Chapter 4: Inquiring of the Omen

Qian Chuan, the young master of the Fuhai Restaurant, was known for his love of gambling, drinking, and frequenting brothels.

For the past few days, he had felt that something was not quite right.

"Qian Lai, did you hear any sound?" While walking on the road to Liuxiang Alley, Qian Chuan suddenly stopped and grabbed his servant to ask.

The servant looked bewildered. "What sound? Are you asking about the peddler’s cries, Young Master?"

There was no curfew in the city, and the nights were just as lively as the days.

"Hoofbeats, it’s the sound of hoofbeats!" Qian Chuan said with certainty.

The servant pricked up his ears and listened hard. He heard all sorts of noises—a chaotic, noisy din—but no hoofbeats.

"I don't hear anything—"

Qian Chuan grew anxious. "How can you not? I heard them yesterday, too!"

Seeing his master’s grim expression, the servant hesitated before asking, "Young Master, could it be that you’re overthinking it—"

Qian Chuan’s face changed.

A few days ago, a young master surnamed Han had arrived from the capital. The local young lords had fawned over him, taking him everywhere, and Qian Chuan had spent a fortune to join them. On their way back from hunting that day, Young Master Han had hit someone, and word was that the person had died. Young Master Han had quickly returned to the capital, and the other young lords acted as if nothing had happened, but Qian Chuan felt unsettled and had stayed holed up at home for days before finally venturing out.

If he kept hearing hoofbeats on the street these past few days, could it really be that he was just imagining things?

"Maybe I misheard. Let's go." Worried that his companions would laugh at his cowardice if word got out, Qian Chuan suppressed his suspicions.

Liuxiang Alley was just ahead. Red lanterns were being lit, and the faint scent of powder and perfume drifted on the breeze.

Qian Chuan took a deep breath of the intoxicating fragrance and quickened his pace.

In a small building within the alley, a familiar courtesan poured him tea and wine, her touch soft and fragrant.

Qian Chuan fell asleep, feeling satisfied.

*Clop, clop, clop...*

In the middle of the night, Qian Chuan suddenly opened his eyes. He sat up halfway, looking around in terror for the source of the sound. When his gaze landed on a certain spot, his pupils dilated sharply.

Not far from the head of the bed stood a silent figure. Its face—it had no face, only hair!

"Ah—" Qian Chuan opened his mouth to scream, but found the sound stuck in his throat; he couldn't make a noise.

The figure approached him. There were no footsteps, only a faint smell of blood drifting toward Qian Chuan’s nose. In extreme terror, Qian Chuan’s teeth chattered as he struggled to squeeze out a few words: "Ghost, ghost..."

A pale, cold hand reached out and gripped Qian Chuan’s throat.

"Why did you hit me to death... why..."

"No, it wasn't me..." Qian Chuan was covered in tears and snot, his whole body trembling.

"Then—who—was—it?" The iron-like hand loosened slightly, the voice enunciating every word.

Qian Chuan gasped for air, his reason drowned by terror. "His surname is Han, his father is a high official in the capital... Go to the capital to claim your life from him, it has nothing to do with me, nothing!"

The hand brushed past Qian Chuan’s face, carrying a chill and a faint, imperceptible fragrance. Qian Chuan’s eyes, filled with fear, closed, and he collapsed back onto the soft bed.

At dawn, Qian Chuan sat up abruptly and immediately saw the courtesan sleeping beside him.

The tide of fear receded, leaving behind only shadows and doubt.

"Was it just a dream?" Qian Chuan muttered.

The courtesan woke up at the movement and draped her arms over Qian Chuan’s shoulders. "Young Master Qian, what’s wrong?"

Qian Chuan stared fixedly at her. "Did you hear any noise last night?"

"No—"

Qian Chuan suddenly thought of something and pushed the courtesan aside, rushing to the vanity mirror.

In the mirror, the man’s face was deathly pale, and a broken, bruised mark on his neck was strikingly visible.

It wasn't a dream! There was a ghost, there really was a ghost!

Qian Chuan’s scalp tingled. He grabbed his clothes, threw them on, and rushed out.

"Young Master Qian, Young Master Qian—"

The courtesan was completely confused, and she never saw Qian Chuan again.

The next day, a maid cleaning the room picked up a pearl hairpin from behind a screen.

"Miss, the hairpin you were looking for yesterday was dropped here."

"I didn't take it off when I went to sleep the night before, and when I got up to dress yesterday, I found it missing. How could it have fallen there..." The courtesan said casually, not giving it another thought.

The young master of the Fuhai Restaurant in the city grew thinner and thinner from fright, while the young girl in Yunfeng Village who went up the mountain every day to pay respects to her parents became increasingly quiet.

That day, after waiting for Qiu Heng to finish kowtowing at the grave, Mother Wang gently advised, "It is good for a young lady to be filial, but if you torment yourself daily, it will only make your foster parents worry from beyond the grave."

For over a month, this child had gone up the mountain every morning and only returned at dark; her bond with her foster parents was truly deep.

"I understand," Qiu Heng said softly.

In the time they had spent together, she could feel Mother Wang’s sincerity.

"I am glad you understand, Miss. Let us head down the mountain."

At the foot of the mountain, Steward Qiu had long been impatient. Seeing Mother Wang and Fang Zhou accompanying Qiu Heng down, he said indifferently, "Sixth Miss, please get in the carriage. It is time to depart."

The carriage gradually left the village behind, and once they reached the main road, it picked up speed.

...

At the Yongqing Earl’s Mansion, a maid entered the room to deliver a message: "Old Madam, the carriage bringing the Sixth Miss has arrived at the outskirts of the city."

The Countess of Yongqing nodded and gave instructions: "Bring her directly here when she arrives. No need to alert anyone else for now."

Although Steward Qiu’s letter confirmed her identity, she still had doubts. She would wait until she saw her in person before discussing anything else.

The carriage entered through the side gate of the Yongqing Earl’s Mansion and stopped in front of the hanging flower gate. Qiu Heng was led into Qiansong Hall.

The Old Madam stared at the young girl, who was bowing her head in greeting, with a scrutinizing gaze. "I hear your name is A-Heng."

"Yes."

"Rise."

Qiu Heng stood up and raised her eyes. What met her gaze was an old woman with a long face.

With just one look, the Old Madam knew there was no mistake.

There was no other reason: the girl before her was almost a carbon copy of her third daughter-in-law, the late Lady Du.

After looking at the sachets and clothing the steward had handed over—items she naturally had no memory of—she asked Mother Wang a few questions and then ordered her maids to send word to the various courtyards.

People arrived one after another, and Qiansong Hall became crowded.

"This is your eldest aunt."

The Eldest Madam, Zhao, took Qiu Heng’s hand and smiled. "You look just like your third aunt."

After accepting the Eldest Madam’s gift, Qiu Heng greeted the Second Madam, Lan.

Lan was not as enthusiastic as Zhao, and she did not say much.

Qiu Heng recalled Mother Wang’s subtle hints: the Eldest Madam was sweet-faced but bitter-hearted, and the Second Madam was not a troublemaker.

She would not take Mother Wang’s words as absolute truth; she would learn the reality of things in time.

Next came the greetings between peers.

The Second Miss, Qiu Xuan, was elegant and quiet, the only girl of the second branch. The Third Miss, Qiu Yun, had a face like a silver platter, and the Fifth Miss, Qiu Ying, who had a heart-shaped face, were both concubine-born daughters of the first branch. The Fourth Miss, Qiu Fu, was the most outstanding in appearance among the sisters and was born to the Eldest Madam.

Qiu Heng also learned from Mother Wang that the Eldest Miss, who shared the same mother as the Fourth Miss, Qiu Fu, had entered the palace years ago.

Having received a pile of handkerchiefs and pearl flowers, Qiu Heng took the sachets she had prepared from Fang Zhou and returned the gifts one by one.

The Fourth Miss, Qiu Fu, pinched the sachet and smiled. "I didn't expect Sixth Sister to have prepared return gifts. It wasn't really necessary."

Qiu Heng smiled.

"Your grandfather and the others are not at home. We will meet them when they return. I have already sent someone to call for your father—"

Before the Old Madam could finish her sentence, the curtain was lifted, and a maid’s voice rang out: "The Old Earl has returned."

Qiu Heng’s gaze swept over the Qiu sisters and landed on the old man at the doorway.

So this was the famous Yongqing Earl, who had sold his granddaughter for glory.