Time Is Slow - Chapter 42
“One pot of hot water,” a guard from beside the carriage walked over through the rain and handed a piece of broken silver to the tea vendor. He emphasized, “Hot water, not tea.”
The tea vendor was momentarily stunned but took the silver and nodded repeatedly.
“All right, sir, just a moment.”
Having manned the roadside tea stall for years, the tea vendor had seen all kinds of important people. This request wasn’t too unusual. Once, someone had even tried to buy spiced beef from him.
Jiang Yuanchao continued drinking his tea with an unruffled expression, watching as the young guard took a large white porcelain kettle from the vendor and returned to the carriage. Soon, a slender hand reached out from the window and received the kettle.
The embroidered curtain fell, blocking the view inside.
Jiang Yuanchao withdrew his gaze.
The young guard shot a sharp glance at him like lightning, then leaned in to whisper a few words by the window. Due to the rain’s loud patter, nothing could be heard.
Soon, the curtain lifted again, and a basin of water was poured out from inside, merging with the rain. The carriage began to move again, slowly.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jiang Yuanchao noticed an inconspicuous emblem on the side of the carriage. His hand paused on the teacup as he instantly deduced the identity of the person inside.
So it was the renowned Ninth Princess. All of her belongings were marked with an iris emblem—something he had learned years ago from his adopted sister, Jiang Shirang.
Jiang Shirang was the apple of their foster father’s eye, and their foster father was the wet nurse most trusted by the current emperor. Because of that, Jiang Shirang and the Ninth Princess had been close friends since childhood.
Sure enough, near the capital, even a random person you ran into was never truly “ordinary.”
Jiang Yuanchao finished his last sip of tea, left a few copper coins on the table, and stepped into the rain.
It seemed he had been away from the capital too long. Many people and things had grown unfamiliar.
In the rain, Jiang Yuanchao thought for a moment, then turned back in the direction he had come from.
The spring rain was heavy, and for the next ten days or so, the sky remained overcast. Finally, the day before the Buddha’s birthday festival, the rain stopped and the skies cleared.
In the western courtyard, the cluster of banana plants gleamed emerald green, lazily stretching their leaves in the breeze.
Qiao Zhao put down her brush, walked to the window to rest for a moment, and upon turning back, saw that the ink on the Buddhist scripture she had copied had dried.
She instructed Binglu, “Pack these up and take them to the old madam.”
In recent days, she hadn’t had to pay formal greetings, and no one from either branch of the family had come to stir up trouble. Qiao Zhao had enjoyed a peaceful time and quickly finished copying an entire scripture.
“Got it.” Binglu looked at the finished scripture, delighted, and smiled with pursed lips.
“Miss, I dare say not a single girl in the whole capital writes as beautifully as you. This time, your scripture is sure to catch the attention of the high monks and be sent to Shuying Nunnery.”
“Mhm, I think so too.” Qiao Zhao smiled.
Binglu opened her mouth in surprise.
Miss’s confident tone was both unexpected and oddly refreshing!
“What are you thinking?” Qiao Zhao asked.
Binglu snapped out of it and excitedly said, “I just thought of the past. That year when you copied Master Qiao’s calligraphy and gave it to the eldest master of the Eastern Residence for his birthday, Second Miss laughed at you. First Miss didn’t say anything, but you could tell she was secretly smug. And Fourth Miss, Sixth Miss—they all mocked you. But now look! You’ve finally mastered it. Let’s see who dares laugh at you now!”
“Yes. They won’t anymore,” Qiao Zhao said with emotion, reaching out to pinch Binglu’s cheek.
“Go on now, such a chatterbox.”
Binglu blinked, her face suddenly turning red.
Miss always said one thing and meant another. She clearly liked it when Binglu talked.
The little maid quickly packed up the scripture and trotted off.
She ran to Qingsong Hall and leaned on a column, slightly out of breath.
Qingyun was just stepping outside and saw her.
“Binglu, what brings you here?”
There are no walls in the world that can keep out the wind—especially since the incident between First and Second Miss in Third Miss’s room had happened in front of several servants. Though it hadn’t leaked outside the residence, the servants inside the household had been quietly spreading word.
Because of that, Qingyun had a vague sense that Third Miss wasn’t quite as simple as she used to appear, thus, she now treated Binglu with a bit more courtesy.
Binglu didn’t understand Qingyun’s thoughts, but she had clearly felt that walking around the manor had been much smoother lately than before. That alone kept her in high spirits.
Hearing Qingyun’s question, she beamed and said, “Sister Qingyun, my lady has finished copying the scriptures. I’m here to deliver them to the Old Madam.”
“Oh, I see. I can take them in for you.”
Binglu quickly shook her head.
“I want to present them to the Old Madam myself.”
She was hoping to hear the Old Madam praise her lady so she could report back and make her happy.
Qingyun was slightly displeased, but knowing Binglu was always a bit simple-minded, she didn’t argue.
“Then follow me.”
When Binglu followed her inside, Old Madam Deng was reclining on a beauty couch, with a pretty little maid kneeling at her feet, massaging her legs.
“Greetings to the Old Madam,” Binglu said respectfully. Before the highest-ranking mistress in the Western Manor, she was nothing but proper.
Old Madam Deng opened her eyes. At the sight of Binglu, her eyelids twitched.
She asked warily, “What is it this time with Third Miss?”
At that, Binglu immediately felt indignant on her lady’s behalf.
Why did the Old Madam say ‘again’? Her lady never causes trouble—it’s always trouble that comes to her!
Binglu lifted the ornate box holding the scriptures and chirped, “Old Madam, my lady has finished copying the scriptures and sent me to bring them to you for review.”
Old Madam Deng looked genuinely surprised.
She had indeed ordered Third Miss to copy scriptures behind closed doors as a form of punishment, but she hadn’t expected the girl to actually follow through—especially after that whole business with the false accusations. She figured the girl would’ve rebelled or ignored the task entirely.
And now… she quietly finished copying them?
The Old Madam gave Qingyun a look.
Qingyun took the box from Binglu and handed it to her.
“Hmm. Go back and tell Third Miss she’s done well this time, I’m quite pleased.”
No matter how good the actual writing was, the attitude alone was worth commending.
“Old Madam, aren’t you going to take a look?” Binglu asked eagerly.
Qingyun couldn’t help glaring at her.
This unruly little brat. How dare she speak to the Old Madam like that!
But seeing the little maid’s expectant expression, Old Madam Deng chuckled and reached out to open the box. She took out the scripture and casually flipped through it.
“Let me see—”
Her words caught in her throat.
Her usually half-lidded eyes widened into perfect circles, as though she had just seen a ghost.
Qingyun jumped in fright.
“Old Madam, what’s wrong?”
For someone her age, a sudden reaction like that could signal an illness, and as her personal maid, Qingyun knew she’d be in deep trouble if something happened on her watch.
She glared fiercely at Binglu, both furious and panicked.
“What exactly did you give the Old Madam—?!”
Could Third Miss’s handwriting possibly be so awful it scared the Old Madam witless?!
Qingyun glanced at the scripture in the Old Madam’s hand.
As soon as she saw the scripture, she gasped as well.
It took a long moment before Old Madam Deng composed herself. Her gaze toward Binglu was now full of suspicion and complexity.
“Binglu… did you mix things up by mistake?”
“How on earth did you come here with a copy of Master Qiao’s calligraphy, who is famous across the empire?”