, seven or eight uneventful days drifted by. Nothing happened; the two strange visitors never reappeared, and Wu Wei, whom she’d been eagerly awaiting, also failed to show.

Lingran was growing bored. Aside from cleaning the house, she’d often considered dismantling the wooden railings blocking the stairs to the second floor, but she never acted on the impulse.

The only place she felt truly at home was the kitchen, so she spent her free time there.

It was now the fourteenth day of the seventh lunar month—Aunt Mao reminded her that tomorrow was the Ghost Festival and not to forget to collect offerings and burn paper money. Lingran planned to return early that day and fold more paper money, and to collect extra melons, fruits, poultry, and fish for the offerings—she’d be sure to sneak a taste, a little treat for herself. The thought left her quietly delighted.

The kitchen was in the middle of preparing lunch when a maid from Chifeng Residence arrived with a message: the young lady wanted crab soufflé soup for lunch. The kitchen instantly descended into chaos.

After the maid left, Tao Chunying slammed her knife onto the chopping board in frustration. “How are we supposed to work like this? It’s high summer—sea crabs shipped to the capital are never fresh. Even keeping them in the ice cellar doesn’t help. She always wants things we haven’t prepared.”

Sister Liu hesitated. “In past years, someone always brought live sea crabs to the Chancellor’s mansion. Why are they all gone this year?”

“Think about it—the masters love seafood, and after all those banquets a few days ago, of course it’s all been eaten,” answered Madam Zhang, shelling beans as she spoke. “Rumor has it our young lady is destined to be empress, which is why the Chancellor spoils her so. We can’t afford to neglect her.”

Tao Chunying, at her wits’ end, took off her apron and hurried out. “There’s still some time before noon—I’ll go check the market.”

Lingran was filled with envy at her freedom of movement and called after her, “Let me go with you, Tao. If you find crabs, I can help carry them.”

“No need! The Chancellor’s mansion has its own carts for purchases,” Tao Chunying replied, disappearing in a rush.

Madam Zhang shook her head. “Someone’s bound to suffer for this—if they do find live crabs, they’ll be skinny and tasteless. Wonder who’ll get the blame today!”

Sister Liu and Aunt Mao avoided commenting, each wary of trouble falling on their own heads.

Lingran, too, was out of sorts. She thought, since Tao Chunying could go out whenever she liked to buy food for the household, it would be wise to get on good terms with her—if she ever needed to escape and had saved enough money, she could leave with her help. After all, the Chancellor’s mansion was no place to stay long-term.

She worked slowly, helping Aunt Mao make dumplings, when she noticed a girl dressed as a maid enter the kitchen. The others, finding her unfamiliar, merely stared and ignored her.

But Lingran glanced up and recognized her instantly. This was no ordinary maid—it was Luo Xianghong from the House of Thousand Gold.