Blossom

Dou Zhao felt that she might not live much longer.

The elders often said that dreaming of death foretells life, while dreaming of life foretells death.

Lately, she kept dreaming of her childhood, sitting under a trellis covered in wisteria blossoms, swinging her chubby little legs while her plump, fair-skinned wet nurse fed her.

A breeze blew past, causing the hanging wisteria vines to tangle together, their cascading flowers rustling like a group of whispering little girls.

Amused, she giggled and ran over, grabbing a vine and plucking a full-bloomed wisteria flower.

Her wet nurse chased after her: "Fourth Miss, be good. Eat this bite, and Seventh Master will return from the capital. He’ll bring you lots of delicious treats and pretty shoes and socks..."

Ignoring her, Dou Zhao dodged the silver spoon and tugged another vine, picking another flower.

Then came a clear, melodious woman’s voice: "What? Is Fourth Miss misbehaving again?"

At once, the wet nurse turned and curtsied in the direction of the voice, respectfully greeting, "Seventh Madam."

Dou Zhao, meanwhile, dashed forward with the wisteria flower in hand: "Mother, Mother..."

The young woman embraced her gently.

She proudly held out the flower for her mother to see.

The spring sunlight glinted off the red-gold hair ornament in her mother’s hair and the gold-threaded wide-sleeved jacket she wore, casting a dazzling glow. Her mother seemed gilded in gold foil, the brilliance stinging Dou Zhao’s eyes, while her face melted into the golden haze, rendering her expression indistinct.

"Mother, Mother..." Dou Zhao strained against the burning in her eyes, tilting her head high to see her mother clearly.

But her mother’s face only grew fuzzier.

A young maid rushed over, exclaiming joyfully: "Seventh Madam, Seventh Master has returned from the capital!"

"Really?" Her mother stood in startled delight, lifting her skirts as she hurried outside.

Dou Zhao pattered after her on short, chubby legs: "Mother, Mother!"

Yet her mother moved faster and faster, nearly vanishing into the spring light.

Panicked, Dou Zhao shouted at her mother’s retreating figure: "Mother, Mother! Father hasn’t returned alone—he’s brought a woman with him! She’ll steal your place as his wife, drive you to despair, and force you to hang yourself..."

But for some reason, these crucial words lingered in her mind and on her tongue, unable to escape as a sound. She could only watch helplessly as her mother’s figure receded further and further from sight.

Frantically, she searched everywhere for her mother.

In a white haze, a group of adults argued loudly.

She ran toward them.

Pushing through the crowd, she pleaded anxiously: "Have you seen my mother? Have you seen my mother?"

They were too absorbed in their quarrel to pay her any heed.

Where had her mother gone?

She looked around in confusion.

Then she spotted a reception hall with lattice doors inlaid with colored glass, slightly ajar, as if someone moved inside.

Was her mother hiding there?

Overjoyed, she ran over and pushed the lattice door open with a creak.The hem of a crimson Gold Brocade skirt swayed in the air, revealing two feet beneath—one clad only in a snow-white silk sock, the other in a crimson silk embroidered shoe with a mandarin duck playing in water design...

She woke with a piercing scream, drenched in sweat.

Her gaze fell upon the familiar Octagonal palace lantern in the corner, standing quietly and emitting a bright yet gentle glow.

The room was silent. Her chief maid, Cuileng, dozed on a small stool by the bed.

Dou Zhao took a deep breath.

Even the scream had been part of the dream!

She forced down the panic in her heart.

Her illness had thrown the household into chaos, especially her personal maids, who took turns attending to her day and night without daring to blink. They must be utterly exhausted.

Not wanting to disturb Cuileng, Dou Zhao stared at the lantern light in the corner, her thoughts drifting back to the dream.

She had been barely one year and eleven months old when her mother died. She remembered nothing. If not for her mother’s loyal servant, Tuo Niang, who later found her, she wouldn’t even know how her mother had died, let alone such details.

Clearly, this was all a fabrication of her subconscious, pieced together from Tuo Niang’s accounts and her own imaginings.

A suffocating heaviness settled in Dou Zhao’s chest, making it hard to breathe. Unable to bear it, she turned over.

The rustling of fabric sounded unusually loud in the silent night.

Cuileng jolted awake, horrified to realize she had fallen asleep on duty. "Madam!" she cried anxiously.

Dou Zhao smiled reassuringly. "I’m a bit thirsty."

"I’ll fetch tea at once!" Cuileng sprang up, exhaling in relief.

After taking a sip of hot tea, Dou Zhao asked, "What time is it? Has the Marquis returned?"

"Just past midnight," Cuileng murmured hesitantly. "The Marquis... hasn’t returned yet." Her voice trembled with unease.

Dou Zhao’s expression darkened.

She had caught a chill while admiring chrysanthemums at the residence of her sister-in-law, Madam Wei Yanzhen, wife of the heir to the Duke of Jingguo, during the Double Ninth Festival. Soon after, she developed a fever. At first, no one paid it much heed—not even Dou Zhao herself. They assumed a few doses from the Imperial Physician would suffice. Yet, instead of improving, her condition worsened, and ten days ago, she became bedridden. The household panicked, summoning doctors, performing rituals, and praying to the Bodhisattva in a flurry of activity. Her husband, Wei Tingyu, the Marquis of Jining, even had a cot set up behind a screen, where he slept nightly to attend to her needs.

Yesterday afternoon, Wang Qinghai, the fourth son of the Marquis of Ting'an, visited Wei Tingyu. The two whispered outside for a long time before Wei Tingyu excused himself, claiming he was going out to dine with Wang Qinghai. He still hadn’t returned.

Wang Qinghai, styled Dahe, shared a noble upbringing with Wei Tingyu. The two had grown up together, bonding over their love for archery and football, often joining forces for polo matches, football games, hunts, and horse races. Under normal circumstances, Dou Zhao wouldn’t have given it a second thought and would have slept soundly. But just half a month ago, Wang Qinghai’s father-in-law, Zhou Shaochuan, the Duke of Dongping, had been stripped of his title and imprisoned in the Imperial prison for embezzlement. Wang Qinghai was now scrambling to seek help everywhere. Dou Zhao feared Wei Tingyu might get entangled in the affair."Have the old women on duty at the Second Gate check the outer courtyard to see if the Marquis is resting in his study," Dou Zhao said with concern. "If he's not there, inform the gatekeepers to send word as soon as he returns and ask him to come to the Main Chamber."

Cuileng hurried off to carry out the order.

In less time than it takes to drink a cup of tea, she rushed back. "Madam, the Marquis has returned!" she announced, pausing slightly before adding, "He just came back from outside and went straight to your Main Chamber."

"I see," Dou Zhao said, struggling to sit up.

As Cuileng was about to help her rearrange her hair, Wei Tingyu entered the inner chamber.

Though past thirty, Wei Tingyu was unlike other nobles of his rank who led pampered lives—either dissipated by wine and women, appearing listless, or grown fat and sluggish from indulgence. Tall and straight, with handsome, refined features, his movements were agile, and his every gesture radiated vitality. His demeanor was even more striking than in his youth, giving the impression of a man no older than twenty-five or twenty-six. He was renowned in the Capital as a peerless beauty.

Seeing Dou Zhao sitting up in her robe, he asked in surprise, "Why aren't you asleep yet?"

Dou Zhao countered, "What did Fourth Master Wang want with you?"

"Oh!" Wei Tingyu avoided her gaze. "Nothing much. He was just feeling down and wanted to share a drink..."

"Marquis!" Dou Zhao raised her voice sharply, cutting him off without hesitation. "Fourth Master Wang came to ask for your help, didn’t he? Have you truly considered why the Duke of Dongping was imprisoned? If you wade into these troubled waters, what trouble might you bring upon yourself? Even if you care nothing for me, your mother is elderly, and our children are still young. Will you disregard them as well?"

"Must you always treat me like a child?" Wei Tingyu laughed. "The Duke of Dongping merely spoke foolishly after drinking and offended the Emperor’s sensibilities—that’s why he was thrown into the Imperial prison. Everyone in the Capital knows this, not just me. Don’t worry, I have my own plans. I won’t drag you or the children into this." His tone was dismissive.

The current Emperor had ascended the throne through a palace coup and was deeply sensitive to any private discussion of the matter. The so-called drunken ramblings of the Duke of Dongping likely stemmed from this.

After more than a decade of marriage, Dou Zhao knew Wei Tingyu’s temperament well.

His words only heightened her anxiety, and she insisted on a promise from him: "...You must not involve yourself in anything related to the Zhou family!"

Wei Tingyu’s anger flared at her words. "What do you mean by that?" he retorted coldly. "Dahe is my closest friend. If I stand by while he’s in trouble, what kind of man would I be?" Then he sneered, "At least Dahe didn’t ask me to seek help from your father—otherwise, you’d probably be ready to turn against me like a corpse on a capsized boat!"

Dou Zhao’s father, Dou Shiying, was the Chancellor of the Imperial Academy and Junior Supervisor of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices. Though only a fourth-rank official, he was highly trusted by the Emperor and often summoned to the palace to lecture the Crown Prince and other imperial princes.

Hearing such venomous words, Dou Zhao nearly choked with rage.

Wei Tingyu, seeing her reaction, grew uneasy and lowered his voice. "Do you know what Dahe asked of me?" he said, his eyes suddenly blazing with fury. "That scoundrel Song Mo has taken the Zhou family’s Thirteenth and Fourteenth Misses into his household!"

Dou Zhao paled in shock. "And Madam Zhou?"“She’s also in the residence,” Wei Tingyu replied in a voice as faint as a mosquito’s hum, his expression awkward.

Dou Zhao drew a sharp breath.

Madam Zhou was the Duke of Dongping’s second wife and the niece of Miyun Guard Commander Cao Jie. At just thirty-two years old, she was strikingly beautiful. The thirteenth and fourteenth young misses of the Zhou family were her twin daughters, who surpassed even their mother in charm. Though not yet of marriageable age, their doorstep had already been worn down by eager suitors.

“He abandons virtue and relies on brute force, acting against all reason—does the Emperor not intervene?”

Wei Tingyu sneered. “When he murdered his father and brother, the Emperor merely docked his salary for three years, stripped him of his official position, and ordered him to atone through meritorious service. Do you really think the Emperor would reprimand him over this matter?”

Dou Zhao fell silent.