“Miss, why does the stuff on this hairpin turn green when it touches water? It looks dark red at first glance!”
Chunhong watched as Wanqing gently scraped off the dark red, rust-like substance from the hairpin with a dagger. Yet, when it fell into the water, it turned a vivid green.
The bizarre sight made Chunhong blurt out in shock.
“I’m not sure, Chunhong… Fetch the silver needle under my pillow.”
Wanqing, equally startled by the change in the basin of water, pondered the strangeness of it all.
Metals or substances usually only change color when exposed to acids or alkalis. But the water Chunhong had brought was pure—no additives. Frowning, Wanqing examined the hairpin closely.
Suddenly, a possibility struck her. She looked up at Chunhong and ordered, “The hairpin changed color. Miss, this hairpin—”
As Wanqing dipped the silver needle into the water and withdrew it, Chunhong gasped, pointing at the hairpin in shock.
“The blood on this hairpin is highly poisonous. Why would Granny Liu insist on giving this to me?”
Wanqing took the hairpin, suspicion creeping into her thoughts. Why would Granny Liu deliberately hand her something so dangerous?
“Could there be a clue on the cloth? I looked at it before, but there were no visible words. Yet when I touched it, I felt fine lines etched into the fabric.”
Chunhong’s sudden remark drew Wanqing’s attention to the cloth wrapped around the hairpin.
“You secretly took it out before? You sly girl! What else did you take?”
Wanqing’s brows arched in irritation. Chunhong had always sworn loyalty, yet she’d kept this from her.
“Miss, I swear on my life! If there were anything valuable, wouldn’t I have told you? I only looked once and found nothing but the hairpin and a pile of dead ants—so creepy I didn’t dare check again!”
Chunhong raised her hands in defense, watching as Wanqing’s expression softened slightly.
“No wonder the hairpin was so clean, with those strange specks in the blood. Chunhong, fetch a basin of water with alum. And keep it secret.”
Finally, Wanqing had an explanation for the odd residue in the basin. She gave another order, cautioning Chunhong to be discreet.
Soon, Chunhong returned with the requested water.
“Just as I thought.”
Wanqing carefully dipped the cloth into the alum water, then lifted it to the light. A confident smile curled her lips as she deciphered the hidden script.
“What does it say?”
Chunhong noticed Wanqing’s expression darkening—her lips pressed tight, eyes burning with suppressed fury.
The words on the cloth shook Wanqing to her core.
It was a letter from her birth mother.
The letter spoke of her mother’s deep love for her father, though it didn’t detail what had gone wrong between them. Her mother admitted fault, saying she had willingly given up her status as the primary wife to become a concubine, begging her daughter not to resent her father.
The next passage was filled with bitterness. Her mother had never imagined her sacrifice would lead to abuse. The new wife, Lady Liu, had tormented her—even poisoning her while she was pregnant, killing both her and the unborn child—her father’s only heir.
The final lines were instructions: If her father still doubted after reading the letter, Wanqing was to retrieve a hidden iron box beneath the fourth plum tree by the cottage in the western outskirts and give him the letter inside.
The raw pain and regret in her mother’s words, her unwavering love despite her suffering, left Wanqing torn between fury and grief. Though she didn’t know her mother’s full story, the letter revealed a woman of deep loyalty and love—betrayed and murdered by Lady Liu.
The letter also mentioned another message meant for Wanqing alone.
Her father’s cold indifference toward her, despite being her flesh and blood, was baffling. To uncover the truth and clear her mother’s name, she resolved to retrieve that letter.
“Chunhong, go find Hongyan. Tell her I need to leave the manor—and I want her to accompany me.”
“Miss, why the urgency? Your injuries—”
Chunhong was stunned, unable to fathom what the cloth had revealed, but concern for Wanqing’s wounds outweighed her confusion.
“It’s life or death. Go now. If you won’t, I’ll go alone.”
Wanqing’s voice was steel. She struggled to stand, gripping the table for support.
“Miss, please don’t push yourself! Fine, I’ll go—but what’s happening? You’re scaring me.”
Seeing her sway unsteadily, Chunhong sighed and helped her sit back down before hurrying off.
Wanqing sighed. She knew Chunhong cared deeply, but Lady Liu’s ruthlessness made secrecy necessary for Chunhong’s safety.
“Chunhong, just stay in the courtyard. Gather the flowers I asked for earlier—separate them and dry them properly. Hongyan and I won’t be long.”
Half a cup of tea later, Hongyan escorted Wanqing out of Bamboo Fragrance Court. Chunhong watched them leave, anxiety etched on her face.
“Alright, Miss. Please hurry back.”
Though puzzled, Chunhong didn’t stop them, recalling Wanqing’s earlier urgency.
“That girl, acting like we’re parting forever!”
Wanqing chuckled weakly, glancing back at Chunhong’s worried gaze. The playful bond they shared made even a brief separation feel heavy.
“Maybe because you’re always together. I envy your closeness.”
Hongyan smiled wistfully.
Years later, Wanqing would look back on this moment with endless regret.
Despite her caution, she hadn’t anticipated the sheer audacity and cruelty of her enemies.
This farewell with Chunhong became a separation spanning years—their next meeting a distant dream.
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