Chapter Two: Whose Hands Will the Deer Fall Into? (VII)

VII. Confusion

It had been more than two months since Xiangbao’s miscarriage, and Fuchai had not spent another night at Drunken Moon Pavilion. Autumn had come, the air growing colder by the day, and Xiangbao began to learn how to sew herself a winter robe.

“Madam, what are you busy with?” Ziru asked curiously, placing a cup of tea by Xiangbao’s side.

“Making clothes,” Xiangbao replied, raising the unevenly cut fabric in her hands with a smile.

“You should leave that to the maids,” Ziru objected, shaking her head.

In the past, when her elder sister was still alive, she would always start sewing Xiangbao’s winter clothes in spring. Xiangbao lifted her hand to touch her nose, recalling how her sister would pinch it and say, “I must sew it thick, so our lazy Xiangbao won’t fear the cold come winter.”

“Madam, madam…” Ziru nudged her.

Xiangbao returned to herself, pressed her lips together, “It’s fine, I have nothing else to do anyway.” With that, she bent her head and busied herself again.

Ziru bit her lip, hesitating to speak.

“Madam…” When dinner was served, Ziru finally could not hold back.

“Yes?” Xiangbao replied softly, sipping her soup.

“Madam…”

“What is it?” Xiangbao sighed, reluctantly setting aside her delicious soup and turning to Ziru, “If something’s bothering you, just say it.”

“Do you know where His Majesty is spending the night tonight?” Ziru asked.

“Where?” Xiangbao followed her lead, lowering her head to sip her soup.

“Moon-viewing Pavilion.”

“Oh? Again at Moon-viewing Pavilion?” Xiangbao answered lightly.

Moon-viewing Pavilion housed Zhengdan. Since Lady Yun had been confined, Fuchai’s visits to the pavilion had become most frequent.

“Why…” Seeing Xiangbao’s calmness, Ziru was utterly baffled. She had always thought Xiangbao was shrewd—had she been mistaken?

“Why am I not anxious?” Xiangbao licked her lips and smiled.

Ziru said nothing.

“He is the king. Now that I’ve lost favor, what use is anxiety?” Xiangbao smiled, setting down her bowl. “It’s only you who’s suffering. Next time I see His Majesty, I’ll ask him to let you return.”

“Madam, you know that’s not what I mean!” Ziru bit her lip.

Xiangbao rose and walked to the window. A breeze swept in, lifting the strands by her temple.

“I hope this winter isn’t too cold,” she said after a long pause, as if speaking to herself.

Night deepened.

Lying on the couch, Xiangbao folded her hands over her chest and stared at the ceiling in a daze. After tonight, it would be seventy-six days—he had not stayed at Drunken Moon Pavilion for seventy-six nights. Her hands clenched tightly, knuckles whitening. She startled herself—why could she remember so precisely? Seventy-six days, and she knew it down to the day.

Ziru often reminded her of which lady Fuchai spent the night with, mentioning Moon-viewing Pavilion most—fifty-two times in all. He no longer bothered her, giving her much freedom. With nothing to do, she could focus on needlework; it was a good thing, so why did her heart feel so empty?

Xiangbao was truly frightened by herself. Was she…

She shook her head fiercely, trying to dispel the thoughts. Pulling the quilt over her head, she turned away, forcing herself to sleep.

Did she want to taste that anxious dread again?

Did she wish to endure that pain worse than death once more?

She did not!

Opening her eyes in the darkness, cold sweat beaded on her forehead. Another nightmare. Awakened, she dared not sleep again and sat hugging the quilt until dawn.

When morning came, Ziru entered the room and saw Xiangbao sitting on the couch, dazed, with the look of someone who had not slept all night.

“Madam, you…”

“I’m fine.” Xiangbao turned aside. She kept feeling as if a small, furtive figure lingered outside the window, peeking inside.

“Sixiang, come in.” Her brow twitched impatiently as Xiangbao called out.

The small figure stiffened slightly, then shuffled in.

“So early—what’s the matter?”

“Well… um… did you make Father angry?” After much hesitation, he finally spoke.

Xiangbao couldn’t help but laugh, “Why do you ask?”

“Father, he…”

Xiangbao immediately understood. The little one must have thought Fuchai was angry at her, hence…

“Perhaps so.” Xiangbao smiled. Though she herself was unsure whether she had truly angered him, she was actually grateful for his neglect now.

After thinking all night, she had finally come to clarity. If he continued to favor her, she would only sink deeper, unable to escape. Now, withdrawing her feelings was still possible, not too late.

Sixiang lowered his head, disappointed, “Father must really be angry… what should we do…” He muttered to himself, then looked up, “Don’t worry, Sixiang will help you.” He gazed at Xiangbao with utmost seriousness.

Xiangbao patted his head, torn between laughter and emotion.

“Sigh…” Looking at Sixiang, Xiangbao suddenly sighed deeply.

“What’s wrong? Don’t sigh, I really will help you,” he said anxiously.

“It’s been so long since you called me mother…” Xiangbao, suppressing laughter, sighed with a sorrowful face.

Sixiang’s cheeks flushed instantly; after gathering courage for a long time, he whispered, “Mother.”

Xiangbao gazed at his blushing face, her heart softening, and couldn’t help but pull him into her arms, “Good boy.”

He struggled slightly, but hearing her sigh, he stayed quietly in her embrace, no longer daring to move. Holding soft, fragrant Sixiang, Xiangbao was momentarily lost in thought. She wondered, if that child had not been lost… would he too be as beautiful and obedient as Sixiang?

And would he call her… mother?

After breakfast, Sixiang impatiently pulled Xiangbao out of the garden.

“So eager, where are we going?” Xiangbao asked curiously.

Sixiang smiled mysteriously. Xiangbao pinched his chubby cheeks and smiled too.

“Shh!” Sixiang suddenly tugged her down to squat by the corridor.

“What’s wrong?” Unconsciously lowering her voice, Xiangbao murmured.

Sixiang gestured for silence. Xiangbao found it amusing and was about to laugh when Sixiang covered her mouth with his small hand.

“Madam?” Suddenly, an all-too-familiar voice sounded.

Xiangbao froze.

It was Fuchai’s voice, but not calling her.

She raised her head slightly, peering through the corridor’s pillars. She saw a familiar figure—the sunlight glinting off a bright yellow robe hurt her eyes. Beside him stood a woman in white: Zhengdan.

“Your Majesty, your hair is messy,” Zhengdan said, covering her lips with her sleeve, laughing softly.

That smile seemed to drain the color from the garden’s loveliest flowers. Xiangbao had never seen her smile like this; indeed, she was beautiful when she did.

“No matter,” Fuchai replied.

“Let me fix it for you,” Zhengdan said, raising a small wooden comb.

“Madam, you chased after me just to fix my hair?” Fuchai raised his eyebrows.

“Yes,” Zhengdan nodded, pulling his sleeve and pointing to a stone bench.

Fuchai laughed and sat as she wished.

Sixiang, who had just been pulling Xiangbao along, bit his lip in anger and clenched his fists, almost ready to rush out. Xiangbao quickly pulled him back, and when he refused, she simply gathered him in her arms.

Under the warm, brilliant sunlight, slender jade fingers held the wooden comb, pinky raised, gently combing through silky hair—a picture of beauty.

Sixiang struggled, and Xiangbao gently turned his head, pressing it against her chest. Holding Sixiang, Xiangbao quietly watched Fuchai and Zhengdan, her eyes void of emotion, as still as dead water.

That day, under equally dazzling sunlight, she had watched the man she once thought regained, dressed in white, holding another woman’s hand.

A perfect pair.

“Who’s there?” someone barked.

A sharp sword pointed toward their hiding place. Xiangbao stood up instinctively, holding Sixiang.

“Lady Xishi?” The guard, sword in hand, was surprised and looked to Fuchai.

Xiangbao hung her head, as if she’d committed a grave offense.

Fuchai stood and frowned slightly.

“Why are you hiding here?” After a moment, Fuchai asked.

“Oh… I’m playing with Sixiang,” Xiangbao licked her dry lips, “Catching bugs.”

“Catching bugs?” Fuchai raised a brow—didn’t she even bother to think up a proper lie?

“Yes, catching bugs,” Xiangbao nodded emphatically.

“Did you catch any?”

“No… it ran too fast.”

“Oh.” Fuchai responded blandly.

The palace maids and guards were all silent with fear; only Zhengdan watched the strange exchange, smiling. Xiangbao kept her head down, seeming very humble.

“Look up,” Fuchai said suddenly, frowning.

Xiangbao obediently lifted her head, but her eyes still stared at the ground.

“Is there money on the ground?” Fuchai asked slowly.

“No,” Xiangbao replied honestly, shaking her head.

“Look at me.” For no apparent reason, Fuchai grew restless and called himself “me,” not “I, the king.”

The guards noticed this subtle change, but Xiangbao did not. She bit her lip, her arms around Sixiang trembling before tightening, as if drawing strength from him. Sixiang stayed quietly in her arms, his small hands around her neck.

Was she afraid?

Afraid of what?

Fuchai’s frown deepened.

With great effort, Xiangbao steadied herself and moved her gaze from the ground to Fuchai’s face. Still, she did not meet his eyes.

“Look into my eyes,” he commanded.

Xiangbao froze, then obeyed. Her eyes were empty, deathly still. Fuchai felt a sudden, guilty pang in his heart.

“Your Majesty, Prime Minister Wu has urged you a second time,” a guard reminded quietly nearby.

Fuchai snapped out of it and strode away. Xiangbao lowered her head and let out a breath.

“What were you afraid of just now?” A cheerful voice sounded nearby.

Xiangbao stiffened and looked up—it was Zhengdan.

“You’ve fallen in love with him?” Xiangbao asked flatly.

Zhengdan was stunned.

“The words you once told me—have you forgotten?” Xiangbao forced a stiff smile.

“I haven’t forgotten,” Zhengdan smiled. “But I was foolish then.”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” Xiangbao frowned.

“You’ll understand someday. I—I only want to survive.” With that, she turned and left.

Watching her go, Xiangbao felt her sorrow and resolve.

Why?

“I’m sorry…” Sixiang mumbled from her arms.

“Hm?” Xiangbao looked down at him.

“I didn’t know she’d be here…”

Xiangbao realized instantly—he’d led her out early just to arrange a chance encounter with Fuchai.

Only, they happened upon a scene like this.

Xiangbao laughed, rubbing his head, “You and your clever schemes.”

Sixiang did not dodge as usual, letting her have her way. Xiangbao was surprised, and on looking closer, saw his eyes were red.

“Are you crying?” Xiangbao laughed helplessly.

“No,” he muttered, but tears fell.

“Silly, why cry?”

“Aren’t you sad?” He looked up at her, lashes wet with tears, pitiable.

“No, I’m not sad.” Xiangbao wiped his tears, smiling.

“You’re lying,” he mumbled, nose stuffy.

Xiangbao looked at him, saying nothing.

“Before… mother always cried… when father favored other women, she cried…”

Xiangbao patted his back to comfort him, “He’s the king, he can’t just favor one woman.” Even she was startled by her own words—yes, he is the king…

Sixiang rubbed his nose, “He’s so bad, you shouldn’t like him anymore.”

“Huh?”

“The man in white last time—he’s your lover, right? Go with him. Father has so many women. If you really like him, you’ll only be sad.”

Xiangbao laughed helplessly.

“What nonsense,” she pinched his red nose, “Don’t say such things.”

Sixiang still grumbled.

Xiangbao spent the day playing with Sixiang. Not until dusk did he return to his own quarters, finally cheered. Xiangbao dragged her weary body back to Drunken Moon Pavilion.

As soon as she entered, she saw Ziru pacing at the door.

“Madam!” Seeing Xiangbao, Ziru hurried over, “You’re finally back! Where did you go? You didn’t even return for lunch!”

“I was with Sixiang. What’s wrong?” Xiangbao rubbed her arm.

“His Majesty came at noon,” Ziru said anxiously.

Xiangbao paused, then breathed a sigh of relief, glad she hadn’t returned at midday.

“All right, I know. I’m starving—prepare dinner,” Xiangbao said, pushing Ziru along cheerfully.

“Oh, listen to me!” Ziru protested as Xiangbao pushed her, “His Majesty…”

“All right, all right, don’t tell me, don’t say where he’s spending the night—I’m not interested, I’m starving…” As she spoke, Xiangbao suddenly stopped.

Ziru, seeing Xiangbao finally stop pushing, breathed a sigh of relief, “Quiet down—His Majesty is inside. He’s been waiting since noon…”

“Enough, I see him already…” Xiangbao wailed inwardly, “Ziru,” she said, raising a hand to her forehead, doing her best to ignore the eyes fixed on her from the doorway.

“Yes?”

“In future, please just get to the point.”

“…”

“Didn’t you say you were hungry? Why are you still standing at the door?” Fuchai’s voice sounded coolly.

Xiangbao shuffled over to him, and when she saw the sumptuous dishes on the table, her eyes shone.

“Your Majesty, may I eat now?” She swallowed, shamelessly eager.

Fuchai said nothing and went to sit at the table. Xiangbao immediately sat down, choosing the seat furthest from him. Completely ignoring Fuchai’s displeased gaze, she began to feast.

“I’ve waited here all afternoon…” Fuchai said, not too loudly or softly.

Swallowing her food, Xiangbao stuffed more into her mouth and muttered, “You could have sent someone to fetch me.”

She said he could have sent someone. She said “you.”

Until today, she had never addressed him that way.

Ignoring Fuchai’s presence, Xiangbao devoured her meal. Perhaps she wasn’t really so hungry, but… eating spared her from facing him.

She ate and ate. Only when her stomach nearly burst did he stand, walk over, and take the large piece of roast meat from her greasy hands.

“If you eat any more, your belly will burst.”

He took her hand; she instinctively tried to pull back her greasy fingers, failed. He picked up a cloth and wiped her hand. Xiangbao lowered her eyes, and when he wiped her face, she turned away slightly.

“Are you sulking?” He raised an eyebrow, lifting her chin and gently wiping her lips.

This time, she didn’t dodge.

“I dare not,” her gaze fixed on his chest, avoiding his eyes.

She said she dared not. She said “I.”

Fuchai laughed softly.

“You’re jealous,” he said, not a question but a statement.

Her long lashes trembled, and she bit her lip. She wasn’t jealous. She didn’t love him—why should she be jealous? Jealousy was born of love.

Dinner was cleared, yet he did not leave.

Ziru came in to light the lamps; still, he didn’t leave.

Xiangbao kept wondering why he hadn’t left.

“So… it’s late, Your Majesty, when will you retire?” At last, Xiangbao couldn’t contain herself and prompted him.

“Is Madam inviting me?” Fuchai propped his chin, looking at her at ease.

Eh?

Xiangbao shook her head vigorously, as if ringing a bell.

“Your Majesty has state affairs to attend, I dare not disturb you. If Your Majesty is leaving, please prepare,” she called loudly to the guards outside.

No one responded.

Xiangbao’s mouth twitched—how humiliating.

“Is Madam driving me away?” A low, ghostly voice sounded behind her.

Xiangbao shivered.

Long arms wrapped around her from behind, gently pulling her into his embrace, holding her tightly.

Xiangbao struggled.

“Don’t move,” he whispered in her ear, his voice hoarse, his hot breath making her ears flush.

Something pressed against her waist. In the past, Xiangbao would not have understood, but now she immediately knew what he wanted.

She froze, not daring to move. He picked her up and carried her into the room. Placing her on the couch, she herself undressed and lay down. Xiangbao bit her lip, clenching her hands tightly. She disliked his touch, disliked being held with hands that had embraced others.

He pulled her into his arms. Xiangbao lay stiffly, letting him do as he wished. But he merely held her close and did nothing more.

Still she stayed tense, her nerves taut.

“Sleep,” he murmured, rubbing her head gently.

Xiangbao bit her lip.

“Aren’t you always having nightmares? I’m here, sleep,” he sighed softly at her ear.

She was stunned—how did he know?

That night, Xiangbao slept deeply, dreamless. When she woke, Fuchai was gone, and she stared blankly, then raised her hand to pinch her own face hard. She must not crave his warmth, must not crave the peace he brought. For once she depended on him, being cast aside would hurt even more. Better not to depend from the start—no hope, no disappointment.

This is best.

Yes, this is best.

Xiangbao nodded, affirming her thoughts.

“Madam?” Ziru entered and saw Xiangbao sitting dazed on the couch, pinching her face, startled and rushing over to pull her hand away, “Madam, what are you doing?”

Two red marks marred her pale cheeks. Xiangbao looked up blankly at Ziru, “Ziru…”

“Yes?” Ziru looked at the marks, feeling a pang of sympathy.

Xiangbao reached out and hugged her.

Ziru heard her muttering something indistinct, and listening carefully, she thought Xiangbao was calling, “Sister.”

A certain soft place in Ziru’s heart was suddenly touched. She lifted her hand and gently stroked Xiangbao’s back.