The wind in the Forbidden City never dies down. In the eastern side hall of Chengqian Palace, a green-glazed incense burner shaped like a suanni lion breathes out the fragrance of pear blossom incense all day long. For the fifth time, Guarjia Wen Yuan runs her fingers over the gold-and-jade butterfly hairpin in her dressing case. Then she hears the long, measured sound of the water clock from the direction of Suiyu Pavilion. A few fading oleander petals drift over the palace walls and land on the copy of Rules for Women she transcribed with cinnabar last night, staining the characters until they look mottled with blood.
When she was chosen as a concubine, her father, E Min, whispered “the glory of the Guarjia clan” in her ear. She had no idea what those six words would cost her. The bowl of contraceptive soup sent from Jingren Palace is hot enough to make her palm tremble. The empress’s gilded nail guard brushes over her newly made Sichuan brocade banner gown. “Noble Consort Qi, you are to be the sharpest blade in my hand.”
Then a bloodstained letter from her elder brother, exiled to Ningguta, seeps through the bricks of Xianfu Palace. Then Princess Longyue tears apart the quilt she sewed herself, embroidered with a hundred children and a thousand grandchildren. Then, on a stormy night, she sees the ghostlike figure from Suiyu Pavilion drawing closer, one step at a time. When the nine-linked golden foot ornaments shatter on the steps of the Cold Palace, she finally sees that she is nothing but a discarded pawn soaked in perfume.
“Your Ladyship, have you ever heard the story of the civet cat switching the crown prince?” A laundress from the Imperial Laundry Bureau laughs softly as she holds up a robe scented with dragon’s musk. The moonlight reveals a dimple on her left cheek, seven parts similar to that of Empress Chun Yuan. Water begins to seep from the red walls of the Forbidden City. This time, Guarjia Wen Yuan will overturn this deadly game of chess with her own hands.
