The Rebirth of the Malicious Empress of Military Lineage novel · Chapter 3 of 24
Chapter 3: The Wax
She shows the wax tiger mould at dinner, Wanrou weeps and the house sides with her; Shuyao names the ambush and her father changes the road; the Consort summons her.
The Tang family ate dinner together on the night before any march.
It was an old custom, and grandmother kept it with an iron hand.
Shuyao came to the table last, carrying a bundle in a napkin.
Her father sat at the head, and her brother Zhengyu beside him cracked sunflower seeds.
Grandmother sat across from them, with Wanrou in her usual place at her elbow.
"You're late," said grandmother. "After today I'd think you would be early."
"I had something to fetch."
Shuyao unwrapped the napkin on the table between the soup and the pickled greens.
A block of pale wax, with a hollow tiger pressed into the top.
It lay there under the lamp.
"What is that?" Zhengyu leaned over, interested.
"A mould of the Tang tally," said Shuyao. "Pressed in wax. It was in a maid's sleeve tonight."
Nobody said anything.
Her father put down his chopsticks.
Wanrou's face had gone very still, and then, slowly, her eyes filled.
"Cousin," she whispered. "Oh, Cousin."
"Whose maid?" said her father.
"Hers."
Wanrou pressed her hand to her mouth.
"It is for embroidery," she said, and her voice shook just enough.
"Uncle, I only wanted a pattern. A little tiger on a belt for you, to take north."
"I asked my maid to find one in your study. I did not think. I'm so sorry."
Shuyao had to admit it was beautiful.
The tremble in the chin, the helpless hands.
If she had not seen the same performance across a throne room in the first life, she might have believed it too.
"She pressed the whole tally, face and back, in a single block of wax," Shuyao said. "A pattern needs one side."
"Shuyao," said her grandmother sharply. "That is enough. The child meant a kindness."
"She's fourteen, Grandmother. So am I."
"You are not the same," grandmother said, in a tone that closed the subject.
Zhengyu cracked a seed, looked at his sister, and said nothing.
Her father looked at the wax a while longer.
"Wanrou, go to your room," he said at last. "Shuyao, sit."
Wanrou rose, weeping, and went.
At the door she turned and met Shuyao's eyes across the table.
There was nothing weepy in them at all.
When the door closed, grandmother said, "You've frightened that girl for nothing. You've been rude to a prince, and now this."
"Father." Shuyao did not look at her. "You didn't believe the dream."
"I did not."
"Then let me say it like a soldier."
She put both hands flat on the table.
"The grain commissioner is the Noble Consort's brother. He's selling the border's grain lists to the northern raiders."
"The ambush will be at the third bend of the Black Ravine, on the ninth day after you leave, at dusk."
"They'll have forty riders on the east ridge. You'll lose the whole convoy and half your guard."
The room was quiet.
Her father's face did not change.
"Where did you hear the commissioner's name? He was named to the post this morning."
"This morning?"
"By palace notice. It hasn't been read in the street."
Her brother stopped cracking seeds.
"Nobody in this house has seen that notice," her father said slowly. "I have not told anyone yet."
Shuyao said nothing.
She had not known when the man took the post. She had only known the name.
The luck was so large that she almost laughed.
"Father," said Zhengyu quietly. "She knew the name."
"I heard."
Her father rubbed his beard, the way he did when a map did not match the ground.
"If it is a trick," he said, "it is a good one."
"It isn't a trick."
"No." He looked at her a long moment. "No, I think you believe it, little rabbit."
He turned to Zhengyu.
"Send for the quartermaster. We go west of the river, through the salt flats."
"It is three days slower, and the carts will curse me every mile."
"Tang Hongyi," said grandmother in horror. "On the word of a child?"
"On the word of a name I haven't spoken to anyone," he said.
"If she is wrong, I lose three days. If she is right, I keep forty good men."
He stood.
He crossed the room and laid one big hand on Shuyao's head.
For the first time in two lives, she felt the weight of her father's belief.
She did not cry. She was a woman of twenty-four and had been taught not to.
But her eyes burned.
"One more thing," he said, quietly, so only she could hear. "That wax stays with me."
"Yes, Father."
A knock came at the door before he could say more.
The gatekeeper stood there with a palace messenger behind him, a eunuch in plum-colored silk.
"I beg the Marquis's pardon," said the eunuch, bowing. "The Noble Consort holds her birthday garden tomorrow at noon."
His eyes slid to Shuyao.
"Her Ladyship particularly wishes the Tang daughter to attend. She has heard so much about her."
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