If His Majesty’s feelings toward the Grand Princess were a mixture of reverence and guilt, then toward the household of the Rui Prince, they were a mixture of love and tender sorrow. The one originally enfeoffed as the Rui Prince had in fact been the seventh imperial prince, Prince Rui Zhao Bin — who, during His Majesty’s time as Crown Prince, had been raised alongside him in the late Empress Dowager’s palace. In those days, the late Emperor had favored the fourth imperial prince, enfeoffing him as the Jin Prince, and this had posed a tremendous threat to the then-Crown Prince. During the struggle over succession, Prince Rui had been the most vital force in the Crown Prince’s faction. When the great case of the Hongchou Affair swept up vast numbers of people in its wake, Prince Rui bore all the tempest alone — his entire household was placed under confinement, and he himself was imprisoned in the Court of Judicial Review, where he was even subjected to torture. Though the Jin Prince’s use of torture later enraged the late Emperor, causing him to fall from favor, Prince Rui’s health never recovered. He was unable to attend His Majesty’s enthronement ceremony. His Majesty bestowed repeated honors upon him — territory, an independent princely establishment, even entrusting him with the great affairs of ancestral rites — yet none of it could hold onto the Rui Prince’s life. In the third year of the Renzhao reign, Prince Rui passed away. His Majesty suspended court for three days, and the whole realm mourned.
All the affection that had gone unspent was now lavished upon the Rui Prince’s heir, Zhao Yanze. Brought into the palace to be raised from childhood, he was regarded more highly than any of the imperial princes. During his most gravely ill periods, he was even housed in Renashou Palace, where His Majesty resided, so that His Majesty could personally attend to him. When Zhao Yanze fell gravely ill at age seven, His Majesty had the Jiling Temple built in his honor, issued a general amnesty throughout the realm to pray for his recovery, and barely managed to pull him back from the brink of death — after which he further bestowed the Hot Springs Palace upon him as a villa. Memorials from the Censorate arrived like snowflakes, yet His Majesty paid them no heed.
Outsiders did not understand; they assumed the Ying Prince’s household held the foremost position among the capital’s nobility. But the Ying Prince had only aligned himself with His Majesty after the throne had already been secured — how could his household compare to even half the favor shown to the Rui Prince’s household?
People said Huo Yingzhen was shrouded in mystery, but in truth, Prince Rui Zhao Yanze also lived in deep seclusion, spending most of the year recuperating at the Hot Springs Palace. Aside from the wives of a handful of the most eminent families, the wives of other households — even those who regularly attended palace banquets — had no opportunity to see him. So when the way was cleared by palace attendants and he came striding forward amid his ceremonial procession — a strikingly handsome young man dressed in a white dragon-embroidered robe, carrying a smile — it was truly as though he had stepped out of a dream.
It was said that he had come to pay his respects to Madam — but in truth, Madam Shen was the one who had first to bow to him. Zhao Yanze helped Madam Shen rise, addressing her as “Elder Madam,” and insisted on showing her the deference of a nephew, while beside them Nanny Song and the Elder Princess Consort of Liang Wang came forward with smiling words to set Madam Shen at ease, urging her to accept the show of respect. Madam Shen earnestly declined; Zhao Yanze pressed again; and there was warmth and harmony all around.
While the two of them went back and forth with their polite refusals, every lady in the hall was on her knees receiving the royal procession. This was still manageable — far worse would be the predicament of those who had left to give the Shen Family a cold shoulder and then were unable to rush back in time: they would be caught in a terrible embarrassment. Going up alone to pay respects to the Prince would seem odd; not paying respects would be even more unconscionable — disrespectful to the imperial family.
So by the time Zhao Yanze had taken his seat in the hall, quite a few ladies from the great families were still rushing in to pay their obeisances. Even the wife of Pingjun Wang was in an awkward position. When she came forward to greet him, Zhao Yanze merely gave a faint smile: “The wife of Pingjun Wang has come rather early…”
The wife of Pingjun Wang flushed red with embarrassment. “There was truly an urgent matter at home — the Elder Princess Consort summoned me back to attend to her. I had no idea of His Royal Highness’s visit, and I beg your forgiveness.”
He was a Prince of the First Rank; Pingjun Wang’s household was of the Second Rank. The wife of Pingjun Wang had no choice but to invoke the Elder Princess Consort as her excuse in order to barely escape the predicament.
If the wife of Pingjun Wang was already in such an awkward position, the other ladies of the great families were in an even worse one. Even Lu Wanyang had no choice but to meekly follow Madam Chen back to attend the banquet. Zhao Yanze could not keep track of so many people; he simply sat in the hall with a pleasant smile, sipping his tea. But Han Yueqi, determined to repay every wrong, gave a cold laugh and said, “Madam Chen has come so quickly — I thought you and your party wouldn’t be returning for the evening banquet.”
“Not at all,” Madam Chen could only endure the junior’s mockery with forced graciousness, smiling as she said, “There was merely a small matter at home to attend to. Today is a great occasion for the Shen Family — how could we not return?”
It must be said that Han Yueqi had a natural temperament for leadership. Though she had suffered such a crushing defeat earlier, with that air of despondency hanging over everything — where another person might have lost heart entirely — now that the situation had reversed, she was immediately filled with confidence again, pressing her advantage and settling scores one by one. Madam Chen, Lu Wanyang, Yang Qiaozhen, Sun Minwen — every lady who had left and then returned could not escape her questioning. Those with thicker skins endured it somewhat better; others with thinner skins were asked until their faces turned crimson and they were struck speechless. Everyone watching understood that she was making an example of a few to warn the rest, and they gained a new measure of awe for this seemingly poised and gentle Young Mistress of the Shen household.
It was unclear whether the Rui Prince truly did not know the customs of the inner household, or whether he was deliberately bolstering the Shen Family’s position — but he remained seated in the hall for a full quarter of an hour, until Madam Shen came to relay the message: “In reply to Your Royal Highness, the feast has been prepared. May it please Your Royal Highness to proceed.” Only then did he rise unhurriedly and prepare to move to the main hall of the Shen Family’s outer residence to attend Master Shen’s banquet.
It was at this very moment that Shen Biwei returned.
She went directly to none other than the main hall, arriving just as Zhao Yanze was rising to his feet. On such a snowy day, she was dressed in red — a common red silk brocade outer layer over a white fox-fur lining, even more vivid and striking, a perfect contrast to the snow. Beneath it was a sable-lined garment, setting off her ink-dark cloud of hair. She wore a barbarian-style boots and belt, and still held a riding crop in her hand. Standing among the courtyard’s fully-bloomed forsythia flowers, she was as dashing and spirited as a legendary consort stepping out of an opera.
When she caught sight of Zhao Yanze, her eyebrow arched first.
“Biwei — are you not going to pay your respects to His Royal Highness?” Madam Shen reproached her.
She stepped forward and paid her obeisance. Even that she did with flair — sweeping her cloak aside and performing the women’s formal bow, yet with a straightforwardness more forceful than most men’s. Zhao Yanze smiled and bade her rise, and received from her a lingering upward glance as she straightened. Her eyes were naturally of a phoenix’s slant — the lines exquisitely drawn, the irises deep in color — cold as a blade’s edge.
“How does Your Royal Highness leave without finishing his tea?” She even took the initiative to speak.
Zhao Yanze smiled.
“Indeed, I have heard that this household’s tea is exceptional. I shall trouble Madam Shen to pour me another cup.”
So they moved to the warm chamber for tea — a gesture that conveyed even greater intimacy, truly as though he were a son or nephew of the household. Zhao Yanze had barely taken his seat, and Madam Shen had not yet withdrawn, when Shen Biwei’s cool voice was heard saying, “On such a bitterly cold day and you dare come out — have you no care for your life?”
“Biwei!” Madam Shen was greatly alarmed and immediately reprimanded her daughter, but she could see that the Rui Prince bore a faint smile, showing no sign of having been offended. Han Yueqi also came forward with a smile, taking Madam Shen’s arm: “Madam, please do not be upset. Biwei and His Royal Highness have known each other since childhood — this is simply the way of youthful familiarity. Let us withdraw, Madam — with Han Niangzi to look after things, let them talk freely…”
Though Han Yueqi was a few years older than Shen Biwei, they were all of the same generation; she understood the situation between these two. Madam Shen was still somewhat amenable to persuasion, and though she remained a little uneasy, she paid her respects and withdrew.
Shen Biwei’s marriage prospects lay most likely with one of the grand ducal or marquis households; if she were to marry into the imperial family, it would most likely be as a side consort to one of the imperial princes, as the Hanlin Academy was full of distinguished elder officials, and the marriages of all the imperial princes had already been arranged.
If it were the Rui Prince’s household, however — that would not be an undesirable choice…
But the way Shen Biwei and Zhao Yanze actually interacted was entirely unlike what Madam Shen had hoped for. The moment Madam Shen was gone, Shen Biwei immediately went to check the doors and windows, instructing Han Niangzi and the maids, “Go — close all the doors and windows, and let not a breath of wind through.”
She herself picked up a candlestick, lit the candle, and with the doors and windows shut, though it was still the afternoon, the room became as dark as night. She held the candle flame close, her face in the wavering candlelight as exquisite as a porcelain doll, and with great concentration she inspected each door and window for any crack through which cold air might seep.
Han Niangzi and the maids, though not fully understanding why, still did as they were told — shutting the doors and windows, and lighting the lamps.
Zhao Yanze merely lounged about, sipping his tea.
“It’s really not so bad,” he said with a pleasant smile. “I am much better now — I have long since stopped fearing the wind.”
To this, Shen Biwei’s response was to say nothing at all. She simply wafted the candle flame near his face. The Shen household’s candles were already of a kind that produced very little smoke, yet the wisp that drifted toward him still sent him into a fit of violent coughing. Han Niangzi, watching from nearby, felt a jolt of alarm within her heart.
Who could have imagined it — a prince who appeared so graceful and imposing, and yet whose constitution was so frail. It was truly a pity…
“Still insisting?” Shen Biwei asked him.
Zhao Yanze was coughing too hard to answer, his face flushed red. Though Shen Biwei’s expression remained cool, she was not unkind to him. Han Niangzi came to pour more tea, but Shen Biwei took the pot herself, emptied the tea leaves from his cup, poured in only half a cup of plain hot water, tested the temperature at the rim herself, blew on it, and then passed it to Zhao Yanze: “Drink.”
Zhao Yanze drank from her hand. He truly had an exceptionally easy temperament — a single smile, and both his brows and eyes curved gently upward. The Zhao family had always been known for their fine looks; his father had in his day been one of the most celebrated handsome men in the capital, and Zhao Yanze took after him — brows of a light, spare elegance, skin pale to the point of seeming inauspicious, lips barely tinged with color. Not the features of one destined for a long life.
What a pity for such a fine frame — the Zhao family had won their realm on horseback, and they were all tall and broad. Were his health otherwise, he would have been excellent material for a military commander.
“Your medicine?” Shen Biwei asked his attendant Fuan, who accompanied him.
“A new imperial physician was assigned last month. He said that too much medicine can itself harm the body, so it has been stopped. Now he only drinks medicinal broth each day, and receives acupuncture twice a month.” Zhao Yanze still had his head lifted to look at her. Even his irises were of a light shade — in lamplight they were almost the color of smoke, and when he smiled, there was a small mole at the outer corner of his eye, exactly like his father’s…
There was indeed a saying going around — that Zhao Yanze’s persistent illness was retribution upon the Zhao family for the wrong done in the affair of the Duke of Yongguo. The first and greatest meritorious subject at the dynasty’s founding — to have had his family’s estate seized and destroyed was already grievous enough; yet even Huo Xuan, the Duke of Yongguo’s heir who had married into the imperial family through the princess, had been done to death at Baima Station. Because His Majesty was cold-hearted, this retribution did not fall upon the imperial princes, but instead fell upon Zhao Yanze — so that the entire Rui Prince line would die without descendants, and His Majesty would know the anguish of having his heart torn apart.
Yet the care and effort His Majesty had poured into Zhao Yanze truly surpassed anything lavished upon any of the imperial princes. The imperial physicians alone — who could count how many had been changed. The Imperial Medical Academy said among themselves, privately, that to become the head of the academy, skill in taking the pulse of pregnant women or ensuring longevity was secondary — one must first learn how to treat deficiency conditions. Let anyone make progress in the condition of blood deficiency, and they would immediately rise to prominence.
Zhao Yanze’s illness was precisely a deficiency condition — and the most difficult kind at that: blood deficiency, from which a host of other ailments had cascaded. In winter he could not be exposed to wind, nor could he tolerate the smell of charcoal fires; all his garments for the four seasons were woven by a specially dedicated weaving workshop set up by the Suzhou Imperial Textile Bureau on his behalf. This was all common knowledge. The previous summer, His Majesty had wished to bestow Qingquan Palace upon him as well, and it had taken repeated remonstrations to halt the gesture.
When Shen Biwei was small, she had not known better — she had actually dared to take him to the Upper Forest Park to catch birds, and the two of them had vanished for an entire afternoon. The whole palace had been turned upside down searching for them; even the Empress had been so anxious she was drenched in sweat, and the attending palace servants had been made to kneel in a long row. Zhao Yanze himself had been perfectly fine, holding the sugar figurine Shen Biwei had bought him, smiling contentedly.
But Shen Biwei had grown up since then. She was no longer the little terror she had once been.
“All right — it’s about time, you should head back,” she prompted him. “If the palace finds out, there will be worrying again.”
In truth, it wasn’t the palace as a whole — the Empress had her own biological princes to occupy her heart. The one who had always truly worried was His Majesty. This showed that suffering existed at every station in life, and even the Son of Heaven had his share of things that did not go as he wished.
“I know.” Zhao Yanze was perfectly agreeable. The Zhao family was, at their core, a cold-natured people, but that cold side of his had never been turned toward her. He said he would go, yet did not move, still dawdling.
“Do you want me to drag you?” Shen Biwei immediately arched her brow.
He smiled pleasantly — neither confirming nor denying — and then leaned back in one great, languid motion, like a large white deer with a beautiful pair of antlers reclining at ease in a meadow, the silver dragon embroidery on his robes glimmering softly in the lamplight.
He had in fact known periods of better health — he had gone on a hunt once, mounted on an imperial-bestowed fine horse, and yet with that frame of his that stood half a head taller even than Shen Biwei, he could barely draw a bow, and had managed to bring down two or perhaps three rabbits. His Majesty had been overjoyed, and bows, barbarian horses, and a cascade of other gifts had been bestowed upon him.
But that winter he had fallen gravely ill again — only fourteen years old, lying in bed in the pallor of sickness, he had asked Shen Biwei, “If I die, will you go riding with someone else?”
The people of the Zhao family were always skilled at playing with the heart.
The people of the Shen family had always been the most loyal of subjects. Madam Shen was upright, as far as such things went — but only to a degree; otherwise she would not have left the two of them alone together here.
But Shen Biwei was different from any of them.
Even when angry, she was breathtakingly beautiful — her face as cold as frost and snow, yet the light in her eyes like a fire blazing in the middle of that snow, her brow arched as she looked at him: “Zhao Yanze, I am counting to three!”
“All right, all right — I’m getting up.” Zhao Yanze laughed and stood, and at once palace maids and attendants were at his side straightening his robes, with inner attendants coming to support him.
Shen Biwei said, “Wait for the imperial palanquin to be brought before you open the doors.”
“There’s no need for all that,” said Zhao Yanze with a smile, but no one paid him any mind. They waited until the imperial palanquin was brought — and that was not all: Nanny Song and Stewardess Su came hurrying in together with Madam Shen, and Zhao Yanze, helped by his attendants, mounted the imperial palanquin and asked, “What is the matter?”
However easygoing he might have been in Shen Biwei’s presence, it did nothing to change the fact that toward even the nanny most trusted by the Grand Princess, his manner was equally unhurried and casual. Fortunately, Shen Biwei did not truly take it to heart.
If one were so foolish as to take the imperial family’s “gracious favor” at face value, Master Shen would have long since died any number of times. It had always been said that to serve at the ruler’s side is to live beside a tiger. They all said Zhao Yanze was His Majesty’s most cherished nephew — and indeed, he was the one who had most faithfully learned from His Majesty’s ways.
Nanny Song smiled quickly and replied, “There is an imperial decree from the palace, requesting that His Royal Highness return to court. The palace says there is a banquet this evening, as the Northern Rong have escorted a princess to the capital, and His Majesty is asking His Royal Highness to help receive them.”
As if there were truly any need for him to go and receive anyone. At the Empress’s birthday banquet, he could plead illness and be excused from attending. How much more so a banquet celebrating the peace-seeking envoys of the Northern Rong after their great defeat. It was simply a pretext to have him return to the palace and not eat food from outside.
Incidentally, it was also a subtle signal to the Shen Family — not to entertain idle fantasies. There were plenty of foreign princesses and imperial kinswomen to choose from for him; several princesses and the legitimate daughters of grand princesses had yet to be wed. Shen Biwei would do well to stay properly at her Flower Season Banquet.
Zhao Yanze did indeed furrow his brow at this.
“It has hardly been any time at all, and already they are sending someone to hurry me along.” He finished his complaint, and did not forget to smile at Shen Biwei: “There is a spring hunt this year. I will come again then.”
With so many people present, Shen Biwei could hardly reprimand him, so she only said evenly, “Your Royal Highness is too gracious.”
And so the imperial palanquin returned to the palace. The entire Shen household sent him off with reverence, and Master Shen personally accompanied the procession all the way to the head of the street, watching the imperial palanquin disappear into the wind and snow before he finally turned back.
It was little wonder that Master Shen was wary of him. Zhao Yanze was indeed a difficult person to deal with — for all his air of delicate ill health, there was no one who was truly his match. The several imperial princes who had grown up in the palace had all been worn down by him at one point or another and none of them quite dared provoke him. The fourth imperial prince was the Empress’s own son. When Zhao Yanze was seven years old, the palace was preparing a ceremonial procession, and His Majesty, thinking of how inconvenient it was for him to move about, bestowed an imperial palanquin upon him — something none of the other palace princes had. The fourth prince was rather displeased. The teacher assigned to instruct Zhao Yanze advised him to decline, saying, “Though His Majesty’s favor runs deep, Your Royal Highness must also think of the future. His Majesty cannot protect you forever; sooner or later you will have to navigate your relationship with the imperial princes. It would be wise to make provisions early.” The implication, though veiled, was that once a prince ascended the throne, he might not tolerate Zhao Yanze’s presence.
Zhao Yanze’s reply was equally clever: “I may not live to see that day.”
There are no secrets in the palace, and the words were immediately carried to His Majesty’s ears. The sorrow that weighed upon His Majesty’s heart was immense; he did not sleep well for an entire night. When the imperial family later deliberated over naming a Crown Prince, His Majesty dismissed the matter with a single remark: “The fourth prince is outstanding in all respects — only he lacks the breadth of heart to tolerate others.”
Thirteen years had passed, and the palace had yet to name a Crown Prince. Those with clear sight all understood — Zhao Yanze would be a pivotal force in that matter. To speak a truly searching truth: it was precisely because of his frail body that His Majesty could lavish him with favor without restraint — territories, palaces, residences, bestowed year after year, channeling into him all the love he could not show the imperial princes.
He was a tree without roots, a stream with no future to see; the brocade of heaped flowers was ever so fine, yet it was destined to be severed at a stroke. His power could rise as high as it would, and his estate grow ever more vast — but none of it was built to last.