The Secret Affairs of the Imperial Palace: The Red Thread Breaks

The autumn wind, carrying withered leaves, swirled along the stone-paved road. Zhang Lianxin gathered her thin clothes and stood in front of the verdant gate of the Liu Mansion. Three years ago on that rainy night, Liu Xianfeng left from here. Before leaving, he held her hand and said, "Lianxin, when I pass the imperial examination, I will surely come back to marry you." The mist from the tea mountain rose up, blurring Zhang Lianxin's vision. She looked down at the faded sachet in her hand. The crooked stitches of the double lotus flowers were the ones she had embroidered through three all-nighters. The sachet was not filled with ordinary spices but with the most tender tea buds from before the Qingming Festival last year, which were preserved in honey and sealed in a brocade bag. "Miss, who are you looking for?" The doorman poked his head out and examined the wet tea stains on her coarse cloth dress from top to bottom. "I..." Zhang Lianxin was just about to speak when she suddenly heard the jingle of the ring inside the door. Through the half-open c***k, she saw Liu Xianfeng, dressed in lake blue **, supporting a bejeweled young lady into the sedan chair. The young lady's golden steps at her temples swayed dazzlingly in the sunlight, and her skirt embroidered with peonies swept over the bluestone steps without a speck of dust. "That's..." Zhang Lianxin pinched her fingers into the palm of her hand. The doorman followed her gaze and immediately straightened up, saying, "That's the daughter of our young master and the Minister of Rites. They are getting married next month." He frowned suspiciously, "What on earth is the girl up to?" The mist on the tea mountain suddenly thickened, and Zhang Lianxin recalled the rainy season when she was fifteen. Liu Xianfeng's father had just passed away, and the creditors emptied the last yellow rosewood table of the Liu family. The young man knelt in the rain, allowing the mud and water to soak his white clothes. It was she who ran over with an oil-paper umbrella and stuffed the tea money she had saved for half a year into his hand. "Lotus heart..." The young man raised his head. The raindrops trickled down his jaw and onto the back of her hand, burning astonishingly. Later, she would always dry his wet books by the stove and copy the unaffordable classics for him under the oil lamp. One time, when he had a fever and was talking nonsense, he held her wrist tightly and wouldn't let go: "When I pass the imperial examination, I'll buy you a golden hairball and a silk dress. You won't have to smell the stench of tea all over your body anymore..." "Girl?" The doorman's urging brought her back to reality. Zhang Lianxin stepped back half a step and suddenly smelled the aroma of tea wafting in the wind. Yes, this morning she just roasted the new tea, and the delicate fragrance of Biluochun still lingers in the crevices of her nails. Looking at her rough fingers and then at the gauze curtain fluttering inside the door, she suddenly understood something. I went through the wrong door. When she turned around, a withered leaf was stuck between her hair. Walking back along the long street, the storyteller in the teahouse was telling the story of Chen Shimei. Zhang Lianxin stopped to listen for a moment and burst out laughing. She took out the cold and hard steamed bun in her arms and chewed on it. As she chewed, she tasted the salty and astringent flavor. Behind the statue of Guanyin in the dilapidated temple on the outskirts of the city lies the marriage certificate written by Liu Xianfeng back then. Red paper with black characters, pressing the handprints of the two people. That day, he dipped a mole in cinnabar on her forehead and said it was the wedding candle. Now the cinnabar has long faded away, leaving only the wind on the tea mountain to remember the passionate vows of the young man. It was already dusk when Zhang Lianxin returned to the tea house. As usual, she spread the leftover tea drebs from today's sale on a bamboo sieve. In the dusk, she suddenly grabbed a handful of tea leaves and pressed them against her chest. The sharp edges of the spring tea Pierce the skin, just like the joy and unease that welled up in Liu Xianfeng's heart when the news of her passing the imperial examination came that year. "Miss Zhang!" The owner of the silk and satin store next door poked her head in and said, "The Longjing tea you mentioned before the Qingming Festival the day before yesterday..." Zhang Lianxin wiped her face, and the tea leaves rustled down. "I'll wrap it up for you right now." She nimbly tied the blue porcelain jar, and the red rope fluttered at her fingertips like a butterfly. When she was tied to the third circle, she suddenly stopped - this was the book-tying technique that Liu Xianfeng had taught her. It was late at night. Zhang Lianxin was counting copper coins under the lamp. When counting to the thirty-seventh article, the sound of horse hooves came from outside the window. She blew out the oil lamp and listened to the sound of hooves in the darkness as it drew nearer and nearer, then gradually disappeared onto the official road in the west. The dew on the tea mountain has grown heavy, wetting the wild camellia tree under the window. Zhang Lianxin remembers ** that year, Liu Xianfeng stole this camellia and inserted it into her temples, and was chased half a mountain by her mother with a broom. Nowadays, camellias bloom every year, but the flower pickers will never come again. At dawn, Zhang Lianxin took off her bun and combed it back. The fine lines at the corners of her eyes were reflected in the bronze mirror, and she suddenly realized that she was already twenty-five years old. For an ordinary woman of this age, her children can already make a cameo appearance. She opened the bottom of her dowry and took out a faded red seal. Inside was the rouge that Liu Xianfeng had brought back from the provincial capital, which she had never dared to use. "Madam Zhang!" Li Zheng's son shouted outside the door, "This year's tea tax..." Here it comes. She pressed the red seal back to the bottom of the box and, as she pushed the door open, dropped a few withered tea leaves. When the autumn wind swirls, that touch of green mixes with the dust and can no longer be found.