The Heart Given to Brighten the Moon - Chapter 1

The mid-winter snow fell in heavy, goose-feather flakes. As a young woman stumbled, the thick snow accumulated on the eaves gave way and tumbled down.

By sheer misfortune, it landed squarely in her overturned soup pot. The rising steam was instantly snuffed out, leaving the contents cold and ruined.

The woman’s face was flushed crimson from the freezing air, partially masking her transcendent beauty, though the mist gathering in her eyes remained pitiably tender. Gazing at her scraped wrists, she let out a few choked sobs. She gritted her teeth and pulled herself up, gathered the mess scattered across the ground, and began to stagger back in the direction she had come.

Zhao Zongqian, the Emperor of the Southern Jin Dynasty, had many children, yet he showed a singular favoritism toward his fourth daughter, Princess Zhao Hui. Upon reaching her fifteenth year the age of hair-pinning, she was bestowed with the Luanqi Palace. Her daily rewards were a dazzling array of flowers, gems, and finery; if the Princess desired it, there was nothing Zhao Zongqian would not give.

Naturally, such pampered indulgence bred a profligate nature. Princess Hui was notorious within the palace for her arrogant and willful temperament. Even her servants and handmaidens held themselves above others, walking with their noses in the air and eyes looking down upon everyone else.

Since childhood, Princess Hui had been tyrannical, wreaking havoc across every corner of the palace. Even the Emperor’s most beloved white peacock could not escape her clutches; she had plucked every single feather from its tail, leaving the bird with a bald backside that never regrew. Heartbroken at the sight, Zhao Zongqian eventually had the bird sent to the Imperial Kitchen.

However, there was one person who remained the constant object of Princess Hui’s “affection.” Regardless of the season, be it the heat of summer or the biting cold of winter the Princess insisted on tormenting this individual. Should a day pass without seeing her, Princess Hui would become distracted and lose her appetite.

That person was a woman. She possessed a stunningly beautiful countenance, yet her status was ambiguous. She was lower than the princes and princesses, but higher than the court officials. Within the towering walls of this forbidden city, she wore clothes inferior to a fourth-class maid of the Luanqi Palace and ate food worse than the lowliest laborers who swept the palace paths. She lived in a leaky, tile-roofed shack and used tools fit only for commoners. Curiously, however, aside from those of the Luanqi Palace, no one dared to raise a hand against her.

At this moment, that woman was carrying a pot of freshly brewed black chicken and fleeceflower root soup, hurrying toward the Luanqi Palace. This time, she moved with extreme caution, entirely unaware that blood was seeping through the coarse cloth wrapped around her wrist.

Having received a “Phoenix Clay” hand warmer as a tribute from the Western Regions, Princess Hui had been playing with it all day. It was said that this warmer was forged from clay found where a phoenix had left its ashes during rebirth; it was the only one of its kind in the world. With just a small piece of redwood charcoal, it would remain hot for an entire day.

Yet, no matter how warm the Phoenix Clay was, it could not stave off the chill of an empty stomach. As Princess Hui stomped her foot in irritation, the eunuchs and maids in the room fell to their knees in unison.

“Where is that little stable-hand? How long does it take to fetch soup from the Imperial Kitchen? This Princess is starving to death. Did she slip and fall into the lake and freeze?” Princess Hui was poor at her studies, but she was top-tier when it came to hurling insults.

Feng Zhong, a sycophantic servant who held the Princess’s favor, crawled on all fours to her feet. With a flattering smile, he said, “This lowly one is willing to brave the freezing winds and snow for Your Highness. If I freeze to death, it is a small matter; if my Mistress goes hungry, it is a tragedy of the highest order.”

Arrogant and spoiled as she was, Princess Hui loved nothing more than such empty flatteries. Her mood brightened significantly. She playfully poked Feng Zhong’s forehead with a dainty finger and said with a coquettish huff, “Go then. Stay within the corridors; I’m truly not used to being without your service.”

Feng Zhong’s eyes crinkled into a smile, the very picture of a treacherous court eunuch. He scurried out of the room. Pulling his neck into his collar, he hurried to the edge of the corridor. The wind and snow seemed to have intensified. He muttered a curse under his breath and peered toward the direction of the Imperial Kitchen.

Shortly after, the “little stable-hand” Princess Hui had mentioned appeared in the blizzard, her body covered in snow like a living snowman. Her hands, red and withered like those of an old woman, trembled as she held out the food container. She did not dare shake too violently, fearing a single drop of the hot soup might spill.

Feng Zhong snatched the container and immediately delivered a sharp kick to the woman’s side. “Every day it’s nothing but eating and sleeping even a pig has it better than you! It’s been half an hour; were you trying to poison the soup?”

The “stable-hand” shivered uncontrollably. Her cracked lips parted twice, but no sound came out.

Feng Zhong rolled his eyes and called her a “worthless wench” once more. Suddenly, his eyes lingered on her chest and stayed there. Having bullied her for years, no one in the Luanqi Palace treated her as a human being. He had failed to notice that the girl, once a mere flower bud, had gradually blossomed into a woman of graceful proportions.

With a vile smirk, Feng Zhong stepped closer and reached out his hand toward her chest. Terrified, the woman let out a cry and stumbled back several paces, losing her footing and falling backward in the snow. Driven by a predatory impulse, Feng Zhong lunged forward and grabbed her wrist the very one that was injured.

She resisted with all her might, but her strength was failing her. Feng Zhong, emboldened by his success, leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Why don’t you just submit to me? Your life would be much easier. Though I am but a dog before Princess Hui, I am still far better than what you have now.”

The woman’s heart nearly burst with terror, but a glint of suicidal coldness flickered in her eyes, making Feng Zhong’s hand falter for a second. Without warning, she slammed her knee into his groin. Fortunately for him, there was “nothing” there; Feng Zhong merely let out a muffled groan. Furious, he raised his hand and delivered a stinging slap to her face.

As she collapsed into the snow, Feng Zhong wiped his hand, his interest gone. He stood up and spat, “There will come a day when you crawl on the ground begging for mercy. I’ll see just how long you can keep that mouth shut!”

Wiping the blood from the corner of her lip, the woman Song Mingyue shook herself awake and stood up, following Feng Zhong silently without a word.

Princess Hui looked up to see the fawning Feng Zhong approaching with the food container. He did not dare step too close, fearing the chill from his body might reach his mistress, a subtle gesture that pleased the Princess. Even the sight of Song Mingyue following behind her felt slightly more tolerable.

Her usual poisonous taunts even took on a mock-gentle tone. “Princess Mingyue has worked so hard, delivering soup to me in such heavy snow. I must drink several bowls. Feng Zhong, pour a bowl for Princess Mingyue as well to warm her body.”

Song Mingyue stood there, looking lost and helpless, a natural picture of vulnerability.

Following orders, Feng Zhong presented the steaming bowl of soup to her, his vile face from moments ago replaced by a mock-professional smile. “Her Highness has graced you with soup; take it quickly.”

“I will not drink it,” she replied. Her voice was crisp and melodious, like that of a top-tier songstress from the Eight-Hundred-Li Pavilion.

Before Feng Zhong could scream at her for her lack of gratitude, Princess Hui’s footsteps and her angry voice rang out from behind: “Song Mingyue, who do you think you’re looking down on?”

The stable-hand, Song Mingyue, gritted her teeth and looked directly at the aggressive Princess Hui. “I am not worthy.”

Princess Hui’s expression shifted like a magic trick, turning into a blooming smile. She snatched the bowl from Feng Zhong and forced it into Song Mingyue’s hands. “I am giving this to you. No one dares to say a word against it.”

Sensing Feng Zhong’s sneer from the side, Song Mingyue closed her eyes and tilted her head back, drinking the entire bowl in one go. She regretted walking so quickly on the way here; the scalding liquid held no flavor of deliciousness, only burning her heart and lungs.

Delighted, Princess Hui broke protocol and rewarded Song Mingyue with a rabbit-fur cloak, drawing envious and jealous glares from the other maids.

The moment she stepped out of the Luanqi Palace, Song Mingyue felt her strength vanish. She stumbled out of the corridor to a deserted, secluded corner. Bending over, she shoved her swollen, red fingers down her throat, refusing to stop until she had vomited up the foul liquid.

She exhaled a few shaky breaths, but as she went to straighten her back, she noticed several yellow stains on the hem of the rabbit-fur cloak.

Song Mingyue held her breath and choked back a few sobs, but she could no longer restrain herself. With a loud wail, she burst into tears.

She cried for an unknown length of time until a voice suddenly spoke from behind her, startling her. She turned her tear-streaked face to see a young gentleman whose features were identical to her own.

“What has happened to you?” the young man asked with concern.

Song Mingyue cried even harder, clutching the cloak. “Zhao Hui gave this to me.”

The young man was confused. “What was her intention?”

Song Mingyue pulled up the stained hem. “I vomited on it.”

The young man’s eyes widened. He stared at her for a long while before asking, “Then why are you crying?”

Song Mingyue’s tears fell like a torrential rain. “If Zhao Hui sees this tomorrow, she will surely punish me. My hands are already frozen and raw in this snow; how can I possibly wash this. Waaaaah.”

She looked up at the darkening sky and sobbed, “Mingjue, why is there someone like Zhao Hui in this world? Was she sent by the King of Hell to torment me? Must I live my entire life looking at her face? If so, why should I even live?”

The young man, Song Mingjue, took a coarse hemp handkerchief and wiped his sister’s tears. He said softly, “A wretched life is better than a good death. If you are hungry, there are leftover millet buns from the Imperial Kitchen in our room; eat first. I shall take this cloak to the Laundry Bureau and find Sister Lvling to see if she has a way.”

Song Mingyue sobbed twice more and finally stopped crying.

The siblings returned to the servants’ quarters. Because Song Mingjue was male, Zhao Zongqian had “generously” provided the siblings with two adjacent, cramped rooms barely five paces wide and ten paces long.

On a peeling tea table, the millet buns were still steaming. Song Mingyue devoured one in two bites, and after six bites, her thoughts of seeking death vanished. Song Mingjue watched her with a gaze as soft as water. “Eat. I shall go to the Laundry Bureau.”

“Will you not eat something before you go?” Song Mingyue asked with her mouth full.

Song Mingjue gave a gentle smile. “I have already eaten.”

Song Mingyue stared at the few remaining buns in the bowl for a moment. By the time she looked up, her brother was gone. She swallowed the sweet bun and hid the bowl inside a hemp quilt that Lvling had secretly given them, a quilt filled with silk scraps discarded by the concubines, which finally allowed the siblings to survive the winter without freezing.

Song Mingjue ran through the wind and snow toward the Laundry Bureau, the rabbit-fur cloak tucked under his arm. He prayed silently that Lvling was on duty tonight. He suddenly realized he should have checked her room first, but turning back now would waste too much time. He simply prayed again.

As he hurried along a small path by the lake a shortcut rarely used by palace staff he noticed the lake was small and unremarkable, barely a pond. Suddenly, he heard a loud splash.

Song Mingjue craned his neck to look toward the water. Due to the snow, a thin layer of ice had begun to form on the surface. Ripples were spreading out in small waves, though the lake was so neglected it didn’t even house a single koi fish.

The wind and snow had died down significantly. Out of pure concern, Song Mingjue stayed to watch, fearing someone had fallen in. After a long while, the surface returned to a calm silence.

Just as he was about to leave, a violent bursting sound erupted from the water. Song Mingjue nearly dropped the rabbit-fur cloak in fright.

Clutching his chest to steady his heart, he looked again. A head had indeed popped out of the water. The person did not cry out for help; instead, they uttered strange, half-intelligible words:

“I’ll be damned! Which bastard threw me into a lake!?”