Chapter 33: Will of Heaven

Who could have known that the Ninth Prince never managed to enter the city? He had only been on the carriage for a quarter of an hour before the snow, already considerable, began falling even more heavily, whipped by a fierce northern wind that made it nearly impossible to see the road ahead.

Fugui shouted loudly from the carriage door, “Master, we can’t go on like this—this road has become impassable. We must hurry back to the manor; the roads are sure to be blocked soon.” The Ninth Prince gazed at the blizzard outside and sighed, “When this storm is over, I fear there will be even more disaster victims.”

Fugui found it hard to reconcile himself to his master’s sudden display of concern for the nation and its people. He called out, “Master, let’s return quickly! Soon this carriage won’t be able to move at all.” The Ninth Prince pushed open the carriage door and peered at the snow already piling deep outside. In a low voice, he said, “Abandon the carriage—we’ll ride back on horseback.”

Fugui and the personal guards all approved of this decision and deftly unhitched the horses before making their way back to the manor at Beiwu. As for Kangxi’s summons, the Ninth Prince gave it no heed; after all, if he stubbornly pressed on and something happened on the road, he would be scolded just the same.

The Ninth Prince and his party of seven trudged on through the snow with great difficulty. Before they even reached the manor, they happened upon a boy nearly frozen to death in the blizzard. To call him a boy was perhaps inaccurate—he seemed more like a youth of fourteen or fifteen.

Though the Ninth Prince was no saint with a heart overflowing with compassion, he still harbored a sense of pride as a son of Great Qing. To see a living lad sprawled helplessly in the snow before him, he could not bring himself to leave the boy to die. Even as he ordered the rescue, his guards cast him a doubtful glance.

Meanwhile, Yan Yan was busy with Cui’er and Wu Tong tidying up the largest courtyard on the estate. The moment the Ninth Prince left, the snow began to fall in earnest. Yan Yan guessed he would likely return, and she was not inclined to let him stay in her own quarters. Thus, she and Cui’er set about readying the seldom-used courtyard.

To call it “tidying” was something of an exaggeration—the courtyard was swept every day. All Yan Yan needed to do was have the braziers lit, filling the rooms with warmth. She had just finished when the porter brought word: the Ninth Prince had returned.

Hurriedly, Yan Yan donned her heavy cloak and, accompanied by Cui’er, went out to greet him. The Ninth Prince was about to make for Yan Yan’s quarters, but when he saw her emerge from the neighboring courtyard, his expression darkened. Yan Yan, feigning ignorance, smiled and said, “Master, I have the fires going and the kettle on. Please come in and warm yourself.”

The Ninth Prince glared at her and turned toward his own courtyard. Yan Yan allowed herself a barely perceptible smile and followed him inside. Once they entered the warm room, Yan Yan helped the Ninth Prince remove his cloak and discovered he had brought back an unconscious boy.

“Master, who is this?” Yan Yan asked in surprise, looking at the young man. Though his eyes were closed, his features were not unpleasant; yet it was clear from his thin clothing that he came from a poor home. No wonder he had collapsed.

“Is there a doctor on the estate?” the Ninth Prince asked in a grave tone. He did not expect much—he could not recall ever stationing a physician here. To his surprise, Yan Yan nodded. “There is. I’ll have Wu Tong take him to be treated. Please don’t worry, Master.”

The Ninth Prince narrowed his eyes at Yan Yan with a hint of mockery. “No matter where I put you, you always seem to manage quite well, don’t you?” Yan Yan did not understand his meaning and offered a stiff smile. “I don’t know what you mean, Master. I’ve prepared the meal—you must be hungry. Please eat.”

She signaled to Cui’er, and soon three or four little maids came in, each bearing a dish. Yan Yan sat quietly at the side, ready to serve, while the other maids poured wine for the Ninth Prince.

He glanced over the charming, delicate maids, then at Yan Yan, who sat meekly, eyes lowered. If his intuition was correct, he was being thoroughly neglected. Regardless of how he had once favored this woman, this plain, unremarkable concubine was making it perfectly clear that his affection meant nothing to her.

A surge of irritation rose within him. He seized the hand of one of the little maids and said with a smile to Yan Yan, “Who would have thought your estate had such lovely maids?” Yan Yan returned a cool smile. “Only the best for you, of course, Master. I’ve some soup stewing in the kitchen. Please enjoy your meal—I’ll go check on it.”

The Ninth Prince realized she was using this as an excuse to slip away and found it all rather dull. He waved her off with a touch of impatience. Yan Yan respectfully took her leave, and with Cui’er made her way from his rooms to the kitchen, where she gave a few instructions about the soup, then headed to her own quarters, Shunyi Pavilion.

The snow outside was still relentless. Yan Yan drew her cloak tightly about herself, feeling a clear-headed calm. At least she had weathered another trial. She resolved to keep her distance from the Ninth Prince as much as possible in the future. Even with so many uncertainties in the world beyond, she knew she must summon her courage and step out, rather than squander her days in this little manor.

Cui’er walked silently at Yan Yan’s side. She could not guess her mistress’s thoughts, but she knew that for all Yan Yan’s gentleness, a fierce determination lay beneath the surface. So she kept her peace, knowing that time was on their side.

Yan Yan returned to her room and sat in a daze for a long while, unable to understand when her dealings with the Ninth Prince had become so fraught. All this time, she had almost regarded him as a friend—a companion with shared, if unpredictable, goals. But tonight, in his first night at Beiwu Manor, she suddenly realized it was all her own illusion.

She had thought that after nearly a year here, she had made real progress. Yet tonight, she saw that nothing had truly changed. She was still that concubine with nothing to her name, still someone anyone could mistreat at will.

Night had fallen completely, and the snow continued to rage outside. Yan Yan shook her head, determined to force these vexing thoughts from her mind. She shut her door and wandered over to the adjoining bathhouse.

Originally, the hot spring pool had been located in another building, but Yan Yan found it a waste of time and inconvenient to go from one to the other, so she had it connected to her bedroom. Yet it was not an open passage—rather, it resembled the suite-style hot spring hotels of later ages.

With winter’s arrival, Yan Yan had formed a habit of bathing here every night after dark—for the warmth, yes, but also for the comfort and ease it brought her spirit.