Chapter Sixty-Three: Snow Fragrance Cottage

Feeling isolated and powerless here, even being interrupted rudely when asking a simple question, Lingran could not help but feel a simmering anger in her heart. She returned to her room, where it was Yan Yan and Silver Bottle’s turn to keep watch tonight. Yan Yan, seeing Lingran, had lost all the friendliness she showed the day before and hurriedly lowered her head as if she hadn’t noticed her, following Silver Bottle away.

Only Quimei and Cai’er remained in the room, having claimed the table for themselves as they sat under the lamp shelling sunflower seeds and chatting idly, occasionally throwing a barbed remark Lingran’s way. Lingran naturally did not wish to bathe in their presence, so she took her bundle and sat on the bed, unpacking it as she considered whether she should try her luck at Mo Han’s courtyard. Since those girls were also placed here by Peng Lun and his associates, they would surely look after her, at least a little.

Upon opening the bundle, she saw an envelope placed right on top. A surge of joy swept through her as she hurriedly took it in hand—it was a thick stack. She opened it and drew out the contents, discovering on the mulberry paper the printed words “Great Ming Treasure Note,” just like a bundle of silver bills. In the dim lamplight, she examined them carefully; they included every denomination, the topmost being five taels of fine silver, and at the very end, astonishingly, one thousand taels.

She’d struck it rich! So much money at once—Lingran could hardly believe it, her hands trembling as she tucked the silver notes quickly into her bosom so the others wouldn’t see.

Even if those two maids noticed her hiding something, the weak light prevented them from seeing clearly. Cai’er muttered, “So secretive, who knows what she’s stashing away? The rules in the Prince’s mansion are strict—if you’re caught carrying anything improper, you’ll be thrown out without mercy!”

Lingran ignored them, her mind occupied with finding a truly safe place to hide the money. She dug further into the bundle and found a small pouch atop her clothes. She opened it quickly and found inside Huamei’s inkstone and brushes, a box of face powder, and a sachet whose fragrance was subtle and distinctive—obviously precious items. Her gratitude toward Young Master Hongxiao deepened; she repacked the items carefully, picked up her things, and left.

“Off to climb another high branch, I suppose!” Quimei’s voice came from behind.

Lingran paused outside the window and heard Cai’er say, “Don’t mind her. The gate to our courtyard will be shut soon, and you know how fierce Old Lady Jin is when she’s on guard. Let her spend the night outside—if the ladies find out tomorrow, she’ll be beaten soundly. We’ll just wait for the show.”

A chill swept through her heart, but she moved on. As she walked out, the dogs in the courtyard, unfamiliar with her, barked wildly from their chains, frightening her into a run.

Only after she left Chunze Terrace did Lingran realize she’d rushed out without her lantern. Fortunately, the moon was especially bright tonight, bathing the gardens in silver light. The delicate pavilions, towers, and garden scenery, shrouded in moonlight, seemed ethereal and dreamlike, as if she were walking through a painting—or had wandered into a fairyland. Moreover, today was the night of the Ghost Festival; wherever she passed by water, she could see floating river lanterns, carrying the living’s lingering sentiments for the departed, drifting quietly.

Lingran unconsciously slowed her steps, her mood gradually lifting.

No matter what, she was now a little heiress! She felt a secret delight, a beauty in her heart.

Though she had always vowed never to accept gifts she hadn’t earned, she reasoned that this money meant nothing to Young Master Hongxiao. If she ever had the chance, she would pay him back; if not, well, apologies...

As she walked, unsure of her direction, she hoped to find someone to ask. She soon saw a group approaching with lanterns.

As she drew nearer, she recognized Lady Wang Yunshu, the tenth mistress, at the head of the group. Two maids followed with food boxes, and two others held lanterns at their sides.

Lingran lowered her head and stepped aside.

But Lady Wang Yunshu stopped and asked, “Where are you headed?”

Lingran heard the unfriendly tone and replied cautiously, “The twelfth mistress summoned me—I’m on my way to Visit-the-Moon Pavilion, but I lost my way and hoped to find someone to ask. I happened to meet you, Lady.”

Wang Yunshu was silent for a moment, then pointed to a small path on the left. “Follow this road straight ahead. It will take you about the time it takes for an incense stick to burn.”

Lingran bowed in thanks and followed the path.

She walked and walked, not knowing how long an incense stick burned. She checked the nameboards of every hall she passed, but none was Visit-the-Moon Pavilion.

At last she entered a tranquil area where a large, pitch-black courtyard stood silent in the moonlight. She paused, puzzled. In Wànxiàng Garden, every courtyard had at least some lights burning, but this one was utterly dark and deserted, making it seem eerie.

Lingran glanced at the nearby high-walled, red buildings ablaze with light—they resembled the styles of Danhuai Hall and Yihong Hall, which calmed her somewhat. She thought, “Visit-the-Moon Pavilion sounds like a quiet place; maybe Mo Han ordered the lights extinguished for moon-watching?”

By moonlight, she approached the gate and looked at the plaque—three characters, “Fragrant Snow Lodge.” She drew a cold breath, recalling Yan Yan saying that since the second mistress died, this place had been uninhabited, a forbidden zone in the Prince’s mansion. She turned to leave.

But something uncanny happened—the tightly closed gates suddenly creaked open. Lingran’s hair stood on end, but she couldn’t help but look back.

There was no one inside. An eerie wind rustled out, carrying a musty, long-sealed smell that chilled her to the bone.

Lingran cursed herself for always stumbling into strange situations, and broke into a run.

“Come play with me...” A strange, ethereal voice echoed, and a stronger gust swept over her. Though running forward, she was suddenly seized by a mysterious force, lifted and dragged backward through the air, landing hard inside Fragrant Snow Lodge as the gate slammed shut behind her.

The courtyard was filled with twisted shadows and overgrown weeds; Lingran looked around but saw no one. Luckily, she was bold and resourceful—ignoring the pain in her backside, she stood and turned, shouting, “Who’s there? Stop playing tricks! Come out!”

“He’s dead! Why aren’t you dead?” The ghostly voice sounded again, sometimes near, sometimes distant, filled with unspeakable sorrow and age, as if it came from hell, ready to tear someone to pieces.

Lingran retreated toward the gate, summoning all her strength to scream, “Help! Help…”

Her cry lingered in the air when suddenly a hand clamped around her neck, so forceful her eyes rolled back and she could no longer utter a sound.

Why so unlucky? Always getting strangled! Surely she wouldn’t die this time… Lingran’s thoughts muddled as she caught a glimpse of a face in the moonlight.

He wore his hair in small braids, his face painted in chaotic colors—a familiar figure, the madman who’d forced her to sing at Lanzeshan Hall that night, but today his face was even more terrifying.

Under the moon, his gaze was vacant and vicious; he didn’t seem to recognize her.

Lingran couldn’t speak, and with her last ounce of strength, she struggled, desperately trying to pry his hand away.

But his grip was like iron, slow but ever-tightening. She used every bit of strength she had, but could not budge him. Before long, her consciousness began to fade, her arms went limp, and deep inside, a voice screamed, “I’m going to die! I’m going to die!”