Dragon Boat Secret Realm 22: Peachwood

The Second Lady’s house sat at the village’s edge.

Though many lived nearby, they all avoided her, building far from her home. Her house stood alone, like an isolated island among the clustered village dwellings.

A thick mud wall, uneven and pockmarked, surrounded it. A slanted wooden gate, tightly shut and light-proof, was secured with a large lock.

Su Qing considered climbing the wall when Xiao’e, rummaging through her wild hair, produced a thin iron wire. With nimble fingers, she worked it into the lock, twisting until it clicked open, the lock falling to the ground.

Xiao’e winked at Su Qing, proud of her skill.

Su Qing lowered her raised leg, impressed by Xiao’e’s deftness.

Inside, the courtyard wasn’t as chaotic as Su Qing expected. A small vegetable plot was neatly tended, the leaves vibrant and well-cared-for.
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Two scrawny but spirited chickens, likely the yard’s most valuable assets, roamed beside the garden.

Su Qing searched but found no sign of the well Xiao’e mentioned.

“Follow me,” Xiao’e whispered, leading the way.

“The well’s inside her house,” she added softly.

Su Qing teased, “You went inside last time? Didn’t you say you just looked for branches outside?”

Xiao’e looked sheepish. “That was the plan, but I heard footsteps and thought the Second Lady was back. There was nowhere to hide, so I slipped inside.”

“Footsteps?” Su Qing asked. “Whose?”

“Wang Mazi, that lazy village cripple!” Xiao’e rolled her eyes. “He was after her chickens and didn’t see me—I hid fast.”

Su Qing eyed the mud house, wondering if the clue lay within.

The low, mud-plastered structure had a tiny fist-sized window, making the interior dim.

They listened at the wall’s edge, confirming the Second Lady’s absence.

Wanting more details, Su Qing asked, “Where would an elderly woman with mobility issues be if not home?”

“Probably digging wild greens,” Xiao’e guessed, shaking her head. No one in the village got close enough to know her habits.

Xiao’e picked the lock again, and they erased traces before sneaking inside.

The Second Lady’s home was sparse: a three-legged table, a worn stool, a wooden bed, and a few pots and pans. Simple but tidy. A rough clay jar on the table held clear water with wildflowers.

This didn’t seem like the home of a mad, mute woman.

Xiao’e expertly found a hidden cellar door, so well-concealed even Su Qing missed it.

Under Su Qing’s skeptical gaze, Xiao’e explained, “I didn’t touch anything, I swear. I just… knew there’d be a cellar. The structure screamed it. You get it, right?”

“I’m not doubting you,” Su Qing said. “I’m amazed by your talent.”

“You talk so nicely,” Xiao’e grinned. “No wonder I like hanging out with you.”

Opening the cellar revealed a deep, dark space like a well, just as Xiao’e described.

At the bottom was a tree—not a living, leafy one, but a dried trunk, its gnarled roots deep in the earth.

A dead tree.

Xiao’e, bold as ever, pulled out a hemp rope, tied one end outside, and slid down, her small, light frame making it easy.

She landed and waved for Su Qing to follow, signaling no fear.

Su Qing gripped the rope for show but used her cultivation to float down lightly.

“What kind of wood is this?” Xiao’e mused. She’d collected countless woods for her canoe but hadn’t seen this type. “It’s perfect for a nameplate!”

Su Qing, with her cultivator’s senses, noticed faint spiritual energy in the wood, making it significant.

Tracing the energy, her fingers dug into the damp soil beneath, where Xiao’e’s stiff hair brushed her face, prickling like a steel brush.

Xiao’e gasped, “Is she really mad? Watering a dead tree?”

Su Qing caught the slip. “You said she was mad and mute.”

“I think she’s faking,” Xiao’e muttered. “Look at this yard, the house, those chickens—she doesn’t seem crazy.”

“She’s not watering it because she’s mad,” Su Qing said, uncovering a tender green leaf in the soil. “The tree isn’t dead.”

The leaf, the only part with spiritual energy, proved the tree was reviving.

Examining its shape, Su Qing identified it as a peach tree.

“Since it’s sprouting, I’ll take a piece of the dry wood for the nameplate—it won’t stop its growth,” Xiao’e said, pulling out a knife.

Su Qing’s thoughts raced, stopping her. “You said she’s likely not mad or mute. Shouldn’t we ask her first? Offer grain for the wood—she’d probably agree.”

Xiao’e frowned. “How do I explain knowing about the tree? I can’t say I guessed!”

She tugged her messy hair, frustrated. “If Sister Kui finds out I snuck in, she’ll nag, and my dad’ll beat me—I won’t walk for three days. I’ll take it now and deal with the consequences after the canoe’s done.”

Fair point.

As Xiao’e began cutting, a faint creak of the gate sounded above.

She froze, exchanging a glance with Su Qing.

Who was it?

After a brief silence, uneven footsteps followed—one light, one heavy.

Xiao’e whispered, “That damn Wang Mazi again. Why’s he here?”

She was indignant, forgetting she too had sneaked in and found the hidden cellar.

“How do you know it’s him?” Su Qing asked, seizing the chance for information.

“Easy,” Xiao’e said smugly. “His left leg’s lame, right leg’s fine—his steps are uneven. Village kids mimic him. I’m not that bored, but I know his walk.”

“I see,” Su Qing nodded.

She frowned. Why would Wang Mazi, a chicken thief, enter the house? The sparse furnishings held no wealth worth lingering for.

His muttering drifted down. “Nothing here. They keep sending me—what’s an old lady hiding? Her chickens are scrawnier than most—I wouldn’t bother.”

He paced, checking corners, finding nothing—unsurprising, given his witlessness.

As he prepared to leave, steady footsteps approached from the yard.

Not an old woman’s gait, yet no one else should come here.

Xiao’e, hearing it, panicked, tugging her hair. Another visitor?

They held their breath, ears straining, Xiao’e barely daring to move despite the distance.

Su Qing silently recited a breath-concealing technique, masking her presence.

The newcomer pushed open the gate, confronting Wang Mazi.

“Second Lady!” he exclaimed.

A seasoned rogue, he stayed calm despite being caught. “Fancy meeting you! I was thirsty, came for water. You weren’t here, but I’m quenched now—no need to stay. I’ll go!”

He patted her shoulder, feigning ease, ready to slip out.
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“You drank my water without a thank-you?” a quavering, aged voice said, dull and heavy—not young.

With no one else present, it was the Second Lady. She sighed, chuckling. “Such a rude guest.”

Su Qing and Xiao’e exchanged shocked glances—she could speak?

Wang Mazi, equally stunned, blurted, “You talk? Why pretend to be mute? Playing me?”

“I don’t just talk,” she laughed softly. “I can handle people too.”

A flurry of thuds followed, mixed with Wang Mazi’s groans and pleas.
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“Second Lady, my dear grandma, stop! Please!”

“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “Who sent you?”

He tried to stay silent but, spineless, soon sobbed, “City Lord Chen’s servant sent me—Flower God Festival’s near, told me to check for anything odd.”

“Lord Chen?” She lingered on the name. “After all these years, he still thinks of me.”

Wang Mazi’s mind raced. They knew each other? Both in their sixties, it wasn’t odd, but a city lord and a supposedly mad village woman seemed an unlikely pair.

Not daring to voice it, he begged, “I’ve told you everything. Let me go—I’ll keep quiet, won’t tell Chen. If I do, may lightning strike me dead!”

Inwardly, he planned to report her to Chen for revenge.

“You’re clever,” she said. “But don’t fear me so. Killing you would alert Chen Qiang. Don’t worry—I’ve other ways to cure your rogue ways.”

Silence fell above, perhaps as she dealt with him.

His cries were alarming, but his silence was worse.

Xiao’e despised Wang Mazi but realized they were both intruders. His fate could be hers.

Her boldness faded, face paling, sweating coldly.

The rumors were wrong—the Second Lady wasn’t mad or mute. She was ruthless, skilled, and could overpower a grown man.

Su Qing squeezed Xiao’e’s sweaty hand, urging calm. Xiao’e exhaled, reassuring herself: they hadn’t been caught yet, so escape was possible.

But fate wasn’t kind.

A creak came from the room’s lone chair, as if someone leaned into it.

The Second Lady’s voice drifted down, aged but cold, not kind. “Little rats in the cellar, won’t you come up to see the light? Or must I summon you with a spell?”