Palace maid Shuoning

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My name is Jiang Shuoning, and I am a second-class palace maid serving Consort Rong.

The old people in the palace say that the roads in this deep palace are paved with bones.

I have no bones, only a blade.

When he found it, he couldn't even cut the paper.

I poured my life into him, grinding him down day after day, for countless years.

Until one day, the blade became so sharp it could cut through iron like mud.

Scrap metal needs sharpening; it's time to draw blood!

(Up)

The winter solstice of the twenty-seventh year of the Yuan You reign of the Great Zhou Dynasty.

Jiang Shuoning knelt beside the palace path, her eyes lowered. The cold air seeped into her knees along the cracks in the bricks, reaching straight to her heart, making her throat itch, and she coughed softly.

Just then, three lanterns swayed in the distance. The eunuchs and maids carrying the lanterns walked past her, paused, and lowered their voices.

"Isn't that Shuoning from Yihua Palace? It's so cold outside..."

"Shh. I heard she was serving the meal to the Emperor today and her hands slipped."

"Did you lose your grip?"

The palace maid didn't reply, only spat into the snow, and quickly walked away with her companion. A few words drifted on the wind: "...In front of Consort Rong, how dare you try anything?"

The sound, along with the light of the lanterns, disappeared into the depths of the palace.

Jiang Shuoning slowly opened his eyes. His cheeks were flushed, snowflakes trembled gently on his eyelashes, and his sleeves were damp.

This afternoon, Consort Rong dined with the Emperor at the Imperial Palace. When she served Consort Rong, the Emperor only said one sentence indifferently.

"The palace maids around Consort Rong have very delicate hands, as she is well cared for in the palace."

Just one sentence.

After dinner, Jiang Shuoning's ten fingers were wrapped in white cloth, and a tiny black hole, the size of a sesame seed, was left under each fingernail.

The needle was very thin; I didn't feel anything when it went in, but it woke me up with pain when it was pulled out.

She didn't say anything.

Consort Rong glanced at it and said indifferently, "Today is the Winter Solstice. You may go to Yihua Palace to enjoy the snow on your way. Come back when the snow stops."

Jiang Shuoning kowtowed: "Yes, Your Majesty, this servant thanks you for your grace."

The snow was still falling. She knelt there, watching the snowflakes fall one by one onto the back of her hand, onto the blood-stained white cloth, melting and spreading into a pale pink.

She closed her eyes and went through the day's events in her mind.

Serving dishes was never her job. Today, Suihe just happened to have an upset stomach.

Suihe rolled up her sleeves herself. "Don't get your sleeves dirty, or Consort Rong will be angry."

The Emperor remarked, "The palace maids around Consort Rong have very delicate hands, as evidenced by the fact that she is well-fed in her palace."

Suihe was standing right behind Consort Rong at the time, and her lips twitched slightly.

After returning to the palace, Suihe said, "Your Majesty, Shuoning deliberately showed off his hands in front of the Emperor; his intentions are impure."

Jiang Shuoning opened his eyes.

she knows.

You don't need to make mistakes. It's someone who wants you to "make mistakes," and that's what you do.

After an unknown amount of time, the snow stopped.

Hai hour (9-11 PM).

Jiang Shuoning braced his hands on the snow. His fingers were wrapped in white cloth, the bloodstains already frozen solid.

The moment her fingertips touched the snow, she shuddered with pain. She bit her lower lip and propped herself up.

He stood up, swayed a bit, and then steadied himself.

The wrinkles on the dress were smoothed out.

All was quiet; even the wind had stopped. Occasionally, a snowflake would slide down from the eaves with a soft "plop," as gentle as a sigh.

The footprints in the snow were uneven, some deep, some shallow.

(under)

The moonlight was pale, and the cold wind scraped against my face like a dull knife cutting into my flesh—not fatal, but so painful I wanted to beg for mercy.

From a narrow alley behind the palace wall, the faint, mocking voices of several eunuchs could be heard. Jiang Shuoning laboriously stepped over a palace threshold and turned to look.

Three figures emerged from the shadows; only upon closer inspection did one realize they were eunuchs from the washroom.

The three men were taken aback when they saw her, and nodded slightly: "Miss Shuoning," before quickly brushing past her and running towards the washroom.

Jiang Shuo Ning stepped into the depths of the shadows.

The closer you get, the stronger the smell of urine and mold becomes.

A figure shrank back in the corner, the snow on the ground crunching under her feet. The person shrank back even more, as if she wanted to pass right through the wall.

Suddenly, a hazy yellow light ignited in this small space.

The boy, who was huddled in the corner, was suddenly startled. He pressed himself against the wall, trembling all over.

But the light didn't get any closer.

The boy was trembling violently. When he turned his face to the side, his hair was a mess, sticking to his face, revealing only his dry, cracked lips, which were still streaked with blood.

He secretly peeked through his hair.

A woman stood within five steps.

If it weren't for the unique hairstyle of the palace maids, the young man would have almost thought she was a concubine of some palace.

She looked to be around eighteen years old, wearing a moon-white brocade round-necked narrow-sleeved jacket with a dark floral pattern, over which was a light green satin vest, and a blue silk belt around her waist. The collar and cuffs were trimmed with narrow white velvet.

This is the proper and respectable attire for a second-class palace maid in winter.

Her face was unlike any the boy had ever seen. Her skin was as white as porcelain, her eyebrows and eyes were clear and cool, her nose was straight and her lips were moist. Only a deep bloodstain was on her lower lip, and a red mole on her forehead made her look elegant and refined.

She glanced at the boy. His eyes were devoid of warmth.

The boy turned his head again, facing the wall, his thin back trembling incessantly.

He could feel that cold gaze still fixed on him, as if scrutinizing him.

He was wearing clothes he had worn two or three years ago, which no longer fit him. He was seventeen years old now, taller than his peers, but fortunately thin, so the clothes weren't too tight.

His bluish-gray thermal underwear was covered with patches of varying sizes and colors, and he reeked of urine.

After what seemed like an eternity, I finally heard her voice: "Take it."

The boy shivered and nervously turned his head again. He saw that the palace maid was holding a blue medicine bottle in her left hand.

Her hands were wrapped in white cloth, stained with blood, which was particularly jarring.

His eyes welled up with tears. After a moment's hesitation, he carefully moved over and tremblingly took the medicine bottle.

The exposed half of his wrist was covered in bruises.

The moment his fingertips touched hers, her hand trembled slightly, and he immediately withdrew them.

Jiang Shuoning noticed several bruises through the messy hair on his forehead.

The boy pursed his chapped lips and took the medicine bottle again. This time, he didn't dare touch her hand.

Jiang Shuoning also handed over the tinderbox.

"Go back early." She turned around, took two steps, stopped, and without looking back, said, "Remember, don't die!"

Her legs seemed a little unsteady, and she walked very deliberately, but her back was ramrod straight.

He had never seen any palace maid with such a demeanor.

The boy stared down at the medicine bottle and tinder in his hand, lost in thought.

The medicine bottle still held her warmth and a faint lingering fragrance—it was Du Ruoxiang.

In his blurred vision, the light from the tinderbox was so warm, yet so cold.

He gripped the medicine bottle tightly, protecting the light in his arms so the wind wouldn't extinguish it.

Jiang Shuo walked step by step toward Yihua Palace.

She raised her throbbing left hand, looking at the fingers that had been touched when she handed him the medicine. Several more stains appeared on the blood-stained white cloth.

It's dirty.

She remembered another pair of hands. Smaller, dirtier, and more timid hands.

Four years ago, on the winter solstice, while guarding the imperial tombs, she broke a glass vase and was severely beaten by the head maid, lying on the verge of death in the woodshed.

Suddenly, a figure darted in and placed a bottle of ointment in her hands.

The ointment had a pungent smell, but it was her only lifeline.

Later she learned that the figure that night was the Ninth Prince, whose identity had been stripped.

Zhou Zhengyin.

But now everyone calls him the mute slave.

The wind picked up again, causing the snow on the eaves to fall in a soft rustling sound.

Jiang Shuoning raised his head. No stars could be seen in the sky above the imperial city; only a heavy darkness pressed down upon the palace walls.

The sky above the deep walls had just begun to turn completely dark.