Held in the Lonely Castle Chapter 08

 

 Held in the Lonely Castle  

 Chapter 08

Translated by : DANMEI HEAVEN

   Coin Tossing

Princess Fukang lived with Consort Miao in the Yifeng Pavilion. The first time I entered, the princess was sitting on a jade mat in the hall with three girls around her age, playing a coin-tossing game. The scattered coins clinked as they rolled, and the girls' laughter rose and fell with their movements.

The attendant Han, who had brought me in, signaled for me not to disturb them and quietly led me to stand aside. She then pointed to the three well-dressed girls beside the princess and whispered, "The slightly older one across from the princess is Lady Fan, the Empress’s adopted daughter. The other two are Lady Zhou and Lady Xu, both adopted by Consort Zhang. They are the princess’s playmates."

I noted this carefully and turned my attention back to the princess. It was her turn to toss the coins. She gathered them gleefully in her palms, then grinned at her companions. "Let’s raise the stakes to three coins this round!"

Consort Miao, who had been watching, laughed. "You’ve lost the most here. Still daring to raise the bet?"

"I won’t lose this time!" The princess seemed confident and urged her friends to place their bets.

Lady Fan smiled. "Fine, three it is. But don’t cry if you lose again."

She placed three coins on the mat, followed by Lady Zhou and Lady Xu, who teased, "Winning so much from the princess feels almost unfair!"

Coin tossing was a common game among noble girls of the Song Dynasty. Each player held four or five coins, flicked one upward, and quickly flipped the rest while the airborne coin was still in motion. The goal was to manipulate the coins’ positions and have the others guess how many landed heads or tails. The trick lay in quick, nimble fingers to confuse opponents.

Among the four, the princess seemed the youngest and, judging by their tone, the habitual loser. Yet she neither grew angry nor rebutted their teasing, merely grinning and saying, "Just wait and see!" before starting the game.

Everyone watched intently. Her tossing and flipping motions appeared ordinary, neither particularly fast nor skillful, so the girls soon resumed their laughter. "We thought the princess had some secret technique..."

"Done!" The princess suddenly exclaimed. With the final toss, she slammed both hands down on the coins, leaning forward so abruptly that her poised sitting posture collapsed entirely.

The onlookers burst into laughter. Unfazed, the princess kept her hands firmly pressed and urged, "Guess now!"

"Ah, we were too busy laughing to see the last move clearly," Lady Fan admitted. "I think two heads and three tails?"

Lady Zhou guessed, "Three heads and two tails?"

Lady Xu had another idea. "There must be four heads. Only one coin was unclear."

"So, what’s the answer?" the princess pressed.

Lady Xu thought for a moment. "Then I’ll guess four heads and one tail."

The princess’s eyes sparkled, her lips curving into a suppressed smirk. Still not revealing the result, she turned to the others. "What about the rest of you? Guess right, and there’s a reward."

The crowd chimed in with their guesses, covering nearly every possible combination.

I had remained silent, but eventually, her gaze settled on me.

"Oh, Huaiji," she called out naturally, as if we had known each other for years, "you’re here!"

I stepped forward and bowed to the princess, then greeted the other girls.

"Rise, rise." The princess smiled, infusing the usually solemn phrase with cheerfulness. "Huaiji, guess too."

I hadn’t paid close attention to her final moves, so I had no clear idea of the coins’ positions. But I noticed her hands weren’t flat on the mat—one was slightly arched over the other.

So I gave an unconventional answer: "This servant doesn’t know the exact count, but I suspect one coin is neither heads nor tails."

Her eyes widened. "How did you know?"

She lifted her hands, revealing a coin wedged vertically between her fingers—truly neither heads nor tails.

I smiled. "Just a guess."

She didn’t press further, laughing as she held out her hands to the others. "You all guessed wrong. Pay up!"

Consort Miao feigned disapproval. "Using both hands to trap a coin? That’s cheating! And you still have the nerve to demand their coins?"

Lady Fan agreed. "Exactly. You don’t deserve these."

She pretended to take back her bet, making the princess lunge forward, grabbing and sweeping the coins toward herself. "No, no! They’re mine!"

They were only teasing, and in the end, let her keep the coins.

The princess gathered her winnings, then turned to me. "Huaiji, these are your reward."

I lowered my gaze. "This servant only guessed one correctly, not all. I don’t deserve them."

She thought for a moment. "Fair enough." Pushing the coins back to her friends, she stood and skipped toward me. "Come with me. I have questions for you."

She strode out without waiting. Before I could follow, four or five attendants moved to accompany her, but she stopped and ordered, "Stay here! Only Huaiji follows."

The servants exchanged uneasy glances, but the princess paid no mind, tugging my hand. "Let’s go."

I hesitated, unsure if withdrawing my hand would be improper. Before I could decide, she had already pulled me out the door.

She led me to the Yaojin Pond in the rear garden before stopping, her bright eyes brimming with curiosity. "Who was Lady Ban?"

The abrupt question caught me off guard, but I quickly realized it stemmed from my earlier defense of her. I smiled. "Has the princess not heard stories of virtuous women like her?"

"No," she admitted, shaking her head. "I asked my sisters, but they didn’t know. Then I asked Mother, and she said I’d never face Lady Ban’s plight, so there was no need to know. Finally, I asked Father, and he turned the question back on me: ‘Did you remember the story of Princess Wei I told you yesterday? Write it out for me first.’"

Princess Wei, the daughter of Emperor Taizong, was a model of virtue—filial, wise, and benevolent—often held up as an exemplar for noblewomen.

"Did the princess write it?" I asked.

To my surprise, she nodded. "I wrote a few words: ‘Princess Wei is good, very good, extremely good.’"

I stifled a laugh, schooling my expression into palace-appropriate solemnity.

She perched on the steps of the white jade bridge, bringing her eyes level with mine, and commanded, "Now, tell me Lady Ban’s story."

After a pause, I recounted Lady Ban’s tale—her talent, her virtue, her refusal to ride in the imperial carriage, her poem "Song of the Autumn Fan," and her lament in the Changxin Palace. I also briefly mentioned Zhao Feiyan.

"So that’s it," she mused, then brightened. "You were right to compare Consort Zhang to Zhao Feiyan!"

I startled, unsure how to explain the impropriety of such a remark. I could only murmur, "Princess, be cautious with your words."

She grinned, unrepentant, revealing a row of pearl-like teeth—adorably neat and white.

Unlike the young palace maids I occasionally encountered, the princess seemed untouched by rigid etiquette. Amid the lotus and willows of the imperial garden, she reveled in the freedom to express her emotions openly.

"Huaiji, are you thirsty after telling stories for so long?" she suddenly asked.

"This servant isn’t thirsty… Does the princess want water?" I straightened, ready to fetch some.

"Don’t go!" She stopped me. "No need for us to fetch it ourselves."

I glanced around. We were alone.

She winked, her lips quirking mischievously.

Before I could decipher her meaning, she darted to the center of the bridge and pretended to climb the railing.

I rushed to stop her, but in an instant, three or four people materialized out of nowhere, intercepting her before I could.

More attendants arrived in waves—some carrying clothes, towels, snacks, fresh fruit… and, of course, water.

So this was the entourage that followed the princess. They had been hiding where she couldn’t see them.

The princess stood calmly, then turned with a graceful flourish, raising an eyebrow at the water bearer before smiling at me—this time with a touch of resigned loneliness.

(To be continued)