Chapter 38: Storax Incense

The two sat in the room in silence for a long while. Jiang Man was seated near the door, and from time to time she saw people coming and going busily. Presumably this examination and inquest required more meticulous preparation than an ordinary funeral and encoffining.

Within the hour, she had faced the door almost the entire time, her neck barely turning. Those few inches of untested skin had long since given out; the two tendons on either side of her neck seemed to be crying out in protest.

Jiang Man dared not move.

Though her mind was not as quick as the exceptional people around her, after several attempts she could still glimpse a little of Shen Wen’s true intent.

Shen Wen was letting her stay here to rest.

Being shown such consideration by the Household Master was, at root, a matter of the Household Master’s generosity; but seen in its finer details, as it fell upon Jiang Man, it counted as something of an honor.

Yet Jiang Man felt she could hardly bear this honor.

Even Huailou, who understood Shen Wen’s wishes so well, had never received such treatment. Setting aside the saying that the tree that stands tall above the forest will be destroyed by the wind—Jiang Man now served in the study, and with Shen Wen treating her so specially, what exactly was the purpose?

If it were truly only to serve as an informant, then even while she was still being trained, even if she were later sent to the manor of someone exceedingly illustrious, Jiang Man would remain Shen Wen’s person. Mistress and servant were of different stations, yet Shen Wen did not treat her like a servant.

Shen Wen’s words spared no one, but what she actually practiced was the way of treating a guest.

Where exactly did she intend to send her?

Jiang Man could not help thinking again of that Song Ningning.

If Song Ningning had stayed in the Hidden Osmanthus Garden for as long as half a year back then, her dealings with the servants of this garden must have been numerous. She probably couldn’t learn anything from Huailou, but the South Courtyard was full of the garden’s old hands; with a bit of indirect probing, she might dig something up.

What exactly did Shen Wen gain by sending a courtesan into the palace—was it to win the Emperor’s favor?

Her clan, with its spreading branches and lush leaves, depended on imperial grace, yet did not directly receive the Son of Heaven’s favor.

The true bestowals all rested with the Empress.

If everything was the Empress’s will…

Jiang Man did not think further. She was neither willing nor dared to do such a thing.

From gazing outward so long, by the end Jiang Man’s neck had gone stiff. Her shoulders ached in sympathy, but still she kept looking out. Behind her it was so quiet it seemed no one was there; she quietly pressed one hand to her shoulder and neck to ease the pain, hoping only that time would pass more quickly.

After sitting idle so long—she didn’t know whether Shen Wen was asleep or awake—Jiang Man’s legs had gotten a thorough rest, but her heart hung suspended the whole time, more exhausting than all the running about.

When Huailou returned, Jiang Man felt relief—only to see Huailou pause ever so slightly at the sight of her sitting in the last seat, though nothing showed on her face as she bowed to Shen Wen: “Female Scribe, it is about time.”

Jiang Man hurriedly rose and stood to the side with Huailou. From her tone alone she knew Shen Wen was awake now. But there wasn’t even a book in here, and Shen Wen had not touched the cup of tea on the small table: Jiang Man had been watching the door, her heart fixed on an uncertain future—so what had Shen Wen been looking at, thinking about?

Shen Wen rolled her shoulders and slowly stood, an air of languor about her: “Bring a cover-robe.”

“Yes.” Huailou answered and went out at once.

Shen Wen’s appearance had long since returned to normal—like someone who had seen the customs of ten thousand nations, jesting with the world, with three parts of feigned sentiment. That moment of carefree ease had vanished without a trace. But when Jiang Man secretly looked over, where were the traces of worry? Where was even the faintest, imperceptible thread of melancholy?

Shen Wen’s brows and eyes were vivid and unrestrained; in every glance there was only boundless charm.

That thread of charm flowed like landscape into Jiang Man’s eyes, and it was too late to look away. Nothing stood between the two of them, and so, with no room to maneuver, they faced each other.

Then Shen Wen’s lips parted slightly: “Jiang Xiaojiu.”

That childhood name of hers was far too intimate. Named Xiaojiu—”Dissolving Wine”—it sounded like the name of some wine, with a dependence accumulated from long days and nights together stored within it. For an instant she thought she had known Shen Wen for a whole lifetime, and this was merely their reunion.

Jiang Man lowered her eyes: “What are your commands, Female Scribe?”

“If you’re afraid, stay here in the main hall.” Her gaze seemed to draw a step closer, though she remained where she was. “Are you afraid?”

Jiang Man did not answer, but said, “This humble one is willing to remain at the Female Scribe’s side.”

A smile floated to Shen Wen’s lips, faint to the extreme, making her mood impossible to read: “You’re not easily frightened, are you? Afraid of the dead, afraid of the living—always trembling.”

“This humble one is not afraid.” Jiang Man raised her eyes, coming closer while strictly observing propriety. “To serve at the Female Scribe’s side, to share the Female Scribe’s burdens—that is this humble one’s duty. Since it is duty, there is nothing frightening in it.”

Shen Wen’s gaze stirred slightly: “Come here.”

“Yes.”

“Closer still.”

Jiang Man held her breath and took another step forward, eyes lowered: “Yes.”

Now only one step remained between them.

“Raise your head.” That voice, warm and cold beyond telling, sounded at her ear.

Jiang Man obeyed, and her eyes met Shen Wen’s.

Laughter rippled in those eyes: “And you still say you’re not afraid?”

Jiang Man’s heart pounded as if she had just run from the south of the city to the north, a whole journey’s rush, all for Shen Wen. Jiang Man no longer dodged. Gritting her teeth, as if casting everything aside, and yet as if bearing a thousand pounds, she looked at her and said: “Whether I fear or not is not for Xiaojiu to say—it rests entirely on the Female Scribe’s judgment.”

The words had scarcely fallen when Shen Wen narrowed her eyes slightly and gazed back at her.

For the first time, Jiang Man counted her own breaths.

So time could truly flow fast and slow like this. For the first time Jiang Man perceived every sound and stir of her own body. She noticed her breathing, each rise and fall of her chest, again and again—her senses bursting forth with her heartbeat, then growing ever fiercer, until she had no leisure to distinguish anything.

In the end there was only what was before her eyes, only what was before her eyes—the person before her eyes.

Today’s Shen Wen had not touched a drop of wine; the mist of that night had fully dispersed.

Without the lead-white makeup and gold and jade that kept people a thousand miles away, Shen Wen’s features were more vivid, more piercing to the heart. That charm of hers that crossed all ages had grown deeper still. Jiang Man sank into it, watching her watertight expression, watching beneath the expression the sharp, keen imprint that belonged to Shen Wen alone.

Was she afraid of her?

Of course Jiang Man feared her.

But all the signs were enough to convince her: Shen Wen would not harm her.

At least, not yet.

“You truly aren’t afraid of me.” Shen Wen’s brow arched slightly. “What nerve you have.”

Jiang Man retreated a step as if granted a pardon, gathered her sleeves, and said: “The Female Scribe is beyond comparison with ordinary people. To serve at your side—how could I be timid as a mouse and disgrace you?”

“Good.” Shen Wen smiled. “It’s to your credit that you have some courage—barely usable. I’ll spare you.”

“My thanks to the Female Scribe.”

“But you have no regard for rank, and yesterday you spoke in insinuations.” Her tone shifted. “This debt still must be settled. Tell me—how should I punish you?”

Jiang Man pressed her lips together. She had been the one to call herself a mosquito first. Even though the matter had passed, Jiang Man still did not consider her earlier words some heinous crime.

Servile groveling was something Jiang Man could not do. She didn’t know who had emboldened her, but she spoke: “This humble one did not overstep, and does not know what deserves punishment.”

Her courage—if someone had truly given it to her, then that someone must be Shen Wen.

Shen Wen was briefly taken aback, studied her for a good while, and then actually laughed: “Good.”

Jiang Man thought there was more to come and, without realizing, raised her head. Shen Wen’s gaze had already passed over her. Startled slightly, Jiang Man at once knew someone was outside, lowered her head, and waited to the side.

Behind Huailou came two maids, who draped a plain-colored cover-robe over Shen Wen’s shoulders, then reported: “Begging the Female Scribe’s pardon—the Coroners Guild says that all who enter to observe the examination must protect their mouths and noses, lest noxious qi enter the body. Please hold an incense pellet in your mouth.”

“Mm.” Shen Wen nodded, took a pellet from the tray, and placed it in her mouth herself.

Huailou then took two sheets of paper soaked in scented oil and lightly kneaded them: “Please lower your head, Female Scribe.”

Stuffing the scented oil paper into her nose seemed to discomfort Shen Wen greatly—her brows knitted tightly, and the moment Huailou finished, Shen Wen gave a forceful exhale through her nose and immediately blew the oil paper out.

Huailou begged pardon and repeated the process twice more. Shen Wen’s motions grew more practiced each time, as if her nose had suddenly learned to sigh; at the end, she even rubbed her fingertip at the tip of her nose, unavoidably childish.

Jiang Man watched her secretly, quite astonished. Because of her oversensitive sense of taste and the eating troubles it caused, she had tried every kind of medicine at home in the old days; applying medicine inside the nose was nothing new to her. Unpleasant though it was, once accustomed, it wasn’t so unbearable.

But Female Scribe Shen looked like she was throwing a tantrum.

Startled by her own fleeting misperception, Jiang Man lowered her head like someone covering her ears to steal a bell.

Then came a sigh—and this time it was not Shen Wen’s nose acting up. The one sighing was Huailou: “Female Scribe…”

Shen Wen frowned and turned her face aside, leaving only her profile.

This business of warding off noxious qi was a grave matter and could not be left to Shen Wen’s whims. With the hour nearly upon them, Huailou’s preparations never paused—clearly she meant to try a fourth time.

Jiang Man suddenly said: “Miss Huailou, why not let this humble one do it?”

Huailou was taken aback and looked to Shen Wen for guidance. Shen Wen’s expression didn’t change; she gave a nod so slight it was barely perceptible.

Jiang Man then said: “Please step this way, Female Scribe.”

The two walked out to where the light was bright.

She was very experienced at this. Though scented oil paper behaved somewhat differently from applied medicine, the principle was similar. Fetching the items over, Jiang Man spoke in a volume only the two of them could hear, her voice soft as a mosquito’s: “This humble one isn’t afraid—may the Female Scribe be valiant.”

Shen Wen gave her a brief look—whether suspicion or provocation, who could say.

Jiang Man’s left hand gently cupped Shen Wen’s cheek. Facing the light, she found the angle, and in one motion slipped the scented oil paper in.

Seeing that Shen Wen was about to “sigh” at once, Jiang Man steadied her face: “Female Scribe. Be valiant.”

Shen Wen narrowed her eyes.

The two held still for a moment; Shen Wen finally stopped moving. Only then did Jiang Man lower her hands—only to see Shen Wen immediately snatch the scented handkerchief from the tray and wipe her lips, saying in a muffled voice: “What nerve you have.”

Jiang Man lowered her eyes and curtsied: “This humble one would not dare.”

“You—”

“Female Scribe.” Huailou arrived almost in the very next instant, inadvertently cutting Shen Wen off. “The incense pellet.”

It was hardly likely to be “inadvertent.” Jiang Man secretly pressed her lips together, then immediately suppressed it.

Shen Wen shot Huailou a dagger-glance; whether the latter caught it was unknown—perhaps she had already dodged it with a slight turn of her body. In the end she obediently held the incense pellet in her mouth. With two pieces of scented oil paper still stuffed in her nose, a rough glance showed her, for once, with a few degrees less of her edge.

Huailou and Jiang Man each made their own protections. The moment the incense pellet was brought beneath her nose—before she had even put it in her mouth—Jiang Man realized it was made of Storax Incense.

She had never been used to the scent of Borneol Flakes, and silently endured it a moment before following along to the mortuary chamber. The herbs for exorcising evil had already been burning for quite a while; the smoke in the room was heavy, stinging eyes until tears welled up. Accountant Mr. He’s body lay at the very center. Besides the mother and three young daughters from yesterday, the men of the He family had also arrived, wearing hemp mourning garments, kneeling properly in a corner. Seeing Shen Wen enter, the whole family bowed their heads in salute.

Outside, someone came hurrying over. Huailou lowered her voice in reminder: “Female Scribe, the hour has come. Shall we have the Coroner begin?”

Hearing this, Shen Wen glanced around the room as if only now noticing, frowned slightly, spat the incense pellet onto her handkerchief, and said: “Where is Dong Linyuan?”

Huailou was taken aback and curtsied: “In reply to the Female Scribe, the Steward is perhaps still on his way.”

“On a matter this great, how could he be so lacking in judgment?” Shen Wen paused, then lowered her voice a little more. “Never mind. We mustn’t delay the hour. Send two people to hurry him along—or am I to invite him personally?”

“Yes.”

At once someone came to take the handkerchief and present a fresh incense pellet. Shen Wen did not reach for it, only wrapped it in the handkerchief and put it in her mouth, saying nothing more.

Jiang Man, strictly minding her duty, stayed behind Shen Wen, watching the shifting expressions on all sides.

When they had come earlier, the Coroner had already made it clear: the examination of the body—fine; but if the chest were to be opened, an Examining Official had to be present. He first announced the coming examination to Mr. He’s body and family and performed a rite of respect, then lifted the mat to examine and call out his findings one by one. Though a greedy man, he had some genuine skill in his hands and worked with great rigor, re-examining anything uncertain.

Physician Xie, like Jiang Man, stood in a corner watching silently, his expression unchanged.

Steward Dong’s party arrived only halfway through. Outside there was a burst of noise, but how solemn a matter an inquest was—how could he enter midway? When it was done, the Coroner announced the results and conversed in low tones with Huailou and Physician Xie for a while. When the doors opened, Shen Wen gave Steward Dong no pleasant face, only removed her mouth-and-nose protections without saying a single word.

The Steward awkwardly kept to the side, following within three paces of Shen Wen. The Hidden Osmanthus Garden’s party prepared to leave in grand procession. Before departing, Jiang Man happened to glimpse Huailou handing another bag of money to the He family, but said nothing.

Consolation money—the garden had already disbursed it once, and the expenses for Mr. He’s funeral had also been openly approved through Shen Wen. This money, then, must be a private kindness Shen Wen added for Mr. He’s widow; by the look of it, no small sum. The accounts were not yet fully reconciled, the dead man’s innocence or guilt still unknown—yet she was truly generous.

That Mr. He had died of illness was confirmed beyond doubt by both the Coroner and Physician Xie; presumably it could not be falsified. The prescription and the residual dregs of medicine had also been examined by Physician Xie—all normal. Most of this was within their earlier expectations.

Only the exact hour of death—neither of the two could give a definite answer.

Confirming this seemed extremely difficult. The Coroner claimed that if the chest could be opened, a more precise answer might be possible. By the current evidence, the hour of Mr. He’s passing did match what the He children had said; he should have died in the afternoon.

Apart from the Coroner, only the four of them knew these results.

Shen Wen certainly would not speak of it; Physician Xie and Huailou were both Shen Wen’s trusted people. If the matter ever leaked in the future, the informer—when it came down to it—could only be the Coroner or Jiang Man herself, the latter somewhat more likely.

Jiang Man realized she had stepped into muddy waters.

What she had heard with her own ears at noon had, by evening, become a different result. She did not know what tangled web of loyalty and treachery within the Hidden Osmanthus Garden lay behind this; she could only secretly rejoice that Huailou had blocked her that time, so that Shen Wen had not made her identify the little maid who had come to deliver the message.

That act had protected the little maid from Steward Dong, but it could not protect Jiang Man from Shen Wen.

She had been here only a short time; the only people she knew well were Sijiu and Huailou. She had no reason to lie for Steward Dong. Though her heart was uneasy, Jiang Man trusted that Shen Wen would surely see clearly through this juncture.

The only trouble was that earlier, when Steward Dong had come, she and Huailou had accepted his silver.

Jiang Man had no wish to wet herself in these muddy waters, but her cleanliness was no longer hers to decide; right and wrong, merit and fault, all rested on whether Shen Wen believed her or not.

Would Shen Wen believe her?

Jiang Man was still seated by the small table in the study’s inner room where Shen Wen had placed her, absent-minded before an exquisite late-night meal.

Everything now waited on the re-audit of the ledgers and the inventory of the money vault. The day the dust settled would be the day black and white were decided.

Ke Ye, all alone, facing so many wolves and tigers—could she hold out?