Chapter Two: Whose Hands Will Claim the Deer (Part One)

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I. The Storm Begins

“My lady, the Crown Prince has been waiting outside for a long time.”

Ziruo’s flat voice sounded for the third time before Xiangbao finally opened her eyes, still soaking in the hot water. Lifting her arm, she noticed tiny red marks dotting her skin. She paused, and the skin, already flushed from the bath, burned more fiercely.

She… she… had actually been…

She let the maids on either side help her dress, her mind drifting in a haze as she stepped out of the room.

“Mother!” The moment Xiangbao appeared, Sixiang’s eyes lit up and he hurried over. “Did Father favor you last night? Did he? Did he…?” He pressed eagerly for an answer.

That insolent child!

Remembering his words from the previous night, wishing for chaos, Xiangbao forced a crooked smile, icy and menacing. “It’s all thanks to you, Sixiang.”

Sixiang gave a nervous laugh, sensing something amiss in Xiangbao’s expression. He edged back two steps, then spun around and ran off.

“Trying to escape?” Xiangbao chased after him.

Sixiang darted away, faster than a rabbit, vanishing in a blink. Xiangbao pursued him out of the Intoxicated Moon Pavilion, but suddenly laughter and conversation caught her ear, making her stop instinctively.

“Sister Yunji, I heard the king stayed overnight at the Intoxicated Moon Pavilion. Is it true?”

“You’re quite well-informed,” Yunji replied coolly.

Hearing this, Xiangbao immediately hid behind the corridor, peeking toward the voices. A group of a dozen palace maids were escorting several consorts, chatting and laughing. Among them was Yunji.

“I heard the women sent from Yue are all legendary beauties. If this keeps up…”

“Hmph, what of their looks? They’re nothing but captives from a fallen nation.” Yunji’s smile was cold, her face full of disdain.

“Sister Yunji, aren’t you worried the king might…”

“Yes, last hunt the king brought three Yue women, especially that one named Xi Shi—her face is pure fox spirit…”

“Did you hear…” one of the women lowered her voice, “Prime Minister Wu read Xi Shi’s fortune and said she’s a beauty destined to bring ruin…”

A breeze carried the whisper straight to Xiangbao’s ears.

“Oh…” The group gasped, turning to Yunji. “Sister Yunji, Prime Minister Wu is your uncle. Have you heard anything?”

Yunji laughed. “Don’t worry. With my uncle in charge, they’ll never amount to anything.”

“That’s right. The Prime Minister is loyal to the king. With him around, no evil can prevail,” another woman flattered.

“By the way, I heard something happened last night too. A woman named Sicha threw herself into the pond in the abandoned garden…”

“Sicha?”

“She’s also from Yue…”

“Heh, heaven bless us. I hope every one of those Yue enchantresses dies off.”

“They will.” Yunji lifted her sleeve to hide her smile.

Hidden behind the corridor, Xiangbao listened quietly, a cold sweat breaking out in her palm. Only when they’d walked away did she exhale softly and sit wearily on the steps.

Sicha? She tilted her head, trying to recall, the name faintly familiar.

“Xi Shi?” A voice startled her.

Xiangbao jerked her head up. A woman stood before her, features blurred by the sunlight.

“Huamei?” Recognizing her, Xiangbao brushed off her skirt and rose.

Huamei’s eyes were red, as if she’d been crying.

“What happened?” Xiangbao asked gently.

“Sicha is dead.” Huamei wiped her tears, looking at Xiangbao. “Don’t you remember? Sicha came with us. She was our sister…”

Xiangbao bit her lip. Among the women from Yue who entered Wu with her, aside from the caring Huamei and Zheng Dan of Zhuluo Mountain, the rest were always vague faces to her—she could hardly remember their names. And now, one of them was dead.

“Sorry, I forgot you lost your memory…” Seeing Xiangbao’s tightly bitten lip, Huamei hugged her and wept.

Xiangbao lowered her gaze, full of guilt. She had never truly lost her memory—it was simply that, to her, those women were always indistinct, unimportant presences. She had never cared. But Sicha—why did she die? Was it because she couldn’t bear the burden? Each of those women bore the hopes of Yue’s people, all sacrifices for their country’s restoration.

“She couldn’t have taken her own life… She wouldn’t…” Huamei murmured, holding Xiangbao. “She loved to laugh. Just yesterday, she spoke to me of her younger sister at home. How could she just…”

Xiangbao gently stroked her back, but her eyes grew colder.

Those Wu consorts had laughed, saying heaven should rid the world of the Yue enchantresses.

Yunji had promised, “They will.”

None of this was coincidence.

“Crying here—what do you think you look like?” A cold voice interrupted.

Xiangbao turned. It was Zheng Dan.

Clad in plain attire, stunning and dignified, her eyes were slightly red. Several other Yue women followed behind, all looking as if they had been crying.

“Don’t cry here. Sicha would be lonely on her journey. Let’s see her off together,” Zheng Dan said, walking deeper into the corridor.

Huamei pulled Xiangbao along with her.

When they entered the dilapidated garden, Xiangbao was surprised—it was the same garden she and Sixiang had visited. Just as the first time, everyone was amazed that such a neglected place could be bursting with flowers.

Xiangbao immediately noticed a small figure sitting by the pond. As expected, he had hidden himself here.

“How dare you! Who let you in?” Seeing the group invade his territory, Sixiang leapt up like a little tiger, furious.

“Your Highness the Crown Prince?” Zheng Dan was surprised.

“Get out! All of you, out!” Sixiang yelled, only to spot Xiangbao behind Huamei. He froze, then stammered softly, “Mother…”

Zheng Dan looked at Xiangbao in shock, as did Huamei and the others.

Xiangbao sighed and beckoned Sixiang over. He hesitated, somewhat afraid.

“Come here. I’m not angry,” Xiangbao said.

Sixiang obediently went to her side, clinging to her. “They… They’re here for that woman Sicha?”

“Mm.” Xiangbao took his small hand and responded softly.

Someone couldn’t hold back and began to sob, the sound so mournful it was hard to bear.

“Qiu Hui… don’t—let Sicha go in peace…” Huamei, eyes red, comforted a woman who had broken into loud weeping.

Feeling Sixiang’s hand trembling, Xiangbao looked down at him. He was biting his lip, staring at the water. “It was her… it was her…”

Xiangbao crouched down and held him.

Zheng Dan walked to the water’s edge, staring fixedly at the still surface. “I saw Sicha when they pulled her out. She must’ve been soaking all night—the whole body was swollen, her eyes unclosed.”

“Don’t say any more.” Linglong covered her mouth, choking with grief.

“But she couldn’t have taken her own life, much less drowned herself,” Zheng Dan said suddenly.

“What do you mean?” Huamei shuddered.

“In any case, be careful,” Zheng Dan said quietly. “Perhaps Sicha’s fate today will be ours tomorrow.”

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A heavy silence fell. The sense of impending doom made even weeping difficult. Sicha’s body had been fished out early in the morning, denied even a proper funeral—just rolled up and thrown out of the palace. The woman who had come to Wu with them was gone, and all they could do was quietly see her off.

By the time they left the garden, darkness had fallen. Sixiang was in low spirits. Xiangbao took him back to his quarters, then walked slowly back to the Intoxicated Moon Pavilion.

As soon as she stepped inside, she saw Fuchai sitting by the corridor, drinking. The moonlight was like water, and under its glow, the man was strikingly elegant.

“My lady seems in good spirits…” He rose, half leaning against the pillar, his voice so gentle it sent chills down her spine.

Was he waiting for her?

“So it seems…” He tossed aside the wine jar and drew her into his arms. “It seems I should reflect on myself.” He murmured close to her ear.

Staring at the hands locked behind her back, Xiangbao blushed, understanding his implication, but said nothing.

Fuchai turned her face to him, but paused when he saw the bottomless darkness in her eyes. After a moment, he frowned. “What is it?”

“Sicha is dead.”

“Sicha?” Fuchai looked blank.

No surprise—of course he didn’t remember who Sicha was. Even she had barely known the woman; how could the king? Poor Sicha, dying so quietly, so namelessly.

On the seventh day after Sicha’s death, Xiangbao was napping at noon when someone dragged her up.

“Xi Shi! Xi Shi! Come save her!” It was Huamei’s frantic voice.

Xiangbao immediately woke. “What happened?”

“Qiu Hui offended Lady Yunji and is being beaten to death! The king favors you; maybe you can save her.”

“Where?”

“In the garden where Sicha died.”

Without another word, Xiangbao pulled Huamei and rushed out. At the entrance to the abandoned garden, they saw Qiu Hui being viciously beaten by several strong palace women.

“Stop!” Xiangbao shouted, her voice ringing out.

“Lady Xi Shi?” Yunji glanced at her, a faint smile on her lips.

The palace women didn’t stop, and Qiu Hui was near death. Xiangbao rushed forward, trying to push them away. “Let her go!”

Yunji only smiled, while the sticks seemed to have eyes for Xiangbao, one smashing into her back, the pain piercing. Another stick came at her; Huamei tried to pull her away but was too late. The blow landed on Xiangbao’s forehead, blood trickling down her hairline, blurring her vision, but the beating didn’t stop.

“Stop!” a sharp voice cried—Sixiang.

Yunji, having finally gotten the chance to kill Xiangbao, was unwilling to stop. She signaled the palace women, and another blow came down.

“Mother!” Sixiang screamed.

A slender hand intercepted the deadly blow midair, though another stick struck that wrist so hard it snapped in two. The palace women looked up in shock; when they saw who it was, their faces drained of all malice, leaving only terror.

Xiangbao glanced over, then rushed to the bloodied Qiu Hui. “Qiu Hui, Qiu Hui…”

“Mercy, my king…” The palace women all fell to their knees, trembling.

Blood dripped from the broken stick that had cut Fuchai’s wrist.

Yunji, thinking only Sixiang had come, was panicked to see Fuchai arrive, especially when he was injured. She hurried forward on her knees, grabbing his robe. “Your Majesty, I was only punishing the Yue woman Qiu Hui for sneaking into Lady Meisi’s garden…”

“Your Majesty, Qiu Hui only wanted to pay respects to her dead sister, and offended Lady Meisi by accident,” Huamei pleaded, kneeling.

“Dead sister?” Fuchai raised an eyebrow.

“Her name was Sicha,” Xiangbao said suddenly.

Sicha? Fuchai suddenly recalled Xiangbao’s distracted look that night.

“Qiu Hui…” Huamei looked at Qiu Hui’s blood pooling beneath her, covering her mouth as tears streamed from her wide eyes.

“She’s dead,” Xiangbao said, turning, half laughing, half crying, blood streaking her forehead.

Fuchai frowned.

“She was beaten to death.” Xiangbao’s lips curled as blood ran to her eyes like tears. She stood, wobbling, and collapsed.

“Mother!” Sixiang cried.

Fuchai stepped forward, catching Xiangbao.

The palace women remained on their knees, kowtowing until their heads bled, not daring to stop without Fuchai’s word. Yunji, anxious, tried to stop him as he carried Xiangbao away. “Your Majesty, what about them…”

“Beat them to death,” he said coldly, and left with Xiangbao.

Xiangbao’s injuries weren’t severe, but her weak health kept her bedridden for two days. Huamei, feeling guilty, visited daily and told her that King Wu had ordered Sicha and Qiu Hui buried with honor.

“With honor…” Xiangbao’s lips twisted. “Is that the best they could hope for?”

Huamei bit her lip, silent.

Flowers of life, in the end… all they received was a proper burial.

In a daze, Xiangbao wandered into a deserted garden shrouded in mist. Suddenly, the sound of a zither drifted to her ears, soothing at first, then shifting into a tumult of metallic notes, like ten thousand horses thundering past. Abruptly, a mournful snap sounded—a string broke. At the pond, a woman in splendid robes was playing, her features reminiscent of Sixiang—could she be Lady Meisi? The woman stared blankly at the broken instrument, then leaped into the pond.

“No!” Xiangbao cried, rushing to stop her. As she reached the edge, a swollen, drowned woman floated to the surface. It wasn’t the one in fine clothes, but someone familiar—Sicha!

Sicha floated quietly, rootless as duckweed. Xiangbao looked on in horror as swollen eyes opened and tears streamed down Sicha’s face.

She was crying…

The mist thickened. Behind her came a scream. Xiangbao turned to see a blood-soaked figure crawling toward her—Qiu Hui, crying out for help.

“Save me, save me…”

Xiangbao rushed to help, but Qiu Hui vanished. In her place stood a white-bearded old man, glaring and shouting, “You are a curse!”

Pale hands reached from the mist, binding Xiangbao so she couldn’t move.

Outside the room, the night-maid dozed, only to startle awake as a man in yellow robes approached. “Your Majesty…”

“Is the lady asleep?”

“Yes.”

Fuchai waved her off and entered.

Xiangbao lay curled on the bed, face pale, limbs twitching—as if bound by invisible cords.

Fuchai frowned, sat beside her, and touched her forehead, finding it drenched in cold sweat.

“Wake up, wake up.” He shook her gently.

In the grip of her nightmare, Xiangbao shook her head, tears leaking from her closed eyes. “No… no… I’m not Xi Shi, why force me? I’m not Xi Shi…”

“Sister, don’t go…”

“Sister… I was wrong, I was wrong… I’ll listen to you, please come back… Sister…”

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Incoherently, she wept and pleaded in her dream.

Xiangbao stood lost in a sea of mist, unable to see her hands before her face, nor a way out. She felt herself shrinking, becoming smaller and smaller, as if she’d returned to her mother’s embrace, warm and safe…

Her mother’s blood soaked her clothes…

“Be good, Xiangbao. Don’t make a sound,” her mother whispered.

Xiangbao stayed silent, as told.

She, so small, huddled in her mother’s arms, smelling blood, biting her lips to keep quiet.

Don’t make a sound… don’t make a sound…

Fuchai lifted her into his arms, finding her icy cold, so frail she seemed as though she might shatter. Her teeth clenched, her body trembling, she said nothing—just wept quietly.

“Xiangbao, Xiangbao…” Someone called from far away, in a voice so warm.

Who was calling her?

“Don’t be afraid. It’s just a dream.” Cool lips pressed to her brow; a gentle voice whispered at her ear. “It’s only a dream. Open your eyes, and it will be over.”

Just… a dream? If she opened her eyes, would it really end? Could escape be so simple? Her lashes trembled, and slowly, Xiangbao opened her eyes, gazing into the profound depths of his.

Fu… Fuchai?

She flinched, trying to push him away, but his arms seemed gentle, yet unyielding.

“Don’t be afraid. Just a dream.” He tightened his embrace, pressing her against his chest, his chin resting on her head.

Nestled against him, listening to his heartbeat, Xiangbao felt, for the first time, a sense of peace.

“When I was young, I often dreamed, too.” After a long silence, just as Xiangbao thought he wouldn’t speak, he continued. “Nightmares.”

Xiangbao was taken aback—he had nightmares too? His cool lips brushed her eyelids. She stared dazedly at his face, so close.

“Close your eyes,” he whispered.

As if bewitched, Xiangbao obeyed. His lips lingered on hers, long eyes glimmering with a faint smile. He was utterly gentle, afraid to startle the bewildered woman in his arms. Their lips and teeth mingled. His tongue slipped into her mouth, and Xiangbao’s mind thundered—her cheeks flamed, unaware that deft fingers had already undone her sash.

He gently laid her down, trapping her beneath him. Her hair, black as silk, contrasted with her snow-white skin and flushed cheeks, her eyes misty. The darkness in his gaze deepened as he kissed her, his long hands caressing her creamy skin, making her shiver. Her soft body melted under his touch. Xiangbao feared this feeling, wanted to escape, but there was nowhere to run. In her memory, a man had bitten her ear and whispered, “You are mine. Even if it hurts, you’re not allowed to run…”

“No!” Eyes wide with fear, Xiangbao pushed at him.

“Hmm?” he murmured, unconcerned.

“It hurts!” She pressed his hand, frightened.

He paused, then laughed softly, leaning to her neck, biting her ear, whispering in a voice laced with temptation, “This time, it won’t.”

Her ear burned, and Xiangbao couldn’t help but moan, her body arching. His eyes, bottomless, watched her. He pressed himself into her, making her stare in disbelief. “You… you…”

“Hm? What about me?” he breathed, following her words.

“You… you didn’t even warn me!” she shrieked.

He stared, then laughter filled his dark eyes. “You really are a treasure…”

Xiangbao wriggled in protest.

“Don’t move…” he frowned, his breath growing heavier.

Irate and tingling all over, Xiangbao wriggled again in defiance. He gasped, then laughed. She began to regret it, tried to crawl away, but he caught her fast, leaving her no escape.

“You’ve brought this on yourself…” He bit her ear, laughing.

“Ah…”

Lying on the bed, Xiangbao fumed. Once was bad enough, but now she’d… and again…

She couldn’t understand how a conversation about nightmares had turned into this—this opportunist!

A long arm draped over her shoulder, drawing her to a broad chest. Blushing furiously, Xiangbao turned her head away in indignation.

“What’s wrong?” He lifted her chin, his eyes lazy but smiling.

She bit her lip in silence, her eyes blazing with anger—so bright, they dazzled.

“Are you dissatisfied, my lady?” he asked solemnly.

“Of course!” Xiangbao nodded, pleased he at least had some self-awareness.

“I’ll try harder next time,” he replied with a soft laugh.

Xiangbao froze, then her face combusted. She covered her cheeks, shrieking, “Ah—!”

He pressed a hand to her lips. “My lady, keep your voice down, or everyone outside will think I’m at it again.”

Instantly deflated, Xiangbao pushed his hand away. After a long silence, seeing he had no intention of leaving, she nudged him. “You should go.”

“Oh?”

“Aren’t you the king? Aren’t you busy? Be careful…”

She stopped abruptly.

“Be careful of what?” His gaze sharpened—he was once more the Fuchai who’d smiled as he killed at Mount Fujiao.

Xiangbao bit her lip, steeling herself. Suddenly, she felt the urge to confess everything—regardless of the consequence.

“I’m not really Xi—”

Before she could finish, his cool lips sealed hers. She struggled to break free, but in vain. She was suffocating, and still he didn’t let go.

“I don’t care who you are,” he murmured at last, licking his lips as if savoring the taste. “Just stay by my side.”

“Even… even if I’m a curse?” Xiangbao panted, glaring at him.

“My kingdom can support one curse,” he said with wild arrogance.

Xiangbao was stunned. He knew? From the very start?

“You are you. What does a name matter?” Fuchai pinched her cheek, smiling.

Xiangbao lowered her head, silent.

“Do you want to visit Sicha and Qiu Hui’s graves?” he whispered in her ear.

She looked up, hope shining in her eyes. “May I?”

“I said you could,” he smiled.

Xiangbao stared at him for a long moment, then slowly bowed her head. Suddenly, she lifted her lips to his, soft and quick, then ducked her head again.

A flicker of surprise crossed his dark eyes. He lifted a hand to his lips.

She had done almost nothing—it wasn’t even a real kiss—yet he could feel something new stirring in his heart, leaping to life.