Everyone Wants To Harm Me - Chapter 83

The letter from Zhending Prefecture… was it related to Yu Chongrui? How was the disaster over there?

I immediately lost all interest in dealing with Lan Yue. I told her the princess had summoned me and asked her to return to Shoukang Palace on her own.

I hurried to Zhaoyang Palace. The princess was reclining against a beauty’s couch by the window. When she saw me arrive, she pointed at the letter spread out on the table and said, “My eyes have been blurry lately. Yaoyao, come help me read what this letter says.”

I picked it up and saw the opening words—To Her Highness the Princess, with humble greetings—and instantly recognized Yu Chongrui’s handwriting. I quickly tossed it back onto the table.

The princess asked, “What’s the matter?”

“This is… a private letter addressed to Your Highness. I don’t think it’s appropriate…”

He was busy with disaster relief in Zhending Prefecture, and he still had time to write to the princess. They must have been very close…

“If you won’t read it, I’ll read it myself.” The princess sat up and took the letter. She held it at arm’s length like an old man, squinting as she said, “My eyesight keeps getting worse. What’s this about?”

She began to read aloud, word by word: “…It has been long since we parted, and I miss you dearly. Since the disaster in Huo County, aftershocks still occasionally occur in Zanhuang and Lingshou counties…”

I couldn’t help but interrupt, “There are aftershocks after an earthquake? Are they serious?”

The princess looked back. “Not too bad. Weaker than the one in Huo County. The houses collapsed, but no one was hurt.”

It was good no one was hurt.

She continued reading: “…Autumn and winter are cold and dry, and epidemics are not common. Zishe prescribed Guizhi Mahuang Tang as a precaution—I know Guizhi Mahuang, but what is Zishe?”

(Translator’s Note: Guizhi Mahuang Tang (桂枝麻黄汤) is a traditional Chinese herbal formula that combines two classic prescriptions: Guizhi Tang (桂枝汤) and Mahuang Tang (麻黄汤). It’s primarily used to treat early-stage wind-cold syndromes—a type of common cold or flu in traditional Chinese medicine.)

Zishe wasn’t a thing—oh wait, he was a person.

I replied, “Doctor Deng Qing of Yuqiao Hall in the South Market, courtesy name Zishe. He recently opened his practice and quickly became famous in Luoyang not long ago.”

The princess frowned. “I don’t even know him, and now this stranger is being mentioned out of nowhere. Was this letter even written for me?”

I sat awkwardly, lips pressed together, not answering.

The princess kept reading: “…The houses in Zhending are built with round log pillars, straight beams with square tenons, and rammed earth walls. In an earthquake, the beams tilt and the houses collapse. I taught them how to add diagonal braces, double beams, and round tenons. See the diagrams at the end…” She flipped to the last page. Sure enough, there were several illustrations on the letter paper. She frowned. “What’s this?”

“Let me see.” I took the page and saw a comparison between beam-column frameworks using square tenon straight beams and round tenon double beams. There were also enlarged details of the joints—very clearly drawn. From the diagrams, it was obvious that the double beam design was more complex, but the pillars were slender, which might save on material. It wouldn’t require excessively thick or heavy wood.

The princess shook her head and sighed. “You really can’t judge people by appearances. Yu Xiang looks like a romantic who understands feelings, but he writes the most boring letters. He once told me he’s cold and indifferent when it comes to men and women—he wasn’t lying! At least he’s self-aware. He’s not my perfect match. Luckily I came to my senses and didn’t marry him!”

“That’s not true—this is really interesting! To come up with something like this, he must be very clever. Why hasn’t this method been widely adopted sooner?” I held up the drawing. “Look, Princess…”

“I don’t want to see it!” the princess turned her face away. “You two are quite a pair. Here, you can have this diagram.”

Even if Yu Chongrui had only sent me a blank sheet with a single circle drawn on it, I’d still have thought it was the full moon in the sky—complete, perfect, and utterly delightful.

I reluctantly folded the letter and returned it to the princess.

“Princess, since Prime Minister Yu wrote this to Your Highness, you should keep it. I’ve already looked at it and memorized everything.”

There were notes on the drawings. If anyone found out I had collected something in Yu Chongrui’s handwriting, it would have been hard to explain.

The princess was surprised. “You memorized it after just a glance?”

“Yes, the diagrams are simple and clear. Easy to understand.” I pointed at the roof above us. “We see these structures every day—just like the mortise and tenon joints above—”

“Stop, stop,” the princess interrupted. “I don’t need a lecture. I’m not interested in house building.”

Speaking of houses, the Department of Public Works had recently launched a major renovation in the palace. Maybe I could go observe.

The letter ended with some comments about earthquake prevention and roof beam structures. At the end were some tired clichés like, The seasons change, take care of your health, and may your winter be peaceful.

The princess was visibly disappointed.

She asked, “Should I write back to Prime Minister Yu?”

“I suppose you should…”

“How do I even reply to what he wrote? I was married off to the northern wilderness at twelve and never practiced my handwriting. I don’t want him to laugh at me,” the princess said. “Yaoyao, you write the reply for me.”

“Me?” I hesitated. “It wouldn’t be proper for me to write to Prime Minister Yu…”

“What’s wrong with it? I think it’s perfectly proper. You should write the letter.” Without waiting for a response, the princess ordered a maid to bring paper and ink and laid it out on the table.

I sat down, moistened the ink, and asked the princess, “Should I address him as ‘Lord Yu’ or by his official title?”

“‘Lord Yu’? That makes him sound ancient!” the princess objected. “Of course call him ‘Yulang’—oh no, make that ‘Ruilang.’”

My face flushed with heat. I hesitated for a long time, unable to start writing. Since they had a personal relationship, I figured it was safest to use his courtesy name—neither too intimate nor too distant.

“What should I write in the letter?”

“Do I need to tell you that? Ask him—Is it cold? Are you tired? Do you miss me? When are you coming back? One day apart feels like three autumns—we haven’t seen each other in over thirty years! Just write whatever comes to your heart!” The princess added, “We can’t very well go ask the imperial physicians for epidemic prescriptions or return him some architectural diagrams, can we?”

Actually, that was a pretty good idea…

I had many things I wanted to say to Yu Chongrui. But if he didn’t recognize my handwriting and really thought it came from the princess? Or if he did recognize it and knew it was mine—how would I ever face him again?

I mimicked the princess’s tone and wrote the letter properly. Besides the usual health inquiries, I also mentioned the cracking beam in Ganlu Palace. Yuanzhou was hot and humid, so the roof beams there might not have been suitable for the soil and climate in Zhending.

After finishing, I handed the letter to the princess.

She read it over, shook her head, then added a few lines in the blank space: “The paper is short but the feelings are deep. I am reluctant to part. I pray that you return soon and hear my heart.”

The addition felt too deliberate—and the handwriting was clearly different.

The princess put the letter away, then glared at me. “Little girl, you’re really shameless! At this rate, when will you ever catch the ideal man?”

She had no idea how many shameless things I’d already done… and still failed to catch him.

Letters from Luoyang to Zhending usually took over ten days. After half a month, Yu Chongrui wrote back again. The princess summoned me once more to Zhaoyang Palace to read and reply.

With these letters going back and forth, my days in the palace began to feel hopeful and new. Through paper and ink, he took me to see the steep cliffs of Taihang Mountain, the winding roads of Jingxing, and the endless lands of Hedong and Hebei. He told me about landscapes and livelihoods that Luoyang had never known.

While waiting for replies, I often looked up at the palace’s eaves and rooftops. Built during the early years of the previous dynasty and expanded many times, the palace showed the distinct marks of different periods and craftsmen. After enough observation, I could tell when a hall or corridor had been built just by its appearance.

I also watched the renovations by the Department of Public Works. The current official in charge of internal works had been promoted from the Ministry of Crafts. He specialized in timber and spoke about wood with great authority. He told me that the collapsed main beam in Ganlu Hall was made of millennium-old Phoebe nanmu from Qianzhou—straight-grained and dense, neither too moist nor too dry, capable of lasting centuries. The last beam break had been a rare accident. For the new one, he used old timber that had been air-dried in Luoyang for more than ten years. He coated it repeatedly with tung oil, soaking deep into the grain—ensuring it would never break again.

I asked what to do if nanmu was too expensive or the source too remote for common folks. He replied that yellow pine, beech, fir, and others could be substitutes. He listed the origin, advantages, drawbacks, processing methods, and suitable uses for each type of wood.

I included all of this in a letter to Yu Chongrui. He replied that although local craftsmen were skilled, they lacked knowledge. They had found common fir in the Taihang Mountains and processed it using Jiangnan methods, achieving a hardness close to beech—lightweight, quake-resistant, rot-proof, and affordable. He was preparing to promote it widely.

If I had still been living freely at home, even if my grandfather refused to acknowledge me, I would’ve rushed to his side by now. But here, I was trapped behind palace walls, able to speak with him only through letters carried by the princess’s hand.

More than ever, I longed to go outside—to be free, to see the world, and to go wherever I pleased.

This year’s weather was unusually harsh. Winter came earlier than usual, and the cold was worse than ever. In the twelfth lunar month, it snowed heavily three times. I heard many old houses in the city collapsed, and repairs on Ganlu Hall had to be postponed.

Zhending Prefecture was even colder than Luoyang. Yu Chongrui wrote that thousands of disaster victims were still without shelter, so he would have to stay another half month. He wouldn’t make it back in time for the New Year.

If he wasn’t returning, then the New Year no longer held any meaning of joy or reunion for me.

At the end of the year, an unexpected incident shocked both the court and the public.

It was the twelfth lunar month, and the weather was bitterly cold. His Majesty had been staying in Xuanzheng Hall for a long time and began to feel irritable and suffocated. Insisting on going out for some fresh air, he stepped outside the hall—but the moment the cold hit him, he felt dizzy. The stone steps at the entrance were slippery, and he accidentally fell. He lost consciousness for two quarters of an hour. When he woke up, his left hand and right leg were numb.

The imperial physician diagnosed it as a minor stroke. Although the dragon body was otherwise unharmed, the symptoms of paralysis would require several days of acupuncture treatment.

Although it turned out to be a false alarm, in those two quarters of an hour, all three princes, the princesses, and the concubines knelt before the dragon bed. Prince Xin and the ministers rushed to the palace the moment they heard the news, afraid that any movement in Xuanzheng Hall would signal a sudden shift in the political landscape.

His Majesty had always prided himself on being young and strong, at the peak of his life. He was particularly sensitive about rumors that the emperor of this dynasty was already forty. But after this incident, he began to feel real fear. In those brief two quarters of an hour, it wasn’t just the meridians in his head and neck that were affected—it felt as if his once-vigorous spirit had been drained away.

White hairs began to appear at his temples. The palace servants dared not mention it, but one naïve, favored concubine noticed and teasingly tried to pluck one out. His Majesty broke her wrist on the spot.

During the days when he hadn’t fully recovered, punishments were handed out daily in Xuanzheng Hall—some even fatal.

The imperial physician instructed him to walk more as part of his rehabilitation, so His Majesty would pace the square in front of the hall with a cane. From a distance, he looked like an old man struggling to walk.

Fortunately, after more than half a month of acupuncture and massage, the imperial physician gradually restored his health. By the New Year, His Majesty had regained his mobility, though he clearly looked older than the year before.

The previous year had been plagued by disasters, hardship among the people, and more bad news than joy in the palace. On the fifteenth day of the first lunar month, the Lantern Festival, His Majesty ordered the treasury to fund the celebrations and lift the curfew. He personally ascended the Duanmen Tower with the princes and princesses to join in the festivities with the people. It was also a way to show the world that he was in good health, putting an end to rumors of illness.

The tower was crowded. I stood in the back row and saw His Majesty turn and ask Liang Lu, “Will Prime Minister Yu be attending the Lantern Festival later?”

Liang Lu replied, “The roads inside and outside the city are congested. Prime Minister Yu has been staying at the Heqing County post since yesterday. There’s been no word—he’s likely stuck on the road and won’t make it.”

His Majesty sighed, “What a pity. Chongrui has been busy outside for several months. He missed both New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day, and now even the Lantern Festival. That’s truly hard on him. I’ll reward him generously later to make up for it.”

The Third Prince quietly squeezed next to me and whispered, “Wait until the lights are lit and the fireworks start at the hour of You, then you can go down and play in the streets. Wait for me to join you!”

In previous years, His Majesty would light the lanterns with Prince Xin, but this year it was the Third Prince. Rumor had it that Prince Xin was accompanying the princess for a stroll in the city since early morning.

At the hour of You, the lanterns were lit, and fireworks were set off from the tower every half hour to liven up the festivities. His Majesty turned aside, and the Third Prince quickly returned to his side and stood up straight.

The Lantern Festival was the only time when palace staff could freely leave the palace and roam the streets. It was said that many concubines left the palace each year and never returned, choosing instead to remain hidden among the people.

I stood at the corner of the tower and saw a troupe of Nuo opera performers dancing and heading southeast—likely toward Nanshi. Last year during the Lantern Festival, I had also gone to Nanshi to watch Nuo opera. The performers sold masks to the onlookers, pulling everyone into the dance around the torches. It was wonderfully lively.

Seeing no one paying attention to me, I quietly descended the tower and followed the troupe.

As expected, someone at the end of the procession was selling masks. I bought a dragon girl mask like I had the year before, put it on, and joined them heading toward Nanshi.

Before reaching the Nanshi Gate, the roads at Fushan and Sishun were so packed that the troupe had to stop and perform in place, slowly moving with the crowd.

Two carriages blocked part of the road—one carrying people and the other luggage—drawing complaints from pedestrians. The driver got off and tried to back out and take a wider, less crowded route.

I saw the driver of the lead carriage: gray clothes, a full beard, a scar on his face—it was Chang San?

Then the person inside the carriage was…

I stood on tiptoe and looked around, just in time to see Yu Chongrui getting off. He gave Chang San a few instructions before returning to the carriage. Yu Chongrui, Feng Yuan, and Deng Zishe then continued on foot with the crowd.

I stared at him in a daze, only snapping out of it when he was about to disappear from view. I quickly said to the nearby mask vendor, “Give me another one.”

The vendor asked, “Girl, you’re already dressed as the Dragon Girl. Want to buy a Liu Yi to match?”

“Whatever,” I said, eyes fixed on Yu Chongrui’s retreating back. “Hurry!”

The vendor handed me a mask. I threw a handful of coins at him and squeezed into the crowd.

Yu Chongrui and Deng Zishe were both tall, and with Feng Yuan between them, they were easy to spot.

I shouted “Excuse me! Excuse me!” and bumped into several people as I rushed after them, finally catching up from behind.

Just as I was about to grab Yu Chongrui’s sleeve, he suddenly turned and looked me in the eye.

It felt familiar—last year during the Lantern Festival, hadn’t I also pulled a young man in white into the Nuo opera dance? That man had worn a mask.

A Liu Yi mask.

I held out the mask in my hand and said, “Young Master, would you like a mask?”

Feng Yuan turned and waved dismissively. “No, no! Are you a middleman trying to sell masks?”

Yu Chongrui chuckled, “How much is it?”

“Not for sale. It’s a gift.”

He took the mask, placed it on his face, and tied the string behind his head.

Feng Yuan raised her eyebrows and sneered, So she’s not a middleman, just a shameless flirt trying to seduce the young master! She started to roll up her sleeves to argue.

But I pulled Yu Chongrui and ran.

Feng Yuan jumped and shouted behind us, only to be stopped by Deng Zishe.

My mask wasn’t for sale. But if you take something of mine, then—you have to follow me.