Chapter 80: Hidden Livelihood

“All of this was brought upon your mistress by her own actions; she has no one else to blame.” The reply to Meigu was a soft sigh. She sat on the swing, the curve of her lips tinged with self-mockery. “Besides, let’s not speak of those old matters anymore. After all, it’s your mistress who cannot let them go.”

As Meigu had said, only she still remembered those bygone days, while he had become the sovereign of Wu—no longer the gentle youth he once was. And what was she hoping for now? Between them now yawned a chasm that could never be crossed.

“It was foolish of me to speak out of turn, Mistress, don’t dwell on sorrow.” Meigu’s heart ached for her mistress. She understood her mistress’s feelings all too well, but things were as they were—one was the ruler of Wu, the other a consort of Ji. There was no sense in clinging to impossible hopes.

“As long as you know you’ve been too talkative. Have you no fear that the walls might have ears?” The woman from Xiliang glanced up at her, a faintly reproachful smile on her face.

“I admit my mistake.” Meigu bowed her head awkwardly, apologizing.

But not far off, a pair of ears had caught every word of their conversation. When the palace returned to its usual calm, that person slipped away without a sound. The speed and agility shown betrayed the skills of a martial expert.

That person left Luwest Palace at once and soon after, passed a slip of paper beyond the palace walls.

At the Ji Kingdom guest residence, the sun was already high in the sky. The station was tranquil, the accompanying guards standing silently at their posts, the defenses so tight that few could even approach.

“Master Yun, our people have sent word,” a guard hurried in, handing the note to Yun Wu.

Yun Wu examined the note, his face betraying little surprise.

“What could have happened to make you so pleased, Master Yun?” Gongshen Ling’er, dressed in deep purple robes, descended elegantly from the upper floor, her flowing attire trailing down the steps in layers of splendor.

“Greetings, Young Mistress.” Yun Wu bowed in respect, his typically unyielding face now deferential.

Gongshen Ling’er nodded, extending her hand—the implication clear: she wished to see the note. Yun Wu paused, but handed it over.

“I heard you encountered an old acquaintance in the palace—was it the woman from Xiliang?” She gazed at the note thoughtfully. “So, this Xiliang woman is a devoted one. She may yet be of use to us.”

“That was my thought as well, but His Majesty seems indifferent to her.” To his mind, the king did not regard this woman as important; naturally, he had no intention of using her for any gain.

“That’s his affair. Now that I know of it, I have my own plans.” As she held the note, there was a glint of calculation in her beautiful eyes.

“Young Mistress, but…” Yun Wu hesitated. The king’s relationship with the young mistress was close, but he was wary of the elders’ attempts to control the court. If the young mistress defied him, even she might face consequences.

“Don’t worry. Say nothing to him of this—I’ll handle it.” With that, she turned away, leaving only a slender, resolute figure behind.

“Young Mistress, what should we do?” Feiyi asked, following behind.

She truly didn’t know what the young mistress intended. It was, after all, only a minor consort—what storm could she possibly stir in the palace?

“Of course we’ll do something—just not yet.” With a confident smile, she played with the slip of paper as if she already held victory in her grasp.

Feiyi and Qingshu followed, exchanging a glance rife with confusion. Since arriving in Ji, the young mistress seemed to have changed.

Within the room, Zuo Qiu Liye had just risen, dressed in a robe of deep blue cloud-patterned sleeves, exuding an air of serene leisure. He dabbed his handsome face with a silk handkerchief, his movements elegant.

His complexion was pale as snow, lips as red as plum blossoms in winter, and his narrow eyes retained their usual cunning charm, now shaded with a hint of wicked allure.

After hearing Yun Wu’s report, he flicked the handkerchief with a languid gesture, straightened his sleeves, and seated himself at the table, where an array of Ji’s renowned delicacies awaited.

“Pay no mind to Gongshen Ling’er. I didn’t come here for her, and whatever she does is none of my concern. If she interferes with my affairs, she’ll only bring trouble upon herself.” He raised a delicate brow, utterly unconcerned.

“And what of the woman from Xiliang? The young mistress is likely to seek her out…” Yun Wu’s worry lingered.

“These all look delicious. I must taste Ji’s specialties for myself.” Zuo Qiu Liye focused on his breakfast, entirely unbothered by Yun Wu’s words.

Perceiving his mood, Yun Wu wisely fell silent, not wishing to disrupt his master’s pleasure.

In the royal palace of Ji, within the Upper Study, the king sat before a carved rosewood desk. The arms of his chair curled into twin dragons, one side draped in his white court robe. He perused the documents before him, his handsome profile lost in thought.

After a moment, he chuckled softly at the papers in his hand. “I knew their patience would soon wear thin.”

Miao Jian stood behind him, reading the words over his shoulder. “If we do not act now, we may only give them more opportunity.”

“Wouldn’t that make things all the more interesting?” The king’s lips curled into an inscrutable smile. “My royal mother seeks to conspire with Wu to undermine my authority. If word of this spread, it would only cause panic in Ji. Better not to alert the snake in the grass.”

“With respect, Your Majesty, if the Empress Dowager thinks so little of the state, what right has she to her title?” Miao Jian’s voice was measured and impassive, as if speaking not of the exalted dowager but of a traitor threatening Ji.

“That indeed troubles me. After all, she is the mother who raised me; I cannot be an unfilial son.” He propped his head on his hand, suddenly at a loss. “But only I can overturn this kingdom. She would do better to pray and recite scriptures.”

Mother, oh mother, you have been far too hasty this time.

The palace’s hidden power struggles simmered quietly. Outwardly, the Empress Dowager and the King displayed a model of filial piety, but beneath the surface, the atmosphere shifted. Only Snow Palace remained untouched, its peace undisturbed and its mistress well-protected.

That day, however, Snow Palace received an unexpected visitor—the Lady from Xiliang.

She had rarely drawn notice in the palace before, known as gentle and withdrawn. Only after the state banquet did opinions change; she was seen as shrewd, proof that even the most innocent woman could not remain so in the back palace’s murky waters.

Yet Xuexue had a surprisingly good impression of this Lady from Xiliang. For some reason, she sensed a sorrow in her that could not be easily seen. Though their paths had crossed but rarely and their words were few, there was a sense of affinity.

Thus, when Lady Xiliang came under the pretext of visiting the sick, Xuexue made no effort to disguise herself, greeting her in her simple attire.

Seeing the Queen’s pale and unadorned face, Lady Xiliang believed the news of her illness without question.

“Forgive me if my visit troubles you, Your Majesty. Why are you not resting in your chambers? When ill, one must take care,” she said gently, her gaze full of sincere concern.

“It’s only a chill—some medicine and I’ll recover soon enough. But your visit is curious, since you and I have had little contact. All of Snow Palace is puzzled by your arrival,” Xuexue replied candidly.

The Lady from Xiliang had always kept to herself, rarely leaving her quarters. Only recently had she become more active—so much so that she had come here.

Since she felt a special connection, Xuexue saw no need for subtlety; between clever women, there was little reason for pretense.

Momentarily at a loss for words, Lady Xiliang had not expected her directness.

“Your Majesty is right. It is precisely because we have had no dealings that I wished to visit, thinking it wouldn’t be amiss to cultivate some goodwill between us,” she replied, her demeanor gentle but her true motives carefully veiled.

“If I understand you correctly, you’re currying favor?”

“You may see it that way, Your Majesty, but even if I am, my intentions are sincere,” Lady Xiliang answered frankly, her jade-like composure tinged with refreshing straightforwardness.

“How amusing,” Xuexue said. “I have little to offer you, so save your efforts, whatever your aim.”

“Then I shall do as you say, but if I said I only wished to be your friend, you likely wouldn’t believe me.” Her words were measured, as if she had found Xuexue’s weakness.

She studied Xuexue’s expression—skin as fair as snow, eyes hollow but sharp.

“Friends may be found in all corners of the world,” Xuexue replied coolly.