On the second day of the imperial wedding, Li Gu suddenly awoke, his forehead damp with sweat, his heart gripped by a nameless dread. He quickly turned to look at the pillow beside him, and seeing that face in peaceful slumber, he reached out and pulled her warm, soft body tightly into his arms. Only when he breathed in the distinctive fragrance that clung to her skin did he finally exhale.
Xie Yuzhang had fought through the night and had fallen into an exhausted, deep sleep. The moment Li Gu stirred, however, she woke. She rubbed her eyes, and found her husband gazing at her intently. She smiled and asked, “What’s wrong?”
Li Gu held her without speaking, gently stroking the smooth expanse of her back. After a long while, he finally said, “It all feels like a dream. It seems like just yesterday I followed the lord into the capital, into the palace for an imperial audience. I was standing outside the Hall of Cool Breezes, gazing across the way, and you were walking past…”
Xie Yuzhang was astonished. “You saw me at the Hall of Cool Breezes?”
“Yes. I still remember every detail of that moment — it feels as though it was just yesterday.” Li Gu held her close and said in a low voice, “Then I blink, and already we share the same bed, and you are my wife.”
“It feels like,” he said, “one great dream. I only wonder — where did all those years in between go?”
Xie Yuzhang propped herself up and studied his face, her fingers tracing the sharp lines of his jaw. Slowly, she said, “Perhaps they were carved into us, into you and me.”
“Looking back now, neither of us is the same as we once were.”
“Then which do you prefer — the person I was then, or the person I am now?”
Li Gu reached up and touched her face. “You are you. From first to last, you have always been you. I watched you walk toward me, step by step, and by the time you reached my side, you had become who you are now. I am truly glad.”
Xie Yuzhang smiled and bent down to kiss him between the brows. But Li Gu caught the back of her head and drew her down, kissing her lips.
Then he turned over, and heaven and earth were set in motion.
When the first pale threads of morning light filtered through the paper windows and spilled across the hall, through the layers of gauze bed curtains one could faintly glimpse the Emperor — lean and powerful, with that fine, strong back — gripping the slender, tensed foot resting upon his shoulder, and turning his head to bite it.
“Li Gu!” The Empress lost all reason, letting out a delirious, broken cry. “Li Gu!”
The Emperor made a low sound of acknowledgment, yet drove forward all the more forcefully, breaching every last defense.
Wave upon wave crested and crashed. That final moment arrived. Both he and she saw countless stars scattered across the heavens, and they drifted together through the vast sweep of the Milky Way, helplessly submerged in the furthest reaches of bliss.
Melting together, becoming one.
Da Mu had inherited the rites of the former Zhao dynasty, and by those rites, the second day after the imperial wedding was when the Emperor and Empress were to pay their respects to the Empress Dowager. But Li Gu carried the fate of a solitary star — he had risen to the throne alone, with neither father nor mother nor living kin. This ceremony could therefore be omitted.
After the Emperor and Empress finally rose and bathed together, palace maids surged in like a tide to dress them both.
The Emperor wore the imperial ceremonial robes. The Empress wore her formal headdress and regalia.
The Empress walked hand in hand with the Emperor and accompanied him to the Hall of Purple Light.
There, in the Hall of Purple Light, Xie Yuzhang straightened her formal attire and performed the eight ceremonial bows before her husband. She was then helped to her feet by the attendants on either side.
Li Gu received this rite. When it was concluded, he too stood, and gazing upon his luminously beautiful wife, he said simply, “Go.”
With those words, the Emperor entrusted the inner palace to the Empress.
The corners of Xie Yuzhang’s mouth curved upward. She dipped in a graceful curtsy, then turned and departed.
The Empress returned to Danyang Palace and ascended the throne. All those of the inner palace had been waiting for some time, and they were now gathered in the main hall.
Li Gu had never bestowed his favor upon any palace maid, so the entirety of the inner palace “all” amounted to four Accomplished Ladies — Cui, Zheng, Qin, and Su. Compared to Xie Yuzhang’s father’s inner palace, which had bloomed with a hundred flowers, this was a drably sparse affair.
The assembled ladies performed the eight bows to the Empress, then silently rose.
They had all once been delicate, lovely young women, but less than half a year under the Emperor’s cold indifference had drained much of the color from them.
Xie Yuzhang inclined her head slightly and said, “From this day forward, each of you will attend to your duties and keep to your proper place.”
It was not an unkind reprimand, yet the words were so spare, so absolute, that to those who heard them they tolled like a death sentence. They all stood with blanched faces, their gazes fixed upon the floor.
Cui Yingniang stole a swift glance upward — the Empress upon that throne blazed with a brilliance that had no equal in this age.
Then those phoenix eyes, shining with a keen, piercing light, flicked directly toward her.
Cui Yingniang’s heart lurched. She hastily dropped her gaze and bowed her head in humility.
Xie Yuzhang did not offer them seats. In truth, the rank of Accomplished Lady was far too low to merit the privilege of being seated in the Empress’s presence.
The four of them stood to one side. Afterward, the various head nurses and senior palace supervisors each led the imperial princes and princesses they were raising to pay their respects to the Empress.
The eldest, the First Imperial Princess, was no more than six years old. The three imperial princes were close in age, each only about two.
By the custom of the time, a child was not considered truly established until past the age of five. Infants under five could be carried off by any sudden illness, and no one could say what it might be.
In the past, there had been Qingque in the palace — he had already passed that threshold, and was strong and healthy, bright-eyed and full of life. With three younger brothers beneath him, the inner palace had felt flourishing and full. But now Qingque was gone. These little ones, fragile as fresh bean sprouts, were an uncertain prospect, and the palace had taken on a desolate air overnight. Infant mortality spared no one, not even the imperial family.
Xie Yuzhang found herself reassessing the situation in her mind.
The imperial princes and princesses had already been gathered and moved to the Palace of Prolonged Longevity and the Palace of Extended Fortune to be raised together under unified care. Their mothers were no longer permitted any hand in their upbringing. Xie Yuzhang’s address to the head nurses and senior supervisors was therefore far lengthier than what she had said to the four Accomplished Ladies.
“In the affairs of the inner palace, the imperial heirs are paramount,” she said. “Your responsibilities are weighty. You must be absolutely devoted to your duties. I need not speak again of what transpired last year — each of you knows what to weigh within yourself. Our Emperor is a man who carved his way through mountains of corpses and seas of fire. Who among you could bear the thunder of his wrath?”
The four Accomplished Ladies all bowed their heads very low. The head nurses and palace supervisors broke into a chorus of apologies, declaring they would not dare be remiss.
It was still the days of the new marriage, not yet the time for any thorough reorganization. Xie Yuzhang established the rules for morning and evening attendance, had everyone bow again in dismissal, and sent them all away.
Once these few celebratory days had passed, Li Gu’s inner palace would need to be set in proper order from the very beginning.
At midday, Li Gu came over and looked first at Xie Yuzhang’s expression.
Xie Yuzhang had already changed out of her ceremonial robes. She laughed. “Now what?”
Li Gu said, “Looking at you. You’re beautiful.”
Xie Yuzhang gave him a dismissive sound, and the two of them sat down to eat together.
Li Gu was still enjoying his wedding leave and had no desire to return to the Hall of Purple Light and exhaust himself with affairs of state, so he spent the entire afternoon at Danyang Palace.
When the harshest heat of the day had passed, the Emperor and Empress walked hand in hand along the banks of the Taiye Pool.
“It’s cool over the water. Let’s take a boat,” Li Gu said, giving Xie Yuzhang’s hand a squeeze.
Xie Yuzhang had no idea what he had in mind. “All right,” she agreed.
As it turned out, the boat Li Gu summoned was not the magnificent pleasure vessel used by the Emperor and his consorts for leisurely outings, but one of the small, canopied skiffs that the palace servants used to gather lotus flowers and dig up lotus roots.
Li Gu gave Xie Yuzhang’s hand another squeeze. With an expression caught between amusement and suspicion, she stepped aboard with him.
The Emperor would allow no one else to follow. He poled the boat himself. With his remarkable strength, the little skiff shot swiftly away from the shore and was soon hidden among the lotus leaves, only its stern visible, coming to rest somewhere within.
A palace maid exchanged a glance with Liang Chen.
Inside the canopied skiff, Xie Yuzhang caught Li Gu’s hand. “You’re not getting anything until you explain yourself clearly,” she declared.
Li Gu was already nuzzling her pale neck. “Back then,” he murmured, “the first time I had an imperial audience… you were standing right at the edge of the Taiye Pool.”
“The light was shimmering on the water behind you. The moment I looked over at you, you were glowing.”
“And then I kept dreaming of it, just like this…”
Xie Yuzhang laughed softly and let go of his hand.
“Liang Chen,” the maid asked, “do you see those ripples on the water over there? They seem to keep going.”
Liang Chen replied with perfect composure, “Do they?”
The maid let out a sigh and said, “Stay here then, won’t you? I’ll go prepare a change of clothes for the two of them.”
“Off you go. No need to rush — don’t run and fall,” Liang Chen said. “They’ll be a while.”
The maid covered her mouth with her sleeve to hide her smile and went off to see to it.
Only when the sun had begun to tilt toward the west did the little skiff finally settle and go still. The Emperor picked up the pole and, at an unhurried pace, guided the boat back to the bank. There was no rush to go ashore — fresh clothes were required first, as anticipated.
As he helped Xie Yuzhang tie her sash, Li Gu told her, “I have a portrait of you, with a water scene in the background, very much like the Taiye Pool. It captures your likeness extraordinarily well. I’ve taken it out to look at often.”
“And then let your mind wander to all sorts of things,” Xie Yuzhang said with a dismissive click of her tongue.
Men, as a general rule, have thick skin. Li Gu only smiled and said nothing.
The two stepped ashore hand in hand, and Xie Yuzhang said, “Let me have a look at that painting. I want to see which great master was peeping at me and painting me in secret.”
Xie Yuzhang was often on horseback, and frequently appeared at the Eastern and Western Markets and the Northern Entertainment Quarter. Many painters, either on their own initiative or commissioned by others, would quietly seek her out to observe her and capture her likeness.
A fair number of portraits of her had circulated throughout Yunjing, each one sought after for a thousand gold coins.
Xie Yuzhang did not particularly mind.
Li Gu walked hand in hand with her to the Hall of Purple Light. They bathed together first in the bathing chamber, changed into sleeping robes, and settled onto the imperial bed, only then did he bring out the painting to show her. He kept it right there in the bedchamber, so he could look at it whenever he wished.
Li Gu took it out and they admired it together. It was indeed an extraordinarily faithful likeness. The painter’s skill was of such a level that Deng Jiu and his ilk would not be fit to hold this artist’s shoes.
Yet by lamplight, Xie Yuzhang’s smile faded bit by bit, until all expression had drained from her face entirely.
Li Gu sensed something was wrong. He took her hand. “Is something the matter?”
Xie Yuzhang asked, “Do you know who painted this?”
Li Gu said, “I do not.”
She asked again, “Who presented this painting to you?”
Li Gu said, “Fuchun.”
Xie Yuzhang’s gaze turned distant, carrying a quality of quiet certainty — as I suspected.
Li Gu held her hand and looked at her steadily.
“Your Majesty.” Xie Yuzhang slowly rolled the painting back up. “I want to kill someone.”
Li Gu studied her for a long moment. He did not ask who, nor why. He simply nodded and said, “You may.”
On the evening of the second day of the imperial wedding, Xie Yuzhang did not return to Danyang Palace. She spent the night in the Hall of Purple Light.
Xie Yuzhang had originally intended to enjoy these few days of wedding leave and put off the things she had to face until later. But the painting had shattered the mood, and since things had already come to this, Xie Yuzhang simply said what was on her mind.
“We must hold a selection of imperial consorts. You need to father more sons. Your three sons are all far too young — I hope with all my heart that they will grow up healthy. But there is another matter: the Zheng, Qin, and Su families are all households of no ordinary standing. If all your sons have maternal families of that sort, it will not serve either of us well. For the selection, only girls from good families of common background need be accepted. You may skip the noble households of fifth rank and above.”
Li Gu had not expected that on the second day of their wedding he would find himself discussing such matters with her.
Yet these things could never be permanently avoided. The Emperor had only three sons, none of them yet five years old. A sudden cold snap, a moment of carelessness, or a contagious illness could wipe out all three in one blow.
That risk was far too great.
“I understand. There’s no hurry.” Li Gu drew Xie Yuzhang into his arms and stroked her flat abdomen. “Yuzhang, I want a legitimate son.”
Xie Yuzhang paused, then said, “These things are difficult to predict with certainty. Not every Empress is able to give birth to a son. My mother produced only me throughout her entire life. Before me, she had two elder sisters, but both died in infancy. To be safe, you should have others first.”
From the standpoint of Xie Yuzhang’s own interests, she needed more princes without influential backgrounds to dilute the weight of the three princes already born of noble families.
Li Gu understood this completely. The logic was exactly the same as when Li Ming had once adopted many sons to dilute the influence of his three existing adopted sons. It was the very same operation.
The world was full of established patterns and predetermined paths. One had only to open a history book to see the same events endlessly repeated — nothing was ever truly new.
Yet Li Gu carried a private conviction within him.
“We are both still young,” he said. “We have time. Wait two more years.”
If Xie Yuzhang were to reason purely from self-interest, she did not want to wait.
Age was an advantage. An older prince could begin acquiring political resources earlier. If they waited two more years, any newly born princes would already be more than five years behind the existing three. That was a genuine disadvantage.
But Xie Yuzhang looked into Li Gu’s eyes. She thought of how he had asked no questions and simply given her leave to kill. She let out a quiet breath and said, “All right.”
On the third day of the imperial wedding, Li Gu donned his ceremonial robes and received the congratulatory obeisances of the assembled officials.
According to proper rites, the Empress should at this time have joined the Emperor, both in formal dress and seated on their thrones, to receive the bows of the imperial princes. But in the present dynasty there was no Empress Dowager, and as yet no princes of the blood either. The Empress therefore had no ceremony she was required to complete today as the Emperor did.
One could only wonder what that Empress — so beautiful that none of the assembled officials could forget her — was doing in the inner palace at this very moment.
Was she still languidly abed? Or had she already dressed and adorned herself, her face like a peach blossom in full bloom, fragrant and willow-waisted, waiting for the Emperor to return for a tender reunion?
After all, they were newlyweds. The Emperor had personally chosen his Empress, swept away every obstacle for her, prepared all the proper rites for her, done everything within his power to finally make her his. The tender sweetness of new marriage — every man had known it once. The officials let their imaginations drift to what the beautiful Xie Yuzhang might be doing at this moment in the inner palace, and smiled among themselves with quiet understanding.
Yet none of these men could have guessed that the breathtakingly beautiful Empress, upon taking her place as mistress of the palace, had done one thing above all others first.
She had ordered an execution.