I woke up freezing. It was not the bone-deep chill of the soaked bedding in that side room at the back of the Jiang residence, where the sun never reached, nor the cold seeping through the tiles of the Department of Punishments and into my marrow. It was a faint coolness scented with green bamboo: the bamboo daybed in the side chamber of the Palace of Gathered Elegance, where I had lived for three years. My fingers curled instinctively, touching the blue-green palace robes folded beside the bed. The stitches were fine, and a tiny white plum blossom was embroidered at the collar. In the fifth year of Qianlong's reign, when I had just followed my mistress from the prince's residence into the Palace of Gathered Elegance, Mistress Ruyi had sewn them for me herself. Back then, she was not yet the empress, only Consort Xian, and her eyes always carried a hint of
