Thunder rolled over the glazed tiles of the Forbidden City, splitting the cascading rain in two. On the roof of the study in the west wing of the Prime Minister's residence, raindrops as big as copper coins slammed onto the blue tiles, sending water cascading like broken jade into the skylight. It flowed through the carved stone troughs into a muddy stream, meandering over the bluestone in front of the steps, and shattering the reflection of the plaque "A Bright Mirror Hangs High" into a shard of gold.
Prime Minister Su huddled in a carved rosewood armchair, his knuckles white from clutching a blood-lettered letter. The wisps of ambergris tangled in his silver beard, mingling with the amber liquor spilling from the jar, creating a haze in the air. The swallows perched on the beams flapped their wings and took flight, their tail feathers sweeping off the tassels dangling from the eaves. The blood-lettered letter, sent by Liu before her death, had long since been rubbed to the point of frayed paper by his repeated caressing. The ink, stained dark brown by the rain, resembled the blood stains on his wife's silk handkerchief.
"Master, it's already three o'clock..." The old butler stood hunched over his desk, the soybean oil wick in the copper lamp emitting sparks, illuminating the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes like spiderwebs. This was the first time the old man, who had served in the prime minister's residence for thirty years, had seen his master so distraught since the news of Liu's death. The jade belt of his official robe with a python pattern hung loosely at his hips, revealing the patched seam on the lining, the part he'd often mended when his wife was alive.
Prime Minister Su suddenly let out a chuckle, shaking the dust off the pile of Tang Law Commentaries on his desk. He grabbed the bronze wine cup on the table and poured the remaining half of the pear blossom white wine straight down his throat. The wine dripped down his beard onto his clothes, leaving winding streaks on his dark-patterned python robe, like rivers of despair. "Get out..." He suddenly erupted in anger, waving his sleeve and sweeping the bronze lamp in the old butler's hands to the ground. "Get out!"
The copper lamp clattered against the blue bricks, and the splattering oil ignited the scattered files. Flames licked the yellowed pages, burning the red-inked inscription "Ministry of Revenue Requests Disaster Relief" to black ash. Then, climbing up the bookshelf, they cast a flickering light on the plaque that read "A Bright Mirror Hangs High." The old housekeeper stumbled back, watching his master's figure distorted in the flames, tears welling in his murky eyes. The plaque had been inscribed by his wife herself when she married into the Prime Minister's residence, but now, in the flames, it looked like tears of blood.
Torrential rain woven a curtain of water across the window lattices, cutting the study into an isolated island, cut off from the world. Prime Minister Su held the empty wine jar, forehead pressed against the cool desk, his fingertips unconsciously tracing the signature of the old doctor Zhou written in blood. Memories blurred like damp rice paper: that spring day, his wife leaned on the porch, embroidering a mandarin duck brocade handkerchief, her fingertips pinching a silver needle, then suddenly frowned, complaining of a tightness in her chest for days. He was busy with a memorial to the new government, so he casually handed over the ginseng and deer antler antler sent by the Wang family, jokingly saying, "It's just a delicate ailment of a boudoir girl." Thinking about it now, the lotus pattern secretly engraved on the bottom of those porcelain tonic jars is exactly the same as the mark on the Jishiditang medicine bags.
"Dad!" Su Jinli burst open the study door, watching her father smash a wine jar against the wall. Broken pottery shards flew, ripping the hanging painting "Fishing Alone on a Cold River," revealing his wife's unfinished "Teaching a Child" behind it—a little girl with pigtails tugging at her father's beard, while his wife, painting, smiled gently. She rushed forward to snatch the broken porcelain from her father's hand. Feeling the coolness of his palm, she suddenly felt the same warmth as her own deathbed in a previous life.
Su Xiang's wrist was grabbed by his daughter. His cloudy old eyes slowly focused. He suddenly grabbed her hand and pressed it on the blood letter: "It's Dad who is useless..." His voice was hoarse like an old bellows, "On the third day after your mother said her heart hurt, the maid of Wang family sent candied ginseng. I saw with my own eyes that Liu... that vicious woman Liu personally stewed the ginseng soup..." A violent cough interrupted his words. The blood seeping from between his fingers dripped onto the word "Zhou" written in blood, blurring the ink into a deep purple.
"Enough!" Young Marquis Su slammed open the half-closed lattice door. Rainwater streamed down the shoulder armor of his dark-colored suit, forming puddles on the blue bricks. The young man's gilded axe clanged against the doorframe, making a humming sound. "The Wang family has been raided! Sister, let's go smash Liu's tablet now!" His eyes burned with vengeance, but at the sight of his father coughing up blood, his grip on the axe suddenly loosened, and the gilded axe tassel drooped like a frozen tear.
Jiang Yan emerged from behind Su Jinli, the sleeves of his bamboo-patterned uniform sweeping across the burning files. He pushed the warmed hangover soup toward Prime Minister Su, his glasses flashing a cold light in the firelight. "Father-in-law, the old lady of the Wang family has confessed that Liu accepted three thousand taels of silver to bribe Imperial Physician Zhou of Jishiditang." He paused, then pulled out a fragment of a jade pendant from his sleeve—an artifact seized from the Wang family. "The 'Qianji Yin' that Madam was hit with was personally prescribed by Imperial Physician Zhou."
The jade pendant fell onto the blood-stained letter, making a resonant sound. Su Jinli gazed at the piece of mutton-fat jade engraved with a twin lotus flower, and suddenly remembered when, at twelve, Liu had taken her to Jishitang to get some medicine. Doctor Zhou, looking at the jade pendant her mother had left on her wrist, a flicker of fear flashed in his cloudy eyes. He had deliberately packed three extra grams of licorice with the medicine. Thinking back now, deep within that compassionate gaze lay the guilt of poisoning a close friend.
"Doctor Zhou?" Su Xiang abruptly rose to his feet, the hem of his dragon robe sweeping over a brushwasher filled with cinnabar. The crimson liquid splashed onto the Compendium of Materia Medica, staining the word "poison" with a sinister hue. He stumbled against the bookshelf, sending yellowed volumes tumbling down like snowflakes. One, a water-soaked, wrinkled letter, floated to Su Jinli's feet. The words at the end, "If something happens to me, don't trust the Zhou surname," were blurred, yet they still carried a chilling feeling that pierced through time.
Thunder roared outside the window at that very moment, shaking the ink from the letter. Su Jinli's fingertips felt cold as she picked it up. Suddenly, she realized the handwriting matched the exact same strokes she'd copied from the "Instructions for Women" as a child—when her mother had taught her calligraphy, she'd always paused at the last stroke of the character "信," saying, "People's words are trustworthy, but there are many people in the world who break their promises." It turned out she'd long been aware of Imperial Physician Zhou's ulterior motives, but the longstanding ties between the Prime Minister's Mansion and the Zhou family kept her from leaving behind such a subtle warning.
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