The corridors of the western palace wing were quiet that morning. Too quiet, in Chang Jing's opinion.
He stood beneath the glazed eaves, robe slightly askew from his earlier scuffle with the door guard who refused to let him pass without showing three separate tokens. In the end, he had been forced to flash the lion-carved one. Again. Earning a raised brow and a reluctant bow. He suppressed the indignancy in his heart and carefully approached the room at the end.
Inside the room, the fourth prince sat leisurely on the cushioned seat, fingers resting on a porcelain tea cup. Beside him stood Tang Shao, expression cold as ever.
Chang Jing knelt.
"Speak," came the voice above.
He swallowed the irritation in his throat.
"This lowly one has compiled the matters as instructed. First, the Eastern Garden restoration has gone over budget by two hundred taels. The eunuch in charge has begun redirecting labor to the south wall instead, delaying the delivery by seven days."
He paused, waiting. But no one reacted.
No praise. No nod. Not even an acknowledgement.
"Second, a new set of servants were appointed to the concubine quarters yesterday evening. There are three from the internal bureau, two of which have background ties to the Liu household. The one named Bai Lan appears particularly close with Concubine Xiang."
A hollow silence echoed the large room.
Tang Fenghua waved his hand lazily.
"Leave the report and go."
Chang Jing clenched his fist against his robes. A full night spent eavesdropping, bribing, sneaking about like a rat. And not even the mildest of acknowledgement? He could surely spare some silver coins at least?
He bowed. "Yes, your highness."
As he exited, he heard Tang Shao murmur something low. The prince chuckled.
Outside, he exhaled deeply, adjusting his collar.
One day, he thought. One day soon, the Ji household would not just greet him with blank stares and forced politeness. They would lower their heads. They would finally see.
He was, after all, the nephew of Jiao Sang, finance minister of the court, head of the Jiao family. And yet, the servants of the Ji residence barely bothered to bow when he visited. Even that old steward, with his bent back and half-blind eyes, dared speak curtly.
If he could make himself indispensable to the fourth prince, become one of his most trusted aides, surely then...
Surely then, he could walk around fearlessly in the Jiao Residence. Have his maternal family's support entirely, which would also mean having the backing of the finance minister.
He chuckled to himself. Foolish of them, truly. If the Jiao family had any foresight, they would be cultivating him. His blood, after all, ran partially through their veins.
He walked down the jade-tiled path, steps a little lighter now, head held a touch higher.
No matter how long it took, no matter how many insults he had to swallow, he would make it happen.
Even if it meant crawling through dirt like a filthy rat.
______________________________
Inside the lotus pavilion, Jiao Qingxiao absentmindedly went through a scroll of the virtues of women. One of her hands lazily caressing Xiao Cui's fur.
The second time she had met him, the fourth prince had stood beneath the blooming Wutong tree, dressed in light blue robes, a jade flute tied to his waist. He had smiled at her with such gentleness that even the swaying petals seemed to slow in their descent.
She was fourteen.
Naïve, with her hair tied in twin loops, and her mind filled with poems and stories of heroes. All her cousin brothers except her third aunt's son had warned her. Her mother had frowned everytime she mentioned his name. Yet she though, what could be so wrong about a man who recited Du Fu beneath the moonlight and once shielded her from the rain with his cloak? He had truly been gentle with her. So gentle that she couldn't see the knife stabbing her bit by bit.
He had called her "Xiao Xaio" in a voice barely above a whisper, and she remembered clutching her sleeves tightly the whole way home that evening. Blushing everytime she recalled that moment.
Those memories felt distant now, faded at the edges like an ink painting left under the sun.
A butterfly passed, as Xiao Cui jumped to catch it. The fiasco briefly caught her gaze, before her thoughts shifted again.
In her last life, she had not seen the third prince even once. Stories of his achievements however were spread across the kingdom. A loyal underling to the fourth prince, they said. Brave and ruthless. It was during the banquet after the mid-autumn rites. The empress mentioned him in passing while praising the fourth prince's achievements. He never showed his face in court.
Even when she had entered the palace, and in her initial days when Tng Fenghua was yet to show his true face, he would often mention Tang Yuanxioa in passing in front of her, while promising to make her his empress as soon as the crown was to be bestowed upon him.
Now, her heart grew uneasy.
If he had truly remained by Tang Fenghua's side… he might still be there. Working behind shadows. Moving pieces she could not yet see. And what if he had only agreed to let her show the fourth prince's true colors to him to see what tricks she had up her sleeves?
If he ratted her out won't it be even harder for her to take her revenge?
She didn't know what role he played in her past life.
But this time, she intended to find out. Before it was too late.