The pottery shard was utterly ordinary—just a small fragment without any markings or inscriptions, offering no discernible clues.
Qin Saizhu was about to hand it to Qi Daiyu when she suddenly paused, sniffed the air, and brought the shard closer to her nose. With surprise, she remarked, "Does this have a faintly sweet scent?"
Skilled in culinary arts, her senses of smell and taste were exceptionally sharp. Even the faintest trace of sweetness on the shard didn’t escape her notice.
She passed it to Qi Daiyu. "You smell it too—isn’t there a hint of sweetness?"
Qi Daiyu took it and inhaled. "Perhaps… just a little." She couldn’t detect it as clearly.
Qin Saizhu raised an eyebrow. "How peculiar. A pottery shard from the rafters carrying a fragrance?" This only strengthened her suspicion that the tile’s fall was no accident.
She tossed the shard to Lu Song. "Find out by tomorrow morning whether this was sprinkled with perfume or smeared with honey. As for the Pear Blossom Pavilion, since one tile has fallen, others might be unstable. Tear down that section and inspect it thoroughly."
"Yes, ma’am."
"Did you uncover anything else?"
This time, it was Putao who answered.
"I questioned the palace maids who were present that day. At the time, Miss Ye and three others were chatting under the corridor when the tile suddenly fell. Miss Ye pushed the others aside but couldn’t dodge in time—she was struck on the back of her head."
On the surface, it seemed like an unfortunate accident, with the tile simply landing where they happened to be standing.
Qi Daiyu asked, "What about the other three ladies? Were they injured?"
"After the incident, Nanny Bai and Nanny He questioned them. Their accounts matched the maids’. Only one, Lady Wang, sprained her ankle from the fall. The other two were unharmed."
Putao shared all she had learned. "I also heard that Miss Ye was one of the most outstanding candidates in the South Court, frequently praised by the instructing matrons. She was kind-hearted and well-liked, though she’d had disputes with two people."
"Who?"
"One was Zhang Nuofu, daughter of the Jizhou Prefect, who also resided in the South Court. The other… was Zhaorong, who lived in the East Court."
Zhaorong?
Qi Daiyu and Qin Saizhu exchanged glances.
Qin Saizhu frowned. "Zhaorong is in the East Court. How did she clash with Miss Ye in the South Court?"
Putao’s expression turned odd as she recalled the gossip.
"Though the ladies are divided among the four courts, they gather every five days in Tonghe Hall for instruction, so interactions aren’t limited to their own courts. Miss Ye and Zhaorong quarreled during the first session. In fact, Zhaorong also argued with Miss Nie, daughter of the Left Assistant Minister of Works, and Miss Feng, daughter of the Jiangxi Regional Military Commander…"
Zhaorong was prideful, flaunting her noble lineage while looking down on every other candidate. Yet among hundreds of young women, many surpassed her—some in beauty, others in grace or erudition. Even in etiquette, despite being raised by a palace-trained governess brought by the Grand Princess, she lost the top spot to a provincial official’s daughter.
After that first session, Zhaorong sneered at Ye Qiong. Though gentle, Ye Qiong wasn’t one to endure insults and fired back. Thus began their feud.
The same pattern repeated with others. In just half a month, Zhaorong had verbally sparred with many, making enemies left and right.
Still, most feared her status and avoided open confrontation.
"Miss Nie?" Qi Daiyu caught the detail. "The one from Prince Xiang’s household?" She remembered the girl’s name was Zhiyu.
That name had been on everyone’s lips months ago—the scandal of the switched daughters in Prince Xiang’s mansion remained a popular topic.
Putao nodded. "The very same."
Qi Daiyu was stunned. "Last year during the Double Ninth Festival, Miss Nie entered the palace with the Dowager Princess Consort. She and Zhaorong seemed quite friendly then." She’d even seen them laughing together.
Qin Saizhu, however, wasn’t surprised. "Back then, they were practically family, with no conflicts of interest. Both were noble ladies, and Nie Zhiyu was renowned in the capital. Naturally, Zhaorong wanted to befriend her. But now, they’re both candidates."
Qi Daiyu understood immediately and fell silent.
Qin Saizhu sighed. "That Zhaorong truly thrives on chaos. I suspect half the rumors reaching Her Majesty’s ears stem from her antics." After a pause, she added, "Still, she’s in the East Court, and Ye Qiong is in the South. Even if they’re at odds, why go through such trouble to harm her? Zhang Nuofu, on the other hand, would have far easier access."
She turned to Putao. "What was the issue between Ye Qiong and Zhang Nuofu?"
Putao shook her head. "I couldn’t uncover much. Both hail from Jizhou, and their fathers are colleagues. But according to the maids, they’ve never gotten along, barely sparing each other a glance when they meet."
Qin Saizhu rubbed her temples. "This is giving me a headache. They haven’t even entered the palace yet, and already there’s drama. The inner court will be anything but dull." She waved a hand. "Enough for today. Tomorrow, we’ll visit Ye Qiong and question the other candidates."
Earlier, Lu Song and the others had only interrogated the palace staff, not the ladies themselves—partly to gather facts without jumping to conclusions, despite the glaring oddities, and partly to unsettle any guilty parties. Whoever schemed behind this would surely lose sleep tonight.
After bidding Qin Saizhu farewell, Qi Daiyu returned to her quarters.
There, she praised Putao. "You’ve truly impressed me today—excellent work! When we return to the palace, I’ll reward you properly."
When Qin Saizhu borrowed Putao’s assistance, Qi Daiyu hadn’t expected much. Though she knew Putao was clever, the maid had only served within the confines of Yanqing Residence, where matters were simpler. But today, seeing Putao’s meticulous investigation—piecing together the incident and Ye Qiong’s relationships, then presenting it all coherently—Qi Daiyu realized she’d underestimated her.
"Staying with me might be a waste of your talents," Qi Daiyu mused. Had Putao served in the Empress’s palace, she might have become a social powerhouse, earning titles like "Lady Putao" or "Sister Putao," akin to the famed quartet of Mei, Lan, Zhu, and Ju.
Putao feigned shock. "Does my lady mean to dismiss me? I won’t allow it!"
Hongtao chimed in, "That’s right! My lady can’t send Sister Putao away. She’s quick with accounts and kind-hearted—she even shares her hairpins with us when monthly allowances are distributed!"
Qi Daiyu was amused by the two of them. "When did I say I wanted to drive Sister Putao away? Putao and Shiliu are my right and left hands—I can’t afford to lose either!"
Though it sounded rather feudal, the truth was that Shiliu and Putao were incredibly efficient. Qi Daiyu finally understood why wealthy families in her past life hired private butlers—they anticipated needs before one even thought of them, leaving their employers free to simply enjoy life.
I’ll give them each five taels of silver as a monthly bonus from now on, Qi Daiyu mused. If you want a horse to run well, you’ve got to feed it good grass. While she couldn’t offer Putao better career prospects, she could certainly improve her benefits.
Hongtao watched Putao with envy. Unlike Shiliu and Putao, who were indispensable, she was only tasked with serving tea. Even Pingguo, who styled their mistress’s hair, had more opportunities to speak with Qi Daiyu and thus received more attention.
As Putao went to make Qi Daiyu’s bed, she said, "Wherever you go, mistress, I’ll follow."
Neither she nor Shiliu had ever considered leaving.
Admittedly, when they were first assigned to Yanqing Residence, they’d been disappointed. Others in their cohort had been sent to the favored Concubine Shu’s palace, or to Consort An’s quarters—she had a royal heir, after all. Even those serving lower-ranked consorts like Concubine Miao or Consort Cao held onto hope that their mistresses might rise in status someday.
But Concubine Qi? Bedridden, seemingly doomed to languish in illness forever—her future appeared bleak.
Yet neither Shiliu nor Putao were ambitious climbers. Shiliu sought stability, and Concubine Qi’s mid-tier rank, combined with the Empress’s protection, ensured Yanqing Residence remained a peaceful backwater.
Putao, on the other hand, wanted authority. High-ranking consorts would’ve relegated her to a mere second-tier maid, while low-ranking ones clung tightly to power. Yanqing Residence was perfect—with their mistress too ill to manage affairs, the head maid held real responsibility.
Had their feelings changed since then?
Not at all.
Years of companionship aside, even during Concubine Qi’s worst bouts of illness, her temper had never turned on the servants. If anything, she’d grown more generous, likely fearing neglect from her staff.
So, the servants of Yanqing Residence remained loyal. Work is work anywhere, they reasoned, but a kind and generous mistress is rare. The only downside was the extra care she required.
And now that Qi Daiyu had recovered, her cheerful demeanor and occasional whims had breathed new life into Yanqing Residence. Rewards were more frequent than ever, and the atmosphere had lightened.
Content to laze about, Qi Daiyu left daily management to Shiliu and Putao—fulfilling Shiliu’s desire for stability and leaving Putao’s authority intact. Naturally, neither had reason to leave.
Thinking of this, Putao smoothed the bedsheets with even greater care.
Qi Daiyu laughed. "Where else would we go? I suspect we’ll spend our whole lives right here in Yanqing Residence."
If she had to set a life goal, Qi Daiyu decided, it would be moving into the main hall of Changchun Palace.
Why? Simple: she coveted its heated floors and private kitchen.
Imagine winters spent barefoot on warm carpets, or summoning a snack whenever she pleased—Qi Daiyu could hardly fathom how happy she’d be.
Let’s make it a ten-year plan, she thought. Surely I can climb from Concubine to Consort in a decade… right?
Lost in her daydream, she barely caught Putao’s mutter.
"What was that?"
Putao shook her head. "Nothing. You should rest early, mistress."
She helped Qi Daiyu into bed, but her gaze flickered briefly to Qi Daiyu’s abdomen.
If only our mistress could conceive, she thought. A royal heir would guarantee a move from Yanqing Residence.
