When they reached Clear Lotus Palace, someone was already waiting beside the gate, carrying an umbrella in one hand and a box in another.
Before Zi Hua could think more on it, the figure walked up to them and bent her knees.
"Greetings, Noble Beauty Yang. This servant is here to give you this on behalf of Wise Consort Tang," she said. "My lady heard you were urgently seeking hundred-year ginseng, and although this one is partially consumed, she hopes it is sufficient."
She reached out her hand, and in it was an inconspicuous box. Yet, this small box contained Yue'er's life.
Zi Hua had imagined being shut out, being chased away—it was late, most would be asleep by now, and the two other consorts' rejection was still vivid.
But she hadn't expected this sudden kindness, a flame of hope amidst this bleak storm.
It didn't matter how Wise Consort Tang knew, or why she was willing to help. Tears welled in her eyes as she shakily accepted the box and prostrated without hesitation, practically slamming her forehead into the ground.
"Thank you, Wise Consort Tang!" she cried, hoping her hoarse voice could somehow project enough to reach the Wise Consort's ears. "I, Yang Zi Hua, will never forget this life-saving favour! Thank you for saving Yue'er! Thank you..."
Her cries turned into sobs, and then relieved laughter as she raised her face and let the rain wash away her tears.
"Noble Beauty Yang, please stand up!" the servant exclaimed. "I promise to convey your gratitude to my lady. You have somewhere more important to be now, yes?"
Her firm grip was warm, just like Wise Consort Tang's timely kindness.
Zi Hua sniffed, forcing a nod. "I-I need to go, but once Yue'er recovers, I will definitely come back to thank Wise Consort Tang formally."
It was freezing, her knees throbbed, and she felt a bump forming on her forehead.
But she didn't care.
When she ran back to the Palace of Tranquillity, drenched from head to toe and clutching the precious box to her chest, she didn't care about anything else.
Yue'er was saved.
Yue'er was saved.
'Hold on a little longer, Yue'er. I'm coming.'
***
"Mistress, her condition has stabilised!" Qiu'er exclaimed.
Zi Hua's knees weakened, the exhaustion of the entire day finally settling in. "T-thank heavens," she gasped, laughing and crying at the same time.
Her voice cracked, and her tears were hot. Still, she held Yue'er's limp hand gingerly, never letting go. This time, there was no fear of her being unconscious forever—just pure, unadulterated relief.
"Qiu'er, you can go to bed now. I'll stay here for a bit."
"What about you, mistress?" Qiu'er asked, taking in her pallor and slight tremors. "You haven't rested for a whole day, and even knelt in the rain..."
"I'm fine. I can't fall asleep now anyway," Zi Hua reassured, giving her a tired smile. "I'm sorry you had to be drenched in the rain with me, though. Why don't you boil a piece of the leftover ginseng with hot water? It'll warm you up."
"Mistress..." Qiu'er swallowed with difficulty.
'How can you generously offer the ginseng you suffered so much humiliation to obtain?'
'Why would you give it to a mere servant like me?'
'Why would you go this far for people like us?'
In the end, these questions couldn't escape her.
"I shall take my leave. Please don't strain yourself too much, mistress. Good night."
With a longing gaze, she turned around, burying the thoughts in her heart.
Noble Beauty Yang would never know the gut-wrenching dread she had felt the moment she saw Yue'er carried back on a stretcher, bloodied and broken. Her helplessness when the imperial physicians scowled and derided her for suggesting the notion of treating a lowly servant's wounds.
And when the kind Imperial Physician Jiang had announced Yue'er's death sentence, the agony from her past seeped back into the present.
When Qiu'er looked at Yue'er lying there, she saw another pitiful aftermath of a dispute between masters, an unwitting pawn in a selfish game, whose life was mere collateral.
It was such a familiar scene that her sister's face overlapped with Yue'er's.
Her older sister was only eighteen then, the peak of her youth. She'd had her whole life ahead of her, yet her skin was already yellowish and her hair dry from years of malnutrition and labour. She tried to hide it, but the sorrow in her eyes was bone-deep, and the hope so tentative it could be snuffed out like a candle.
When she was on her deathbed, rotting away from an infection, nobody visited her except Qiu'er.
Her young self couldn't comprehend how someone could still breathe after losing that much blood, nor how a person laughing and running yesterday could become as fragile and lifeless as paper the next day.
During the dark shichens of helpless sobbing and fruitless praying, all thirteen-year-old Qiu'er felt was resentment:
Resentment towards the mistress who had pushed her own mistake onto an innocent servant; the colleagues who had provided false witness statements and turned against a former friend; the previous emperor who had dismissed the case and announced the sentence of one hundred whippings; the eunuchs who had delivered the punishment...
Only when her sister's body was wrapped in a straw mat and dumped into a mass grave did Qiu'er understand the harsh truth of survival here.
There were a hundred servants to one master in the imperial palace; consort selections were held once every three years while servant selections once a year. This made servants common and dispensable—the perfect canon fodders.
Her sister was just one of the unlucky, nameless souls fated to wander for eternity, with not even a grave to call her own, nor a headstone for relatives to pray to...
So when Qiu'er saw Yue'er on the brink of death, she wondered: 'Will she follow in Sister's footsteps?'
"No, I refuse to accept this!"
Noble Beauty Yang's voice had stunned Qiu'er, piercing through the hazy memories like a ray of light.
She raised her head. In front of her was no longer her dead sister's face, but Noble Beauty Yang's.
"Qiu'er, get ready."
"M-Mistress?"
"We're going to visit a few people."
Zi Hua had let go of Yue'er and clenched her fists. In her eyes was a heavy determination Qiu'er had never seen before, a promise that Yue'er would live.
She was not a harsh mistress—far from it. All this time, it was only jaded caution that had kept Qiu'er from trusting her, from not doubting her kindness was not an act.
But then and there, she had the urge to believe.
Because instead of letting Yue'er take the fall, Noble Beauty Yang had fought for her innocence; instead of letting her die, she grappled for her life.
So, she wanted believe that Noble Beauty Yang was different. That she was worth believing in.
One step away from the door, Qiu'er spun around and knelt.
Thud!
"Noble Beauty Yang— No, mistress! I, Qiu'er, swear to follow you for the rest of my life, be it through seas of fire or mountains of blades! May the heavens bear witness to my fealty, or strike me with heavenly tribulation!"