They get along better and better.
After the Double Ninth Festival, the chilly autumn wind carried a touch of freshness. The small peach tree in the corner of the yard had lost all its leaves, but a few tiny flower buds were sprouting among the branches. Every day, Ya Huan would squat under the tree to examine them, muttering, "It will surely bloom with many flowers next spring." We still carried our food boxes every day, moving between the courtyards. Our days were simple, but full of small, warm moments.
Delivering meals to Consort Xian became the most pleasant thing. She always loved to sit on the wicker chair under the eaves, a velvet blanket draped over her knees, an old book in her hands. When we arrived, we would place the food box on the stone table, and she would invite us to sit down, share some freshly shelled melon seeds, and listen to us tell interesting stories about the courtyard—such as Consort Rong embroidering a new handkerchief, or the herbs Consort Su had planted sprouting. Once, I brought her some perilla tea that Consort Su had dried. She brewed a cup, sipped it slowly, and suddenly said, "Ah Zhao, although you don't talk about the past, I can see from you that you have confidence. Life in the Cold Palace is peaceful, so just relax and stay here. This is your home." I held the warm teacup, feeling a warm glow in my heart, and nodded gently.
Consort Su's courtyard was filled with herbs, most of which were dried in the autumn and neatly stacked in the corner wrapped in coarse cloth. After delivering meals, she would teach us to identify several herbs, saying, "It's always good to learn more, in case you have a headache or fever." She would also mix dried chrysanthemums and osmanthus flowers together to make sachets, which she would distribute to us and the other ladies-in-waiting. Once, Ya Huan accidentally sprained her ankle. Consort Su took out her homemade anti-swelling ointment from the house and personally applied it to her, her movements gentle, while saying, "Walk slower in the future, don't be clumsy." Ya Huan blushed and nodded, and indeed became much more restrained afterward, even her gait became much more steady.
Li Pin's residence gradually regained its warmth and life. Since resolving her misunderstanding with Hui Pin, she smiled more often and would occasionally set up a small table in the courtyard to make simple snacks. After we delivered the meals, she would often invite us to sit down and share some jujube paste pastries or plum blossom cakes. Once, she taught us how to make chrysanthemum pastries, explaining that the dough should be kneaded to the right consistency and the filling should be sweet but not cloying. I was a slow learner, and the chrysanthemum petals I made were crooked and uneven, but Li Pin didn't laugh at me. She patiently taught me step by step: "Don't rush. Apply even pressure with your fingertips, just like embroidering a handkerchief. If your mind is steady, your hand will be steady too." Ya Huan learned quickly, and the chrysanthemum pastries she made were small and exquisite. Li Pin smiled and placed her work in the center of the plate: "This girl has talent. She can come and learn from me often in the future."
Our interactions with Consort Rong became increasingly natural. She no longer hid behind the door all the time; after we delivered the meals, she would open the door and invite us in to sit for a while. Her room was filled with many embroidered pieces, depicting flowers, plants, insects, and fish, all lifelike. She remained a woman of few words, but she would hand us freshly embroidered handkerchiefs, letting us choose our favorites. Ya Huan loved the little rabbits she embroidered the most, so Consort Rong specially embroidered several more, stringing them together to hang above Ya Huan's bedside. Once, we brought her some fresh wild fruit. Holding the fruit, her eyes sparkled, she whispered, "Thank you. When I was little, my mother always picked wild fruit for me to eat." We sat in the room, listening to her recount her childhood stories in fits and starts. Sunlight streamed through the window paper, falling softly on her face, like a painting.
Consort Hui would occasionally have Qin Lan bring her things—sometimes freshly made pastries from the imperial kitchen, sometimes fine fabrics, always saying they were "more than enough," yet they always touched everyone's hearts. Each time Qin Lan came, she would chat with us for a while, mentioning that Consort Hui had recently been learning to make plum blossom cakes, ruining several batches, but stubbornly insisting she was "just practicing." We all laughed. Consort Li would have Qin Lan take some of her homemade jujube paste pastries back with her, saying, "Let her taste the real thing." When Qin Lan left, Ya Huan would always give her a basket of vegetables she had grown herself, saying, "The vegetables in Consort Hui's palace aren't as fresh as ours."
Days passed by like this, and everyone in the Cold Palace was like family, caring for and keeping each other company. They watched the sunrise together in the morning, basked in the sun together in the afternoon, and counted stars together in the evening. There was no scheming or deceit, only the purest warmth and kindness.
One day, a light rain began to fall, its patter softly against the windowpanes. We invited all the ladies-in-waiting from the various palaces to the courtyard of the Dowager Consort Xian. We sat around on the veranda, drinking warm jujube tea, eating pastries made by Consort Li, and listening to the Dowager Consort Xian tell stories of the past. Consort Rong sat in a corner, slowly embroidering flowers on her embroidery frame; Consort Su helped pour tea, occasionally interjecting a few words; Consort Li gazed tenderly at the rain outside the window; Ya Huan leaned against me, playing with the embroidered handkerchief Consort Rong had given her.
The sounds of rain, laughter, and conversation mingled together, creating the warmest melody. Looking at the people around me, an unprecedented sense of peace welled up inside me. Perhaps being transported to this world was fate's arrangement; and meeting these kind people in the Cold Palace was fate's gift. From now on, no matter what we encounter, as long as we're together, we'll surely be able to make this Cold Palace a place full of poetry and warmth.
When the rain stopped, a faint rainbow appeared on the horizon. Ya Huan excitedly pointed at the rainbow and shouted for everyone to see. Everyone stood up, looked at the rainbow in the sky, and their faces lit up with bright smiles. Sunlight shone through the clouds, shining on everyone and every corner of the Cold Palace, dispelling all the chill and leaving only warmth and hope.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
