Chapter 11: Bowing and Scraping

At the break of dawn the next day, the two maids began to kindle the fire and prepare breakfast. Wisps of smoke gently curled upward, carrying with them the tantalizing aroma of food. The group had two meals a day, with no fire lit at noon—just a little dry rations—so they needed to rise early to cook and also to prepare the dry cakes for lunch. There were twenty soldiers in all, and around a hundred and twenty female relatives of the disgraced official; yet, in just a few days, more than ten had already perished on the road.

The two maids were diligent, assisted by the fire-tending girl, and in less than half an hour, a pot of fragrant meat porridge was ready for the soldiers. Since growing familiar with the maids, the hunchbacked old man had grown lazier by the day, leaving everything to them while he merely supervised—and took some liberties. This morning, he was even too indolent to get up early, entrusting everything to Madam Zhao. He strolled over to the stove with a broad grin, giving Madam Zhao a bold squeeze. She blushed, scolding, “You devil, shameless!”

Madam Zhao was not old, just past thirty, well-maintained, and her charms remained—far more appealing than the scrawny, listless fire-tending girls. The hunchbacked man had a fondness for her type, and her coquettish scolding made his desire stir. He thought to himself, “You wanton woman, tonight, when darkness falls, I’ll have my way with you!”

Madam Zhao swayed her sturdy hips, seeming to laugh and scold, but when she turned, the bashfulness vanished, replaced by a cold, expressionless calm—she was a different person entirely.

The twenty soldiers soon gathered at the stove, each receiving a large bowl of steaming meat porridge, accompanied by salted vegetables. They slurped it down hungrily.

The old matron and Wang Keyue each held half a bowl of coarse porridge, sipping slowly while casting furtive glances at the soldiers nearby.

Sure enough, within a quarter of an hour after finishing the porridge, the soldiers collapsed to the ground, thoroughly unconscious.

What happened next took Wang Keyue by surprise—the old matron acted with astonishing speed, ordering Madam Zhao and the other women to cut the throats of the twenty soldiers without hesitation.

Suddenly, from the corpse of the lead soldier, a fist-sized orb of white light rose into the air and dropped to the ground, flickering.

Wang Keyue rubbed her eyes, thinking she was seeing things, but the glowing orb remained, twinkling. Strangely, those around her seemed oblivious, not noticing at all.

“Host! Hurry! Pick it up! That’s an ultra-rare system reward!” The voice of 9538 rang out suddenly, startling Wang Keyue.

Could this system not give any warning? It was always so abrupt—nearly scared her to death every time!

She let out a breath and strode toward the corpse. Madam Zhao saw her and called out, “Miss, don’t—”

“I just want to take a look, just in case!” Before Madam Zhao could finish, Wang Keyue had already reached the corpse, pretending to nudge it with her foot while, in reality, she swept the orb into her system space.

After confirming the man was dead, she returned to the group without the slightest flush or quickened breath.

Watching her mistress, Madam Zhao felt a surge of admiration—her lady had grown ever more cautious and bold, truly showing the makings of a household matron.

Wang Keyue returned to the resting area, without time to examine the reward she’d just snatched—her mind corrected itself: not snatched, but picked up! The entire group was now busy under the old matron’s command.

Some of the rear-court women, with their maids, were gathering up the supplies left by the dead soldiers. There was quite a lot, enough to fill an ox cart; another carriage, it was said, held rare goods meant for a certain general on the northwestern frontier.

A group of fire-tending girls and several sturdy women dug a large pit in the nearby woods and buried the soldiers’ bodies.

The old matron, giving her orders, was methodical and unflappable; she bore none of the airs of a typical woman confined to the inner quarters. On this point, Wang Keyue was thoroughly convinced by her—and sensed, vaguely, that the old matron held the key to whether her own mission could succeed.

In less than half an hour, everything was settled, even the disguises. The ox cart held plenty of soldiers’ spare clothes. The strong, robust women dressed as men; the slender and delicate ones dressed as young maidens. In an instant, the entire group was transformed—it was as if they had become a band of ordinary villagers fleeing disaster.