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

Chapter Seven: The Pavilion of Delicate Beauty Rises

She woke naturally from her slumber, stretching comfortably in the shape of a great “大,” rubbing her eyes before getting up to wash.

“Madam, the King is waiting for you at the palace gate,” Ziru entered suddenly.

“So early? What could he want?” After rinsing her mouth, Xiangbao asked in puzzlement.

“I don’t know.” Ziru shook her head and set down a bowl of medicine. “Drink this first before you go.”

Xiangbao nodded, took a sip while it was still warm, and was surprised to find it not bitter at all.

“The King ordered an extra ingredient added, so it wouldn’t taste as bitter,” Ziru said with a smile.

Xiangbao finished the bowl in one gulp, her heart sweet with contentment.

By the time she reached the palace gate, a carriage was already waiting.

“Lady Xishi, please board the carriage,” the guard said, rising to bow.

Xiangbao climbed in and saw Fuchai seated inside, tranquil as ever, eyes closed in repose.

As the carriage rocked along the road, Xiangbao, curious, lifted the curtain to peer outside. Guards cleared the way on both sides, while crowds pressed in, bustling and lively.

This was the first time since entering Wu that he had taken her out of the palace. The last time she had left had been to beg Goujian for an antidote.

“Where are we going?” Xiangbao asked, curiosity brimming.

“Mount Lingyan.”

Soon, the carriage halted. Attendants came forward to lift the curtain and assist Fuchai and Xiangbao down.

“Look,” Fuchai gestured, pointing to a palace.

“What is this place?” Xiangbao asked, bewildered.

An attendant pulled away the cloth covering the plaque above the door, revealing three golden characters. Unfortunately, while those characters knew her, she did not know them.

“The Pavilion of Delicate Beauty,” Fuchai explained, his lips curving. “From now on, this belongs to you.”

“To me?” Xiangbao stared wide-eyed at the grand palace before her.

“Yes, yours.” Taking her hand, he led her in. “Come, have a look.”

The corridors were paved with jade, golden bells hanging from the eaves. A gentle breeze set them tinkling with a clear, melodious sound.

Xiangbao stared at the corridor, hesitant to step forward.

“What’s wrong?” Fuchai turned to see her lingering at the threshold.

“Will it break if I step on it?” Xiangbao squatted, hugging her knees, poking the jade with a finger. “It looks so valuable…”

Fuchai’s mouth twitched before he pulled her to her feet. “It won’t break. The whole palace is yours. What’s there to fear?”

“It’s because it’s mine that I have to treasure it!” she retorted, chin lifted. She promptly kicked off her shoes and stepped barefoot onto the jade. “Ah, how cool…” she sighed in delight.

Her pale feet pressed against the jade, so translucent they seemed almost ethereal. Each step set off a series of musical chimes, and she laughed, running down the corridor, the sound startling flocks of birds into flight.

“Don’t run too fast,” Fuchai said, unable to suppress his laughter.

Everywhere was carved beams and painted rafters, gold and jade in dazzling profusion. Just past the corridor of musical clogs, the scent of lotus drifted on the air. In the pond, buds swayed gently, a sweep of green waves—truly beautiful.

Xiangbao gazed, entranced, nearly drooling.

“Thinking of lotus seed soup?” Fuchai leaned in to whisper.

She wiped her mouth, nodding honestly.

He laughed heartily; others admired the lotus, she thought of soup—it was so like her. Xiangbao looked at him, bewildered by his laughter.

Up the winding nine-turn path, they climbed a high terrace. Standing against the wind, garments fluttering, the vista of two hundred li lay spread before them. Xiangbao was awed.

“This Gusu Terrace rises three hundred zhang. Yue sent a shipment of timber, including a pair of great logs, perfect for the construction.”

Xiangbao was stunned—so this was what he’d been secretly working on all these years?

Light silk curtains billowed, brushing her cheek and hiding her smile. Wen Zhong had called him decadent and profligate, yet he had built this Pavilion of Delicate Beauty for her.

Then… had she truly become the enchantress who would bring ruin to the state?

Thereafter, Wu led an alliance of Lu, Zhu, and Tan to attack the southern borders of Qi. The Wu general Xu Cheng led the navy down the Yangtze to attack Qi’s flank, but was defeated and forced to withdraw.

The spring of 484 BC arrived quietly.

“Madam, madam…” Someone gently shook Xiangbao awake.

She lifted her head drowsily, realizing she’d fallen asleep at her desk, roused by her personal maid, Xile.

Xile had been specially chosen as her attendant on her first day in the Pavilion—not for her cleverness, but because Xiangbao liked her name. Xile—Joyful—a name full of happiness! The pavilion was full of maids, but Ziru had not come, perhaps because Fuchai’s punishment had ended.

Suspicious damp patches stained the calligraphy practice book under her arm. Xiangbao wiped her mouth instinctively—she’d drooled again.

In recent years, Sixiang had been busy studying with the crown prince’s tutor, leaving Xiangbao with little company. Bored, she’d started learning to read and write, but found herself drowsy as soon as she picked up a brush.

While Xile tidied the chaotic desk, Xiangbao stepped outside, stretched, and basked in the sunlight, eyes narrowing to slits as she yawned.

“Madam, lunch is ready,” Xile announced, following her out.

“I’m not hungry,” Xiangbao replied, shaking her head.

“But you barely touched breakfast. If the King finds out…”

Xiangbao wrinkled her nose; just thinking of food made her nauseous.

“Please, have a little. I told the kitchen to prepare something light. You mentioned wanting lotus seed soup, so I remembered the recipe. The seeds in the pond were especially fresh this morning, so I picked some for you.”

Tempted, and seeing Xile’s insistence, Xiangbao nodded.

“It’s cooled; try it,” Xile said, bringing a delicate jade bowl.

One look at the soup—fresh and inviting—and Xiangbao took a sip. The flavor was clean and fragrant.

After finishing the soup, Xiangbao went to feed the fish at the pond. Seated on the jade steps, she gazed at her reflection in the water, feeling a sudden daze.

“Xile, look at me—am I growing white hairs?” she asked, hugging her knees.

Xile was startled, hurrying closer. “How could that be? Madam is young and beautiful, deeply favored by the King!”

Resting her chin on her knees, Xiangbao fell silent.

She vomited up all her lunch, and perhaps the spring drowsiness was to blame, as she lay listlessly on her couch all afternoon.

“Madam, you should see a physician; this is the third time you’ve been sick,” Xile said, worried.

Xiangbao, drained, lay limp on her couch, unwilling to move.

“Madam, could it be…” Xile suddenly exclaimed.

Xiangbao shot her a glance. “Impossible.”

“Why not? Your symptoms are just like pregnancy!”

“Six years without a sign, and you think it would just happen suddenly?” Xiangbao rolled over, languid.

Xile fell silent.

But Xiangbao was wrong; her silent womb of six years now stirred—she was with child.

Only after the physician’s visit did Xiangbao accept the truth—she was to be a mother. She’d never imagined pregnancy would be so miserable; everything she ate, she threw up.

“Why are you up?” came a gentle voice.

“Your Majesty?” Xiangbao looked down, surprised to find the man crouched before her, his cool hand resting lightly on her belly.

Her stomach was still flat; nothing showed.

“If you wish it, keep the child,” he said after a long pause.

Xiangbao nearly bit him in frustration—just whose child was she suffering for? And it felt so awful!

As the days passed, her belly grew round. Xile fanned her with a feather fan as Xiangbao lay half-reclined by the window, utterly listless.

After a long silence, Xiangbao sighed heavily, startling Xile.

“What’s wrong, madam?” Xile asked, concerned.

Xiangbao hung her head from the window, shaking it slowly.

“Would you like a plum? It might help with the heat,” Xile offered, holding a jar.

Xiangbao took one, chewing, wincing at the sourness lingering in her mouth.

“Xile,” Xiangbao asked suddenly.

“Yes?”

“Have you heard of Lady Mei Si?”

“Yes, she was the crown prince’s mother—a princess from the northern state of Qi.”

“Do you know how she died?” Xiangbao popped another plum in her mouth.

Xile paused, her expression darkening.

“What’s wrong?” Xiangbao turned to her.

“I used to serve Lady Mei Si. After her death, I was assigned elsewhere.” Xile’s eyes reddened. “She was gentle and kind, but… Lady Yun Ji was favored, and after Lady Mei Si bore the crown prince, she went mad for unknown reasons. Later, she fell into the pond… and drowned.”

Though it was June, Xiangbao shivered.

After sleeping all afternoon, she awoke to darkness. Fuchai sat at her bedside, his hand resting on her now-rounded belly.

She felt the child kick and, looking up, saw Fuchai staring at her in disbelief.

“It moved,” he said, barely able to speak.

Xiangbao wanted to laugh, but couldn’t. Sixiang was already grown, yet Fuchai seemed to know nothing. Suddenly, she felt a wave of sorrow—for Sixiang’s mother, Lady Mei Si, whose lonely, passionate life ended so tragically in the palace. Did she die with resentment in her heart?

“Assassin!” A cry rang out in the distance.

Startled, Xiangbao looked at Fuchai. He frowned, withdrew his hand, and stood. Once his hand left, she felt a strange sense of loss.

Outside, chaos erupted. Soon, a report arrived: the assassin had escaped with wounds.

The next morning, after breakfast, Xiangbao felt a persistent tightness in her chest. She rose and left the room. At the door, a flash of red—a familiar figure—caught her eye by the rockery.

“Wei…” she gasped, covering her mouth at the sight of the man hiding there.

It was Wei Qin!

He was covered in wounds and blood. His sword flashed, but seeing her, he lowered it hastily.

“Madam?” voices called behind her.

Startled, Xiangbao turned to block his hiding place. “I suddenly want something to eat—bring me some snacks in my room.”

“Yes.”

When the maid was gone, Xiangbao turned anxiously. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be regent in Yue?”

Wei Qin just looked at her. After all these years, she hadn’t changed—except… His gaze fell on her swollen belly, a shadow passing through his eyes.

“You… The assassin last night—was it you?” Xiangbao realized.

“Yes.”

“Madam, madam…” Xile’s voice called from afar.

“Don’t leave,” Xiangbao whispered. “The Pavilion is full of guards. I’ll come back for you tonight.” She hurried off. “Xile, I’m here.”

Wei Qin watched her go, clenching his fists until his nails dug into his palms, feeling nothing.

That day, Xiangbao was restless, unable to eat or sleep, haunted by the image of Wei Qin’s bloodied figure.

At nightfall, she dismissed Xile and the other maids, gathered medicines and food, and slipped out.

In the moonlight, she hurried to the rockery.

“Wei Qin? Wei Qin, are you there? It’s me, your sister…” she called softly.

Wei Qin was behind the rocks, but her calling him “sister” made him draw back. Xiangbao waited until dawn, but he never emerged.

“Heavens! Madam, what are you doing here?” Xile, after searching all night, finally found the pale, distraught Xiangbao at daybreak.

After so many years, the rebellious boy had grown into a tall man. Xiangbao remembered that day by the cottage, his head bandaged, proudly bringing her honey—honey stained with blood… In those broken memories, the last time they met, he’d said: I like you…

Xiangbao fell ill. Her body, so carefully nurtured over the years, wasted away, and with child, she grew thinner still.

Wei Qin had not gone far; he often sat in the tree outside her window, watching her as she lay, always so pale.

“Regent,” came a sudden, cold voice from below.

Wei Qin tensed, looking down at the man in yellow robes.

Fuchai.

“What brings the regent here?” Fuchai’s tone was icy.

Wei Qin gripped his sword tightly.

“She is not well. If you dare act here, I assure you, your end will be most unpleasant,” Fuchai said coldly, the air around them freezing.

Wei Qin glanced at the woman coughing softly in her room, leapt down, and surrendered without a word.

Before Xiangbao knew, Wei Qin was sentenced to death. She only learned of it on the day of the execution.

The day was sweltering. After a bowl of sour plum soup—which she promptly threw up—Xiangbao heard the maids gossiping outside.

“Did you hear? The assassin’s been caught…”

“Yes, it was the regent! Unbelievable. The King treated him so well, yet he plotted treason!”

Seeing Xiangbao’s face pale, Xile hurried to steady her.

“The assassin… he’s been caught?” Xiangbao asked.

“Yes.” Sensing her distress, Xile hesitated.

“Where is he?!” Xiangbao’s voice rose, sharp and urgent.

“They say he’s to be executed by dismemberment today, at the marketplace…” Xile stammered, frightened.

Her face turned deathly white. Xiangbao shoved Xile aside. “Get the carriage! I must leave the palace!”

“But, madam, the King—” Xile floundered helplessly.

“Get the carriage! I must go!” Xiangbao screamed.

Terrified, Xile froze, but another maid hurried to obey.

Xiangbao rushed from the palace and boarded the carriage. “Take me to the execution ground!”

The driver dared not delay, and the carriage sped through the streets. Xiangbao, jostling inside, could not stop retching.

When Fuchai heard she had burst from the Pavilion, he was in council. His face changed, and he rushed to the Pavilion.

He stormed in and seized Xile. “She heard there was to be an execution at the market, and her face changed…” Xile stammered, terrified.

Fuchai’s lips tightened to a line as he mounted his horse and sped to the execution ground.

“Madam, we’ve arrived.” The driver, trembling, lifted the curtain.

Xiangbao steadied herself and alighted, barely able to stand. Ahead, a crowd had gathered. Forcing her way forward, her bloodless face became almost translucent.

Her brother, Wei Qin—his head and limbs bound to five carriages, horses harnessed and ready. At the signal, the drivers would whip the horses in different directions, and his body would be torn into five pieces…

The heat was stifling; not a breath of wind.

Wei Qin waited quietly for death, his red robe like a fallen butterfly, its wings forever stilled.

“I heard he’s a spy from another state…”

“Yes, and tried to assassinate the King. Deserved death indeed…”

The crowd murmured, awaiting the bloody spectacle.

“Proceed!” the executioner called.

The whip cracked, striking the horses.

“No!” Xiangbao screamed.

Wei Qin’s eyes flew open at the familiar voice—it was her!

“Stop! Let him go!” Xiangbao forced her way through the crowd, screaming.

“Get back! Don’t look!” Feeling the pull, the tearing pain, Wei Qin cried hoarsely—he did not want her to witness his body torn apart.

She would be terrified.

“Let him go!” Xiangbao threw herself forward.

“Who is this mad woman? Back away, or you’ll be punished as well!” the executioner barked.

“Let him go! Let him go! Let my brother go!” Xiangbao shouted at the carriages.

Wei Qin’s eyes widened. The horses were almost upon her; she was with child…

Resigned to death, his expression changed. He clenched his bound wrists, pulling the carriages back with all his strength.

“Impudence!” The executioner was stunned. In all his years, no one undergoing dismemberment had ever behaved like this!

Blood welled from Wei Qin’s wrists as he strained. “Move away! Move away!” he shouted.

“Let him go! Let him go!” Xiangbao wept and screamed, her voice hoarse.

The standoff lasted too long. Suddenly, a horse broke free, galloping straight toward Xiangbao.

“No!” Wei Qin cried.

At the critical moment, hoofbeats thundered from afar. A man in yellow robes leapt from his horse, sword flashing to sever the animal’s leg. Blood sprayed.

The horse screamed, collapsing.

“Save him! Save him!” Xiangbao, heedless of her own brush with death, clutched the yellow-robed man’s sleeve. “Please, save him!”

Fuchai’s face was dark as thunder.

“He is my brother! Please, save him…” Xiangbao pleaded, tear-streaked, incoherent.

Lips pressed tight, Fuchai drew his sword and leapt to cut the ropes binding Wei Qin. The man in red crashed to the ground, raising a cloud of dust.

“Impudence!” The executioner, never before interrupted mid-execution, was furious. “Seize them all!”

Fuchai’s face was frigid as he turned. “Gouge out his eyes.”

“What?” the executioner faltered.

“You can’t even recognize the king. What use are your eyes?” Fuchai’s voice was cold.

“Mercy, Your Majesty…” stammered the executioner. It was the most disastrous execution of his career.