Chapter 37: Pearls at the Threshold

 

Six strands of pearls—large and small—hung at the entrance to the Lord of Flowing Radiance’s main chamber. They rattled sharply as Ji Bozhai brushed past them, the sound echoing too loudly in the quiet corridor.

For a fleeting moment, Mingyi wondered if her ears were deceiving her—if she had truly mistaken the clatter of pearls for Ji Bozhai’s calm explanation that he had not touched anyone else.

How absurd.

Since when did he feel the need to explain himself? He had spent half a month at Flower Full Tower. It wasn’t as though he’d gone there to chant scriptures for the dead—how could he possibly have remained untouched?

So she simply smiled, her expression polite and distant.
“Take care, my lord.”

Ji Bozhai, believing he had made himself clear, let out a quiet breath of relief and continued on his way. Yet after walking a short distance, regret pricked at him unexpectedly.

Had his words made her arrogant? He never should have said anything at all.

Then again—perhaps clarity was better. Mingyi was particular, obsessively so. If she believed him unclean, she might never allow him near her again. That would be a genuine loss.

But as he walked further, his mood shifted once more. He scoffed inwardly at his own hesitation. She was only a dancing girl—since when did she have the right to be fastidious? If he wished for closeness, could she truly refuse?

Behind him, Buxiu watched in silence as his usually composed master advanced down the corridor with an odd rhythm—three steps, a pause; three steps, another pause—his expression flickering between faint smiles and knitted brows.

“…This isn’t normal at all.”

When Ji Bozhai finally glanced back, Ming Guniang still stood at the threshold, her posture gentle and composed, watching him leave with soft, untroubled eyes.

Yet Mingyi’s thoughts were already elsewhere.

She could tolerate touching something others had handled—but never something she had touched, only for others to touch afterward. In her mind, Ji Bozhai had already been crossed off her list. Perhaps, if needed, she would simply drug him with knockout powder in the future.

Men were not her priority.

The unfinished mission was.

After the calamity at the manor, repair funds were swiftly dispatched from the inner court. Granny Xun organized masons day and night, allowing Mingyi to linger near the study under the guise of helping.

It had to be said—Ji Bozhai lived up to his reputation as Star Yearn City’s most promising Fighter. His study was stacked with cultivation crystals and esoteric texts, materials incomprehensible to ordinary practitioners.

Thanks to the Prince Ping affair, Granny Xun’s vigilance toward Mingyi had noticeably eased. No longer trailing her at every step, she allowed Mingyi to roam freely. Seizing the opportunity during a bathroom break, Mingyi slipped into the study and uncovered two cultivation manuals unique to Star Yearn City.

The books were far too thick to smuggle out.

She had no choice but to read them where she stood.

She had barely flipped through a few dozen pages when a small stone struck the nearby window.

Startled, Mingyi immediately replaced the manual and moved closer, cracking the window open just enough.

“Beware of Situ Ling,” whispered Twenty-Seven from outside, his dark face slick with sweat. “He’s young—but he knows far too much.”

Mingyi stiffened.

Twenty-Seven was constantly watched by Buxiu. For him to risk exposure just to deliver this warning—

Before she could ask more, he vanished into the shadows.

She didn’t linger either. Lifting her skirts, she sprinted toward the outhouse, only slowing once she was near, deliberately adopting an exaggerated, swaying gait.

Granny Xun stood outside Cyan Tile Courtyard, staring absentmindedly at the dull gray roof tiles. Mingyi sidled up beside her, following her gaze with feigned curiosity.

“Is there treasure hidden here?”

Granny Xun jolted slightly before lowering her eyes. “The master cares little for wealth. What treasures could remain? Besides, what could this dilapidated courtyard possibly conceal?”

She wasn’t wrong. The courtyard had been left untouched by renovations—a relic of earlier years. Perhaps Granny Xun was simply troubled by how unsightly it looked, though repairing it would cost far too much.

Mingyi nodded, not pressing further.
“The manor is busy today. May I go out to see Zhang Tai?”

“Aren’t you meant to mope indoors for a few days?” Granny Xun asked, puzzled.

“What’s the use of moping inside?” Mingyi smiled. “I need to be seen outside. Besides, Zhang Tai and I are kindred spirits in misfortune—perfect companions for sharing grief.”

The reasoning held. After some thought, Granny Xun ordered a horse prepared.

“Since you’ve fallen out of favor, this old servant can’t accompany you. I’ll send only a maid to guide you. I hope you won’t take offense.”

“No problem.”

Mingyi followed the maid through winding paths to the stables, took the horse, donned a bamboo hat, and rode out alone.

Passing through Erjiu Street, she noticed several beast-drawn carriages hauling massive crates out of the city. She paused and overheard the chatter nearby.

“Prince Ping has passed. Da Si claims to be heartbroken, yet he’s exiled the prince’s wives and children. What kind of sense does that make?”

“If you could understand, wouldn’t you be Da Si yourself?”

Exiled?

Mingyi clicked her tongue. This Da Si of Star Yearn City was ruthless indeed. Sister-in-law and nephews—cast out before the body was even cold.

“I heard Prince Ping committed many vile acts. Da Si tolerated them out of brotherly duty. Now that the prince is dead, his family is paying the price.”

“What vile acts? Don’t speak in riddles.”

“What else? Consorting with Meng Shi—and how many lives he sacrificed just to please her, who knows?”

Hearsay. Mingyi didn’t give it much weight. Still, she pitied the prince’s wives. Exile was cruel—few survived such journeys.

But she had no power to save anyone.

Once the carriages passed, she continued on to Zhang Tai’s residence.

The moment she entered, Mingyi sensed another presence besides Zhang Tai.

She frowned and glanced toward the tall pearwood cabinet.

“You’re here?” Zhang Tai hurried forward, deliberately blocking her view, offering a guilty smile.

Understanding dawned.

“Then won’t you introduce your guest?” Mingyi asked flatly.

Zhang Tai, pouring tea, jolted so hard her hand shook. She stared at Mingyi in disbelief.
“H-how did you know?”

Tea spilled across the table. Mingyi gave it a regretful glance before tipping her chin toward the cabinet.

After a long pause, Zhang Tai walked over and opened the door.

Inside crouched a woman clutching a three-year-old child, her hand clamped over the child’s mouth. When the door opened, she flinched backward, accidentally pressing down on the child’s fingers. A muffled cry escaped.

“Ah—come out first,” Zhang Tai said hurriedly. Pregnant herself, she couldn’t bear the sound and helped them out.

The woman trembled, head bowed, not daring to look at Mingyi.
“I’ll leave soon—right away. I won’t cause trouble.”

Zhang Tai glanced at Mingyi, and seeing no hostility on her face, introduced her plainly.

“This is my cousin, Zhang Liu—Prince Ping’s concubine.”

Willow of Zhangtai, willow of Zhangtai,

Are your tender branches still there today?

The daughters of the Zhang family were raised on music and dance, groomed from childhood to climb society’s ladder and bring honor to their clan. Thus, even as a mere concubine, Zhang Liu had willingly entered the prince’s household.

Years of hardship followed. When she finally bore a precious son, promotion to formal consort lay within reach—until Prince Ping suddenly died.

Da Si showed no mercy. All concubines were ordered north of Beishan to “guard the spirit,” though everyone knew it was exile.

Zhang Liu refused.

On the day of departure, she seized a moment while taking her child to relieve themselves and fled—encountering Zhang Tai by chance as she purchased clothes.

“Fleeing the royal household is a capital offense,” Mingyi said evenly. “Going beyond Beishan at least gives you a chance to live. Why choose this path?”

Zhang Liu studied Mingyi nervously until Zhang Tai subtly nodded. Only then did she sit and whisper,
“That place is a den of wolves. After Prince Ping lost interest in his wives, they went mad—killing without restraint. In the capital, laws still held them back. Beyond Beishan, my child and I would die without a trace.”

Better to gamble than walk toward certain death.

Zhang Tai shook her head anxiously. “If the family finds out, they’ll drag you back to avoid implicating the clan.”

“I know…” Zhang Liu’s voice broke. “But my child is innocent. Please—just this once.”

She pleaded desperately.

Zhang Tai smiled bitterly. “Look at me—how could I help?”

“I only need shelter and warm porridge,” Zhang Liu said urgently. “I can clean, embroider—earn money.”

Zhang Tai looked to Mingyi.

Mingyi shrugged. “I don’t have much silver, but feeding two more mouths isn’t a problem. However, with a child involved, the city will be searched. Don’t go out.”

Zhang Liu hadn’t expected such swift agreement. Relief crashed over her, and she dropped to her knees.

Mingyi startled and reached out. “There’s no need—”

“No—it’s just… I’m weak from hunger.”

“….”

Embarrassed, Zhang Liu sat down.
“I’ve barely eaten these past days.”

Her child stared wide-eyed at Mingyi, blowing a tiny bubble of drool.

Mingyi’s heart softened. “I have dried fruit. Eat this for now. I’ll arrange a proper meal.”

Tears streamed down Zhang Liu’s face.
“If only I’d never entered the prince’s household…”

“Eight years ago, Prince Ping stood at the height of his glory,” Zhang Tai said softly. “Even if you hadn’t wished it, your family would have sent you.”

Mingyi raised an eyebrow. “Then why did he later fade?”

Zhang Liu slammed her nails into the table, snapping one.
“Because of that fox-spirit!”

Mingyi startled and patted her chest—then, awkwardly, patted Zhang Liu’s instead.
“Madam, slowly. Who?”

“The late Empress Meng Shi,” Zhang Tai sighed.

She explained their past—the indulgence, the blurred boundaries.

Zhang Liu nodded bitterly. “Ever since she became Empress, the prince was restless, cruel. The first princess consort—a good woman—was driven to hang herself. Three months pregnant.”

Mingyi and Zhang Tai both gasped.

“No one outside knows,” Zhang Liu murmured. “Her family dared not speak.”

Mingyi frowned. “He loved Meng Shi—yet still fathered children?”

Zhang Liu smiled mockingly.
“Men want bloodlines.”

Zhang Tai stiffened, instinctively touching her belly.

“It’s over,” Mingyi said gently.

“If I’m caught,” Zhang Liu said quietly, “my child will depend on you.”

Zhang Tai nodded, then turned to Mingyi.
“Tomorrow, I’ll go to the apothecary.”

“Are you sure?” Mingyi asked seriously. “Don’t regret it later.”

“I’m sure. Keeping it would mean companionship, but also endless harassment from Xu Lan. It wouldn’t have a good life with me either.” Zhang Tai clenched her fist, her knuckles whitening. “Xu Lan doesn’t deserve me continuing his bloodline.”

If he was naturally infertile, then let him die without heirs.

The thought was scandalous—unforgivable, even—within the Azure Cloud Realm. Zhang Tai felt a wave of unease the moment the words left her mouth, as though she had crossed an invisible boundary that women were never meant to approach. Yet neither of the two before her showed the slightest trace of reproach. Mingyi, in particular, regarded her with something close to approval.

“I’ll make arrangements for you,” Mingyi said calmly, as if the decision were already settled.

Ji Bozhai showed no signs of returning to the residence anytime soon. With nothing pressing to occupy her, Mingyi adopted a daily routine of leaving the house in tears each morning, wandering the streets in quiet despair, and returning home red-eyed and hollow-faced by dusk.

Before long, the two streets near the Ji residence reached a unanimous conclusion: the little dancing girl had fallen out of favor. Reduced to desperation, she now roamed from pharmacy to pharmacy, futilely seeking fertility remedies in a last-ditch effort to regain Lord Ji’s affection.

But Lord Ji remained unmoved. He lingered day after day at Flower Full Tower, never once returning home. And so, the abandoned dancing girl began purchasing wooden chairs and beds—plain, practical things—quietly preparing an escape of her own.

She was beautiful. Even her sorrow carried a fragile allure. Inevitably, gossip flourished.

“If I were Ji Bozhai, I’d keep such a beauty close. How could anyone bear to abandon her?”

“So you’ll never be Ji Bozhai. That man has never lacked stunning women. The courtesan at Flower Full Tower must be even more exquisite.”

“Perhaps—but wouldn’t Ming Guniang grow resentful?”

Inside a private chamber of the teahouse on Erjiu Street, Situ Ling sat by the window.