Chapter Seven: The Warmth and Coldness of Human Relationships

Yesterday, the woman sitting at the edge of the carriage, who paid little attention to Lingran and whose gaze was full of allure, was the first to speak: “Since you’re here to serve us, shouldn’t you fetch some tea? We’ve been traveling for half a day—I nearly died of thirst.”

Song’er and Xiao’e hurriedly agreed. Lingran thought to herself that two people could hardly attend to ten, and was about to help when Dan Yuan’er stepped forward. “I’m quite good at making tea. Let me assist you.”

Meanwhile, Xu Shanquan and Shen Zhu had claimed the seats closest to the southern window. They ignored the others, sitting together on the bed, laughing and chatting.

Biqing noticed Lingran glaring at the alluring woman and pulled her aside, whispering, “Her name is Mo Suxian. She has a terrible temper—people say she’s much like her father. Best not to provoke her.”

“Who is her father?” Lingran, determined to satisfy her curiosity, wanted to uncover every detail.

Biqing was about to explain, but glanced up and saw Mo Suxian watching her coldly, so she swallowed her words in fright.

Lingran pursed her lips and tugged Biqing away. “Let’s go help Yuan’er.”

Outside the main door and into the courtyard, Biqing finally patted her chest, relieved. “You don’t know—her father used to be the Pacification Commander of Yongshun. He had a longstanding feud with the Pacification Commander of Baojing, often dragging imperial troops into their clashes. The last time, amid chaos, he killed the Baojing Commander and was sentenced to execution. Mo Suxian and the women of her family were sent to the Bureau of Entertainment—nearly forced into prostitution. Luckily, a wealthy buyer rescued her, and she ended up here. Truthfully, no one here speaks to her, nor does she to anyone. She’s fierce.”

Lingran nodded. Living among so many women, trouble was inevitable. She was never adept at scheming or intrigues and hoped to stay uninvolved.

They walked slowly along the stone path through the courtyard. Lingran observed her surroundings, but saw no guards.

“I heard your father was accused because of the Wuqing Marquis’s brother. How is he now?” Biqing asked with concern.

Lingran felt dizzy. She now inhabited Zhang Ning’s daughter’s body, and felt nothing for this “father” she’d never met. She wasn’t sure if she should care, and even if she wanted to, she wouldn’t know where to begin—she didn’t even know who Zhang Ning was. She could ask Biqing about other matters, but not about her own father.

At that moment, she couldn’t help but recall the disheveled women she’d seen upon awakening.

Biqing, seeing Lingran silent, assumed she was upset and felt apologetic. “I shouldn’t have asked! Don’t be sad. Perhaps the Emperor—no, His Highness Prince Xiang—will issue a decree in a few days and release your father.”

Lingran frowned. “Prince Xiang?” She’d heard Yuan’er mention him; the way she spoke, it seemed the Prince Xiang’s residence and the Prime Minister’s residence were more important than the imperial palace, but she didn’t want to ask directly. Instead, she adopted a mysterious air, like a fortune-teller.

Biqing didn’t notice anything amiss and patted her hand reassuringly. “Everyone knows all matters of the realm are decided in the Prime Minister’s residence, and the Prime Minister only listens to Prince Xiang. Along the way, I heard them say Prince Xiang has eleven concubines, two of whom are daughters of disgraced officials. Take, for example, the former Minister of Revenue, Yan Fu. He offended the Duke of England and the Wuqing Marquis, was arrested and nearly died. Later, Miss Yan knelt at the palace gates for days, pleading in tears. The Prince was moved by her filial devotion and ordered Yan Fu’s release. Miss Yan swore to follow Prince Xiang and, as luck would have it, became his fourth concubine. After that, her father was reinstated, and even the Wuqing Marquis dared not touch him!”

Lingran was both amused and exasperated by her logic. She asked, “Do you really think a Minister’s noble daughter, becoming someone’s fourth concubine and sharing a husband with eleven or more women, is fortunate?”

Biqing cocked her head, looking at her with surprise. “Everyone knows Prince Xiang is the greatest man in the realm! His military achievements and elegance are unmatched. It’s no wonder he has so many wives. Eleven concubines are nothing! The Prime Minister has even more, and he’s never officially married.”

“How old is he?”

“I don’t know exactly, but he’s supposed to be very young.”

Lingran saw Biqing’s admiring expression and knew it would be hard to change her mind, so she teased, “Are you hoping to become Prince Xiang’s consort?”

Biqing blushed crimson, sputtering, “Nonsense! You little imp, what are you saying!”

Just then, Yuan’er and the others came along the stone path carrying a large teapot and a stack of porcelain cups. The two stopped their conversation and went to help. Lingran took the teapot from Yuan’er, while Biqing tried to help Song’er, who avoided her, then tried to help Xiao’e, who quickly declined, making them all laugh.

Lingran said, “We’re not some noble ladies. We’re all equals; there’s no need for such formality.”

Biqing and Yuan’er nodded in agreement.

Song’er, a bit shy and blushing, finally handed the wooden tray to Biqing. “Then I’ll go with little sister to fetch food for the ladies.”

“Go on! Just two of you—it’s a lot of work,” Biqing replied.

Yuan’er took the items from Xiao’e, and the three returned to the main house.

The other women truly were parched. Upon seeing the tea, even the once-dignified former noble ladies forgot their airs and came down from their beds to crowd around the table.

Yuan’er poured a cup for each. Most smiled and thanked her, but Mo Suxian snatched her cup, scoffing, “Born to be a servant!” She drained it in one gulp, then shook her cup at Yuan’er for a refill.

Yuan’er was a little uncomfortable, but didn’t refuse to serve her and was about to pour more. Lingran slammed her empty cup down on the table and snatched the teapot away. “Yuan’er, everyone here has hands and feet. Let them serve themselves.”

Mo Suxian was furious. She slammed her cup down even harder, smashing it to pieces, and stood up. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

During her five years battling leukemia in her former life, Lingran had witnessed the coldness of the world. At first, her family was comfortable, but her parents borrowed everywhere to pay for her treatment. Relatives avoided them, visitors dwindled, and she often lay alone in her hospital room, watching others recover with family by their side. When she died, her mother wept, but even her father’s weary face showed relief.

The world is cold; one can only rely on oneself.

Thinking of this, she refused to back down, raising her chin. “I’m not afraid of you! I’m talking to you!”

Everyone was startled. The little girl, always cheerful and smiling, suddenly showed such resolve—she looked fiercer than Mo Suxian. They exchanged glances, astonished into silence.