“Then thank you, Third Prince.” Dugu Qing’s voice was soft. To Mei Qingxue it sounded faintly sickening — she could already imagine what mischief this half-dead man would cause later. As she thought it, her small hand found the soft flesh at his waist in a casual, intimate touch.
“Wife, help me up!”
A sharp pain stabbed his side, but Dugu Qing still managed a smile for her.
“Don’t be polite. Wait a moment — I’ll deal with these blind fools who’ve caused trouble.” Dugu Jue’s words were merciless. Madam Fang trembled at his tone; the men holding her showed no mercy.
“Fang Shi, receive the cane. Su Xue, sold off to Luopu,” Dugu Jue announced as if reading a sentence already written.
Madam Fang’s face twisted into a hysterical grin. Luopu was the lowest of places — the soldiers’ brothel camp. It was a living hell for a woman. Su Xue’s punishment was meant to be a perfect humiliation.
At Dugu Jue’s words, Su Xue’s eyes rolled back and her body went limp. Once a neat attendant in the Moon Fragrance House, she had hoped to curry favor with a prince and find a place in a prince’s household. Now she had been sentenced to death by a different name.
Madam Fang pleaded with her eyes as Su Xue slumped, but no one spared a glance. Mei Qingxue knew a life was at stake — she could feel the world narrowing into that single fact — but there was nothing she could do.
She turned to her nominal husband. He looked at her with an affection so earnest it made her skin prickle. She’d pinched his side earlier; he didn’t flinch from pain either.
“Let’s go.” The Third Prince’s face was dark as he led the way out of the Moon Fragrance House. Madam Fang was dragged into the courtyard at the back.
As Mei Qingxue stepped through the gate, the sound of the cane striking flesh — a harsh, staccato smack — followed them. The blows beat on her chest as if they had landed there.
A life. One life.
A shadow passed over Mei Qingxue’s face. Dugu Qing squeezed her hand lightly, a small, steady pressure that felt like encouragement. She forced a smile back at him; it was thin, but it was something.
The Third Prince’s carriage was ostentatious to the point of absurdity — six meters long, two and a half wide, every luxury crammed inside. It was a horse‑drawn limousine.
Mei Qingxue took in the interior without changing her expression.
“Thank you, Your Highness. I’m ashamed to trouble you,” Dugu Qing said, falling into a submissive tone.
“We are family. No need for formalities.” The Third Prince smoothed his temper and looked at his younger brother with a softened face.
“Yes, Your Highness.” Dugu Qing sat properly, head bowed. God, she was numb from kneeling.
Women in this world suffered so many rules: bound feet, strict postures to stand, sit, lie. She was supposed to be sitting, but she had been kneeling — potato logic of decorum that made no sense and made her legs tingle.
“The Sixth Consort seems restless,” the Third Prince’s eyes were sharp. He’d seen Mei Qingxue’s discomfort and taunted her.
Mei Qingxue wouldn’t show weakness before strangers. She adjusted her posture. “Your Highness jokes. I have never been one for strict manners — I rarely go out, so forgive me if I misbehave.”
Her makeup still stained her face; she was dressed in men’s clothes but sitting demurely, an awkward mismatch.
“It’s all right. Behave as you like. I’ll make amends for those dull servants who ruined your mood.” The Third Prince’s voice was smooth; the smile was practiced. Mei Qingxue refused to look at him. The man reeked of hypocrisy.
“Thank you, Third Prince.” She relaxed slightly. She hated showing herself off to others, and she hated even more the man who handed out favors with a blade hidden in his smile. When the fight for succession began, they'd fight without mercy.
“You look better than before,” the Third Prince said to his brother.
“Yes. After years of medicine, there’s finally some improvement. I wouldn’t want to disappoint Father and Mother,” Dugu Qing answered with a bitter smile.
He had been known through the court as the palace sickly one — the prince who never got better. He’d been given only a title, no fief; perhaps the Emperor delayed granting him land because he didn’t know how long Dugu Qing would live.
“If it’s working, then you should just rest and recover,” Dugu Jue said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Whoever least wanted Dugu Qing to recover was Dugu Jue. The younger brother was handsome and talented; their father favored him. Had he not been frail, imperial succession might have gone to him. Now, as long as Dugu Qing lived, he was both a liability and a rival.
“Brother, I’ve heard you’ve been traveling to neighboring states lately. Tell me some stories,” Dugu Qing tried to change the subject.
“We don’t have time today — look, your residence is here.” Dugu Jue lifted the curtain; the gates of the Sixth Prince’s mansion came into view.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” Dugu Qing bowed.
“Don’t mention it.” Dugu Jue waved from the roadside and the carriage disappeared in a cloud of dust.
“Go on in.” Dugu Jue’s servant called.
“Take your time.” Dugu Qing watched him go, then turned as they reached their mansion and shifted back into his usual manner. He reached and pulled Mei Qingxue into his arms. “Wife, have the kitchen prepare something to eat — I’m starving after this night.”
Mei Qingxue rolled her eyes. “You’re hungry? I’m starving too.”
“What is Luopu?” she asked suddenly, thinking of Su Xue’s fate: sold to Luopu, sold cheaply. Dugu Qing’s expression hardened with embarrassment.
“Just say it. Don’t beat around the bush.” She pressed him; it wasn’t a good place, she guessed.
The hope she’d had to buy Su Xue out was gone. Su Xue’s sudden betrayal and downfall had extinguished it.
“It’s the soldiers’ brothel camp — that’s Luopu.” Dugu Qing admitted.
“Why do you hesitate? Do you go there often?” She glanced at him, something sly flickering in her eyes.
“No. My health is poor. I don’t travel far; I’m afraid of wasting away on the road.” He meant it. He had once thought his illness was a chill and taken many tonics, but nothing improved. Only when he practiced martial arts did he discover the truth: he had been poisoned before birth.
When his mother, the Zither Concubine, had been poisoned, the poison had not killed her; it had lodged in the infant in utero. For years physicians called it a cold and gave ineffective medicines. Later they learned it was a cold toxin that ate away at him — every fifteenth day of the month fever and chill wrestled him; he had calculated his life would end by twenty‑five.
“I understand.” Seeing the loneliness on his face stirred her. “Rest early. You’ve worked hard today.”
Dugu Qing wrapped his arms around her. “You were brave today — how dared you ask the Third Prince for money? He’s vindictive. If he feels slighted now, he’ll return it both principal and interest next time.”
“Are you frightened?”
“No.” He lied. Outwardly he feigned indifference about court matters. Inwardly he knew Dugu Jue would never spare a brother who had any real shot at rising. If Dugu Qing showed the slightest strength, Dugu Jue would move to eliminate him.
Mei Qingxue inwardly rolled her eyes. One look at Dugu Jue had told her enough about the man; no need to test how ruthless he could be.
“Will I see the money tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Rest early then. I’m tired too.” Tonight, for once, she let him off. Tomorrow the fifteenth would come and Dugu Qing would be forced once more to endure the cold‑hot torture in the spring room. No other place could relieve the poison. As the day approached, he grew weak; he needed rest.
“Wife, wait — maidservant!” Yue‑ru’s flushed face appeared behind them, with Han‑chao trailing silently.
“Let’s go.” Mei Qingxue led the way into the Sixth Prince’s mansion.
Yue‑ru and Han‑chao exchanged glances, cheeks pink, and followed quickly.
Dugu Qing walked slowly. Han‑chao, aware of his master’s sudden weakness, fell into step, matching his pace.
“Tell her when the time comes.” Han‑chao urged gently. After all, she was his wife.
“No. Not yet. When I can say it, I will. Go and rest.” Dugu Qing wanted to walk alone for a while. His thoughts were in disarray; the knowledge of a life measured in years pressed a bitter taste into his mouth. He was not afraid of death so much as of leaving her.
“Wife, you nearly scared me to death today. I thought we wouldn’t get out!” Yue‑ru clutched her chest and let out a relieved breath.
They hadn’t brought money — the madam had turned on them immediately. That beautiful lady who’d seemed so proud in the house — Mei Qingxue — had flipped in an instant. Yue‑ru had secretly observed Mei Qingxue’s quietness and thought, She’s far prettier than Su Xue, every inch a noblewoman. Even if Mei Qingxue were made plain, her bearing would still mark her as born to good fortune.
In her mind she praised Mei Qingxue, then thought of Su Xue again — the gentle singer of Yangzhou ballads. If Su Xue had stayed gentle, Mei Qingxue would have bought her freedom. Now that she’d been sent to Luopu, she would never rise again.
What a woman with blind eyes. Poor fate, nothing to do with others.