"A Fang—"
"A Xiong—"
"A Lan—"
"A Ye—"
The air outside the Anfu Gate palace was a turbulent chorus of emotion. Waves of joyous reunions and ragged sobbing rose and fell as the newly released palace maids found their kin.
It was the spring of a harsh drought. The capital region and Henan province had been parched for months, the River-calming stone beasts in the moat now glaringly exposed—a grim sign of disaster. In his benevolence, the Emperor had waived spring taxes, reduced prison sentences, and—most crucially for some—ordered a release of older palace maids.
And yet, amid the tearful embraces, Shen Shaoguang was blissfully absorbed in the spectacle of Chang'an City. The streets were wide, smooth channels flanked by the towering majesty of elms and poplars. Pedestrians, some trotting loads on donkeys, others strolling, moved with an infectious, human warmth. Even the chirping sparrows sounded infused with the vibrant energy of life.
How wonderful, she thought, shifting the small bundle on her shoulder and stepping forward.
"Those traveling far, wait over there by the carriage. We'll arrange transport for you later," two bailiffs called out, stopping her path.
They were not Imperial Guards, but officials from the Capital Prefecture, tasked with the logistics of the maids' dismissal. Shen Shaoguang stopped, performed a graceful curtsy, and switched from her formal, elegant palace speech to a familiar Chang'an dialect.
"My home isn't far, sirs," she said, her smile bright and effortless. "I can return on my own."
Against the cacophony of cries, her radiant smile and local accent momentarily dazzled the bailiffs. They exchanged glances. Their orders were simple: distant maids were to be housed and sent home later. A local returning on her own? There was no rule against it. They were about to wave her through.
"What's going on here?"
A sharp voice cut through the noise. A green-robed official, accompanying a high-ranking officer in crimson, had paused his inspection.
The bailiffs saluted, explaining, "This woman lives nearby. No relatives came, so she wishes to return on her own."
Shen Shaoguang flashed the officials an ingratiating, docile smile, her bright, almond-shaped eyes crinkling at the edges.
The green-robed man gave her a kindly look, glancing at his much younger superior for approval. The crimson-robed high official, however, was not yet of an age for soft-heartedness. His handsome face was a mask of cool impassivity.
"Please present your official verification document."
Shaoguang had felt an unease upon seeing him, and now she sighed inwardly at her bad luck. Reluctantly, she retrieved the document from her bundle and handed it over.
The high official’s eyes, as he raised them to her, were disconcertingly sharp. The first line of the document stated, clearly: "Resident of Luoyang."
She maintained her innocent expression. She hadn’t lied about her home not being far. Distance, after all, was relative.
A slight tightening around the official’s lips was the only sign that he caught her subtle defiance as he continued reading her age and background.
With her secrets laid bare, Shen Shaoguang felt a strange sense of relief. The worst outcome was being shuffled off to some poor, unsuspecting uncle in Luoyang—a former Imperial Courtyard slave, the daughter of disgraced officials, with no family to rely on. A heap of trouble for the relative, but not the palace.
"Young lady," the crimson-robed official asked, closing the paper with a soft snap, "at the prime of your youth, why were you released from the palace?"
It was a fair question. Everyone else was older, some with visibly graying hair. Shaoguang was conspicuously vibrant.
She smiled faintly, her eyes narrowing. "Illness and frailty, my lord."
This time, not just the officials but even the two bailiffs saw the obvious lie. The young woman was tall, well-proportioned, and her fair face bore a healthy pink flush. Weak from illness? Indeed.
Yet, just as Shaoguang had gambled, even if they suspected a lie, could they dare to shove her back into the palace? Who knew what secrets—royal or even just eunuch-related—were wrapped up in her dismissal? It was not something to meddle with.
The high-ranking official gave Shen Shaoguang a long, deep look, handed the document to the bailiffs without another word, and walked away, his hands clasped behind his back. The green-robed official hurried to catch up, equally bewildered.
What was the meaning of this? the bailiffs wondered.
Shen Shaoguang beamed at them. "Gentlemen, I shall take my leave now." They exchanged a final confused glance, returned the document, and let her pass.
Truth be told, Shaoguang was surprised herself. She had fully expected to be routed back to some unfortunate relative! Could it be that the crimson-robed official assumed her release was due to some grand conspiracy, spinning an entire palace drama in his head? People who overthink things were truly amusing.
The green-robed official—who had outlasted a dozen capital prefects—shared her sentiment, though he thought the young Lord Lin merely understood propriety and his limits. In Chang'an, the most crucial quality for an official was caution. Throw a tile, and you might hit a dozen people connected to the Imperial family.
Shen Shaoguang continued south. Housing was cheaper in the city’s southern section, and her plan was firm: she would find a place to stay, and then she would go into the food business.
In her past life, she had been a professional gourmet magazine editor. In this life, she'd spent time in the imperial kitchens. Though her practical cooking skills remained limited, her theoretical knowledge was solid. She was confident she could support herself.
Thinking of survival led her to money, and thinking of money made her heart ache. To secure her release, she had spent eight-tenths of her savings—the eunuch in charge was utterly ruthless!
She soon passed Chongxian Ward. The original owner of this body had grown up here. A sudden, vivid memory of the front courtyard's bamboo grove flashed in her mind—the terrifying slither of a small green snake, the image of the original owner's father drinking wine and composing poetry beneath the moonlit stalks.
Who is reciting poetry to that bamboo these days? she sighed.
Chongxian Ward was a respectable area, just a short walk from the capital prefecture's office and the famous West Market. It was, by modern measure, prime real estate.
Following the echoes of her memory, she found the old Shen residence. High walls, a magnificent courtyard, and a pristine black-topped gate. Servants moved in and out of the side gate, and above the walls, she could see the layered eaves and the graceful shadows of bamboo. Could it be the same grove?
She’d planned only a quick look, but after surveying the local food stalls, she noticed the Luminous Nunnery directly across from the Shen back gate. Shaoguang paused and revised her plan.
The receptionist nun was formidable: slanted eyebrows, triangular eyes, and thin lips. Not an approachable sight.
Oddly, Shen Shaoguang felt relieved. If the reception had been a line of young beauties, she wouldn't have dared to ask for lodging. After all, the lines between some Taoist temples and nunneries and other, less spiritual businesses were often blurred—she thought of historical figures like Yu Xuanji, or the notorious nunnery from Dream of the Red Chamber.
The receptionist's eyes swept over Shaoguang's slightly worn cassia cloth dress, her simple silver hairpins, and her small bundle—a look that made Shen Shaoguang suddenly recall her past life's experience of browsing luxury stores.
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