As they were away at the detached palace for the hunt, the people she held dearest were not with her, and so Xie Yuzhang had not planned to mark her birthday here. She had also been wary that if Li Gu found out, he might offer some reward, which would draw unwanted attention from others.
But the Emperor’s expression in that moment was genuinely amusing. Xie Yuzhang could no longer hold back her laughter.
She had spent three days being too embarrassed to leave the detached palace after that misunderstanding, all to avoid facing him. Li Gu understood perfectly well why. Seeing her laugh at last, he finally let out a quiet breath of relief.
Xie Yuzhang said, “And you actually remembered my birthday.”
Li Gu said, “I remember all of it.”
What Li Gu had meant to say was all of your matters, I remember — but his way of speaking had always been spare and direct, and by the time the words left his mouth, they had already been compressed into just those three plain words.
Xie Yuzhang, however, took his meaning to be that he kept track of all his consorts’ birthdays, and thought to herself with quiet sympathy: being an emperor really is exhausting. If the ban on selection ceremonies were ever lifted and new consorts were added, how would he ever keep up with so many birthdays without wearing himself out?
She poured him a cup of freshly pressed fruit juice.
Li Gu took one sip and frowned. “This is terribly sweet.”
Xie Yuzhang suppressed a grin.
Li Gu gave her a sidelong look and drank the rest of it in a single go.
The next day was already the eighth day of the summer hunt. The original plan had been to stay for ten days. Though the hunt had been exhilarating, the Emperor was not the sort to be consumed by indulgence, and had never intended to spend the entire summer at the detached palace the way the former dynasty’s imperial family had done.
That day, however, rain began to fall, and so everyone stayed indoors, passing the time in leisure.
When Li Gu came to visit Li Zhenzhen, Deng Wanniang, Xie Yuzhang, and several others were already there, along with a number of the wives of high-ranking officials who had brought their daughters along.
He arrived late, and as he stepped through the doorway, the final note of Xie Yuzhang’s zither had just faded into its lingering resonance. As he entered, everyone rose to their feet.
Li Gu said, “There is no need for formality.”
He settled in beside Li Zhenzhen and asked, “What have you all been doing?”
Li Zhenzhen smiled. “The little one and Yongning have been playing the zither for us.”
The Hexi Commandery Princess cut in eagerly: “I played first — because if I had gone after the Princess, I wouldn’t have dared show my humble playing at all! Uncle, you simply cannot imagine how beautifully the Princess plays!”
Since she had begun attending the Maoshi clan’s family school, she had blossomed over the past half-year into a noticeably more open and lively young person. Li Gu was very fond of this change in her, and said with a smile, “I am certain you have been lazy — spending all your time playing and not practicing diligently enough.”
The Hexi Commandery Princess protested indignantly: “I have not. If you do not believe me, ask the Princess yourself.”
Li Gu turned his gaze toward Xie Yuzhang.
She was not in riding clothes today. She wore a narrow-sleeved blouse of pale silk, and over it a full-length tube skirt in apricot yellow scattered with woven blossoms. The color was so light and delicate that on most people it would look garish and unstable — few would dare wear such a shade. Who else would attempt such a tube skirt?
Only she could carry it — her presence ethereal, almost weightless, wrapped in something this pale, as if she might dissolve into a wisp of smoke and slip through one’s fingers before you could catch hold of her.
At her ears, a pair of amber bead drops. Tucked into her hair, a single hairpin, its tip set with a piece of amber as well, a small cascade of tiny beads hanging from it. In the dim, grey light of a rainy day, she appeared fresh and clear — a contrast to many of the other women present, whose profusion of gold pins and pearl ornaments was exhausting just to look at.
Xie Yuzhang said with a smile: “I am only making use of my age as an advantage. At her age, the Commandery Princess has already far surpassed me at the same stage. When I was young, I was the one who was truly idle and undisciplined — nothing close to her diligence.”
The noble wives all began to compliment the Hexi Commandery Princess in turn. The young women of their households had no place to speak in such company; they simply stood at their mothers’ sides, stealing glances at the Emperor.
The Emperor’s commanding presence had grown more formidable with each passing day, and the more one looked at him, the more one appreciated the sight.
Only it was a pity that Princess Yongning simply could not be present at gatherings like this one. Whenever she was in the room, she eclipsed everyone else entirely — the Emperor had not so much as glanced in any of their directions.
The young women who had harbored certain hopes had been counting on this summer hunt as an opportunity to encounter the Emperor a few more times, but none of them had anticipated that he would leave for Yunjing that very afternoon — an urgent message had arrived from the capital by fast horse, bearing news that Noble Consort Cui’s mother had passed away. The news had reached the palace, and Noble Consort Cui had been struck by such grief that it had triggered early labor.
According to the original schedule, the full procession was to return to the capital in another two days. With the Emperor departing ahead of time, it seemed unlikely he would be coming back. The ministers all followed him, leaving only the women’s households to remain at the detached palace.
The Emperor being at the detached palace, Yunjing had Marquis Bei Rong Li Weifeng holding down the capital — there was nothing to be concerned about on that front. But with no one presiding over the inner palace, protocol would suggest that Li Zhenzhen, as Noble Consort, ought to have returned with him.
But Li Zhenzhen was genuinely reluctant to leave. The detached palace felt like freedom itself — she was like a bird that had escaped its cage, and the moment she returned she would have to go back inside. The next opportunity might not come until next year. She had no desire to go, and besides, Li Gu had only mentioned it to her in passing before leaving, without any indication that he actually needed her to return with him.
So Li Zhenzhen announced: “Since His Majesty has already left, the rest of us need not worry.”
Deng Wanniang was not moving either.
She said, “I have not even had children, so what do I have to fear? I spent the first half of my life in service to my family. For the second half, I want to live freely. His Majesty is generous, and permits me that freedom. The Noble Consort herself is not stirring — I am certainly not going to perform some hollow show of virtue and magnanimity.”
The matter between her and Cui Shiqi was not something to be spoken of to others. She simply would not do anything for Cui Shiqi’s sake — and that was the end of it.
Xie Yuzhang suddenly understood why she had always felt drawn to being close to Cui Wanniang.
She was not living for Li Gu. Whatever had been true in the past, now — she was a person living for herself.
In this world, so few women could truly say they lived for themselves. Even Li Zhenzhen, the most honored Noble Consort of the Great Mu dynasty, had sorrows she could not speak of to anyone.
Noble Consort and Virtuous Concubine held out for another two days before finally making the journey back to the capital with the other noble households.
Noble Consort Cui had given birth to the Third Princess.
Whether the Emperor was disappointed or not, no one could know — even if he was, he would never let it show. The gifts sent to the Jade Algae Palace were as generous as they had always been. The Noble Consort, however, made no pretense and stated her disappointment openly. She told Qin Zhaorong: “I am counting on you now.”
Then she turned to Zheng Zhaoyi and Su Zhaoyuan: “You two must make an effort as well.”
Only Deng Shu Consort sat fanning herself unhurriedly with her round fan, perfectly at her ease.
Li Zhenzhen had by now simply come to regard her as someone beyond all reason, and had made up her mind to wait and see her in pitiful isolation in her old age — then she would wash her hands of the whole matter.
To everyone else, it looked as though Deng Shu Consort was so favored that even the Noble Consort yielded to her.
Upon returning to Yunjing, Xie Yuzhang held a belated birthday celebration. The sisters of the Yang Family and Lin Fei all came to celebrate with her. The consorts in the palace, upon hearing the news, also sent gifts in succession. Even the Hexi Commandery Princess sent one. In truth there was gold and silver, jade and emerald from all of them.
When she next entered the palace, Li Zhenzhen said with mild reproach: “Why didn’t you say anything about your birthday?”
Xie Yuzhang smiled. “It was only a casual occasion.” Then she asked: “Is Noble Consort Cui well? I should go and pay her a visit.”
Li Zhenzhen said: “Go ahead, go ahead — you always know exactly what to say. She’s been crying every day and it is getting rather trying.”
So Xie Yuzhang went.
Cui Yingniang burst into tears at the mere mention of her mother.
“Her health had never been good. When I came to Yunjing, my father and brothers all followed. But my mother was still in Liangzhou, recuperating. I have not seen her in years. I never imagined — that the day I left would be the last day we would ever see each other.”
Cui Ying was not usually one to talk at length, but when it came to her mother, she could not hold back. She wept and poured out her grief — and even in tears she was a beautiful sight, genuinely moving to behold.
Xie Yuzhang offered what comfort she could.
When she went to see Deng Wanniang next, Deng Wanniang said: “Everyone is watching, waiting for me to step on her. But what would I be stepping on? I have no children of my own — what grounds do I have to look down on someone who has both sons and daughters?”
Xie Yuzhang said: “The inner palace has always been like this. When people are kept confined long enough, their hearts change. His Majesty’s rear palace is already quite spare — it is genuinely peaceful. In the old days, did people not simply vanish, without a sound, inside the Zhao palace?”
Deng Wanniang smiled, though it was a sad smile: “Perhaps one day I will become the same — just as you say. Ugly and distorted beyond recognition.”
Xie Yuzhang was alarmed. She reached out and took her hand: “Don’t say such things. Look at how you are now — hold onto that. His Majesty is patient and kind. You are at his side — do not let others lead you astray.”
Deng Wanniang said: “It is only because I was once his wife that he extends such patience to me. I know how fortunate I am, and I am doing my best. But if that day truly comes — there will be no need for him to act. I will take my own life first.”
Xie Yuzhang scolded her sharply: “Will you stop that! You are never to say such things again!”
When Xie Yuzhang came to the palace now, she always went to the rear palace first, before going to the Zichen Hall.
Li Gu asked: “Did you go to see Yingniang?”
Xie Yuzhang said: “Yes. Noble Consort Cui is holding up well.”
Li Gu said: “She has requested to observe a full year of mourning for her mother.”
Xie Yuzhang offered warm praise: “Filial devotion is the root of loyalty. Noble Consort Cui’s intention is entirely understandable.”
Li Gu gave her a glance and said: “I have already granted the request.”
Xie Yuzhang offered further praise: “Your Majesty is kind and magnanimous.”
With Deng Wanniang’s refusal to bear children already setting a precedent, Cui Ying’s request to observe mourning drew virtually no critical attention — and unlike Deng Wanniang, who had used the Emperor’s indulgence to live as she pleased, what Cui Ying was doing was an act of filial piety. Not a single voice was raised in reproach; all words spoken of her were laudatory.
And praise, too, came to the Emperor — for his benevolence, for governing with loyalty and filial virtue as his guiding principles.
There was, however, one considerable shortcoming of this Emperor, which was that he had far too few sons. At present he had only one.
That said, the matter of the selection ceremony had already been fought over once between the Emperor and his ministers, and the Emperor had proven absolutely immovable — even the lords of Hexi had been unable to budge him.
This time, the topic of establishing an Empress was raised again — but only by two minor censors. Upon investigation, one proved to have limited backing, while the other had no backing at all, and was simply following his conscience and his sense of duty.
This was largely owing to the shadow cast by that selection ceremony Zhang Fen had attempted over three years ago. And because the families had put forward their strongest candidates on that occasion, only to have the Emperor sweep them all away in one stroke, the great houses now found themselves in a period of transition, without candidates strong enough to give them confidence — and none of them wanted to see the position fall to a rival household. The truly powerful figures were biding their time and saying nothing. Those who were making noise over the matter were all minor players.
Besides, an Empress was not strictly a necessity. What was necessary was holding a selection ceremony and producing more sons.
Grand Preceptor Mo had asked the Emperor privately: “Why will you not establish an Empress?”
The Emperor had replied: “I have not yet met anyone worthy of the position.”
This answer was rather unfair to the noble women of Yunjing, whose caliber was unquestionably the finest in all of Great Mu.
Grand Preceptor Mo communicated wordlessly with his eyes that he did not believe this.
After a pause, the Emperor said: “An Empress is the mother of the nation — but she is also my wife. I have not yet found someone who could be both.”
Grand Preceptor Mo, speaking from the experience of a man who had lived through much, let out a quiet sigh and did not press further. He simply said: “Then focus on producing sons.”
The Emperor said: “I will do my best.”
And yet the Great Prince’s fifth birthday was approaching at the end of the eighth month, and Li Gu had originally intended to mark the occasion properly. But Noble Consort Cui, still deep in her grief, even advised the Emperor against it: “The young prince is still small. Your Majesty should not set a precedent of excess in his name.”
So Li Gu did not hold a grand celebration, only a modest family banquet in the inner palace. He also summoned Li Da-lang, Li Wu-lang, and Li Qi-lang into the palace, along with Hu Jin, and had a meal and a few cups of wine together with them while the little prince sat in their midst.
The uncles each brought gifts — all the kinds of things that would delight a small child. The young prince was all smiles. But he had turned five now, and he was growing more perceptive with each passing day. He thanked his uncles with proper decorum and not a trace of shyness, which made everyone present very fond of him.
In the ninth month, Marquis An Yi, Jiang Jinye, returned to the capital in great triumph at the head of his forces.
Marquis An Yi’s accomplishments were significant enough to draw jealousy, and there was inevitably talk of ministers whose power exceeds that of the ruler. But Jiang Jinye had followed Li Gu for many years and had the Emperor’s full trust — he was, of course, an astute man.
The moment he arrived, he surrendered his military seal. After the victory banquet, the Emperor even kept him to spend the night at the Zichen Hall, and by all accounts the two of them talked well into the night by lamplight, sleeping side by side — which left many people both envious and bitter.
The next day, when Marquis Bei Rong entered the palace and caught sight of Marquis An Yi with a bruise darkening his chin, he burst into laughter.
Marquis An Yi lunged forward and seized him by the throat: “Li the Seventh! Were you the one who went behind my back and said things to get me in trouble?”
Marquis Bei Rong was also a man in the Emperor’s good graces — he was hardly the sort to simply let someone manhandle him. He immediately fought back, and the two founding marquises tangled together in a heap.
Imperial Guard Commander Hu stood nearby, arms folded across his chest, and observed: “No underhanded moves — Marquis Jiang, pull that elbow back! And you, Seventh Master, that was far beyond the pale, there is nothing dignified about that kind of attack!”
A Secretariat attendant who happened to be passing by was unable to stand it any longer and moved to intervene, only to be stopped by Zhongshu Secretariat attendant Lin Zhongxun, who pulled him back.
“Let it go,” Lin Zhongxun said, still smiling. “It is a happy day. A little high spirits does no harm.”
The Secretariat attendant looked again at the people involved — the Emperor’s brother, his deputy general, and his personal guard — and after a moment’s consideration, swallowed the impulse, let out a disgruntled sound, and walked away.