Wan Cui was originally a maid in the laundry department. She was transferred here because she was quick and efficient, but she was naturally bad at needlework.
When handling the embroidery needle, her knuckles would turn white from tension, and the stitches would be so crooked that you could see the tremor in her hand. Sometimes the thread would even get a knot.
There was a crooked embroidery of vermilion on the tip of the spear, which she had secretly picked from my rouge box. After sewing it, she hid it under my pillow, pressing it down with a neatly folded note.
"The princess's spear practice is the most beautiful sight. The embroidered little spear, imbued with a bit of sharpness, can quell the evil spirits lurking in the shadows of the palace."
The peonies embroidered by the palace embroiderers could attract bees and butterflies, and the phoenixes embroidered with gold thread and adorned with pearls could illuminate the palace as bright as day.
Even the phoenix skirt that my mother gave me was embroidered with peacock feathers, and it shimmered and sparkled when I walked.
But this tangled mess of stitches, when held in my hand, feels like holding a freshly steamed cake.
The scent of soapberry and the warmth of her hands were the only things that could calm my trembling emotions.
After an unknown amount of time, the night watchman outside the palace struck the third watch gong.
"Thump—thump—thump," three deep thuds struck the palace wall, bounced back and hit my heart, making my eardrums buzz.
I clenched my fist tightly, my knuckles turning bluish-white, and even the embroidered spear pattern on my clothes was wrinkled and deformed, the vermilion spear tip looking as if it were oozing blood.
As I pushed open the door, the night breeze carried the fragrance of osmanthus blossoms from the steps, bringing a touch of autumn chill. It made the stray hairs at my temples stick to my cheeks, and I shivered from the cold.
The palace lanterns under the eaves swayed in the wind, and the warm yellow light shone through the gauze covers, casting my shadow on the blue bricks—sometimes stretched to a great length, like the long spear that no one was holding in the training ground.
Sometimes it curls up into a ball, like a frozen sparrow in the snow, which perfectly reflects my anxious and uneasy heart at this moment.
Like a bird that has crashed into its cage, its wingtips stained with blood, it fears that if it crashes its head and gets injured all over, it will be confined to Chang Le Palace by its father and won't even be able to touch the edge of the training ground.
I fear I'll suffocate in this gilded cage, never uttering a word of my heart, and rot away with the poisonous vines.
If my father is truly angered by my "unauthorized comments on state affairs" and punishes me by making me copy the "Thousand Character Classic" a hundred times and forbidding me from ever mentioning the word "soldier" again, I will accept it.
But those things buried deep in one's heart, like tea cakes wrapped in brocade during the rainy season, will mold and rot if kept hidden any longer.
Shouzhuo said, "Your Highness should keep to your proper place. It is a transgression for a woman to meddle in politics. Your father has always valued propriety above all else. He will surely be disappointed if he hears this."
But the sinister look hidden in his eyes was like a poisoned needle, stuck in my heart and I could not pull it out. I no longer wanted to call him "Royal Brother".
My elder brother, the Crown Prince, taught me how to hold a gun in the training ground. The calluses on his palms brushed against the back of my hands, making them rough and itchy.
However, it is said: "The children of the Ning family protect themselves first, then others, regardless of gender, only by their own hearts."
He taught me the horse stance, and seeing that I was swaying badly, he used the barrel of his spear to support my back.
When I shot an arrow off target, he never scolded me; he just picked up the arrow shaft and drew aiming lines on the ground.
However, the "royal brother" whose body was possessed by Shouzhuo only ever said things like "a woman's virtue lies in her lack of talent."
With a gentle smile concealing the ambition in his eyes, he was not even worthy to mention the name "Ning Family," much less worthy to defile the gun marks left by his elder brother, the Crown Prince, on the training ground.
The gunpoint marks embedded in the stone slabs still retain the warmth of those days.
The fallacies he instilled in me over the years are like poisonous vines entwining my heart, their roots already embedded in my very being.
He said, "Women learning martial arts is unorthodox; it would be better for them to learn music, chess, calligraphy, and painting to please the emperor."
He said, "The female soldiers in the Dark Guard Battalion are all unwanted girls who are not presentable."
He said, "War is a man's business, why is the imperial sister getting involved?"
Every word was like a tendril of a vine, tightening around me and making every breath I took hurt.
The candlelight in the Hall of Mental Cultivation was brighter than usual, with eight dragon-patterned candlesticks burning simultaneously, their wicks flickering with a bright light.
The candle wax dripped down the dragon scale pattern, accumulating into small wax beads on the gold brick, like congealed blood.
The hall was so brightly lit that even the small red dots marking grain on the map were clearly visible.
My father stood with his back to me in front of a huge map, the hem of his black dragon robe hanging down on the gold bricks.
The embroidered twelve symbols gleamed with a dark gold under the candlelight—sun, moon, stars, mountains, dragons, and pheasants. Every stitch was meticulously embroidered, yet it couldn't conceal the slightly hunched back beneath the fabric.
The white hair at his temples gleamed in the candlelight, more so than when I accompanied him to admire the chrysanthemums last month. Even his back view revealed a weariness caused by the pressure of official documents.
I gripped the hem of my clothes tightly, my fingertips brushing against the small embroidered gun pattern, and took a deep breath.
His voice, trembling slightly, seemed to roll from a roughened throat: "Father, I met Prince Jinrui Zhao today, and she said..."
Once the conversation started, it was like a river bursting its banks, impossible to stop. I began with Shou Zhuo's saying, "Women should not concern themselves with politics."
Speaking of the teahouse owner in the south of the city whom I met incognito last time—she wore a blue cloth apron tightly tied, with a small red flower tied with woolen thread behind her ear, and could lift a full copper kettle with one hand.
With a slight tilt of the spout, hot water is poured steadily into the teacup without spilling a single drop.
The abacus beads clicked and clattered. As soon as the customer finished ordering the dishes, she had already settled the bill, faster than the accountant, down to the last penny.
I said that Aunt Lin from the Dark Guard Camp had calloused hands that gripped the gun, and her knuckles were thicker than those of an ordinary man.
When practicing archery in winter, his fingertips would turn purple from the cold, yet he could still shoot an arrow through the leaves of a poplar tree a hundred paces away. The arrow feathers would tremble on the tree trunk, unmoved even by the wind.
I mentioned the scouts that King Jinrui Zhao spoke of when he talked about the defense of the northern frontier. They wore plain white coats, their faces were red from the cold, yet they could lie in the snow for three days and three nights, even breathing very lightly.
He had a clear understanding of the enemy's supply movements and troop deployments. When he returned, his eyelashes were covered in ice crystals, but he would hand over the intelligence before he would drink a bowl of hot soup.
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