When Lingge lay on the bed, she was already emaciated beyond recognition.
Her skin was a sickly, withered yellow, her lips were chapped and peeling, and deep dark circles bruised the skin beneath her eyes.
Seeing Hong Xiu push the door open and enter, her eyelids fluttered, and her lips parted slightly as if she wanted to say something.
Hong Xiu walked to the bedside and looked down at her.
“Save your breath. Don't speak.”
Lingge's eyes welled with tears. Turbid drops rolled from the corners of her eyes, soaking into her pillowcase.
“Hong Xiu... You... did you know all along...?”
Hong Xiu did not deny it.
“I did.”
“But this was your choice. When you put on that robe back then, did I ever stop you?”
Lingge's tears flowed even faster. Her chest heaved violently a few times before she suddenly shuddered, her entire body freezing.
Hong Xiu reached out to check her breath, then withdrew her hand, staring down at the faint moisture clinging to her fingertips.
“She's dead.”
She turned to the maidservant standing by the door and said, “Go report her death. Say that Miss Lingge has passed away from illness, and ask the management to come collect the body.”
The maidservant gave a trembling nod and ran off, stumbling as she went.
Hong Xiu stood before the bed, silent for a long moment.
Then, she slowly turned and walked out of the room.
The wind beneath the corridor blew against her face, carrying the chill of late autumn and fluttering the long beizi jacket draped over her shoulders.
She raised a hand to tidy her wind-blown hair, her face completely expressionless.
She was merely calculating the benefits in her mind.
With Lingge dead, she had one less visible competitor.
Because of the death in his household, that official wouldn't be picking anyone else from the Music Registry anytime soon, ensuring her peace and quiet for at least half a year.
Furthermore, she would gain a reputation for being a caring sister who was indifferent to fame and wealth, someone who never fought or competed.
Hong Xiu knew that many noble patrons loved this kind of persona.
Three birds with one stone. It was perfect.
Having watched this unfold, Plague Rat rubbed the fur on his arms and whispered, “Little Hong was quite ruthless back then.”
Hong Xiu shot him a sidelong glance. “What did you say?”
“Nothing, nothing!” Plague Rat shrank back, hiding behind Chen Zhou.
Hong Xiu scoffed. While this memory might have seemed unsavory to others, revisiting it did not stir a single ripple in her heart.
As she had said before, she felt no shame regarding her past.
Back then, anyone who could climb to the position of Courtesan Queen and enjoy boundless glory was naturally neither simple nor kind.
She was indeed ruthless—ruthless to others, and even more ruthless to herself.
To maneuver among the powerful and noble without a cold, hard heart would have meant being devoured whole, leaving not even a speck of bone behind.
Hong Xiu now stood in her old bedroom, her dressing table right beside her.
Reflected in the bronze mirror was her current face—her eyes were as alluring as ever, but they now held a deep chill accumulated over a hundred thousand years.
She reached out and tapped the bronze mirror with her fingertip.
The surface of the mirror rippled like water, and the entire bedroom began to shake violently.
The drawers of the dressing table popped open, spilling cosmetics and powders all over the floor.
The bedroom floor cracked open down the middle, revealing a dim, gloomy light within the fissure.
“Another nested layer,” Plague Rat muttered, already used to it.
“Little Hong, just how many layers of memories do you have?”
“I don't know,” Hong Xiu said. “And perhaps this isn't even my memory.”
“Who knows how many ghosts of Southern Tang are trapped within the Myriad Ghost Array?”
The group followed Hong Xiu into the fissure, and the scene began to shift.
Everything around them transformed from a static painting into a fluid, moving picture.
The twilight deepened, and red silk lanterns were lit one by one.
The main building was packed with guests. Princes and nobles sat in small groups, ivory chopsticks and enameled cups set before them as maidservants bustled about, pouring wine and serving dishes.
In the seat of honor sat a middle-aged man in a purple robe, a jade belt cinched around his waist and a short beard adorning his chin. Between his brows lay the haughty air of one accustomed to commanding others.
The guests repeatedly turned their heads toward the main hall.
A beaded curtain hung there, and behind it, the silhouette of a woman was faintly visible.
She sat before a table playing the zither, her long, slender fingers moving with a lazy grace. The music rose and fell without any set rhythm, sounding as if she were merely plucking the strings for her own amusement.
Yet, not a single guest in the hall urged her to hurry.
Everyone held their breath, waiting until the woman struck the final note before exhaling in unison.
The man in the purple robe was the first to clap, shouting “Excellent!” three times in a row.
“The Grand Preceptor of the dynasty,” Shen Liang murmured, his gaze falling upon the purple-robed man.
“When I was studying in school, I heard my teacher mention his name. He wielded immense power, so much so that even the late Emperor had to yield to him.”
“Just an old lecher,” Hong Xiu sneered softly.
“This was the third year after Lingge's death. I had become the Courtesan Queen.”
The beaded curtain was drawn aside by a pale, slender hand.
The woman behind the curtain stepped out gracefully, a bright red silk sash draped over her arms and a tasseled hairpin gracing her hair. With every swaying step, she seemed to outshine all the gold and jade in the hall with the brilliant smile on her lips.
At that time, Hong Xiu's appearance was barely different from how she looked now.
She walked to the table, took a wine cup from a maidservant, and raised it toward the purple-robed man from afar, her lips curling into a perfectly measured, coquettish pout.
“Lord Grand Preceptor, you haven't given me today's reward yet.”
The Grand Preceptor laughed heartily, unfastened a jade pendant from his waist, and tossed it to her. “Is this enough?”
“Such peerless beauty truly makes one willing to trade ten years of life just for a single smile.”
Hong Xiu caught the pendant, weighed it in her palm, and raised an eyebrow. “You jest, my Lord.”
“In that case, I shall play another tune as a token of my gratitude.”
The entire hall erupted in cheers.
Hong Xiu sat back behind the beaded curtain, and the sound of the zither rose once more.
The scene froze for a moment, then seemed to be ripped open down the middle, transitioning to another place.
The backyard of the Music Registry was far more dilapidated than the front.
It had gray tiles and earthen walls. Bundles of firewood and several broken water jars were piled in the corners, and a few faded, washed-out garments hung from a clothesline.
A few hens scratched at the dirt, clucking incessantly.
A figure was curled up in the corner of the woodshed.
It was a boy of about fourteen or fifteen, so thin he was nothing but skin and bones. His upper body was bare, and his back and arms were covered in a dense network of fresh and old whip scars.
A thick hemp rope was looped around his neck, with the other end tied to the doorframe of the woodshed.
He squatted on the ground, a chipped, coarse porcelain bowl set before him. Inside was half a bowl of sour rice soup.
He lowered his head to take a sip, then looked around warily.
Several servants in short tunics walked in through the moon gate, one of them clutching a hemp rope.
“You worthless dog, you haven't kowtowed to us today.”
The boy raised his head, his dark eyes quietly watching them. He set down the bowl and got down on all fours, crawling a couple of steps toward the servant's feet like an actual dog before pressing his forehead to the ground.
The servants burst into laughter.
The one holding the rope raised his foot and stepped on the back of the boy's head, pressing his face into the mud. “That didn't make enough noise. Do it again.”
With his head stepped on, the boy's face was buried in the muck. His breath was cut off, causing his chest to heave in spasms.
He didn't even struggle, simply lying there motionless. Only when the foot was removed from his head did he slowly raise his face.
His face was covered in mud, and filth stuffed his nose and mouth.
The surrounding servants laughed even louder.
One walked over and snatched the half-bowl of rice soup, while another yanked the rope tied to the doorframe, dragging him a few steps until he stumbled. The hemp rope dug into the flesh of his neck, squeezing out beads of blood.
The banquet in the main building concluded, and the guests left their seats in twos and threes.
Hong Xiu came down from the second floor, her silk sash draped casually over her shoulders. Most of her smile had vanished, leaving only a faint trace of weariness.
She walked through the moon gate toward the backyard, bypassing the hens still scratching at the dirt, and happened upon the servants crowding around the woodshed.
“Move aside.”
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