As if afraid He Xingzhi wouldn’t hear her clearly, or perhaps wary of being overheard by others, Cui Xizhen leaned in close. The warmth of her breath, mingled with the sweet scent of osmanthus from her person, drifted toward He Xingzhi.
He Xingzhi swallowed hard, her voice laced with confusion. "Wh-what do you mean? Zhenzhen, don’t keep me in suspense."
Cui Xizhen dabbed the corner of her lips with a handkerchief.
"Ah-Zhi, look closely. All the rumors—even those in the storybooks—never mention Madam He by name, only referring to her as 'Second Lady.' Even when the emperor bestowed an honorary title, she was simply called 'Madam He.'"
Night had fully descended. As she listened, He Xingzhi picked up a fire striker and lit a few more candles.
When they had first settled into the private room at Golden Bliss Pavilion, the sky was still bright. Now, the evening had completely enveloped the building, and even the storyteller downstairs had wrapped up his performance.
The stage had since been taken over by the evening’s performers—a troupe preparing for their act.
"Before Lord Song attained his official rank, Madam He had already made a name for herself in commerce. It’s said she opened a pastry shop in the capital. The flavors of the south differed greatly from those in the capital, but she blended southern specialties with the tastes of the northerners, quickly establishing her business there. Yet, though only eight years have passed, no one in the capital remembers the name or location of her shop."
Cui Xizhen was from Qinghe County, but her palate favored sweets like a southerner’s. Since childhood, she had adored sampling all manner of pastries and could recite the best confectionery shops in the city by heart.
Though she had spent much of her youth in the south, she returned to the capital every year for the New Year celebrations. She knew the capital’s pastry shops well—yet she had never heard of the shop owned by Lord Song Huaijing’s late wife, Madam He.
"Ah-Zhi, don’t you find that strange?"
"It is strange," He Xingzhi murmured, stroking her chin. If the rumors and Cui Xizhen’s account held true, then Madam He must have been an exceptionally shrewd businesswoman.
Yet, in reality, no one seemed to know anything about her shop.
"Moreover, Song Huaijing could have easily continued her business. Officials in our dynasty are permitted to engage in trade. Though Madam He and he had not yet formally wed, she was his only family. Yet, after her death, he let all her ventures fade into obscurity..."
Finally, He Xingzhi understood the meaning behind Cui Xizhen’s earlier remark—"Perhaps Madam He never truly existed."
Cui Xizhen nodded vigorously. "Exactly! If I were the Minister of Revenue, I’d have done everything to keep her business alive."
At first, He Xingzhi had thought Song Huaijing a devoted man, but after hearing Cui Xizhen’s words, the whole tale took on an eerie, inexplicable quality.
It was like gazing at flowers through fog—the outline was clear, yet the true form remained elusive.
"Wait, Zhenzhen, how do you know so much about Song Huaijing?"
"My husband told me," Cui Xizhen replied, giving He Xingzhi a peculiar look.
He Xingzhi blinked, momentarily forgetting that Cui Xizhen was married.
"Your... ahem, your husband actually shares such things with you?"
"Oh, he knows far more court secrets than I do. When we’ve nothing to do in the evenings, he entertains me with gossip."
Cui Xizhen’s husband was Li Xuan, the current emperor Li Chengjing’s uncle. Though of a higher generation, he was only five or six years older than the emperor.
Back when Li Chengjing was still the third prince, he had been implicated in his elder brother’s rebellion as crown prince. Amidst the chaos of war, the fleeing emperor abandoned him in the capital.
It was Li Xuan who protected his nephew, hiding him and ensuring his survival through the turmoil. Later, when Li Chengjing ascended the throne, Li Xuan was one of his key supporters.
Li Xuan and Song Huaijing were both trusted confidants of the emperor. Though not close friends, they interacted frequently—which was how Cui Xizhen came to hear these secrets from her husband.
She then raised two fingers. "Second oddity: Madam He ran a sizable business, yet no one remembers her appearance. She led trade missions to the Western Regions, commanded numerous subordinates, and was hardly a reclusive, conventional woman. How could no one recall what she looked like?"
Cui Xizhen took a sip of tea, her tone turning playful.
"Even stranger, Lord Song achieved the third-highest rank in the imperial exams before he was twenty, his career soaring. A rising star, known to all in court—even my husband, then an idle prince, had heard of him. Yet, no one had any memory of this Madam He. Don’t you find that bizarre?"
He Xingzhi frowned. "Are you saying Madam He is just a figure from folktales?"
Cui Xizhen shook her head. "Not quite. Lord Song himself acknowledged her existence. Every Qingming Festival, he returns to his hometown to pay respects to her..."
She leaned in again, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Doesn’t it feel uncanny? As if Madam He was someone only Lord Song truly knew."
He Xingzhi was thoroughly bewildered now.
"Alright, I’ll cut to the chase. Some say Madam He’s entire identity was fabricated by Lord Song. He may have had a fiancée, but the merchant’s daughter persona was entirely invented."
"Invented? Why would he do that?"
Before Cui Xizhen could answer, He Xingzhi gasped in realization. "He used it to craft an image—a self-made man devoted to his late love—to elevate his reputation."
Internally, He Xingzhi scoffed. Wasn’t this just building a public persona?
Though a science major, she had watched enough period dramas and read enough history to know that rulers and nobles had always employed such myth-making tactics. Some claimed celestial phenomena marked their births—nights bright as day. Others boasted of auspicious signs upon their coronations—flocks of birds circling overhead. There were even tales of divine messages hidden in fish bellies.
The most ingenious were those who used their wives to bolster their legitimacy, declaring them destined to be empresses—implying they themselves were heaven’s chosen.
Viewed this way, Minister Song was merely borrowing his wife’s legend for his own ascent.
Cui Xizhen nodded eagerly. "Exactly! That’s one theory."
"There are others?"
He Xingzhi popped the last piece of pastry into her mouth. She hadn’t eaten a single grain of rice tonight, filling up on sweets while chatting with Cui Xizhen.
"Some say Madam He might have been the daughter of a disgraced official, and Lord Song obscured her identity. Others believe she was just a fabrication to fend off marriage proposals."
"Ah-Zhi, these osmanthus cakes are delicious. I want more."
Abruptly changing the subject, Cui Xizhen just as swiftly returned to it. "Then there are the supernatural theories—that Madam He wasn’t human at all, but a celestial being sent to endure mortal trials..."
Cui Xizhen, however, had never put stock in ghost stories. She was merely relaying all she had heard, pouring it out to He Xingzhi like beans from a sack.
He Xingzhi waved to the waiter to bring another plate of osmanthus cakes, chuckling as she said, "My family’s chef is quite skilled, isn’t he?"
"Absolutely! Even better than Prince Huai’s kitchen!"
Cui Xizhen was a picky eater with a refined palate. After just a year or two of marriage, she had already grown tired of the dishes served by her own household chefs.
"If you like them, I can have some sent to your residence anytime you want," He Xingzhi offered generously. "You wouldn’t believe how popular the delivery service at my Golden Bliss Pavilion has become lately."
"Delivery service? What’s that?" Cui Xizhen mumbled through a mouthful of cake, looking puzzled.
He Xingzhi rolled her eyes and awkwardly rubbed the tip of her nose. "Ah, I mean suohuan—‘delivery’ is just what we call it back in my hometown, haha."
It wasn’t until she arrived in the Zhao Dynasty within this game that He Xingzhi realized something akin to food delivery had existed in ancient times. Here, deliverymen were known as xianhan, hired by restaurants and eateries to bring meals directly to customers’ homes.
She had gone a step further, hiring a dedicated team of workers for her suohuan service. She even invested in insulated food containers and fast horses specifically for deliveries, ensuring her service was much quicker than competitors—and naturally, her business thrived.
"Sounds wonderful! I’ll just send my servants over whenever I crave something. Sooner or later, I’ll have tried every dish on Golden Bliss Pavilion’s menu!"
Amid their laughter and chatter, the two women completely forgot they had been gossiping about others just moments earlier.
By the time the hour of hai arrived, Cui Xizhen, having indulged in a few cups of fruit wine, was tipsy and drowsy. The shadow guard summoned Li Xuan, who personally escorted her back to the prince’s residence.
He Xingzhi, too, returned to her courtyard under the moonlight, washing up before settling in for the night.
The night deepened. Outside the window, the night watchman’s drum sounded three times. The candle on the table had burned low, its wax dripping down the holder. The cool, damp breeze carried the moonlight through the half-open window, spilling into the room.
Clutching her stuffed tiger, He Xingzhi rolled over in bed. She had always slept with a doll in her arms, and upon arriving in the capital, she had casually asked a subordinate to buy her this plush tiger.
In a daze, the sound of rain began to patter softly in her ears.
Her body felt as though it were sinking into dampness, submerged in water, descending slowly…
When her consciousness sharpened again, He Xingzhi found herself seated in a room filled with books. A faint, crisp fragrance lingered in the air—like snow-drenched cedarwood, cool yet deep.
It was the scent of ink.
She sniffed, trying to sit up, only to realize she was lying on a daybed in the study, trapped as if in a nightmare, unable to move.
Resigned, she flopped back like a salted fish, staying put.
Footsteps approached, accompanied by the rustle of folding paper and the clink of brush against inkstone. The steps drew nearer until they stopped right beside her.
"Ah-Zhi." A clear, gentle voice whispered close, the warmth of breath brushing her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.
At the same time, the rain grew louder.
"Come back to the bedroom to sleep, alright?" he asked, bending to lift her effortlessly. His footsteps were slightly heavier now as he carried her straight to the room.
As her back met the soft bedding, He Xingzhi suddenly opened her eyes—but her vision was blurred.
Frowning, she found her sight even hazier than when she went without her glasses, as if veiled by a thin gauze. The only thing she could make out was the faint outline of a figure in pale blue-green robes.
Fingers brushed aside the stray hairs at her temples, and a warm palm covered her eyes, shielding her from the light. "If you’re still tired, just sleep."
For some reason, He Xingzhi felt an inexplicable closeness to this man, though she had no memory of him.
Blinking drowsily, she murmured, "So sleepy… Is it raining now?"
"Mmm. Do you want me to stay with you?" As he spoke, his fingers intertwined with hers, his thumb lightly stroking the back of her hand.
But before He Xingzhi could answer, a deafening thunderclap split the air. Lightning slashed across the sky like a sword, followed by two more booming peals, loud as war drums.
The successive thunderclaps startled her, making her jolt.
In an instant, her eyes flew open, locking onto the shadowy rafters above.
The sound of rain still drummed outside. Taking a deep breath, she realized she had been dreaming—yet the rain outside was real.
Perhaps because of the storm, the air carried a scent different from usual. He Xingzhi inhaled deeply, catching a faint trace of fragrance.
Comforted by the pleasant aroma and the cool temperature, she closed her heavy eyelids again.
Her drowsy, half-awake state quickly erased the memory of the dream, and she sank back into deep slumber. This time, not even the loudest thunder could rouse her.
When another bolt of lightning flashed, the softest footsteps padded across the room’s tiled floor. The air inside now mingled with the presence of two people.
From across the room, a gaze as dark and unfathomable as wet ink settled on her sleeping face, unwavering despite the intensifying rain.
The wind howled, driving rain into the room. He turned to close the window, the latch clicking softly into place.
Now, only the steady rhythm of He Xingzhi’s breathing filled the silence.
