As soon as Concubine Zhao laid eyes on Concubine Lan, her eyes instantly reddened. She grasped Xie Fanghua’s hand, choked up as she bowed in greeting, tears the size of beans rolling down her cheeks.
Concubine Lan, filled with confusion, ushered the two into her chambers.
After dismissing the servants, Concubine Zhao took Concubine Lan’s hands, scrutinizing her from head to toe before saying with a sob, "Fanglan, look at you—you’ve grown even thinner. My dear child, you’ve suffered so much in the palace."
Her voice trembled with every word, each syllable dripping with concern for Concubine Lan.
Too anxious to exchange pleasantries, Concubine Lan pressed urgently, "Concubine Zhao, please tell me quickly—why didn’t my mother come?"
Concubine Zhao’s eyes reddened further, her voice thick with tears. "Fanglan, your mother caught a severe chill two years ago and never recovered. Master Xie summoned imperial physicians to treat her, but nothing worked... Now, she’s bedridden, too ill to rise."
Concubine Lan’s mind buzzed as if struck by lightning.
Her mother—ill?
"Why didn’t you and Father tell me sooner?" she cried.
Seeing her distress, Xie Fanghua quickly stepped forward, wrapping an arm around Concubine Lan, her voice quivering. "Sister, it wasn’t that Father and Mother hid it from you deliberately. Our mother feared you’d worry, so she forbade Father from saying anything."
Grief surged through Concubine Lan’s heart. She slumped back into her chair, numb as if plunged into an icy abyss.
She had longed day and night for a reunion with her mother.
Who could have imagined her mother was now gravely ill, beyond the reach of medicine?
Concubine Zhao sat beside Concubine Lan, sighing as she rambled, "Your father has been overwhelmed lately. You’ve neither won the Emperor’s favor nor borne him an heir, and those stubborn elders in the family pressure him relentlessly... Ah, he hasn’t slept well in over half a year, and his hair has turned so much grayer."
Concubine Lan wiped her tears, her heart aching with guilt.
She felt utterly useless.
Her father had doted on her since childhood—if she’d asked for the moon, he would have tried to fetch it for her. Now, she hated herself for failing to earn the Emperor’s affection, for losing the child she’d barely conceived, for remaining a lowly concubine after all these years, forcing her father to worry himself gray.
"Concubine Zhao," she asked, drying her tears, "which family elder plans to send someone else into the palace?"
Concubine Zhao sighed. "Who else but Fanghua?"
The answer didn’t surprise Concubine Lan.
She turned her gaze to her younger sister, Xie Fanghua. When Concubine Lan had entered the palace, Fanghua was still a child, her beauty not yet blossomed.
Now, nearly four years later, Xie Fanghua resembled a flower on the verge of blooming in spring—fresh, delicate, and radiant.
Xie Fanghua’s eyes welled up with feigned reluctance. She clutched Concubine Lan’s hands, her voice hoarse. "Sister, I don’t want to enter the palace. I’d rather marry a commoner and live a simple life than step into that gilded cage... But Father is truly at his wits’ end."
Her expression was so convincingly distressed, as if she genuinely dreaded the idea.
Concubine Lan’s chest tightened with pain.
Xie Fanghua was her half-sister, but they had always been close. Fanghua had grown up clinging to her, following her everywhere, calling her "sister" with such affection.
Unable to bear the thought of her sister suffering in the palace, Concubine Lan reassured her, "Life here is harsh. You’re eighteen now—I’ll ask Noble Consort Chen to arrange a good marriage for you."
A tear froze at the corner of Xie Fanghua’s eye.
She had only casually claimed she "didn’t want to enter the palace"—yet Concubine Lan had taken her at her word!
Concubine Zhao’s eyes flickered craftily before she sighed again, feigning helplessness. "The daughters of the Xie family are raised to shoulder its future. How can we let personal desires ruin the clan? Fanglan, Noble Consort Chen is no ally—she’d rejoice if Fanghua never entered the palace."
Concubine Lan pondered this. It was true.
Noble Consort Chen enjoyed undying favor. She would never allow a beautiful newcomer to steal the Emperor’s attention.
Her thoughts tangled, Concubine Lan sat in silence, utterly lost.
The room grew heavy with tension.
Concubine Lan’s personal maid, Tong'er, entered with tea and pastries. As she served Concubine Zhao and Xie Fanghua, her sharp eyes discreetly assessed them before she lowered her gaze again.
Time slipped away, and soon the visiting hours neared their end. Concubine Zhao rose reluctantly, clasping Concubine Lan’s hands. "Your Ladyship, don’t worry—I’ll take good care of your mother. The palace is full of vipers; you must be cautious in all things."
Xie Fanghua, too, put on a show of reluctance to leave.
Concubine Lan’s heart ached.
She escorted them to the palace gates herself. Standing beneath the eaves of Huayang Palace, she watched their figures fade into the distance. Memories surfaced—herself as a child, chasing butterflies in the garden with her little sister, Concubine Zhao tenderly wiping sweat from their brows, her eyes brimming with maternal warmth.
She also recalled a childhood fever so severe she’d nearly died—Concubine Zhao had stayed by her bedside all night, brewing and feeding her medicine.
To Concubine Lan, Concubine Zhao had always been like a second mother. The entire Xie family had marveled at the harmony between the noble wife and the concubine.
Lady Wu was praised for her virtue, Concubine Zhao for her humility—their household had been the envy of many.
An autumn wind stirred, and Concubine Lan wiped away fresh tears, her sorrow deepening. She wandered back inside, hating herself for her helplessness, for burdening her parents with worry and illness.
"My lady," Tong'er whispered after shutting the inner chamber doors, "don’t grieve just yet."
Concubine Lan dabbed her eyes. "What is it?"
Tong'er, who had served her since childhood, was sharp-witted. Lowering her voice, she said, "Something feels amiss. Did you notice the green jade bamboo bracelet on Concubine Zhao’s wrist?"
Concubine Lan blinked in confusion. "No."
She’d been too distraught to pay attention to such details.
Tong'er explained patiently, "Years ago, when I was still in the Xie household, I once fetched herbs from Lady Wu’s storeroom. I saw a box containing a green jade bamboo bracelet. The old maidservant told me it was part of Lady Wu’s dowry—priceless, something she never wore. Yet now, it’s on Concubine Zhao."
Concubine Lan stiffened.
She vaguely remembered—her mother did own such a bracelet. Her uncle had personally selected the jade in Yuzhou, had it carved into bamboo segments, and gifted it to Lady Wu as part of her dowry.
Her mother had once said she would save it for Concubine Lan’s future daughter.
A cold suspicion crept in. "Could Mother have given it to Concubine Zhao?"
Tong'er shook her head. "Lady Wu treated Concubine Zhao well, but not as a sister. That bracelet... may have been taken from the storeroom while Lady Wu was ill—perhaps even with Master Xie’s tacit approval."
Concubine Lan nearly tore her handkerchief in half.
Her father had spoiled her rotten. Concubine Zhao had always been meek. Her sister doted on her. She didn’t want to doubt her family—but the pieces didn’t fit.
