“How did you come out here? It’s all my fault. I meant to show you the back garden, to while away some time with you, and yet—I've lost my distinguished guest!”
“His Excellency the Minister of Ceremonies has honored us with his presence. If he’s admired these Awakening Lion pastries, please—do come and meet him. Follow me, quick!”
The house stewardess had shed her earlier coldness and now coaxed Li Ying with an ingratiating smile.
Li Ying returned the smile, voice soft and composed. “Your house is charming. I have enjoyed my conversation with this auntie these past hours—quite content, thank you.”
When she gave no sign of wanting to leave, the stewardess grew anxious.
“Lady Li, please don’t joke. You are our guest—step away from this filth with me at once!” Her nervy glances were pointed: the madam had been waiting impatiently, and with the Minister of Ceremonies present, any further delay could ruin her plans. If they lingered, even the madam might find herself in trouble.
Li Ying lifted an eyebrow and cast a quick look at the blue-robed old woman. Her silence spoke plainly: if there was to be an escape, now was the moment.
The old woman’s face registered disbelief so deep it was almost childlike—this plain little girl had truly brought rescue for her? Li Ying cleared her throat gently, and the old woman, who had lived so long in daily gloom, felt as if a thin beam of light had suddenly stabbed through. Like a drowning person seizing a single life-saving reed, she nodded, unable to help herself.
Li Ying understood and said casually, “Very well. Since the madam and His Excellency wish to see me, I will pay my respects. But making these Awakening Lion pastries is tedious work—especially the lamination. It requires a steady wrist and practiced fingers to roll the layers evenly. I cannot produce that many on my own. Might this auntie in blue assist me?”
The stewardess knew nothing of the old woman’s history—only that she was some errant servant shut away in a back room. Seeing her releases, she hastily agreed.
The blue-robed woman’s legs trembled as she stepped out of the cramped room. The sunlight struck her like a brand, hot and blinding. In all her years, she had not expected this day to come. She drew a long, shuddering breath and then, with trembling steps, followed behind Li Ying.
As Li Ying had anticipated, the Minister of Ceremonies occupied the high seat in the main hall. He and Li Ying met each other’s gaze but pretended not to know one another.
“Lady, I salute you,” he said with a slight bow.
“Your servant pays respects, Excellency,” Li Ying replied.
“Are these the Awakening Lion pastries you made?”
“They are.”
The minister picked up a pastry, turning it over and over, then glanced toward the Censor’s wife and pronounced approvingly, “A man should marry wisely—the Censor has truly found a helpful wife. To have discovered such a master is a boon. These pastries solve a pressing need. They will surely win first place and cow the barbarian envoys; the emperor will be delighted.”
He paused, then added, “Madam, rest assured—I shall sing your praises before the emperor for recommending her.”
Polite words, but the Censor’s wife could not be placated. A hard-won triumph—something she had quietly engineered for herself—had just been reframed as nothing more than a “recommendation.” She had worked in secret and expected to claim the glory; instead, all her effort seemed to evaporate.
She could not fathom what had gone wrong. Her plan had been meticulous: detain Li Ying, force her to teach the pastry technique, and if she refused to keep silent, remove her ability to ever speak again. Yet the Minister had somehow received word, appeared with a box of the pastries, and insisted on seeing the proprietor of the teahouse by name.
The Censor’s wife had thought she’d intercepted the sample that Li Ying sent to the Minister’s office. How then had another reached him? Had Li Ying some extraordinary reach that could penetrate all her layers of precaution?
Li Ying ignored the sour expression and smiled calmly at the minister. “Excellency, I have one more favor to ask. The Awakening Lion’s lamination is the most delicate step—it takes years of practice to steady the wrist and the fingers so the layers come out even. I cannot produce such a quantity alone. This auntie in blue has been practicing calligraphy for years; her hands are steady and she has no pressing duties in the household. Might I bring her along to assist?”
The minister had known Li Ying from years past—both once connected to Yan Lian, when he served as prefect in the fishing village—and when she mentioned the blue-robed woman, he understood she had a purpose. How could he refuse?
“If that is so, then I will be so bold as to request this old servant from the madam.”
The Censor’s wife had not expected Li Ying to summon the blue-robed woman into public view. She had hidden that woman so thoroughly that few in the mansion knew her past; by calling her out, Li Ying had unraveled all the secrecy the wife had carefully maintained. Panic flared, and she searched frantically for a way to refuse—but the minister gave her no opening.
“She’s only an old servant near her end. Does Madam cling to her for some hidden reason?” he said, teasing the point right where it hurt.
The Censor’s wife scrambled to fend off the charge. “Excellency, you flatter me. If you find this dull servant useful, take her by all means! To relieve your burdens would be her greatest fortune.”
After a few more civilities, the minister rose to take his leave, escorting Li Ying and the blue-robed woman out with him.
They kept their past in the fishing village unmentioned—businesslike as any meeting between official and civilian. That was exactly how Li Ying wanted it. The emperor distrusted factionalism among ministers; associations could be dangerous. Three officials in the Dali Temple were already connected to her, and because she and Su Buchi and the Minister of Ceremonies had all been disciples of Yan Lian, appearances needed careful tending. Though she had quietly sent a private box of pastries to the minister’s residence earlier, publicly everything had to appear proper and restrained.
The Censor’s wife, ignorant of these subtleties, dispatched a page to find out what had happened. Half a day later he returned with the answer: Li Ying had indeed arranged matters. Early that morning she had set her old shopkeeper to sell Awakening Lion pastries in her teahouse. More brazenly, she had let it be known that even the Censor himself had tasted and praised them.
The pastries were not cheap, and some patrons hesitated. But when word spread that the Censor had taken a liking to them, curiosity overcame caution. And by opening her mansion’s doors to Li Ying with such spectacle, the Censor’s wife had publicly reinforced Li Ying’s claim that the Censor favored the pastry. Any lingering suspicion among the public vanished.
In just a few hours, the once-unknown snack rode the Censor’s name to sudden fame throughout the capital—even drawing the Minister of Ceremonies. All the Censor’s wife’s elaborate machinations had been for naught. She had set the stage to benefit herself, only to find she had been dressing another’s triumph.