SU TANG (素醣)

  Day 29, 4th Month of the Lunar Calendar, 6000th Year of the Yun Dynasty, Taishan Province, Tian’an Sect

  It wasn't that bad. In fact, it was arguably the best thing to happen to me since setting foot in Taishan. Being demoted meant fewer chores, fewer people, fewer expectations—and, best of all, I didn’t have to see his face every day.

  Bliss.

  Of course, that illusion lasted about as long as a snowflake in an oil pan. Because even in exile, his shadow insisted on trailing after me like a devoted stray.

  Upon exiting the Crown Prince’s residence, I’d traded in my status for a laundress’s apron. But apparently, our ever-thoughtful superiors believed my hands were destined for more refined suffering. The Madam decided I was fit to serve tea instead. As the name suggested, we did precisely that: we served tea to the dainty, demanding women of the court.

  Life was simpler now. We woke after sunrise, dressed ourselves with more effort than I thought a tea-servant deserved, and began the day’s work. We didn’t have to draw water from a well, or scrub floors until our fingernails fell off. We just boiled water, prepped personalised leaves for each lady’s tastes, steeped the brew, and served it with a polite smile.

  The biggest drama that ever neared us came from sharp-tongued and giggly serpents—ahem, the ladies of the court. A banquet of doublespeak and lacquered smiles, all tossed around like cherry blossoms in a storm. Still, we weren’t the centre of those swirling dramas. Just background furniture, seen and not heard.

  It was a daily harvest of gossip, of course. An excellent source of intel, if one knew how to listen between the lies. But most of it was about the Crown Prince, so I always tried to duck out before his name clawed its way into my ears.

  Still, everything was easier. That’s what I kept telling myself.

  But my body didn’t agree. Every morning, it jolted awake two hours before sunrise. Muscle memory. Trauma in the form of a punctual internal alarm clock. Even when there was nothing to do, I finished the day’s tasks long before the others stirred. I tried sleeping through winter nights. Tried pretending to be fine.

  I wanted to blame him for Xiao Wu’s death.

  But I knew he hadn’t done it.

  I wanted to hate that he used me to plot against Zhao Lili.

  But I used his status too.

  I wanted to hate the way he concealed everything.

  But I did it first.

  I wanted to hate him.

  And yet, here I was. Alive, out of the political hurricane, sipping second-hand peace like bitter broth.

  There was no doubt that he had sent me here after I made such a big scene in the court. He probably just wanted to protect himself.

  Everything had gone back to where it belonged.

  Or rather, it had been shoved there, hastily swept under the imperial rug. I was back in the servant dormitory; a half-rebuilt hovel patched together after Zhao Lili lit the last one on fire. The beams were still raw, the floors still smelled of varnish and regret, and the overseers likely used the reconstruction budget to line their pockets. But it stood. And we had a place to stay. Which was better than nothing, considering the recent winter blizzards.

  Xue Wan’er drifted into view, her eyelids still heavy with sleep. The bags under her eyes were blooming nicely, and her slightly red nose made her look like she’d been crying or caught a cold. Either way, she looked like a kicked puppy.

  Behind her, golden sunlight poured through the servant quarters like it had something to prove.

  A new day. Same job.

  “Where's the tea? Is that it? I thought I left it right here but—”

  “Wan’er, the Lady’s tea is here,” I said, handing her the cup.

  She pressed the ceramic to her cheek like it was a warm stone. “Is it warm enough? Should I boil it again? Is this chrysanthemum?”

  “It’s Pu’er—no. Yes. Ignore me,” I muttered.

  That was his favourite tea.

  Wan’er squinted at me. “It has to be chrysanthemum because it—I think I’ll boil some more.”

  “Wan’er, Lady Ze’s tea is not the only tea that needs to be served.” I gestured toward the table, where fifteen other teacups waited like neglected stepchildren. I had finished all the prep before sunrise, more out of habit than duty.

  “Of course, of course. But Lady Ze is our Lady,” she huffed, waving at the others as though they were beneath her notice. “She deserves the best, whether or not the other ladies think so.”

  I smiled despite myself. How she managed to turn every minor task into a crusade of justice was a mystery. Still, I didn’t mind. I could’ve been paired with any number of self-important brats bred from Taishan’s finest stock—which would’ve made the job worse.

  She wasn’t brilliant. But her presence reminded me of classes back in Huadu Sect. And I needed that kind of comfort.

  “Yes, yes,” I nodded sagely. “Only our Lady matters.”

  We laughed—quietly, of course. It was the laugh of two people who knew full well that crossing the other ladies meant death by a thousand tea stains.

  I grabbed the tray. “Shall we?”

  She nodded, her cheeks pink with effort and warmth.

  As we stepped across the doorframe, preparing for another mind-numbing tea ceremony, a wrinkle-faced omen blocked our path.

  The Emperor’s personal eunuch.

  He looked like a steamed mántou left too long in the basket: pale, pinched, and vaguely damp. His presence could only mean one thing.

  “Excuse me, ladies,” he said full of mock sweetness.

  We bowed. “Eunuch Sun.”

  He zeroed in on me. “Su Tang. The Emperor has a word.”

  I handed the tray to Wan’er—barely stopping myself from crying as she almost toppled the entire thing—and dropped to my knees.

  With a flourish, Eunuch Sun unfurled a golden scroll, the handles sparkling with pearls and rubies and any precious stone that could be found under Heaven. His voice rose in operatic glee.

  “His Majesty says: ‘Hear my decree. Due to her former efforts, Su Tang will be tasked to investigate and close the cases pertaining to the deaths of the Head of the Alchemist Guild, Chun Li, and the Head of the Household Servants, Governess Pan. Accept my order.’”

  I raised my palms, and the scroll landed in them like a prison sentence disguised as parchment.

  “I receive His Majesty’s decree.”

  Eunuch Sun’s smile curled like spoiled milk. “Today’s court discussion awaits you. You’ll find it in your quarters.”

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  I bowed my head.

  Then he leaned in.

  His breath hit me. Hot, sour, and far too intimate. “Do not think for a second you’ve earned His Majesty’s favour,” he hissed. “You are a tool. And when tools grow blunt...they get discarded. Do you understand me, Su Tang?”

  I didn’t flinch. Not because I wasn’t rattled but because I couldn’t afford to let him see it.

  I’d believed I was away from it. The Crown Prince probably had the same idea. Far from the palace, far from bloodstained politics. And I had Wan’er now, someone to distract me from the Xiao Wu-shaped hole in my chest.

  But now she would become my burden. Everyone I cared about became collateral.

  He pulled away and threw a disgusted look at Wan’er before gliding off like a particularly smug goose.

  Wan’er stood beside me, whiter than polished rice paper. There was no doubt that she had heard it all.

  I dusted my skirts and stood. “Don’t mind him. It’s just a small task. He probably had a bad morning, that’s all.”

  She nodded, but her body remained stiff as a board.

  I took the tray from her numb fingers and nudged her foot with mine. “Come on. Didn’t you say we have tea to serve?”

  She blinked, then bobbed her head and followed.

  And just like that, the game was afoot.

  ***

  Three. Two. One. Action.

  “Be wary of them, I heard that their master might’ve killed Governess Pan.”

  “No way. That kind lady? What could she have possibly done to offend Lady Ze?”

  “Are you forgetting? Lady Ze is crazy, of course—"

  “Shhhhhh! Look, it’s Lady Ze’s personal servants. Be careful or they might kill you.”

  Crackles of laughter rippled across the room. The gossip mill was grinding so fast it was ready to catch fire.

  Wan’er stomped her heels, muttering under her breath. I reached a hand toward her shoulder, just to tether her back from doing something foolish.

  Too late.

  She slipped from under my hand like a fish that wanted to get hooked and marched straight toward the gaggle of giggling geese.

  Stop, Wan’er. You’re not built for court war.

  “Excuse me,” she said, far too politely for what was coming. “I couldn’t help overhearing. You should refrain from speaking about my mistress like that.”

  I fought the urge to scrunch up my face. It was almost like my mere presence offended people.

  The maidservant she addressed barely turned her head. Her hair glittered with trinkets, and her collar was embroidered in imperial red with black piping. The Empress’ faction. Great.

  “Or what? You’ll kill me like Lady Ze did Governess Pan?”

  “She did not!”

  “Where’s your proof? Everyone heard them screaming at each other that day. Xue Wan’er, who exactly are you trying to fool?”

  Wait. They were fighting? Wan’er hadn’t mentioned that. A splinter of ice slid down my spine.

  Wan’er’s face turned crimson. “Stop talking rubbish.”

  “Who’s talking rubbish?” The servant jabbed her finger into Wan’er’s shoulder—again, and again, and again. “You? Huh? You?”

  I was halfway there when the tea tray flew. The teacups launched in slow motion, perfect parabolas of doom. And in that split second, my mind went straight back to being a servant for the Crown Prince, completely consumed with the mess that would eventuate if our white clothes were tainted with tea stains.

  In one miraculous flurry of motion that I absolutely couldn’t replicate if I tried, I caught a cup in my left hand, balanced Ze Lujin’s tea tray with my right, and—don’t ask me how—propped the second tray with my foot. I looked like a contortionist in an etiquette nightmare.

  I handed Ze Lujin’s tray to Wan’er, who blinked at me like I’d just performed minor divinity.

  I calmly placed the rescued teacup on the tray and thrust it at the girl who threw it.

  “You dropped this,” I said. Her hands trembled as she took it back.

  The ringleader, with red-trimmed sleeves, turned on her own. She marched over and slapped the girl hard enough to echo off the cheap dormitory beams. A hissed insult followed.

  I grabbed Wan’er’s hand to pull her away, just as that same cuffed noble-born raised her hand again.

  This time, I caught the wrist mid-air.

  We locked eyes.

  At first, she glared at me like I was mouldy rice. Then her gaze sharpened, and recognition bloomed like a weed.

  “Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Su Tang, how nice of you to join us…humble servants.”

  Li Tao. Youngest sister to Li Tan, the lapdog of Lady Zhao.

  “You’re right,” I said, voice as smooth as the underside of a dagger. “The mighty have fallen. How’s your master these days?”

  Her face contorted. “You—”

  She raised her other hand. I was ready for it.

  But I didn’t need to be.

  “What’s going on here?”

  The voice slid across the room like silk hiding a blade.

  Lady Shuo Qing.

  Of course it was.

  What did the Crown Prince think would happen, sending me here? Did he imagine a peaceful retirement among docile handmaidens and garden gossip? Or maybe this was his idea of peace, where the poison was slow and socially sanctioned.

  We curtsied as Lady Shuo Qing approached. I didn’t even need to lift my head to know she was staring at me.

  “Su Tang,” she said.

  Of course she remembers me.

  “Her Majesty has arrived!”

  The Empress entered like a sovereign tide of trailing silk, servants, a sea of jasmine, and probably a warhorse or two hidden behind her palanquin. Her robes swept the carpet like rivers drawn from nightmares. Hairpins and headpieces in her silky ebony hair tinkled like wind chimes, and the air was rich with the scent of crushed flowers and danger.

  Ying Yue followed behind the majestic parade. A veil obscured her face, and I could only differentiate her due to her prominent forehead and odd gait. The Empress’ handmaidens always dressed like matching porcelain dolls. Every maid behind her was a portrait: pretty, polished, painted.

  We hit the floor, faces to carpet. I could practically smell the anxiety sweating off the girls around me.

  Only when the ladies chorused their thanks and were granted permission did we dare to lift our heads.

  At that moment, the lady that we had been waiting for, the lady that Xue Wan’er had been recklessly defending, Lady Ze Lujin, slipped into the room like a thief.

  She looked like a ghost who had barely survived her own haunting. She moved to her corner, the one which was furthest from the Empress and nearest to the exit. Her lipstick was smeared like it had been put on mid-fall, and her complexion had all the colour of a rice bun. Wan’er delivered the tea tray like a prayer.

  “Your Ladyship,” she murmured. Lady Ze barely nodded. Her amethyst eyes stared past us all.

  “Lady Shuo Qing. Come pay your respects to the Empress.”

  Lady Shuo floated forward and bowed. The Empress gave her a long, heavy look. The kind that could wither an orchard.

  “Qing’er,” the Empress waved Lady Shuo forward. “Come here.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” Lady Shuo inched closer until she was an arm’s length from the Empress.

  “What a pretty face you have,” the Empress said.

  Lady Shuo bowed again, “It’s nothing compared to Your Majesty’s beauty.”

  The Empress extended her hand. Her talons brushed Lady Shuo’s cheek, then rested there.

  “What will you do if I cut your face?”

  The silence cracked.

  Lady Shuo Qing paled. Some other noble ladies gave each other side glances. Beauty was desired, worshipped, and prized.

  But beauty before the Empress was a crime.

  A laugh came. A bright, cruel little bell. The Empress patted her face like a favoured pet. “I’m teasing. You only dressed up to please me, didn’t you?”

  The air between her words was sharp enough to slice: Who are you trying to impress? Don’t overstep your place.

  “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  “Withdraw.”

  Lady Shuo backed away like a puppet with frayed strings. Her face was ashen, and her hands folded like a shield.

  I had thought she was a selfish simpleton who did nothing else but compete for the Crown Prince’s affection. But seeing her like this, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for this unmarried lady who had no backer and no power. She dreamed to be like Lady Zhao, loved by the Empress and by men. But blue blood flowed in Zhao Lili’s veins and Shuo Qing was a pauper.

  We’re all just fighting to survive aren’t we?

  So, I stayed quiet. I hid behind Wan’er, as if her spine was wide enough to shield me from fate.

  Because that was the Empress.

  Because I knew what she thought of me.

  “Lady Ze Lujin. Come pay your respects.”

  Ze Lujin stood and floated forward. She knelt. Waited.

  Her gaze lingered on the sides of the dais, where the Empress’ handmaidens stood.

  The Empress leaned forward. “Dear sister, why the long face?”

  Ze Lujin remained still.

  “How dare you! Her Majesty asked you a question!”

  Still, silence.

  The Empress leaned back. “Kick her.”

  One of the maidservants strode down from the dais and began digging her foot into Ze Lujin’s knees where she kneeled.

  Lady Ze simply curled on her side as if her body could not be willed to move.

  No one moved.

  No one ever did.

  Once, I would’ve.

  But now?

  We all watched.

  And some of them even smiled.