Snow paced about the cottage, imagining Third Brother stuck in a twisted tree, and the dwarves lowering themselves down a steep cliff to grab hold of him. I hope he could be rescued; I hope they will all get home in one piece. Oh, what if the tree gave way? The owl's amber eyes flashed in her mind, and she wondered whether there was any truth in Sixth Brother's belief that the owl was a bad omen. No, it's just a bird. They'll be alright.

With a sigh, she plopped herself by the table to nibble at her pastry. It was so hard she might as well have gnawed on a piece of wood. Heavens, it's really inedible! What a waste of good flour, and that was the last of it. She let the pastry drop to the table, and it bounced onto the floor. Like a wheel, it continued rolling until it collided into the cupboard with a clatter.

What do I do now? Ah, Third Brother will need this! She padded over to the cupboard and dragged out a small wooden box from the bottom shelf, its contents clinking faintly as she set it onto the floor. The smell of herbs that wafted out when she lifted the lid was so overpowering that it made her eyes water.

Inside were a few porcelain bottles with dark blue stoppers, ceramic jars and packets of yellowed paper tied together with string. She held up a bottle with rounded edges and turned it over in her hand. Blue calligraphic characters had been fired into the side of the bottle: For blood stagnation and stasis. For blood stagnation and stasis? Whatever that means. A similar bottle but with beveled edges read: For blood poisoning.

I've had these before. She unwrapped a paper packet to find hundreds of tiny black pellets. That was the worst stomach ache of my life. Never again will I eat a whole bowl of lychees by myself. The other bottles and packets contained tinctures and powder for lesser ailments: stuffy nose; insect bites; bruising and swelling. The last packet contained blood clotting powder.

She closed the box and went back to her cut-up jacket. She tried to think of other things to take her mind off Third Brother, and Fourth Brother's words echoed in her head: "I don't want to say it too loudly. You know, they say she can see everything and hear everything that's been said–"

Everything that's been said. It's not the first time she heard of this, but she had always dismissed such talk as baseless gossip. If she was not mistaken, she first learnt of it after the banquet where Imperial Noble Consort Hu outdressed everyone. Usually if one of the concubines stole the Emperor's attention in such a blatant manner, her downfall would come soon after.

Snow recalled being awoken by footfalls in her foster mother's courtyard that very same night. She had peeped out her window to find her foster mother's chambers lit by a single silk lantern.

The door opened to admit a few more ladies with their attendants – a clandestine meeting was being held. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, she had thought with a smirk.

Snow could not hear what was being said, but she imagined the other concubines plotting Hu's fall from grace in hushed whispers. In her eleven years living in the Palace then, she'd seen enough catfights and concubines being stripped of their titles over partly true, partly false accusations.

Sometimes she wondered whether her mother was as petty as these women. In her mind, her mother was a kind, gentle creature – the total opposite of these shrews – but she understood that it was impossible not to get caught up in their games. One had to have cunning, one had to machinate; otherwise, she'd find herself crushed beneath their heels.

Snow stayed by the window and watched with rapt attention. If Chow Chow were still alive, it would have accompanied her and lent her some warmth from its small, furry body. All was silent; an incense stick burnt all the way to the end. The side door finally opened and servants scurried out, presumably to execute their concerted mission. They always did the dirty work for their mistresses. Snow went back to sleep, expecting to hear the news in the next few days.

To everyone's shock, the concubines' layered scheme was exposed before it was even fully carried out. The servants were punished severely and the main perpetrators hauled before the Emperor, who banished them to the Cold Palace. 

"There's a traitor in our midst," her foster mother had gasped from the other room. "How else could she have known what was said, word for word? Oh, she's coming for us! That harlot!"

Her attendant was shaken. "Mistress, please lower your voice! They say she can hear everything that was said, even in private. Ever since the outbreak, they say she's a–" the rest of the attendant's whispers were inaudible.

Of course it's a traitor or a spy, what else could it be? Snow had thought at that time. The Palace walls have ears; one only needed to pay a discreet servant or eunuch a small trinket to earn their loyalty.

She wiggled the blade of her scissors under a seam on the jacket. It's amazing that such unfounded talk from the Palace is known even by the villagers this far away.

The thought of being married to one or being a servant made her pause in her work. She'd never been to a village or met a villager before, but from what Lotus and Peony told her, the women had to wash the whole household's laundry – including their parents-in-laws' clothes, cook and clean, and feed the pigs, on top of care for the children. If the dwarves still insisted she leave for the village, what else could she do?

She gazed up at the ceiling. Goddess of Mercy, is this the only fate I have? Fourth Brother's words rang in her mind: "You're a princess, you should be married to a prince. You deserve better than this. But honestly, what choice do you have? After we're gone, who is going to care for you?"

An unmarried girl with no father and family was completely defenseless. And she was alone in this world, wasn't she? No mother, no father and no family. No home, no one to call her own.

She wondered whether anybody really loved her.

Her mother might have loved her when she was still in her womb. She wasn't sure whether her father cared much for her. He seemed so preoccupied with the problems from all four directions: endless uprisings in the southern wetlands; famines in the west; the threat of invaders from the northern steppes; and challenges from the island kingdoms in the east. If he wasn't ruling from the throne, he was spending all his time with the Empress in his bedchambers or his study.

It was no wonder he was so irritated with Snow when she took up his time. She did not matter much to him. Why should she? She was born a worthless, useless girl, not a treasured son who carried the family name, or who could inherit the throne.

Her half-brothers, save for Weilong, treated her like she was beneath them, and her foster mothers! Those scheming scorpions, they would rather see her dead! The Empress too, apparently.

The only friends I have in this world are seven old men in their sunset years, and... A lump formed in her throat as she thought of Erden.

He was supposed to be her protector and constant companion. And she had always been there for him, no matter what.

Whenever she found him staring listlessly into space, or punching sacks of sand until his knuckles bled, or whenever she saw that he was going into a deep dark place with morose questions about his identity and tenuous position in the Palace, she was the one who helped him out of that place.

She knew that despite his stoic façade, he had not developed the impenetrable armor or ruthlessness needed to survive the Palace. He was not impervious to the taunts and names the princes called him, and the things they said about his ancestors and his people hurt him deeply.

She was the one he had turned to, in his times of pain and loneliness. She, and only she, understood him like no other. Alas, he did not belong to her.

Did he feel anything for her? Last summer, when he held her hand by the lake, with the flowers and leaves raining down all around them, did he inadvertently reveal his true feelings to her?

Or was that just an altered memory, a pleasant fantasy she conjured up to escape from reality? And was she just being a besotted fool, finding non-existent messages in every twinkle of his eye and every dimpled smile?

Did he lie to her? Did he string her along and play with her heart for fun or only to appease his own ego?

No, he's not capable of that! She blinked back bitter tears. Where are you, Erden? It's been months since the hunt. Why haven't you come looking for me? Do you even care for me?

She didn't know what she wanted. On the one hand, she knew that if she was discovered, she would be at the mercy of the Empress. No one could help her; the Empress was the paramount ruler who was mandated by Heaven to govern the people on behalf of the gods. She had maintained the previous council of politicians, generals and advisors to purportedly show that she was continuing the Emperor's mandate, but whoever criticized her – or even said a remotely negative word about her – was exiled.

Even General Liang, her father's most illustrious general and head of his army, had stayed away from the capital for the past years. She didn't blame him – history taught her that too many of the Kingdom's finest generals had been executed by paranoid emperors who were jealous of their popularity and influence.

What would it be this time if the Empress caught her? Another dagger? The torture chamber? Would she be locked away in the dungeons for life? She dreaded thinking about it.

On the other hand, she wanted Erden to come and rescue her. She always wanted him to take her away to a safe place.

She recalled Erden's disheveled appearance and the haunted look on his face. It was just a dream. It's not real. He's probably already forgotten about me and moved on with his life.

An image came unbidden to her mind, of a couple dressed in fine red robes in their wedding bedchambers. She imagined Erden gazing lovingly at his bride, whose head was covered by a red veil, with a contented smile on his radiant face.

Snow made violent cuts through the jacket with her scissors.

If I want to get out of here, I'd better figure out a way myself. If I had to wait for someone to come and save me, I'll be here till I'm a hundred years old!

The blades sliced through the final stretch of fabric with a satisfying snip. The thought of herself as an old crone with long white hair, wearing rags, and living alone in a rundown cottage on a mountainside, made her shudder.

How did I even get here in the first place? How did I end up a fugitive on the run, like a mouse perpetually running away from a cat?

How long do I have to keep hiding or looking over my shoulder, fearing the day I am finally caught?

I'm so sick and tired of this, of all of this!

"Empress Hu!" She slammed the scissors onto the table. This time, she figured she really had gone mad, but she did not care anymore. Her heart beat like a drum in her chest. "If you want to kill me, come and get me!"

Author's note: I remembered my parents had an old medicine box at home. I'm sure in every Chinese household there are the essentials - Bo Zai Yun pills for stomach ache, medicated oil for wind, and balms for insect bites. What did you have at home?