Chapter 2 — A Lifetime's Delayed Longing

Who will take care of you when you are left alone in the palace?

I placed a small silver ring into her palm.

Go to my grandmother's quarters.

I have already spoken with the senior maid by her side.

Frostling shook her head with all her might. I spoke softly:

Obey me.

In my past life, after I died, she was the only one who sought to collect my remains. In this life, I refuse to let her suffer alongside me again. Three days later, the carriage rumbling toward the palace came to a halt before the Nguyen estate. Mother did not emerge. Father stood beneath the eaves, watching from afar. My eldest brother came instead. Clutching a bundle in his hands, his expression was utterly dismal.

The palace is cold; take these.

I accepted the parcel. Inside lay several thick garments, alongside two vials of healing ointment.

Many thanks, eldest brother.

His lips twitched, as though he wished to scold me, but in the end, he merely uttered:

If you suffer any grievance, send word back home.

I nodded.

Very well.

Su Hanh Vu stood at the threshold of mother's courtyard, gazing at me from a distance. She did not draw near. Neither did Hoac Thanh Tu appear. Excellent. As the carriage set into motion, I lifted the curtain to cast one final glance at the plaque bearing the Nguyen family name. I did not weep. I felt no lingering attachment. I merely sensed that a hollow space within my chest had finally given way. Henceforth, I would no longer degrade myself in a desperate bid to catch anyone's eye.

The Bureau of Palace Attendants proved far more chilling than I had anticipated. The cold stemmed not from the weather, but from the unyielding rigidity of the rules. Every day at the hour of Yin we rose, at the hour of Mao we answered roll call, and at the hour of Chen we entered the storehouses to audit the ledgers. I was assigned to the Department of Vestments and Furnishings, tasked with recording the influx and depletion of candles, silk screens, and courtly utensils. The female official placed in charge of me bore the surname Meng, her given name Huai Zhou. She was somewhere in her thirties, with sharp brows and piercing eyes, and she never once spared anyone half a shred of courtesy. On my very first day, she tossed an aged ledger down before me.

Commit this to memory within three days.

I lowered my gaze. The volume was exceedingly thick, densely packed with the names of miscellaneous items.

Understood.

She leveled a glance at me.

A maiden raised in the lap of luxury by the Nguyen household may know how to hold a brush, but she is hardly likely to endure the tedium of bookkeeping.

I offered no defense. When night fell and I returned to the sleeping quarters for female officials, my wrist ached so severely I could scarcely lift it. We slept on communal beds. The bedding was clean yet thin. I curled up tightly against the innermost wall, listening to the murmurs of the junior maids sharing whispered conversations nearby. Some remarked that I was indeed a daughter of the Nguyen house, having managed to attract the stern eye of Director Meng on my very first day. Others whispered that beauty availed me nothing now that I had crossed the threshold of the Palace Bureau. I closed my eyes and remained silent. These words were far gentler than the vicious barbs hurled at me within the secluded courtyard of the Hoac estate. In that forgotten courtyard, the servants had once spoken right to my face:

What matter if the mistress throws another tantrum? The person dwelling in the young master's heart is not her.

Once she draws her last breath and Miss Su enters the manor, our days of ease shall finally begin.

Back then, I still possessed the strength to shatter teacups. Later on, even that strength faded, leaving me with no choice but to listen. Today, these idle gossips possessed no power to wound me. Three days later, Meng Huai Zhou administered the examination. I faltered in two places. She punished me by compelling me to stand and copy the ledgers for the span of two double-hours. I obeyed. On the fourth day, she tested me anew. Not a single error remained. At last, Meng Huai Zhou bestowed upon me a second glance.

Your memory is passable.

This marked the first word of commendation I had received since entering the palace. Faint though it was, it stirred within me a sudden, quiet urge to smile. The days unfolded steadily, one after the next. Auditing ledgers, inspecting storehouses, transcribing texts, and hunting for discrepancies. Within the palace walls, everything possessed a designated provenance. Even a single red candle had to be duly logged. Red candles. The very first time my eyes fell upon that entry, my hand trembled. In my past life, when the news of my death reached the Hoac household, Hoac Thanh Tu was busy selecting wedding candles for Su Hanh Vu. Several chests of scarlet candles, adorned with dragon and phoenix motifs, intertwined unions, and pomegranate blossoms. As I lay upon my sickbed, even the flame of my final oil lamp flickered toward extinction, yet he was choosing nuptial candles for another. Meng Huai Zhou noticed my brush halting and summoned me in a chilling tone:

Nguyen Duong Van.

I snapped back to reality.

Present.

Before these ledgers, distraction is forbidden.

I lowered my head.

Understood.

Following that day, I deliberately paid extraordinary attention to the candle ledgers. The origin of every single taper, the hall to which it was dispatched, the exact date of its consumption—I committed every detail to memory. Within a month of my palace entry, the empress summoned me for an audience. She perused my ledgers and inquired:

Is life within the Palace Bureau difficult to bear?

I replied:

It is quite manageable.

She offered a faint smile.

Meng Huai Zhou claims you possess a remarkable capacity for endurance.

I felt a trace of surprise. The empress added:

She rarely deigns to praise anyone.

I bowed my head.

Director Meng has instructed me well.

The empress observed me intently.

Have you ever harbored regret?

I shook my head.

Never.

The empress set the ledger aside.

The Hoac family has dispatched inquiries twice of late, asking whether you dwell in peace within the palace.

The tips of my fingers froze. The empress caught the motion.

Do you wish to see them?

I do not.

I answered without hesitation. The empress appeared well pleased.

Then you shall not see them.

Upon my departure, a senior maid in the service of the empress handed me a small box. Inside lay a balm for the hands. The maid smiled and said:

Her Majesty remarked that a female official in charge of ledgers constantly wields the brush, and her hands must not be allowed to chap from the cold.

I accepted the box, a sudden stinging sensation pricking the bridge of my nose. Before entering the palace, everyone assumed I had come merely to escape, to throw a tantrum, or to nurse a grievance. The empress alone truly regarded me as a scholar and an official. Returning to the Department of Vestments, Meng Huai Zhou caught sight of the box in my grasp and remarked indifferently:

Do not imagine that because Her Majesty has bestowed a gift upon you, you are permitted to scrimp on a single stroke of the ledger.

I smiled.

Understood.

She paused, her expression softening by a fraction.