Substitute No. 73

The women who had spent much of their lives in the palace were as twisted as the eunuchs themselves. They began stoking the brazier, fiercely shoveling in red-hot coals. The head woman hurled an iron shovel into the furnace, and in no time, it was glowing crimson from the heat.

The leader, a woman in her forties whose body had grown plump with age, waved the iron shovel before Xueqing’s face. “I’ve heard from Empress Rong that you’re supposed to be stunningly beautiful. I’ve always despised beautiful women. Hmph, today I’ll make sure you remember how well I treat you.”

Xueqing remained silent, her bright eyes fixed on the glowing iron. She understood that if the shovel touched her, she would be forced to hide in the shadows for the rest of her life, never again able to stand at Yueyang’s side.

“Sisters, hold her down!” At the woman’s order, the others closed in and pinned Xueqing firmly.

Yaner, perched on the beam above, bit her lip hard. Xueqing, her dear sister… How she hated herself; if not for her, Xueqing wouldn’t be suffering so. Agony spread through Yaner’s body, and she swore silently that if she survived this ordeal, she would make these heartless women pay tenfold for what Xueqing endured today.

A sharp cry rang out as Xueqing bore the pain of the branding iron. The small chamber filled with the sickly scent of scorched flesh.

The branding iron pressed mercilessly into the skin of Xueqing’s left cheek. Her face turned deathly pale, sweat poured from her body, yet she gripped the hemp rope tightly, calling out Yueyang’s name in her heart, again and again…

“She’s fainted,” one of the women observed, noticing the beads of sweat as large as beans clinging to Xueqing’s face.

“Useless thing,” the head woman sneered, tossing the iron aside. “Take off her clothes, gather up the torture instruments!”

“Xueqing!” Yaner waited anxiously, the air still thick with the nauseating odor of burnt flesh. She looked worriedly at Xueqing, who lay unconscious.

No one knew how long had passed before Xueqing finally awoke to waves of searing pain. “Xueqing?” Yaner called softly, never taking her eyes off her, though her own body was paralyzed from the pressure point Xueqing had struck, and she felt nothing from lying motionless on the beam for so long.

Yaner’s concerned voice brought Xueqing back to herself. She opened her eyes wide and looked up at Yaner. Enduring the pain on her face, Xueqing’s hands moved quickly to the knot at her waist; in a few deft motions, she freed herself from the rope, leapt to the beam, and swiftly released Yaner.

Once freed, Yaner grabbed Xueqing’s arm. “Xueqing, are you alright?”

“I’m fine. This is nothing—I’m used to such pain,” Xueqing reassured her. “I doubt anyone else will come tonight. I must go see how Yueyang is faring. Be careful.” With that, Xueqing turned to leave.

Yaner managed a sheepish smile. At the mention of Pan Yueyang, her heart no longer fluttered as it once did.

“How will you get out?” Yaner suddenly realized the room was locked tight. How would Xueqing escape?

“The same way I got in,” Xueqing replied coolly, pulling a slender needle from her hair—longer than an embroidery needle, yet hidden so expertly that Yaner marveled at how it hadn’t pricked her scalp. While Yaner was still lost in thought, Xueqing had already picked the cell door open with ease.

“I’ll return quickly,” Xueqing promised as she slipped from the cell, covering her branded cheek with her left hand.

Pan Yueyang had arranged everything for Yaner’s exile the following day, but he didn’t know how to face her. The more he thought about her absence, the more he realized he missed her. She was to be married to a eunuch by imperial edict, and the thought nearly drove him mad. Never before had he lowered himself for any woman as he had for Yaner, kneeling all night in the emperor’s inner court, begging the sovereign to spare her—for the sake of his pride, though, he would never admit this to anyone. His dignity was above all.

Night had fallen, yet Xueqing had not returned. Pan Yueyang grew uneasy. Had something gone wrong? He wondered what means Xueqing might have used to save Yaner from disfigurement.

A faint rustle sounded. Pan Yueyang knew it was Xueqing. He opened the study door, and sure enough, she slipped inside, her left cheek pressed beneath her hand.

“What happened?” Pan Yueyang pulled her hand away, revealing the glaring brand: the word “slave” seared into her face.

He stared in shock, his lips trembling. He had thought Xueqing would bribe her way out or fight, but he had never imagined she would sacrifice herself to spare Yaner!

“Yueyang, I’m alright,” Xueqing spoke with difficulty; every word tugged at the raw wound on her face.

“Don’t speak!” Pan Yueyang snapped, anger flaring. “You shouldn’t have endured this for Yaner! Do you think by doing this you can shield her from the Empress’s spies? What will you do when you’re sent away tomorrow?” He simply couldn’t fathom the workings of a woman’s mind.

Despite the pain, Xueqing managed a faint smile at his concern. Yueyang actually cared for her. Tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked them away.

Gently, Pan Yueyang wiped away her tears. “I’ve already arranged for the officials escorting you. For some reason, Empress Rong’s anger toward Yaner is extraordinary this time. She’s only an ordinary woman—by the Empress’s usual methods, she wouldn’t react so violently over Oulan.”

“She has her reasons. Let’s not dwell on it. What matters now is getting Yaner safely out. I hope Mubai arrives soon. Also, find me some pork. I need to make a false face for Yaner. Today, in haste, I had no choice but to take her place.” Every movement made the brand throb with agony. After speaking at length, blood began to ooze from the wound once more.

Pan Yueyang took out a silk handkerchief and gently wiped the blood from her face, sighing. He owed her too much in this life; if there were another, he would never let her suffer for his sake, never let her bear punishment meant for another woman.

Xueqing took the handkerchief, pressing it over the gory brand to hide it, and gestured for Yueyang to hurry with his errand. She truly did not wish to speak anymore.

Pan Yueyang nodded in earnest, and then, as if by magic, produced a small bottle. “Apply this to your wound when you can.” He left the medicine with her and departed the study at once. Xueqing knew it was not safe here; the study was close to Pan Yueyang’s main bedchamber. If Oulan discovered them, she would surely raise an alarm. Xueqing tucked the medicine into her sleeve, hid herself in the study’s shadows, and waited. There were few true martial artists in this household—she would not be found.

Pan Yueyang went to the kitchen, found a piece of pork, and quickly returned.

“Husband~” Oulan, unable to sleep, had thrown on a robe and just caught sight of Pan Yueyang slipping into the kitchen. She followed him.

“What are you doing here?” Pan Yueyang’s voice was cold, accusatory.

“You’re not asleep either,” Oulan retorted, unwilling to let him blame her for Yaner’s predicament.

“I have business to attend to. Rest early,” he said, quietly stowing the pork so she wouldn’t see it.

“Are you hungry? Let me make you some soup,” she offered sweetly, stepping into the kitchen.

“No need.” With that, Pan Yueyang slipped out, leaving Oulan standing there, confused.

He hurried back to the study, opened the door to darkness, and said, “I’m back.” Lighting a candle, Xueqing emerged from behind the bookshelf.

“Did you run into anyone?” she asked offhandedly, tucking away the piece of pork—skin and all.

“Oulan,” Pan Yueyang muttered, rubbing his temples.

“Huh?” Xueqing froze. Had Oulan seen him?

“You should leave, I’ll handle her,” he said. He hadn’t slept properly in days, and his eyes were sunken with exhaustion.

“Alright.” Trusting that Pan Yueyang wouldn’t let Oulan discover their switch, Xueqing turned to go, then stopped abruptly.

“Someone’s coming,” Pan Yueyang whispered. Though injured, his martial training had left his hearing sharp. He pulled Xueqing behind him.

“Husband!” Oulan stood at the door with a tray of pastries.

“Go rest,” Pan Yueyang said without opening the door.

“I made you something. You need to eat if you’re staying up—let me come in, please?” Dressed in her robe, Oulan’s body was already stiff with cold from following him.

Xueqing remained hidden behind the bookshelf. Pan Yueyang glanced at her, then opened the door without looking at Oulan, taking a seat at his desk.

“Eat something,” Oulan urged, setting down the tray, making no move to leave.

“Go rest. I have matters to attend to,” Pan Yueyang tried to dismiss her.

“Let me keep you company?” Oulan persisted, ignoring his coldness and sitting down.

Pan Yueyang massaged his temples. “I’m tired. Stay if you wish.” With that, he stood to leave. Oulan, surprised and delighted, rose as well.

“Are you coming to bed?” she asked eagerly—for days, he had not set foot in her room.

“What do you think?” he sighed, giving a glance toward the bookshelf.

“I’ll go with you,” she said, following him out with a satisfied smile.

Hmph. Pan Yueyang said nothing more. Once again, he was doing what he did not wish to do. What an absurd world.

Xueqing bowed her head. In beauty, she could not compare to Yaner; in status, she was no match for Oulan. No matter—so long as she could spend her life with Yueyang, she would have no regrets.

Once Pan Yueyang and Oulan left, Xueqing slipped from her hiding place. Listening at the door to ensure the coast was clear, she departed swiftly for the palace. Mubai, hurry—Yaner needs you.