Rumors about Xue Mei, the consort, and her romantic affairs had been unceasing since long ago.
Like butterflies drawn to fragrant flowers, even eunuchs were said to be captivated by her charms, professing their affection. The concubines whispered that Xue Mei toyed with these eunuchs mercilessly, discarding them without pity when she grew bored. But one could easily imagine Xue Mei laughing dismissively, saying, “The butterflies rose on their own and fell by themselves.”
In the harem, a pregnancy could mean only one thing: the child of the emperor.
There were eunuchs in the harem, but no “men.” Naturally, a eunuch—a castrated official—could not impregnate Xue Mei.
Fei Ling wandered through the Spring Palace, seeking clues about the poison linked to Xue Mei.
She tried speaking to the palace maids, but they either screamed as if encountering a ghost and fled or avoided meeting her gaze, acting as if even acknowledging her would bring a curse.
(… It’s pitiful, really.)
However, Fei Ling wasn’t particularly hurt.
Even though she was undoubtedly an imperial princess until winter, she had never been a cherished or protected princess within the palace.
(I never had anyone close to me in the harem or the court to begin with.)
Fei Ling had been raised by her mother.
Her mother, though an empress, didn’t live in the harem but traveled constantly. Even when she returned to the court occasionally, she never stayed long, riding to tend to outbreaks in the east or urgent patients in the west. By following her mother, Fei Ling learned firsthand the ways of a Hakutaku healer. In the meantime, she acquired the decorum befitting an imperial princess, but she identified more strongly as the “daughter of a Hakutaku.”
(Who could have predicted that I’d become so conscious of having been an imperial princess after the previous emperor’s downfall?)
Leaning against the covered corridor, Fei Ling munched on fried sweets Xiao Ling had given her. The sweets, called plum branches, were aptly named, resembling their namesake. The light, crisp batter broke apart, releasing the fragrant aroma of cinnamon. Simple yet endlessly enjoyable.
The sweetness of honey spread across her tongue, bringing an involuntary smile.
(How nostalgic.)
She had visited the capital’s market with the late emperor once, only once.
The late emperor hadn’t been broken from the start.
When Fei Ling was little, he often disguised himself to inspect the capital, saying he could understand the people’s hearts only by seeing their lives firsthand.
At a street stall, Fei Ling had eaten plum branches, marveling at how even commoners’ food incorporated familiar medicinal spices like cloves and cinnamon. She was only eight then, but her hair had already begun to show streaks of silvery white, like frost on black strands. The late emperor had stroked her head gently, remarking, “Such diligence,” with a kind smile—or so she remembered.
(And yet, I can’t recall his face. I remember his voice and words perfectly, but not his face.)
Fei Ling could remember spoken words verbatim—a talent essential for the orally transmitted knowledge of her lineage.
The wisdom of the Hakutaku was not in books.
Every piece of knowledge was passed orally from master to disciple, committed without omission to memory. A child under ten would have to carry millennia of wisdom in their mind. Upon inheriting this knowledge, members of the Hakutaku lineage universally acquired silvery white hair.
This was the harem.
Even rumors carried by the wind could provide valuable information.
As Fei Ling gazed at the plum orchard from the corridor, she recalled something.
It had been mid-spring. She had heard a rumor about plums.
Two months ago, a eunuch had been found dead, his throat pierced, beneath the roots of a plum tree.
The eunuch had been infatuated with Xue Mei, and she had not entirely rebuffed him. They had met several times in secret, but she suddenly cut ties, claiming she was bored. Heartbroken, he ended his life under a blooming plum tree.
Could the eunuch’s death be linked to the poison afflicting Xue Mei?
Fei Ling crossed the corridor and descended the steps to the garden.
The season for plum blossoms was long past. Their red calyxes and stamens had fallen, leaving small, budding fruits in their place.
It was rumored that the eunuch had died under one of the two double-layered weeping plum trees in the harem. However, some said it was a white plum, while others claimed it was a red plum. Once the blossoms had fallen, it was impossible to tell red from white or whether the tree bore double blossoms.
(Now, what should I do?)
As she pondered, a butterfly flitted across her vision.
(Pochō… if I recall, one even flew into Xue Mei’s chambers.)
She hadn’t told Xue Mei, but those butterflies were poisonous. While harmless unless licked or consumed by a child, their neurotoxins were potent. They had another feature, as well.
Fei Ling pursued the butterfly, arriving at a plum tree near a red arched bridge.
The tree appeared unremarkable, but its base was densely covered in what looked like snow—but it was butterflies. Plum blossoms had long since fallen; they could not have been drawn by lingering fragrance. Fei Ling waved her sleeve, scattering the butterflies.
Amid the swarm lay a golden hairpin, stained with rusty blood.
(Pochō are drawn to the scent of blood.)
Known to flutter around battlefields and execution grounds, they were also called “death butterflies” for their association with carrying the souls of the deceased.
This was where the eunuch had died.
Tragic deaths carried strong yin energy.
Yin and yang were like a scale; too much yin tipped the balance, disrupting harmony and generating ground toxins.
Fei Ling tucked the hairpin into her sleeve.
Death contamination was a potent “yin poison” requiring a strong antidote.
(Oleander dew? No, that won’t work.)
A remedy too strong could harm the unborn imperial child.
Fei Ling knew one perfect antidote for Xue Mei: honey from mercury bees that fed on mizushikimi (water star-anise). However, this rare substance was impossible to procure in the harem.
(The emperor instructed me to request whatever ingredients I needed—but I doubt it would pass inspection.)
Some secrets were the “flowers” of her craft—hidden and forbidden knowledge of her remedies.
As Fei Ling wrestled with her dilemma, a high-ranking lady-in-waiting, identifiable by her silver-threaded attire, approached.
“Cai Fei Ling , Her Majesty the Empress summons you.”
Fei Ling froze. What business could the empress—the harem’s highest authority—have with her? Hastily, she bowed. “I will come at once.”
Feeling slightly tense, Fei Ling headed to the Empress’s grand residence.
