52 Innocent Lotus in the Wind

Beneath the peach tree in the small courtyard, Feng He’s neck was bound to the young trunk by a length of white silk, her toes barely grazing the earth. Her face, twisted and streaked with blood, was ghastly; her breath was faint as a whisper. Even in her stupor, she forced her eyes open to a narrow slit and gazed at Yan’er, who had also lost consciousness, before her eyelids fell shut once more, soundless and still.

No one knew how much time had passed before Yan’er awoke. By then, night had fully fallen, and the courtyard was shrouded in oppressive darkness. There were no other servants to attend her—a choice Yan’er herself had made and now bitterly regretted, for the empty courtyard rendered the scene all the more terrifying.

The woman hanging by the white silk resembled a ghostly specter risen from the underworld, her bloodstained face chilling to behold. Stifling her fear, Yan’er forced herself to her feet. “Feng He?” she called out, her cheeks already wet with tears.

Through all the torments inflicted by Cui Zhu, she had not shed a single tear; but now, seeing Feng He in such a state, Yan’er broke down, rushing forward in anguish. “Feng He, are you all right?” Her trembling hands tugged desperately at the white silk.

“Hold on, Feng He, hold on. I’m almost there,” Yan’er gasped, pulling at the knot—yet the more she pulled, the tighter it grew.

A feeble groan escaped Feng He’s lips, strangled by the silk.

“It’s no use... Feng He, wait just a moment. I’ll fetch scissors!” Yan’er gave up all pretense of composure and ran for the house. The courtyard’s cold, damp air bit at her as she pushed the door open. The room was unlit, but she had no time for such concerns. Groping in the darkness through Feng He’s sewing basket, her fingers closed around something cold. By the faint moonlight through the window, she saw it was indeed a pair of scissors. Without hesitation, she dashed back to the peach tree.

“Feng He, I found the scissors!” Yan’er, never robust to begin with, was drenched in sweat from the frantic dash. She wiped her brow, then, with a single snip, the taut silk fell slack.

Feng He collapsed to the ground, utterly spent. She managed a sorrowful, beautiful smile at Yan’er, though she did not realize her face was so contorted that no smile could be seen, only pain.

“Feng He, can you walk?” Yan’er crouched beside her, tears mingling with sweat upon her cheeks.

“Mad—” Feng He tried to speak, but Yan’er interrupted her.

“Don’t talk. If you can walk, lean on me and I’ll take you inside. If not, I’ll just carry you.” Yan’er braced herself.

Feng He nodded, and, leaning heavily on Yan’er, the two stumbled down the moonlit path, supporting each other, disappearing into the night.

Later, Yan’er sat by her bed, gently wiping the blood from Feng He’s face with a cloth. Who could have done this to her? Yan’er’s tears would not stop, and her fingers trembled uncontrollably. Feng He, wincing from the pain, pressed Yan’er’s hand and shook her head.

“I know it hurts. Try to bear it. I won’t cry, I promise,” Yan’er said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve as if willing herself not to cry.

Feng He nodded, but Yan’er’s tears threatened to spill again. Biting her lip, she stifled them, fetched a fresh basin of water, and continued to bathe Feng He’s wounds. The candlelight flickered gently around them.

At some point, Yan’er, slumped at the bedside, awoke to the dull ache in her body. Dawn was just breaking. Looking at Feng He, Yan’er recalled how she had spent the night tending her wounds. Now, with the blood washed away, she could see Feng He’s face was slashed with many wounds—some shallow, others deep. Yan’er dared not tell her, for fear that this face would never recover.

She prayed for morning to come quickly so she could summon the steward to fetch a doctor. Who could have harmed Feng He so cruelly? Yan’er tucked in the blanket around her before rising to knead her aching limbs.

“Madam...” Feng He had awakened and struggled to speak.

“You’re awake? Let me get you some water, just a sip.” Yan’er reached for the kettle—empty. She turned back. “Feng He... I’ll go boil some water.”

Bucket in hand, Yan’er searched the courtyard for a well. After a long search, she finally found it. Lowering the bucket with some effort, she managed to draw up half a bucket of water, then poured half back so she could carry the rest. Next was to find the kitchen. She realized she didn’t even know where it was. Without Feng He, she might well have starved in this unfamiliar courtyard. Yan’er returned to the room.

“Feng He, maybe I should wait for daylight to fetch help,” Yan’er said, defeated, glancing at the half bucket of water.

Feng He smiled. “It’s all right, Madam. I’m just a servant; drinking unboiled water won’t hurt me.”

“Very well.” Yan’er smiled apologetically, poured some water into a cup, and helped Feng He to drink. “Who tied you up, Feng He?” She deliberately avoided mentioning the wounds on her face.

Feng He drank greedily, the movement making her wounds throb and tears roll down her cheeks. “I don’t know,” she managed.

At first light, Yan’er, exhausted, made her way to Dan Yunjie’s quarters. She knocked and knocked, but no one answered. Next, she hurried to Qiuyi Court to seek Pin’er, only to be told helplessly that all in the household must now obey O Ruo Lan’s orders. As mere concubines, they had little say in such matters. Yan’er left disheartened, not blaming Pin’er, who was wise enough not to make enemies of O Ruo Lan, thus showing due respect to the principal wife.

Aimless, Yan’er wandered through the General’s estate, realizing she had never truly explored it. But her mind was too troubled to care. Gathering her courage, she made her way toward Yunlu Court, where Pan Yueyang and O Ruo Lan resided.

She waited anxiously at the main gate, learning that Pan Yueyang and O Ruo Lan had not returned from the palace overnight. Wrapped in thin garments against the chill, Yan’er sneezed.

From afar, O Ruo Lan spotted that wretched woman waiting at the gate and sneered. So predictable!

“Husband, it seems your little sister is quite eager to see you,” she said to Pan Yueyang, who sat in the carriage with eyes closed, indifferent.

Pan Yueyang suddenly opened his eyes and lifted the curtain, catching sight of Yan’er’s frail figure.

Before the palace sedan had even come to a halt, Yan’er dropped to her knees. “This lowly maid pays her respects to General Pan and the Princess Madam,” she intoned with utmost humility.

“Oh my, what are you doing, little sister? If the neighbors see, they’ll think I’ve mistreated you,” O Ruo Lan replied with feigned concern, stepping daintily from the carriage.

“It’s nothing... I wouldn’t dare,” Yan’er murmured, swallowing her pride for Feng He’s sake.

“Speak on your feet.” Pan Yueyang hauled Yan’er up.

She cast him a cold glance and immediately knelt at O Ruo Lan’s feet. “Princess Madam, last night someone slashed Feng He’s face. I beg you—please send for a doctor.”

“For a mere servant? You expect me to fetch a doctor?” O Ruo Lan dismissed her and strode toward the house.

Desperate, Yan’er clung to her skirt. “Princess Madam, I beg you—if you send for a doctor, I’ll do anything you ask.”

O Ruo Lan turned, but Pan Yueyang’s anger flared. “Dan Yunjie, fetch a doctor! This is the General’s estate, not your palace! Take her back to her room!” He strode inside, ignoring the women.

He hated seeing Yan’er kneeling and begging O Ruo Lan, but she had grown too willful and cold toward him. Let O Ruo Lan discipline her a little.

A doctor was summoned, but Yan’er sat in stunned silence by the bed. Because treatment had been delayed and some wounds were too deep, the doctor informed her that Feng He’s face would be forever scarred.

“I’m all right, madam,” Feng He comforted her, taking Yan’er’s hand.

O Ruo Lan lifted her chin, and Cui Zhu smirked as she kicked open the door. “What, is this room for the dead? No sign of life in here,” she jeered, then went back to escort O Ruo Lan.

Yan’er watched as her door was kicked open and, seeing Cui Zhu, coldly knelt. “This lowly maid thanks the Princess Madam for sending the doctor,” she said, respectfully bowing her head, even though it had been Pan Yueyang’s order.

“Rise,” O Ruo Lan said unexpectedly, then, seeing Feng He struggling to get up and pay respects, waved her off. “Enough, you may stay as you are.”

Feng He lay back, watching them. She recalled how, on the wedding day, she had been accompanying Yan’er to the front hall when someone grabbed her from behind and tied her up. She hadn’t seen who it was, but in this household, O Ruo Lan was the most likely suspect.

“She does look frightful—like a ghost wherever she goes!” O Ruo Lan exclaimed in mock fright, retreating behind Cui Zhu.

“Your Highness, she’s truly terrifying. Imagine her serving the masters every day, scaring everyone she meets! Just look at that face, ha!” Cui Zhu laughed cruelly at Feng He on the bed.

“What did the doctor say?” O Ruo Lan asked, unwilling to look at Feng He, focusing on Yan’er instead.

“Replying to Princess Madam, the doctor said the wounds were too deep and treatment too late. Her face may never recover,” Yan’er answered, wary of their schemes.

“Hmph!” O Ruo Lan sat down. “I grew up in the palace and can’t abide such filth. She’ll be cast out and married off to some random man.”

Yan’er, panicked, blurted out, “No! She was attacked in the estate, and now you want to marry her off to a stranger? What kind of life could she hope for?”

“You dare speak to me like that?” O Ruo Lan glared, murder in her eyes.

“I... I didn’t mean to. I only beg you to spare Feng He,” Yan’er pleaded, kowtowing repeatedly.

“And if I spare her? Who will answer when she frightens people in the estate?” O Ruo Lan relished every sound of Yan’er’s forehead hitting the floor.

“I won’t let her go out; I’ll take responsibility for caring for her. Please, have mercy, Your Highness,” Yan’er implored, her sincerity moving Feng He, who also got out of bed and knelt.

“Your Highness, even a servant now has her own servant,” Cui Zhu sneered, watching the two kowtow like pounding garlic.

“No more. She’s a useless cripple anyway. I won’t keep the likes of you wasting food in my household. It’s not easy running this house; you must understand,” O Ruo Lan said, rising. “Guards! Drag that monster out!”

The stony-faced guards entered, seized Feng He, and hauled her away.

“No! Feng He!” Yan’er cried, scrambling after her, only to be tripped and thrown to the floor with a crash.

Cui Zhu withdrew her foot, thinking, This woman’s luck is too good—no matter how many times she’s tormented, she never loses her child. Let’s see if she survives this fall!

“Aaah!” O Ruo Lan shrieked.

Yan’er looked up at the two women performing for her benefit. They truly were like a pair of clowns.

“You—” O Ruo Lan had deliberately sat herself on the floor, and Cui Zhu, feigning panic, began to scream, “Help! Help! The madam is trying to kill the princess! Help! Princess!” She glanced around, then began overturning the furniture—smashing a vase to shards, upending tables. Spying a pair of small scissors in the sewing basket, she grinned and shoved them into Yan’er’s hand.

“Princess, Princess—” Cui Zhu’s shrill cries brought the neighboring maids running. They burst into the room to find Yan’er sprawled on the floor, scissors in hand, facing the princess who sat on the ground...