Chapter Three: Letting the Tiger Return to the Mountain (Part Two)

Section Two: The Poisoning Incident

The news that Fuchai had not come to Drunken Moon Pavilion reached Si Xiang, and it was inevitable she would come pestering Xiangbao, asking whether she had angered the king again. Xiangbao could only respond with a bitter smile; this time, she probably truly had made him angry.

The weather reached its coldest point. Most of the time, Xiangbao huddled on her couch, wrapped in thick blankets, not wanting to move at all.

Snow began to fall—the first snowfall of the year, swirling and growing heavier. In the middle of the night, there was a sudden disturbance near the door. Perhaps because she had slept too much during the day and feared nightmares, Xiangbao slept lightly at night, and the noise easily awoke her. Yet, because of the cold, she shrank deeper into the blankets, unwilling to get up.

“Madam, madam, the king—” Ziru rushed in, anxious.

Xiangbao grunted, unmoving.

“Madam, come see, the king is right outside the door,” Ziru’s face was full of worry.

“What’s he here for?” Xiangbao muttered, showing no intention of rising. Her courage, nurtured by Fuchai’s indulgence, had grown so bold she no longer knew fear.

“I don’t know… The king refuses to come in.”

“If he won’t come in, so be it. Let him go to whichever lady he pleases.” Xiangbao rolled her eyes. Should she beg him to enter?

“But the king seems… very strange!” Ziru stamped her foot.

“Of course it’s strange, being up in the middle of the night…” Under Ziru’s persistent urging, Xiangbao grumbled and got up, wrapped herself tightly in thick robes, and trembled as she walked out.

As she stepped out, the cold made her shudder. She looked up and saw the main door wide open, cold wind and snow blowing in forcefully. Fuchai, unseen for over two months, stood leaning against the door. His thin robes were billowing in the night wind; whether he felt the cold, she couldn’t tell.

Seeing her come out, Fuchai stepped forward, but his footing faltered and he leaned back against the door, seemingly drunk.

Xiangbao frowned, pursed her lips, and signaled for Ziru to help her support him.

With a flick of his sleeve, Fuchai pushed Ziru away: “Leave.” His thin lips moved slightly, and he coldly uttered two words.

Xiangbao’s mouth twitched. In the middle of the night, in the freezing cold, had he come specifically to act drunk before her?

Ziru turned to Xiangbao, seeking help. Xiangbao nodded, telling her to rest. After Ziru entered, Xiangbao turned to see Fuchai staring at her, his narrow eyes shining piercingly.

He reached out, his long arm pulling Xiangbao into his embrace. The scent of alcohol wafted from him. Xiangbao tried to push him away but couldn’t; he held her unmoving, quietly leaning on her shoulder. The doors of Drunken Moon Pavilion stood wide open, wind and snow blowing in. The thinly dressed man stood with his back to the door, his head pressed tightly against her neck.

The faint scent of wine drifted in the cold air. Xiangbao tried to push him away.

“Don’t move,” he said quietly.

“Dressed like this, aren’t you cold?” Xiangbao stopped resisting, letting him lean against her.

Suddenly, he laughed softly, his shoulders trembling. Startled, Xiangbao watched as he raised his head, his dark eyes gazing directly at her, unguarded.

“Madam, do you care?” His lips curled into a smile.

“You’re drunk,” Xiangbao couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

“Stay by my side, will you?” Fuchai leaned closer, tasting her lips, his voice full of temptation.

Feeling the faint taste of wine on her lips, Xiangbao dared not think further, staring blankly at him.

He was so close—so close she could feel the warmth of his breath tinged with wine.

“Will you?” Seeing her not reply, Fuchai asked again.

Xiangbao simply let him rant in his drunken state. Tonight, he was truly odd. Though she was already in the palace, he kept asking if she wished to stay by his side—it was strange.

“What shall I do? I no longer wish to let you leave…” Fuchai frowned, studying her, his slender, cold hand caressing her cheek. His eyes shone with intoxication, then he pulled her fiercely into his embrace. “Hate me if you will, harm me if you must, but I won’t let you go…” he murmured.

Xiangbao froze, instinctively wrapping her arms around him. He shuddered, then lowered his head, kissing her fiercely—not a kiss, but as if he would draw her very life. Suddenly, Xiangbao felt fear.

His lips pressed tightly to hers, ice cold and terrifying.

“King?” Feeling his weight increase on her, she called softly.

He didn’t answer; his cold lips brushed her cheek, his head drooping weakly onto her shoulder, black hair falling straight down, surrendering all his weight to her. Xiangbao tried to support him, but unable to bear it, she clung tightly as they both collapsed to the floor.

“Fu… Fuchai?” Xiangbao looked back at him, surprised to realize she’d called him by name.

But he didn’t respond.

“Ziru, bring a lamp!” Suppressing her anxiety, Xiangbao called out.

Hearing her urgent voice, Ziru quickly lit a lamp and rushed over.

“What’s wrong, madam?”

A cold wind blew, the flame flickered and went out. Ziru hurriedly closed the door and lit the lamp again.

Xiangbao took the lamp, leaning close to Fuchai. In the dim light, he lay quietly in her arms, his long eyes tightly shut, all arrogance gone, only pallor remaining. His lips had a bluish tint.

Xiangbao was alarmed—had he been poisoned?

“Quick, call for the physician!” She gave Ziru hurried instructions, her voice sharp enough to startle herself.

Ziru, frightened, quickly responded and ran out.

The cold wind swept in, extinguishing the lamp again. The night maids seemed to wake, rushing out in panic to shut the doors and relight the lamps.

Xiangbao seemed oblivious, only turning to look at Fuchai in her arms. Just as in the forest that day, he slept so defenselessly. Instinctively, she smoothed the crease between his brows, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead.

Looking down at him, Xiangbao didn’t move. Ziru had gone for the physician; soon enough, her place by his side would no longer be hers.

“What happened to the king?” The first to arrive was Wu Zixu—a true loyal minister.

The physician had not yet come, but he had, so swift—how many spies did he have around? This thought made Xiangbao shudder.

“I don’t know, Ziru went for the physician,” Xiangbao replied without looking up.

Wu Zixu snorted, raised his hand, and the guards behind him came forward to lift Fuchai, distancing Xiangbao as if she were filth. Knowing resistance was futile, Xiangbao didn’t waste her strength.

Soon, the physician arrived.

Xiangbao stood quietly in the corner, watching the physician through the crowd. Lady Yun, long unseen, was at the bedside, her eyes red from crying; it was unclear when her confinement had been lifted.

“What? The king is poisoned?!” Wu Zixu was shocked by the physician’s words.

Xiangbao paused—poisoned, indeed? Watching the unconscious man from afar, she was dazed. Was it really poison? Who had done it? Or had they finally begun to act?

But if Fuchai died, what good would it do them?

“You calamity, what have you done?” Wu Zixu strode before Xiangbao, berating her.

“Does Prime Minister Wu believe I poisoned him?” Xiangbao looked up calmly.

“You vixen from Yue, scheming to get close to the king—what else could your purpose be?” Wu Zixu’s beard trembled with rage.

“Does Prime Minister Wu believe I would be foolish enough to poison someone in Drunken Moon Pavilion, then send Ziru for the physician, fearing no one would know?” Xiangbao stepped back as she replied.

Wu Zixu stared coldly at her; Xiangbao did not avert her gaze.

“Uncle, it must be her, she poisoned the king!” Lady Yun, kneeling at the bedside, pointed at Xiangbao, her face streaked with tears.

Wu Zixu snorted, no longer looking at Xiangbao nor heeding Lady Yun’s clamor, but went to question the physician.

“What poison is the king afflicted with?”

“This…” The physician hesitated, troubled. “It is not yet clear.”

Wu Zixu’s brows furrowed deeper. He turned to Xiangbao, his eyes dark and frightening. Xiangbao still did not avoid his scrutiny. After a long moment, he finally looked away.

Drunken Moon Pavilion was livelier than ever. Xiangbao stood quietly by the door, watching the crowd at the bedside, the palace attendants coming and going, dozens of physicians consulting one after another.

Daylight had come unnoticed.

The snow had fallen all night and had not stopped; it grew colder still.

Watching the physicians’ troubled faces, Xiangbao frowned, gazing through the crowd at Fuchai, pale and unconscious, then turned to leave.

Goujian… had he begun to act already? Lost in thought, Xiangbao collided with someone; she apologized instinctively, then looked up—it was Zhengdan.

“Have you been crying?” Xiangbao was surprised by her red-rimmed eyes.

“It’s none of your concern.”

“The king has been poisoned, did you know?” Xiangbao said.

“Are you suspecting me?” Zhengdan sneered.

Xiangbao smiled lightly. “You’re overthinking.” She brushed past her and walked on.

“I hate you,” Zhengdan called from behind.

Xiangbao, surprised, turned back. “Why?”

“We’re both human, so why does everyone protect you? Why are you allowed peace while I am not?” Zhengdan glared at her.

“Peace?” Xiangbao paused, almost wanting to laugh.

How familiar those words were.

Back at Liujunzui, Qiuxue had said, “We share the same parents, so why must Moli face the world while you remain safe? Why must I be dirty while you are carefree?”

Today, Zhengdan said, “We’re both human, so why are you allowed peace…”

Yes, why?

“Why does everyone think I’m the one at peace?” Xiangbao blinked, confused.

“Someone like you, protected and oblivious, has no right to say such things,” Zhengdan bit out.

“What do I not know that you do?” Xiangbao thought a moment, stepped forward to face her. “You know something, right?”

Zhengdan stepped back, then sighed and managed a smile. “One day, you’ll know.”

Xiangbao watched Zhengdan’s departing figure. Once, Qiuxue had said, “Heaven gave you unrivaled beauty—you can’t escape the world. Since fate is so, let me pull you in.” That pull had dragged Xiangbao into a bottomless abyss.

Now Zhengdan, do you mean to pull me in, too?

She stood lost for a while, then sat on the steps, propping her chin and daydreaming from morning till noon. Her skill in idleness had become consummate.

“Mother… mother…” Si Xiang’s voice came from afar, tinged with tears.

Xiangbao moved her stiff neck, coming back to herself, and realized she was covered in a layer of snow, like a snowman.

Her hands and feet were numb with cold.

Si Xiang ran over, hair uncombed, clothes disheveled, eyes red and cheeks streaked with tears.

“What are you doing here? Why are you here… Father, Father isn’t well…” Si Xiang grabbed her sleeve, looking up in panic. “He’s in serious condition… The physicians only shake their heads, and I couldn’t find you…” Tears fell as he spoke.

Xiangbao’s heart skipped, and she took his hand, heading back to Drunken Moon Pavilion. Unconsciously, she walked faster, more anxiously. Could the palace physicians not cure the poison?

Biting her lip, she felt an inexplicable panic. When she arrived, the pavilion was packed; all the ladies seemed to be there, each with tearful eyes and sorrowful faces, softly sobbing. The scene was truly spectacular. Today, she finally witnessed the full extent of Fuchai’s harem.

“What? You say the king… you say he’s already…” Suddenly, Lady Yun’s shrill voice rang out.

Xiangbao’s heart jumped, her mind blank.

“You insolent servants, daring to curse the king! Are you tired of living?” Lady Yun’s voice was piercing.

Xiangbao’s ears buzzed; she bit her lip and squeezed through the throng. Si Xiang, seeing her determined silence, helped clear a path. Xiangbao knew she must look terribly disheveled.

“What are you here for?” Wu Zixu’s face was grim.

Xiangbao ignored him, only looking at Fuchai lying motionless on her couch, eyes closed, face bluish-pale, as if truly dead.

Without time to examine her feelings, Xiangbao reached out her cold hand to feel his breath.

She could not sense it...

It was as if all her strength vanished; Xiangbao’s knees buckled, and she knelt by the couch.

“What are you doing?!” Lady Yun shoved her aside.

Xiangbao fell, but seemed unaware; her expression was wooden, her whole being dazed.

What was happening…? What was this pain in her heart…?

“It’s all your fault, you calamity! Witch!” Lady Yun shouted, eyes red. “Guards, drag her away!”

Guards stepped forward, pulling Xiangbao up. Her hair fell loose, yet she remained dazed, a soulless shell.

“I am not dead yet.” Suddenly, a faint voice sounded, but its weight was heavy.

The room fell silent; the guards released Xiangbao and all knelt, filling the room.

Xiangbao tumbled to the floor. Hearing the familiar voice, she turned blankly to the couch; Fuchai was looking at her, his dark eyes weary.

“Come here.” He tugged his pale lips and beckoned softly.

Xiangbao stood shakily and moved to the bedside.

“How did you get so disheveled?” He struggled to lift his hand, and she obediently bent down, letting his cold hand touch her face.

“Aren’t you… dead?” She murmured, as if in a dream.

Warm tears fell onto his pale cheek. He paused, seeming to want to smile, but finally gave up, only moving his lips as if to say something.

Xiangbao leaned close, pressing her ear to his lips. She heard him say, “If I die, you’ll be bullied…”

Fuchai began coughing violently; physicians rushed forward, and Xiangbao was pushed aside. She had no time for Lady Yun’s venomous glare, only watching Fuchai lying there, eyes half-closed, pale, sweating, as maids wiped his brow.

He was awake… he was awake…

Xiangbao suddenly wanted to cry, as if her heart, caught in her throat, had finally settled. She felt spent.

Brewing medicine, feeding medicine—everyone was busy except Xiangbao, who seemed an outsider.

“Move, you’re in the way,” Lady Yun said, pushing Xiangbao aside with a basin.

Xiangbao stumbled back several steps before steadying herself, able only to watch from afar. Fuchai was awake for a moment, then fell into deep sleep again. Seeing his lifeless pallor, her heart twisted. Holding her chest, Xiangbao ran out of the room—every moment inside made her feel she’d die from sorrow.

Time passed slowly. Xiangbao sat outside, dazed, afraid to enter, yet unwilling to leave. She kept wondering why her heart hurt so much…

“Madam, madam…” Ziru tugged Xiangbao’s sleeve.

“What is it?” Xiangbao turned hurriedly. “Is something wrong?”

“I just overheard Prime Minister Wu and the physicians. They said… if the antidote isn’t found, the king has at most one day left…”

“What?”

“They said… if there’s no antidote, the king has only one day to live.” Ziru choked.

Xiangbao sprang up, ignoring Ziru’s shouts, and ran from Drunken Moon Pavilion straight to the palace gates. She had thought she could stand aside, let them fight it out.

But…

She now realized she could not.

Running to the palace gates, Xiangbao was stopped by guards. Their stern faces made her head ache.

“Let her pass,” Si Xiang’s voice rang out behind her.

Xiangbao turned in surprise.

“Crown Prince!” The guards looked troubled.

“I said, let her pass.” Si Xiang stood with hands behind his back, radiating authority.

“Si Xiang…”

“Mother, I trust you.”

“Yes!” Xiangbao nodded and ran out.

She inhaled deeply, the icy air clearing her mind. Looking up, the sky was gray; the snow still fell.

No telling when it would stop.

Not far from the gate stood a row of low, dilapidated huts. Xiangbao lifted her skirts and walked over. As she stepped inside, a musty smell greeted her; it seemed long uninhabited. She raised her sleeve to cover her nose, peering around; the room was nearly dark, hard to see.

She stepped back for a clearer look.

“Lady Xi Shi.” Suddenly, a familiar voice spoke.

It was Lady Jun. Xiangbao stepped back, letting light into the room, and saw Lady Jun standing not far away, watching her. Behind her was a pile of scattered clothing.

“Greetings, Lady Jun.” Remembering her purpose, Xiangbao quickly bowed.

“Please, you flatter me,” Lady Jun stepped forward to help her up, her voice calm.

Up close, Xiangbao saw her face—deeply haggard, wrinkled like a village woman, dressed in tattered narrow-sleeved robes, her original appearance almost unrecognizable. Though Lady Jun was never a great beauty, she had always maintained herself well; now, her appearance was pitiable, yet her posture remained upright, retaining a dignified bearing.

“Lady Jun, where is the lord?” Xiangbao asked, disregarding formality.

Lady Jun looked up and smiled. “He is keeping vigil at Helü’s tomb.”

Helü’s tomb? Without delay, Xiangbao nodded and ran out.