Flower Stealing Master

Qi Fang’s face burned with shame and indignation. “Only what, exactly?”

“Only that your… jade nectar can merely suppress the poison temporarily. My inner energy can’t sustain the circulation for long. Earlier, just as I was driving the toxin out, my qi suddenly stagnated again — the poison rebounded, and that’s when I… when I took liberties with you.” Song Qingshu explained.

Qi Fang’s cheeks flared red as fresh blood. “Don’t you dare bring that up again!” she snapped.

Song Qingshu gave a small shrug. “If you don’t wish to hear it, I won’t say another word.”

A moment of silence fell. Qi Fang bit her lip, then asked, “Then how are you supposed to purge the poison from your body?”

Song Qingshu smiled bitterly. “The only way is to seize every moment my inner energy recovers and keep forcing the toxin out. I believe that eventually, given enough time, I’ll drive it out completely.”

“And how exactly does your inner energy recover — ah!” Qi Fang’s mind had been in a fog since earlier. She was halfway through the question before she remembered what he’d said — that that particular thing was what allowed his energy to recover, even temporarily. She let out a sharp cry of realization, then fixed him with a glare, her heart swirling with rage and mortification.

Song Qingshu had no choice but to press on, thick-skinned. “I noticed that every time you… produce it, you pour it away. Rather than letting it go to waste, wouldn’t it be better used to cure a man’s poison?”

“Don’t even think about it!” Qi Fang refused outright. Before, she had only relented because he lay unconscious and dying of poison — she’d forced herself to give him some against her better judgment. Now that he was fully awake? How could she possibly offer him something so humiliating while he sat there with open eyes?

“Ugh…” Song Qingshu couldn’t help but mutter under his breath. “It’s not as though I haven’t had it before…”

“What did you just say?” Qi Fang’s face drained from crimson to white with fury. If her clothes hadn’t still been in disarray, she would have crossed the room to slap him.

“Is my lady asleep?” At the most awkward possible moment, Taohong’s voice drifted in from beyond the door.

Qi Fang’s body went rigid. The colour left her face entirely. She answered in a flustered rush: “Asleep — I’ve already gone to sleep.”

Her plan had been to handle this herself, quietly. But the moment Taohong discovered something was amiss, the matter would spiral far beyond her control. It would set the whole household buzzing, and whatever shame fell on herself she could endure — but to see her daughter unable to hold her head up before others in the future? That was the one outcome she could not bear.

“There are things I’d like to say to my lady,” Taohong replied from the other side.

“I — I’ve already gone to sleep. Whatever it is, say it tom — tomorrow.” Qi Fang fumbled over her words. Of all times, she could not have someone walk in now.

Song Qingshu watched the whole exchange with quiet amusement. Earlier, Sixi’s words had made it clear that she was acting on Taohong’s instructions. For Taohong to force her way into the mistress’s chamber at this hour of the night — she was certainly up to no good. There would be quite a show to watch.

“But what I have to say can only be said tonight.” Taohong’s voice held firm, with no trace of retreat.

“What do I do, what do I do…” Qi Fang felt her head might split open. One wave had not yet settled before another crashed in. She glanced at Song Qingshu, then jabbed a finger toward the space beneath the bed and hissed, “Get under there. Quickly.”

Song Qingshu shook his head. “I never hide under beds.”

Qi Fang looked close to tears. “If they find you, everything is finished.”

Song Qingshu’s eyes swept sideways as an idea took shape. “If you agree to provide the… jade nectar to help cure my poison going forward, then I’ll get under there.”

“You —!” To think that at this critical moment he would choose to blackmail her — Qi Fang could have bitten him.

“My lady, you were going to pour it out anyway,” Song Qingshu continued to reason, wholly unruffled. “Why waste it when it can save a man’s life? As the saying goes, to save one life surpasses the building of a seven-story pagoda.”

Qi Fang found herself almost admiring him — only someone with skin thicker than a city wall could make something like that sound so magnanimous.

“Fine. I agree.” Qi Fang’s chest rose and fell rapidly, her composure clearly far from restored.

“My deepest thanks, my lady.” Song Qingshu gave her a brilliant smile.

Something about that smile made Qi Fang’s heart give an inexplicable leap. Before she could examine the feeling, Taohong’s voice came again: “My lady, I’m coming in.” And without waiting for an answer, she pushed the door open.

Earlier, when Li Kexiu’s soldiers had withdrawn, they had only pulled the door to behind them — Qi Fang had never had a chance to bolt it, having been shoved aside by Song Qingshu before she could, and she hadn’t collected herself enough since to think of it.

The sound of the door swinging open terrified Qi Fang half out of her wits. She spun to look at Song Qingshu — and found him already gone, without a trace. She bit down on a silent curse: ‘One look at him and you can tell he’s done this sort of sneaking and stealing a hundred times before. How disgustingly practised.’

Still, Taohong was not one of those soldiers — she wouldn’t drop to her knees and search beneath the bed. With that thought, Qi Fang steadied herself somewhat. There was no time to dress properly; she could only hastily wrap her robes around herself and drag the bed quilt up to cover everything.

“This servant greets my lady.” Taohong offered a bow, then wrinkled her nose. “Hmm — what’s that smell in here?”

“Probably the sweat of all those soldiers who barged through earlier,” Qi Fang said, her cheeks colouring despite herself. The earlier encounter had been… vigorous, and the room still held a lingering warmth and scent that she would rather no one noticed. She changed the subject quickly: “What is it that you needed to tell me that couldn’t possibly wait until morning?”

Taohong was clearly preoccupied with her own thoughts, and did not press the matter of the smell. She answered easily: “Nothing in particular. I simply thought I’d come and have a chat with my lady.”

Qi Fang seethed inwardly. You barge into your mistress’s room in the dead of night — and it’s just for a chat?

“Today has been exhausting. I really must rest. Come and talk with me tomorrow.” Qi Fang wanted nothing more than to send her away, and had no energy left to spare on being angry.

“Oh, but I’m not quite finished.” Taohong gave a small laugh. Without asking leave, she pulled over a stool and settled herself down upon it. Qi Fang stared at her in growing puzzlement — on any other day, Taohong was the picture of propriety. What had come over her?

“My lady has been in Lin’an for quite some time now,” Taohong began, as comfortably as though she were in her own room, pouring tea as she spoke. “I wonder — do you know who holds the greatest power in the court today?”

Qi Fang’s brow creased. She had no idea what this woman was plotting, and answered vaguely: “That would be His Excellency the Minister, surely.” She should properly have called him Grandfather Wan Qili, but she had never much liked the man, so she used his title instead.

Taohong shook her head. “The Minister sits at the head of the hundred officials, yes — but his foundations are not yet secure, his wings not yet spread. He does not truly hold the greatest power.”

Qi Fang’s annoyance deepened. She was in no mood to discuss court politics in the small hours of the night. But guilt gnawed at her, and she dared not snap at Taohong, so she could only play along: “If not the Minister, then Han Tuozhou, I suppose.”

Taohong gave a light laugh. “After the fall of Zhao Ruyu, Han Tuozhou was the most likely candidate to take the seat of Chief Minister — but the Minister snatched the fruit right from under him. His star has dimmed considerably since then. And even had he reached the Ministership, I doubt he’d have kept it long.”

“Why not?” Taohong’s manner today was utterly unlike herself — she spoke with fluency and real substance, and despite herself, Qi Fang found she was interested.

“The Han family may call themselves the foremost great clan of the Two Songs,” Taohong said, “but they live off the glory of their ancestor Han Qi. After so many generations, how much of that shade still remains? The Han family’s four great matrimonial allies — the Wu’s of Longgan, the Chens of Haining, the Yang’s of Taiyuan, the Lu’s of Shanyin — only the Wu’s and the Chen’s can still offer any meaningful support. The Yang’s and Lu’s have been in decline for years; no one from either family has entered the court’s inner circles in a long time.”

“So the Han family may look resplendent on the surface,” Taohong said, with a dismissive curl of her lip, “but at its core it has long since hollowed out.”

“Taohong.” Qi Fang’s brow furrowed. “Who taught you all of this?” She absolutely refused to believe Taohong had arrived at this kind of insight on her own.

Taohong did not answer. Instead, she said: “My lady has been in Lin’an quite long enough — I wonder, has she ever heard a certain rhyme that goes around among the people?

The Jia family needs no boasting — their halls are alabaster, their steeds of gold.

The Epang Palace spans three hundred li, yet cannot house a single Shi of Mingzhou.

When the Dragon King of the Eastern Sea lacks a bed of white jade, he summons the Wangs of Suzhou.

In a year of plenty, heavy snow falls — pearls lie like dust, and gold piles like iron.”

[G: Sharp-eyed readers will recognise this immediately — it is the famous verse from Dream of the Red Chamber describing the four great clans: Jia, Shi, Wang, and Xue. The author has cleverly redeployed it here to map onto the four dominant political clans of the Southern Song court.]

Under the bed, Song Qingshu’s expression turned thoroughly strange. ‘What is going on? Why does it feel like Dream of the Red Chamber just wandered into the scene?’

Noticing Qi Fang’s puzzled expression, Taohong smiled and said: “Allow me to explain. ‘The Jia family needs no boasting’ — that refers, naturally, to the current Commissioner of Military Affairs, Lord Jia Sidao, whose elder sister is also the Emperor’s most favoured consort.”

“The second line — ‘a single Shi of Mingzhou’ — refers to the Shi family of Mingzhou. The previous patriarch, Shi Hao, served as the Emperor’s own teacher. The current head of the family, Shi Miyuan, commands the Censorate.”

“The third line speaks of the Wang family of Suzhou — formerly descended from Wang Anshi’s branch at Linchuan, who relocated to Suzhou after the Jingkang Catastrophe. In their heyday, their influence rivalled even that of the Han family. The current patriarch, Wang Ziteng, holds the post of Commander of the Palace Guard and commands the Imperial Army.”

“The final line refers to the Xue family of Jiangyin, whose patriarch Xue Ji presently serves as Deputy Prime Minister and Grand Scholar of the Hall of Illustrious Culture. By rank alone, he stands at roughly the same level as Han Tuozhou.”

“Each of these four great clans is among the most powerful in the Great Song,” Taohong continued. “And through matrimonial bonds, they have woven themselves into a political bloc that cannot be broken. Jia Sidao’s wife is Wang Ziteng’s younger sister; his nephew also married a young lady of the Wang family. Shi Miyuan’s maternal aunt is Jia Sidao’s mother, and I hear he intends to wed his daughter to Jia Sidao’s son as well. Wang Ziteng’s eldest sister married Jia Sidao; his second sister married Xue Ji; his niece married Jia Sidao’s nephew. As for Xue Ji’s daughter and niece — they are known throughout Lin’an for their beauty and accomplishments both, and word has it there are talks of forming a marriage alliance with the Jia family’s sons as well.”

“Beyond these four clans, there are also the Lin family, the Li family, the Lü family, and the Murong family — all bound to them through a web of matrimonial ties. The Lin family patriarch, Lin Ruhai, presently serves as the Salt and Iron Commissioner of the Three Revenues Bureau, overseeing nearly a third of the court’s entire tax income; his wife is Jia Sidao’s younger sister, and they have produced a daughter of incomparable beauty — from what I hear, there are thoughts of arranging her marriage to the Jia family’s son as well. The Li family patriarch, Li Shouzhong, serves as the Minister of the Imperial Academy; his second daughter is Jia Sidao’s eldest daughter-in-law, and his younger sister married into the Wang family of Suzhou. As for the Murong family — their previous patriarch, Murong Bo, wed a cousin of Wang Ziteng.”

Under the bed, Song Qingshu listened with a growing chill creeping through him. Li Shouzhong’s younger sister — the one who married into the Wang family of Suzhou — was that Li Qingluo? And the Murong family had apparently been part of the Jia faction all along.

Qi Fang could not hold herself back any longer. “What is the point of telling me all this?”

A strange smile spread across Taohong’s face. “I’ve said so much simply to make one thing clear: for power to be secure, only the marriage of great clans to great clans will do. Regrettably, my lady was born of a farming family — you cannot bring the Wan Qili household even the smallest measure of political capital. And so the Minister and the Master have deliberated, and reached a decision: to arrange a new match for the young lord.”

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