Yue'er (4)

Twenty-Fifth Year of Yong, Xiping.

The sky was grey.

Pure snow became muddy slush on the near-deserted streets where people in tattered clothes cowered under walls and huddled together in dark alleys. Their faces were dirty and their eyes dull, prompting passers-by to scurry away after a quick though pitiful glance.

This used to be a marketplace, but only a few vendors remained now, scattered here and there. Customers were even fewer and farther in between.

It had been like this ever since the West River Revolt ended.

Curled into herself by the roadside was a child with matted hair and chapped skin. Her gaze subconsciously trailed to the vendor opposite her—more precisely, the bamboo steamer he was tending to. Steam rose from it, emitting a tantalising aroma.

When the vendor caught her drooling, he spat on the road and blocked his stall from her.

"Filthy beggar," she heard him curse.

She'd been called worse. But at least this one didn't chase her away with sticks and stones.

Ignoring his defensive glare, her nose twitched. She inhaled deeply like it were possible to fill her growling stomach with the scent of food alone. Not for the first time, she imagined running over and stealing a bun—just one—but the wounds on her feet still stung from being beaten last time.

Grr...

When was the last time she'd had a proper meal?

The girl's eyes fluttered close. She couldn't remember. The hunger ate away at her consciousness; the cold cruelly kept her awake.

'Food... Food...'

"Here. For you."

Suddenly, the steamed bun she had been fantasising about was right before her, offered in small, clean palms. 

Her body moved before her mind, snatching the steamed bun and shoving it into her mouth. 

One bite. Two.

It was devoured in less than a minute.

"Do you want another one?"

She nodded hungrily, and was given another steamed bun.

The one who fed her was a girl who looked about her age. Thick, white fur lined her red cloak, and her pert nose was pink from the cold. Her eyes were as clean as unfallen snow, filled with nothing but goodwill and the naivety of one who grew up blessed and loved.

The rich girl waited until she'd eaten her fill before sticking out her hand.

"What's your name?" she asked. "Mine's Yang Zi Hua."

There was sympathy, but no disgust or hatred. Not even when the beggar's rough, dirty hand tentatively touched her pristine one.

"Yue'er," the beggar answered, amazed by how soft her palm felt.

"Like the moon? That's a pretty name."

"Is it?"

To tell the truth, Yue'er never knew what character her name was made of. Her parents had never taught her how to read or write, just like the other girls in the village.

The village.

It was gone now. Her only home was nothing but ashes.

But now, this kind stranger named Zi Hua complimented the name she used to hate because it symbolised how little thought her parents had put into her compared to her baby brother's name. It was the first time Yue'er felt warm since her world fell apart.

"Moon..." she whispered, a smile creeping up her face.

Her benefactor's next question dispelled the feeling.

"Where's your family, Yue'er?"

Yue'er stiffened. Should she cry?

It was filial to cry when one's parents were dead, right?

But... after the initial shock of watching them fall under the revolters' blades wore off, she found herself unable to weep for the people who had never felt like family.

If anything, she felt relieved.

No father who nursed his drinks and threw the empty bottles at them. No mother who pushed her in his path while hugging her brother close. No annoying brother who always stole her food and then cried, getting her beaten over nothing.

Even the hut full of pain and destitution didn't survive the fire.

She could barely remember how she'd escaped, but she was never going back, and she wouldn't revisit it in her memories for anything.

Her expression must've said everything, because Zi Hua didn't push her to reply. She felt like she had to though, because this was the person who gave her food when she needed it most.

"They're gone," she said curtly.

Rustle...

Zi Hua sat down beside her and clasped her hand. "I'm sorry."

"I don't miss them," Yue'er blurted out.

As soon as the words escaped, she flinched, waiting for the scolding, the derision.

Shut your unfilial mouth! A daughter can never compare to a son!

But the hand holding hers tightened instead, pulling her up.

"Come with me!" Zi Hua said.

Yue'er stumbled as she was dragged into a run, far, far away from the hopelessly dark alleys of cold and hunger.

From the scarred streets cleansed by a bloody revolt.

From the ghosts of her past.

"W-where to?"

Zi Hua turned around. The sun behind her was as blinding as the future offered in her smile.

"Home," she revealed. "From now on, I'll be your new family."

***

Present.

"I've stopped the bleeding, but she's lost too much blood. An infection is already flaring up. At this rate, I fear she will not make it through the night."

"Imperial Physician Jiang, isn't there something you can do? A new prescription? Anything?" Zi Hua asked, grabbing his sleeve desperately.

The imperial physician before them was young—early twenties at most—and obviously new to his post. He was the only imperial physician willing to treat a servant when Qiu'er had went to the imperial infirmary to fetch one.

He removed his sleeve apologetically. "Hundred-year ginseng could cure the infection, but as a third-rank imperial physician, I am unable to access it. I'm sorry, Noble Beauty Yang, but this is the best I can do."

Zi Hua bit her lips to stop the pleas about to spill out.

It was no use begging—Imperial Physician Jiang wasn't better off than she was, judging by his whitewashed robes and worn medical kit. If only she had thought to bring medicine into the palace. If only...

Beside them, Qiu'er was gently dabbing Yue'er's wounds with medicinal herbs, but something was off about her.

"Qiu'er, are you alright? You're trembling." Zi Hua frowned. "Maybe you should go rest."

Qiu'er didn't even realise it herself. She stopped her work and exhaled shakily. "I'm fine, mistress. I want to help Yue'er, too."

"If you say so..." 

Imperial Physician Jiang suddenly clapped his hands. "Ah!" he exclaimed. "I heard His Majesty the Emperor regularly bestows precious medicinal herbs to high-ranking consorts. Perhaps you can try asking them for the ginseng?"

Almost as quickly as the idea hit him, Imperial Physician Jiang deflated, realising it's futility.

Which mistress would go so far as to lower their pride and beg for a favour on behalf of their servant? Certainly not the self-serving imperial consorts, if workplace gossip was to be trusted.

"Apologies, Noble Beauty Yang. This physician lacked consideration," he sighed. "It's the Xu hour already, and it would be improper to interrupt..."

Zi Hua stood up, clenching her fists. "No."

"What?" Imperial Physician Jiang blinked in surprise.

"I refuse to give up without trying," Zi Hua said determinedly. "Which consorts are likely to possess hundred-year ginseng, Imperial Physician Jiang?"

"Well... It wouldn't hurt to start with the Three Consorts. They've been the highest-ranking consorts for years and are bound to have amassed some treasures," he analysed. "Also, in this physician's opinion, it's better not to ask Her Highness the Empress, considering the nature of Miss Yue'er's injury."

The last person Zi Hua thought of asking was Empress Zhao. If not for her, Yue'er wouldn't be lying there unmoving like a— like a...

She sniffed, tamping down the urge to cry again. After sending Imperial Physician Jiang off, she glanced at her childhood friend one last time.

"Qiu'er, get ready," she ordered.

"M-Mistress?"

"We're going to visit a few people."