Chapter Eight: With Age, Even the Bosom Fades

After Madam Song returned, she indeed sent over half a jin of imperial bird’s nest through Mama Fang. In addition to this, there was a whole, intact wild ginseng root.

Mama Fang took Mama Gong’s hand, slipping a small pouch into her palm as she smiled and said, “Our lady says you’ve rendered great service tending to the Dowager, Mama. This is a little reward for you to buy yourself some wine.”

Mama Gong could not refuse and tucked the pouch into her sleeve, saying, “Madam’s intentions are clear for all to see. The Dowager knows it well in her heart. Don’t worry, sister.”

Mama Fang offered a few more flattering words before turning away.

Only after watching her leave did Mama Gong enter the room, laying out all the gifts from Madam Song before Song Ci, all the while unobtrusively singing Madam Song’s praises.

“...Truly, she was born into a marquis’s household. Her virtue is beyond reproach. The Dowager is truly blessed.”

Song Ci had been in the entertainment industry for many years and was no stranger to the ways of the world. She listened, then glanced at Mama Gong. “How much did she give you to earn such high praise from you?”

Mama Gong’s heart skipped a beat, but her face remained wreathed in smiles. She pulled the pouch from her sleeve. “Nothing escapes you, Dowager. Just this lovely little pouch. You know that maid Jiegeng at Madam’s side? Her needlework is second to none, as you yourself have said. This is her handiwork.”

Song Ci’s interest was piqued. She took the pouch, turning it over in her hands, then opened it to find a delicate golden plum blossom trinket inside. After playing with it for a while, she put it back and handed the pouch to Mama Gong. “It is quite exquisite.”

“If you like it, Dowager, why not keep it?”

Song Ci shook her head. “It was given to you. You keep it.”

She remembered this old mama had been assigned to her by the Empress Dowager as an aide—an old palace servant left over from the previous reign, prudent and capable, the most distinguished servant in the Song household.

Seeing Song Ci’s expression was genuine and not offended in the least, Mama Gong put away the pouch.

“Are you bored, Dowager? Would you like to hear a story read aloud?”

Song Ci shook her head. “Have someone prepare water for a bath.”

At her words, Mama Gong waved her hand, and a maid quietly went to make the arrangements.

Before long, Song Ci was helped to her feet. After only a few steps, she was already breathless and looked as if she might collapse. In the end, a sturdy maidservant had to carry her into the bathing room.

Song Ci felt on the verge of tears—how could her body be in such a state?

“Dowager, let this old servant help you undress,” Mama Gong said, stepping forward to remove Song Ci’s clothes.

Song Ci wanted to do it herself, but as soon as she lifted her arm, it fell back down, weak as ever.

Seeing her so dispirited, Mama Gong deftly undressed her while reassuring her, “You’re still recovering, Dowager. Rest and you’ll soon feel better.”

“Mm.”

Suddenly she felt a chill run over her skin. Song Ci looked down and let out a sharp yelp.

“What is it, Dowager?” Mama Gong was startled, thinking she’d hurt her somehow.

But Song Ci could only stare dumbly at her own chest, saying nothing for a long while. Instinctively, she reached out and touched it, her lips quivering.

Was this truly her chest? Sagging, wrinkled, shriveled—it looked like a deflated ball, flat and pitiful.

Sniffing back tears, Song Ci managed, “It’s nothing. Let’s get to the bath.”

The maids hurried forward, lifting her carefully and placing her into the tub.

Song Ci glanced once more at her chest, which was still above the water, and nearly wailed aloud. Her once-proud thirty-four D bust was gone, replaced by two withered pouches.

So it was true—when age comes, even the bosom collapses!

Mama Gong looked at her with some puzzlement. Since when did the Dowager care so much about her own body?