In late autumn, the drizzle seemed tireless, lingering for three full days, washing the bluestone pavement of the prime minister's residence to a gleaming shine, like polished mirrors reflecting the gloomy clouds in the sky. I quietly nestled on a soft couch by the window in the warm room, concentrating on my manuscript. My wolf-hair brush gently traced the rice paper, but my thoughts drifted away. The tip of the brush paused, leaving a single dot of ink on the paper.
In the passage "Chen Weiwan's Outsmarting Stepmother," the heroine cleverly counters her stepmother's strategy by swapping the account books, launching a thrilling battle of wits. Meanwhile, the withered lotus leaves outside the window, pounded relentlessly by the rain, have been torn to pieces. The broken leaves and bent stems resemble the fragmented pages I struggled to rescue from the blazing inferno when Liu had my manuscript burned in a previous life. Their scars and disarray evoke both emotion and resentment.
"Miss," Mo Zhu walked in with light steps, holding a gilded hot water bottle. The hot steam rising from the spout was like a soft cloud, enveloping the delicate pearl flowers on her temples and adding a touch of hazy beauty to her face. "Boss Wang sent someone to tell me that our "The Story of a Concubine's Counterattack" has been reprinted to the fifth edition!" Her voice was full of joy and pride, as if this was a great achievement of her own. "Also, the personal nanny of Li Cairen in the palace also came to ask if there are any unpublished manuscripts."
I slowly lowered my pen, my fingertips unconsciously rubbing the edge of the paperweight. This paperweight, a bamboo orchid carved from bamboo, was a gift from Jiang Yan specifically for me. The four characters engraved on it, "Miraculous and Interesting," had shimmered under my repeated caressing, as if every stroke held his deep affection and expectations for me. I remembered three days ago, disguised as a servant, he'd slipped me a note when no one was looking. It read, "I've heard the Liu family has been spying lately. A clever strategy is needed to prevent thieves." Now, rain and fog thickened outside the window, a hazy mist that resembled the usual smile in his eyes, warm and mysterious.
"Go to the east wing and get that box of 'spare' manuscript paper." I reached for the ginger duck soup Mozhu handed me. The porcelain spoon and bowl gently clinked, creating a crisp sound like a melodious tune. "Also, tell the concierge to open the west door tonight, but leave the latch ajar." I gave the instructions methodically, my eyes revealing determination and composure.
Mo Zhu blinked her lively eyes, the jasmine scent from her hair blending with the scent of rain, creating a unique atmosphere. "Young lady, are you saying... Liu is coming?" She frowned slightly, a flicker of alarm in her eyes. "Yesterday, I saw Mrs. Zhou from her house sneaking around outside your study. The moss from the west wing was still on the soles of her shoes."
"Her ideas are exactly like those of Madam Liu in the storybooks. Nothing new." I gently scooped up a spoonful of duck soup, watching the oil slowly bloom on the surface, like brilliant fireworks in the night sky. "Replace pages three to ten with 'Kitchen Notes'. Remember to add three grams of pepper to the paste." The corners of my mouth curled up slightly, revealing a sly smile. "Last time, Madam Liu sneaked a peek at the manuscript, and the pepper made her sneeze for half an hour."
As time slipped quietly by, the three-watchman gong finally struck slowly, its dull thud echoing through the rainy night like the prelude to a dramatic performance. The rain gradually subsided, with fine, gentle raindrops falling like cow hair. I donned my oilskin raincoat and carefully hid behind the rockery, my eyes fixed on the wall. Soon, a dark figure flashed across the wall.
I saw Mrs. Zhou, clutching her oilcloth bag tightly in her arms, clambering over the wall with the swift, ghostly ease. As she landed, she accidentally tripped over the remaining lotus pond in the corner, sending water splattering everywhere, staining the hem of her moon-white skirt with mud. She seemed quite familiar with the terrain, groping her way to the study window with familiarity. Just as her fingernails dug into the crack, I turned my head slightly and winked at Mo Zhu.
"A-choo!" As soon as Mrs. Zhou pried open the window, a strong and pungent smell of pepper hit her in the face, like an invisible big hand, tightly strangling her throat, choking her and making her cough repeatedly. The wire tap in her hand fell to the ground with a "clang", making a crisp sound, which was particularly abrupt in the silent rainy night.
"Who?" Mo Zhu reacted instantly, holding up a goat-horn palace lantern. Like a beam of bright light, she rushed out. The light illuminated the maids behind her, who were holding sticks, like a group of guardians of justice. "Catch the thief!" Mo Zhu shouted loudly, her voice echoing in the rainy night, shattering the original tranquility.
Seeing this, Mrs. Zhou was horrified. She hurriedly stuffed the stolen manuscript into her arms, turned around, and climbed up the wall, trying to escape this exposed predicament. Just then, a dark figure suddenly leaped out from behind the rockery, like a flash of lightning in the night. It was the young marquis, bearing a wooden sword, appearing majestically. The red silk tassel on the sword danced in the wind in the rainy night, like a burning flame, full of power and momentum.
"You thief who stole my sister's manuscript! Take my sword!" the young marquis shouted, a voice as resounding as a bell in the rainy night. Then, with a crisp "snap," the wooden sword struck Mrs. Zhou's buttocks. She screamed, "Ouch!" and fell heavily to the ground like a slain prey. The manuscript paper in her arms scattered like snowflakes, instantly soaked by the rain. The words gradually blurred under the rain.
The young marquis nimbly picked up a piece of manuscript paper and, glancing at it in the dim light of the palace lantern, leaped with rage. "What a rubbish manuscript! 'Today's duck stew requires three star anise and five slices of ginger'? Sister, is this thief a fool?" His face was filled with anger and confusion, brandishing his wooden sword as if ready to chop down the foolish thief.
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