The Cicada Knows Neither Spring Nor Autumn - Chapter 2

The only thing I had not expected was Little Dog’s anger.

He found a jar of fine wound salve somewhere and smeared it over my knees—a criminal waste of good medicine. When I asked where it came from, he said he had stolen it from a guard.

He was still smiling, but his hand was anything but gentle.

“Ow—do you even know how to apply medicine? Give it to me if you do not.”

His lips curved, though no laughter touched his eyes.

“So you do feel pain. After you knelt yourself into this state, I assumed you did not.”

I snatched the jar from him. “Madman.”

“Oh, so Li Jiao has only just realized I am mad. I thought you knew when you picked me up nine years ago.”

I could not be bothered to answer.

Little Dog’s smile vanished. He stared so hard at the bruises on my knees that he might have burned two holes through them.

“Must you live like this?”

I looked at him crouching beside my legs and stroked the crown of his head.

“There are only two paths inside the imperial palace,” I told him softly. “That is true for everyone.

“Climb, or die.”

The next day, Biyun somehow lost Consort Li’s favorite hairpin and received ten strokes of the paddle.

I had no time to enjoy the spectacle. The Emperor’s birthday drew closer by the day, and the work nearly buried me. I ran to the Imperial Household Department almost daily and coordinated every detail with Matron Zhang, the senior maid from the Empress’s palace.

After I accepted my punishment with trembling obedience, Consort Li did not change her mind. She left every check for the celebration in my hands while she fretted over what to wear to outshine the entire court.

The work exhausted me so thoroughly that, on several visits to Qiyun Palace, I fell asleep facedown on the table. Sometimes I woke with a start to find that I had been carried to the side chamber and covered with a quilt of unknown origin.

Once, however, I woke from a dream to find Little Dog staring straight at me.

He wore his usual pleasant smile, but his eyes were black as fog.

“Where did you go today? What is that smell on you?”

I sniffed my sleeve and detected nothing.

“Do you have a dog’s nose? I cannot smell a thing.”

Little Dog gave me a meaningful look. “Medicine.”

Understanding dawned.

“I met the Crown Prince at Fengyi Palace today. He had gone to pay his respects to the Empress.”

The Crown Prince had been sickly since birth. They said he had carried the illness from his mother’s womb, and rare medicines sustained him every day.

The Emperor had few sons—only three princes in the entire palace. The Second Prince’s mother, the Noble Consort, was mad, so no one cared about her son. The Third Prince was barely a month old.

The Emperor therefore placed all his hopes on the Crown Prince and poured ginseng and lingzhi into his residence as though they cost nothing.

Apparently one meeting had been enough for the scent of medicine to cling to me. I could not decide whether the Crown Prince had truly been steeped in drugs or Little Dog’s nose was simply too keen.

“Li Jiao,” he asked suddenly, “what do you think of the Crown Prince?”

I raised a brow and repeated the court’s customary judgment.

“Gentle, respectful, frugal, courteous, and virtuous.”

“He has been a medicine jar for so long that the Emperor would not even take him on the southern tour.” Little Dog’s smile turned peculiar. “I think the courtesy is a mask. Beneath it, he is vicious.”

I glanced at him. “Guard your tongue.”

On the day of the Emperor’s birthday celebration, the palace teemed with activity. Envoys arrived with tribute from every vassal state. Even Prince Jing, who had not entered the capital for ten years, came to offer his congratulations.

I was checking the tribute outside Linde Hall when a shadow fell over me.

A tall man stood before me, handsome and elegant in every gesture. Yet I knew that this seemingly mild prince was a god of slaughter whose name terrified the northern frontier. Even fierce Yanzhou had prospered in peace beneath his rule.

“Li—”

“This servant Qiuchan greets Prince Jing. Does Your Highness require something?”

I lowered my head and bowed with perfect deference.

He paused before answering. “The wine has gone to my head. I came outside for air.

“Help me back in.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

I obediently supported one of his arms. His hand tightened around mine as he slipped something into my sleeve.

Just before we entered the hall, he spoke again.

“My residence in Yanzhou lacks a capable maid to manage its affairs. If you are willing, you may leave with me.

“Yanzhou is colder than the capital, but it is also broader—and freer.”

His next words carried another meaning. “Forgetting is often harder than remembering.”

“Thank you for Your Highness’s favor, but this servant does not understand. I have lived in the palace too long. I am accustomed to this life. There is nothing for me to remember or forget.”

Prince Jing sighed and said no more.

Once he was seated, I returned to my place in the corner of the banquet hall. I stood with my eyes lowered, disciplined enough not to glance around even once.