Day after day passed, and Hui Yan discovered nothing. I even began to feel I had been too suspicious — perhaps the little imperial prince truly was simply weak from birth. Yet Wanru continued to relentlessly purge the entire rear palace, throwing everyone into a state of anxious unease, while several favored consorts went weeping to the Emperor one after another, and even the Emperor could do nothing about it.

That day, I was visiting Father in the family home when someone came hurrying to report that the Empress was causing a great commotion at Qianyuan Hall, demanding the Emperor put Consort Wei to death. By the time I rushed to Qianyuan Hall, I learned that the cause was this: Consort Wei, harboring a grievance against the Empress, had privately muttered, “Newborn infants are naturally delicate — if one dies, it is nothing new; but she carries on making such a fuss.” This was reported and denounced to the Empress, who flew into a rage beyond all control, convinced that Consort Wei had cursed the little imperial prince. The Emperor had always doted on Consort Wei, and upon hearing of the matter had given her only a mild rebuke — which only further enraged the Empress, who swore she would not rest until Consort Wei was dead.

Wanru’s fury had left her entirely beside herself; no one could manage her at all. It was not until I rushed there that she was barely persuaded to stop. The Emperor, in an effort to keep the peace, had Consort Wei temporarily confined to the cold palace. With great difficulty I coaxed the Empress back to Zhaoyang Hall, and the Emperor and I looked at each other with a helpless, rueful smile, sitting together in the vast and empty Qianyuan Hall, sighing.

“Your Majesty…” I had just begun when he cut me off: “There is no one else here — why speak as ‘Your Majesty’ and ‘Princess Consort’? Call me as you did before!”

As before, I called him “Elder Brother Zi Long” — suddenly, after so many fleeting years, it had been a very long time since we had sat down together and spoken like this. He seemed at last to have found someone he could talk to, and began rattling away to me in complaint, going on and on about how boring and tiresome being Emperor was. He had only just ascended the throne; affairs at court were not yet settled; he had not yet had time to send troops to suppress the rebel armies in the south; and now the inner palace was in bedlam as well. I listened with my chin propped in my hand, only half attending, while my thoughts were elsewhere: your role as Emperor is nothing but a figurehead — the greater part of state affairs rests on Xiao Qi’s shoulders, yet I have never heard him speak a single word of exhaustion, while you do nothing but complain…

“A’Wu!” The Emperor suddenly bellowed at me — so loudly I started, and blurted out without thinking: “What is it?”

“Were you even listening to me?” He glared at me, his face full of displeasure.

I started and faltered: “I was listening — you just said the Censors pester you every day, did you not?”

He said nothing more. He looked at me steadily for a long moment — and then, breaking his usual pattern, made no complaint, while his expression sank into despondency. “Never mind, we can speak another time… You may withdraw.”

I was somewhat tired myself, with nothing more to say. I rose and paid my respects to take my leave. Turning away at the door of the hall, I heard him say softly behind me: “I was saying just now — how fine it would be if we had never grown up.”

I stopped and turned back. I saw the young sovereign sitting all alone in the great hall, his shoulders slumped and caved, his face looking desolate and dejected despite the imperial yellow dragon robes — like a child whom no one notices.

It was right when I was about to recall Hui Yan that she finally uncovered the truth of the “curse” in Zhaoyang Hall.

Wanru’s instincts had been right after all — that must be what they call the bond of mother and child — and my suspicions were likewise proven correct: it was indeed the two nursemaids who had been at Wanru’s side the longest. In the hours when the wet nurse and palace maids slept through the night, they would suddenly startle the little imperial prince awake, causing him to scream and wail repeatedly and at length, so that he could not sleep peacefully for long stretches at a time — and naturally he grew listless and weak as a result. No wonder that searching through everything the little imperial prince ate and wore turned up nothing unusual. Who could have imagined that the simplest method of tormenting a small infant was simply to deprive him of sleep? This pitiful little imperial prince — he had not slept a single full night through for all these many days! I was horrified that they had devised such a hidden and cunningly executed method that left no trace at all — even Hui Yan had watched for many days before catching a glimpse of the irregularity. Even more unthinkable was that two elderly, kind-looking nursemaids could harbor such a vicious heart.

Under secret torture, the two nursemaids finally confessed. From first to last, they had always been Noble Consort Xie’s people. When they were sent to the Eastern Palace to serve the Crown Princess, it had been a piece placed on the board by Noble Consort Xie for the future. Under my aunt’s iron grip, Noble Consort Xie had been powerless to contend against her, and so she had concentrated all her efforts on her niece — thereby seizing hold of my aunt’s only weakness: the Crown Prince. Noble Consort Xie died of illness before she could see her schemes through. The two nursemaids remained in the Eastern Palace, ever mindful of helping the Third Imperial Prince recover the throne. Unable to strike against the Crown Prince directly, they set their hearts on severing the imperial line: as long as the Crown Prince had no heir, the throne would eventually revert to Zidan. In earlier years, the concubines of the Eastern Palace had largely borne no children; one male infant who had been born also died in infancy, while the only children who survived were girls. Looking back now, I realized it was very likely that the two of them had tampered with each of those cases as well.

Noble Consort Xie — that woman who was refined as though painted in light ink, who remained long-suffering and seemingly without ambition even until death — had harbored a purpose this deep. I gradually began to understand: if Noble Consort Xie had truly not possessed a single shred of scheming or cunning, how could she have kept her footing unshaken under my aunt’s iron grip, her imperial favor sustained undiminished for so many years? Perhaps in this deep palace, not a single person was ever truly clean. Or perhaps those who were clean had long since become like Zidan — banished to a place that never saw the sun — or, like the countless unnamed victims of injustice, had vanished forever behind the palace walls.

In the midst of my cold shuddering, I still felt relief that the mastermind behind the scenes was not Zidan. If even he had been dragged into this bloody, dark strife — that would have been the most terrifying thing imaginable. The person most deeply shaken by the truth was Wanru herself: the cruelest conspiracy and betrayal had come from her own blood aunt and from the most trusted of her attendants.

The two nursemaids were immediately beaten to death with staffs. But the moment it was confessed that the mastermind was Noble Consort Xie, it would inevitably implicate Zidan and the entire Xie Family. Wanru struggled with herself again and again, and finally swallowed her fury toward Zidan and his mother — then pushed Consort Wei forward as the scapegoat, granting her death by hanging.

With one hand I had uncovered the truth and protected the little imperial prince; with the other hand I had concealed the truth to protect Zidan. But behind that concealment lay the life of another innocent woman, forfeit. Reverse the hand and there is life — turn it over and there is death; saving someone and killing someone were both the work of these same two hands. Perhaps my brother was right — I truly was becoming more and more like Xiao Qi.

From that point on, Wanru too began to change — becoming more and more like an empress. She began to govern the rear palace with an iron hand; if any consort found favor, she would be demoted and reprimanded. Any ordinary palace maid summoned by the Emperor for the night would be given medicine by her the very next day. The quarrels and grievances between the Emperor and her grew worse and worse, to the point where he several times threatened to depose her… The reputation of Empress Xie for jealousy and misconduct spread quickly throughout the court.

Another year’s Lantern Festival arrived. The palace had begun preparations for the Lantern Festival night banquet, while Xiao Qi was busy preparing to mount a campaign against the rebel armies in the south.

That day we entered the palace together — he went to the imperial study to deliberate on the great matter of the southern campaign, while I went to Zhaoyang Hall to discuss the trivial details of the palace banquet.

The moment I stepped inside the hall, I saw a woman kneeling on the floor, being forcibly held by palace attendants on either side and made to drink down a bowl of herbal medicine. Empress Xie sat to one side, watching with a cold eye and expressionless face as she drank. Though I had long known the severity of Wanru’s methods for governing the rear palace, this was the first time I had seen her force a palace maid summoned for the night to take medicine. Seeing me rooted at the threshold of the hall, Wanru gave a faint smile and rose to come greet me. The woman suddenly broke free of the palace attendants on either side, dashing the medicine bowl to the ground, and threw herself at the Empress’s feet in piteous supplication. Wanru did not spare her so much as a glance; she flicked her sleeve and had the woman dragged away.

The medicine trickled and meandered across the floor, and a trace of bitter, astringent medicinal scent drifted through the hall… This smell of the medicine — it was uncannily, strangely familiar.

Wanru was speaking to me, yet I could only stare blankly at her face, my mind an utter blank, unable to take in a single word she was saying.

“A’Wu?” She called to me in surprise. “What is the matter? Your color is so terribly pale — was it that servant girl just now who gave you a fright?”

I managed a forced smile, pleaded sudden indisposition, and made a hasty farewell.

Leaving Zhaoyang Hall, without waiting for Xiao Qi, I returned to the estate in a daze, my mind adrift the whole way.

In the past I had asked the physicians at the estate about my daily medicine, and they all told me only that it was an ordinary tonic. I had never thought much of it. But today, smelling that bitter, astringent scent in the palace, it was exactly the same as the medicine I drank every day — this flavor I could never mistake.

Swift footsteps sounded outside the door. Xiao Qi came striding urgently into the inner chamber; before he had even arrived, his voice reached me: “A’Wu—”

I turned to face him. There was a faint sheen of sweat on his brow; he seemed to have walked very quickly. “The Empress said you suddenly felt unwell — what exactly is the matter? Has the imperial physician been called to look at you?”

“Nothing too serious.” I gave a mild smile, and turned to look at the bowl of medicine on the table. “They have just finished boiling my medicine — I will be fine once I take it.”

Xiao Qi did not even glance at the medicine. He said at once: “This medicine will not do. Someone — summon the imperial physician!”

“What is wrong with this medicine?” I looked up at him steadily, still smiling. “Is this not the beneficial medicine I cannot go a single day without?”

Xiao Qi suddenly went still, staring at me; his gaze shifted almost imperceptibly. Seeing that expression on his face, I already understood seven or eight parts of it. My heart went strangely calm, and I merely lifted the bowl and looked at it. “Is it truly so?”

He did not answer. His lips were clamped together, tight as a sharp, thin blade.

I smiled, raised the medicine bowl, released my grip, and let it fall to the floor. The medicine splattered and the porcelain shattered to fragments. I began to laugh — from somewhere deep inside I found the whole thing profoundly, unbearably absurd — laughing uncontrollably, laughing until my whole body shook. Xiao Qi called my name; it seemed he said something, but I could not hear him. All I could hear in my ears was the sound of my own laughter… He suddenly yanked me into his arms, holding me with force. I struggled like a drowning person, utterly despairing, unwilling to let him touch me by so much as a fraction. No matter how I kicked and struck, he would not let go. As I struggled, my hairpins scattered and my long hair fell loose, strand by strand streaming across his chest — like love and hatred, like rancor and obsession, unable no matter how one tried to escape from this destined plunge.

I had no strength left. I went limp in his arms, like a lifeless cloth doll. A chill seeped in through my skin, as though countless cold invisible tendrils were quietly taking root deep within my heart, spreading and covering every inch — winding until no daylight was visible, until only an empty void remained inside. No anger. No sorrow. Nothing — only a hollow, dead silence.

— So this was the medicine he had been giving me.

He would not let me carry his child again. He would not let the blood of the Wang Family flow in his offspring. He would not let my clan have another chance to become “imperial in-laws.” What everlasting devotion, what life-and-death loyalty — all of it no match in the end for the most brilliant and dazzling power at the peak of the world. He was still calling my name over and over, his expression urgent and alarmed, his lips moving as though he had said a great many things — yet I could not hear a single word. I suddenly felt the world grow quiet; everything around me was draped in a heavy, ashen color. His face in my eyes grew alternately near and far, and gradually blurred…

Dimly, I felt his embrace and warmth, heard him calling my name again and again in a low voice.

But I did not want to wake. I did not want to open my eyes again. Then there was medicine being spooned into my mouth — bitter, with a sweetness underneath the bitterness… Medicine — I shuddered suddenly, and instinctively tried to pull free, but a pair of arms held me immobile, unable to move. Medicine was poured into my mouth drop by drop; I had no recourse for resistance. At last I gave up struggling, and tears slid silently from the corners of my eyes.

He set down the medicine bowl and gently wiped the traces of medicine from the corners of my lips — careful and tender in every movement. I opened my eyes and looked at him, with a slight smile, my voice no more than a whisper: “Is His Highness satisfied now?”

His hand froze at the corner of my lips. He fixed his eyes on me without blinking.

I smiled: “If His Highness does not want a child of Wang bloodline, a single letter of repudiation and a new wife of untainted lineage would settle the matter — why go to all this elaborate trouble?”

His pupils contracted sharply; a piercing, arctic quality entered his gaze, barely concealing the hurt beneath. “Am I truly, in your eyes, so despicable a person?”

I still smiled. “His Highness is an unparalleled hero — the one to whom I gave my whole life, of my own accord.”

“A’Wu — hold your tongue!” He tightened his fist, gazed at me for a long, long time; the frost in his brow and eyes gradually turned to a desolate pallor.

“In this world, you are the only one I hold most dear and love most. And now even you look upon me as an enemy.” His voice went hoarse in a way that was frightening. My own heart ached through and through.

What more was there to say? It was already too late for everything. All the love and hate, all the passion and obsession of this life — all had turned to ash.

Mother returned from the hot spring traveling palace to the capital and, without even entering the family home, went straight to reside in Ci’an Temple. This time I understood she had truly let her heart go cold as death… A heart cold as death — that feeling I now knew as well.

The Purple Bamboo Hermitage. In winter’s hazy light, the blue-tiled roofs and graceful bamboo, the white walls and withered grasses, were all touched with a faint, desolate chill. Mother and I sat facing each other in the covered walkway; amid the curling fragrance of tea, we heard the low chanting of sutras drifting from the scripture hall in the distance — and for a moment the heart grew clear and open, and ten thousand worldly concerns dissolved like smoke. Mother fingered her prayer beads and sighed softly: “I pray before the Buddha every day for your brother and sister’s blessings. Nowadays A’Su has grown up a great deal, and I need not worry about him — but for you alone I cannot set my heart at ease.”

Seeing that the hour was growing late and Mother was about to begin her remonstrations again, I hurriedly rose to take my leave. Mother kept urging me to stay and take the plain vegetarian meal at the temple before leaving; I genuinely loathed the taste of the vegetarian fare here, and could only laugh and decline apologetically.

Aunt Xu took up the conversation with a smile: “I expect someone is waiting for the Princess Consort back at the estate? They say Prince Yuzhang and his consort are as devoted as mandarin ducks — and from what I see today, it seems the affection between them is sweet indeed. This old servant thinks, Your Highness the Princess would do better not to keep her.”

Mother and she exchanged a smile at this. I too could only smile faintly without reply — while inside, stab after stab of pain shot through me. In others’ eyes, Xiao Qi and I were still a deeply devoted couple. Yet how could I bear to let Mother know the suffering hidden within? Since that day, he had moved to the study and no longer shared my room. He went out early and came home late; though we lived under the same roof, for days on end we did not cross paths. I did not go to find him; he did not come to see me. Thinking back to when we first met in Ningshuo — how each of us had held our pride, and in the end it was he who yielded first… A faint sting rose to my nose; I nearly lost my composure in front of Mother.

After bidding Mother farewell, Aunt Xu walked me all the way to the gate, offering all manner of everyday advice, but several times seemed on the verge of saying something, then swallowed it back. I smiled at her: “Aunt Xu, why have you taken on Mother’s temperament? You were always the last one to like nagging.”

Aunt Xu looked at me, and suddenly her eyes glistened with the flash of tears. She bent low toward me: “This old servant has a few words to say — I know it is presumptuous, yet I cannot but dare to speak them to the Princess Consort!”

I quickly helped her up, startled by this unprecedented gravity in her manner. “Aunt Xu, you have watched over me since childhood. Though there is a difference in our positions, I have always regarded you as an elder. If there is something to say, please speak freely.”

She raised her head, her gaze deep and distant. “For these many decades, this old servant has seen with her own eyes the sad precedent of the Princess and the Chief Minister. In this world, the thing that endures the least is the bond of love between husband and wife. Just now, the Princess Consort and His Highness the Prince are in the fullness of deep feeling; I am afraid you have not given much thought to the matter of heirs. But this old servant worries for the future — if the Princess Consort’s constitution cannot be restored, and she truly cannot bear children… His Highness will sooner or later have children born of concubines. When it comes to that, a son elevates his mother’s position, and it is only a matter of time before there is another woman like Madam Han. The Princess Consort must not fail to plan ahead and guard against this early!”

These words fell into my ears like the cold of a mountain temple in deepest winter — even more chilling than the season itself.

I spun around abruptly, my chest heaving sharply as I struggled to suppress the storm surging within me, and it was a long moment before I could steady my voice. “What do you mean ‘constitution cannot be restored’ — please speak clearly.” Aunt Xu went dumb, staring at me, not knowing how to respond. I could no longer suppress the trembling in my voice: “Cannot bear children — what does that mean?” Aunt Xu’s expression shifted again and again; her voice came out painfully: “The Princess Consort… you…”

“What about me? What are all of you hiding from me?” I looked straight at her, and in my chest something slowly wound tighter and tighter — it seemed as though there was something every other person knew, while I alone was kept in the dark.

Aunt Xu suddenly clamped her hand over her mouth; her face was full of remorse and anguish, and she choked out: “This old servant deserves to die! This old servant spoke out of turn!”

“Since you have already spoken, you may as well say it plainly.” I smiled — an unsuppressable bitterness welling in my heart — yet still wanting to smile; still wanting to know how many more unbearable secrets remained. Aunt Xu’s knees buckled; she dropped straight to the ground in a kneel. I heard her speak in a choking, halting voice, the words coming in broken fragments — yet they struck me like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky. In an instant, I lost all sense of self and stood frozen to the spot. She said: “The day the Princess Consort miscarried and hemorrhaged, her life was in danger. Though the imperial physicians did everything in their power and she narrowly escaped with her life, she suffered lasting damage to her health. Should she become pregnant again in the future, it would be extremely difficult to carry the child to term — and should she miscarry again, it would be a great calamity.”

I do not even know how I returned to the prince’s estate in a daze.

A thousand thoughts surged and subsided one after another, yet in my heart there was only a vast emptiness; I had somehow lost the capacity for either happiness or sorrow. On one side was the sudden blow of terrible news, and on the other, a reprieve from death — as for the matter of bearing children, I still barely understood it myself, yet even so, I dimly grasped what it meant for a woman to be unable to have children. Xiao Qi had known long ago — yet he would not tell me the truth. Did he really think he could conceal it forever, and that if I never knew, I would never grieve or suffer? He was actually that foolish — foolish enough to put on a forced smile every day and coax me to take my medicine; foolish enough to bear my misunderstanding without offering a single word of explanation… Thinking back to that moment, what had I said to him? Those words — now that I thought of them — were like stakes driven through the heart, wounding to the very bone, tearing his entire feeling to pieces. He held me as his most beloved; he had given me his sincerest heart. At a moment when we should have faced hardship together, I had not given him my full trust.

I did not know when the tears had begun streaming down my face.

The carriage arrived at the estate. The sky had already turned dark. Heedless of the tear tracks still wet on my face and my disheveled appearance, I went straight to the study at a run, thinking only of whether he would still be angry with me, whether he would forgive my foolishness… Just as I turned into the rear corridor, I was met head-on by a woman in palace dress — green hair ornaments, slender waist, bright eyes and gleaming teeth; she was an arresting sight. I stopped short and looked more carefully before I recognized her as Yuxiu — now Madam Xianyi Xiao Yuxiu. Changed into these clothes, she seemed entirely transformed, as though reborn. I was both astonished and delighted: “Yuxiu — it is actually you!”

She lowered her head in shy embarrassment, and said quietly: “Song… the General has just returned to the capital. Today he entered the palace to give thanks for the imperial favor, and came together to pay respects to His Highness and the Princess Consort.”

I understood at once. She had received her appointment and been given in marriage to Huai’an, and then the palace coup came; after that, one upheaval had followed another, and there had never been an opportunity to enter the palace and give formal thanks. When I was ill and bedridden, it was precisely the most delicate moment in the capital’s situation — Song Huai’an had been dispatched under orders to Xinyi Cottage to oversee Zidan and guard against any irregular moves by the Xie Clan and the imperial family. Now that all matters had settled and the national mourning period had passed, Huai’an had also returned to the capital to report on his duties. It seemed their wedding day could not be far off. I quickly offered her my congratulations, which sent the color flooding into her cheeks. Watching these two fine people about to be joined together, my heart, so full of grief and desolation, could not help but warm a little. Yuxiu said that Huai’an was inside the study with Xiao Qi, discussing matters, and it was not appropriate for her to go in; she had come here to wait for me. She spoke shyly of how Huai’an was this way and that way, displaying all the tender bashfulness of a young girl. I smiled and walked along with her arm in arm — and then heard her say: “When he came back this time, he brought orchids for me again. These flowers are even more beautiful — though the stems were bent on the way. He really is so careless.”

I suddenly felt a jolt of alarm. My heart began to race, and I understood: there must be news from Zidan — it seemed he had used Yuxiu to pass a message to me over the past two days, but I had been despondent and irritable for days, refusing to receive any visitors; Yuxiu, not knowing the underlying meaning of it all, had inadvertently allowed such a significant matter to be delayed.

Only after waiting until Song Huai’an came to see me, and I had dismissed Yuxiu and all the attendants, did he finally tell me the full account: several days ago, remnant loyalists to the old regime had launched a sudden attack on Xinyi Cottage, intending to abduct Zidan. Though they had not succeeded, it had provoked the furious rage of Xiao Qi and the Emperor. Xiao Qi had ordered a thorough investigation, deployed additional heavy troops to guard the site, and placed Zidan in stricter confinement. I let out a breath of relief — at least I knew Zidan’s life was not in danger. It was only that I had not imagined the loyalists devoted to the late Emperor could be so tenacious, even now still scheming to reclaim the throne. I feared that rather than reclaiming it, they would only push Zidan into an even more dangerous position.

After sending Song Huai’an away, I stood hesitating in deep thought for a long while, and presently found myself at the door of the study — yet I hesitated and could not bring myself to go near. Just now, in the wake of this disturbance, Zidan had been drawn into the vortex of trouble. If I went to Xiao Qi at this very moment to explain myself and reconcile, would he think I had ulterior motives? If the knot in his heart was not yet resolved, and I were to add oil to the fire on top of that — I feared that no matter what I said, it would be difficult to make him believe me again. In that moment I was beset by all manner of hesitation. I lingered in the corridor for a very long time, watching his silhouette cast on the window by the candlelight — now bright, now dim. In the end, I could not muster the courage to step through the door… Until the night grew still and the candles were extinguished.

I stood dazed for a good while, then turned and went away with no other choice.

I tossed and turned through the night, unable to sleep. It was still dark when I woke early the next morning, with no further hope of sleep. I supposed Xiao Qi was likely already rising to go to morning court; I put on a robe and got up, washed and combed my hair a little, and stepped out of my room with my hair still loose, my face unpowdered.

In the depths of winter, early morning — a fine mist and frosty air hung over the courtyard and corridors. Even wrapped in a deep silver-fox-lined cape, the cold still struck my face; every breath condensed into a cloud of frost. It would likely snow within the next few days. It had been a long time since I had risen so early. I thought of how Mother always rose early in the morning — properly dressed and groomed — to keep Father company at breakfast, then see him off at the estate gate. After three years of marriage, I had always lived alone, grown accustomed to laziness and sleeping in; Xiao Qi, moreover, had never let me rise early. And thinking back now, I had been petted and accommodated at every turn — yet had rarely done anything for him in return…

Just as I reached the courtyard, I saw Xiao Qi stepping out of the study in full court dress, his expression cool and serious, his brows slightly furrowed early in the morning, deep in thought. I stopped on the veranda and watched him quietly without calling out. He had almost reached me before he suddenly raised his head and noticed me. He halted, and looked at me steadily; there was an unmistakable warmth that passed through the depths of his eyes, though his face still showed the detached calm of one unperturbed, and he said: “Why have you risen so early?”

I sighed, and did not answer. I walked silently to him, reached up, and touched his collar — there was a very faint crease on it. My fingers moved slowly across the dragon-pattern palace silk, and my palm rested gently against his chest. He stood motionless, looking at me in silence. I too quietly lowered my gaze; beneath my palm I felt his steady heartbeat — and all at once a pang rose in my heart, and all my ten-thousand tangled thoughts dissolved into a soundless sigh. He covered my hand with his, his palm warm; after a long while he said in a low voice: “It is cold outside — go back inside quickly.” These brief, few words of tenderness made my eyes instantly hot; I quickly turned my face aside and nodded softly. He had just opened his mouth to say more when I heard an attendant urging from behind: “Your Highness, the hour is not early — you may be late for morning court.”

I quickly drew back, met his eyes with a helpless smile, and said softly: “Come back early.”

He dipped his head; a deep, warm tenderness surged into his eyes, and the faintest trace of a smile touched the corner of his lips. He only reached out and drew my cape more snugly around me, then turned and left in quick strides.

Half the day my thoughts were full of him — I looked forward to him returning home after court was done, and busied myself instructing the kitchen to prepare the midday meal.

But well past noon, he still had not returned to the estate. I was waiting with nothing to do — and then a maid came rushing to report that the Right Guard General begged an audience. I was caught off guard and went quickly to receive him in the main hall; there I saw Song Huai’an enter in full armor, sword at his side, in long, measured strides. I stopped in alarm; my heart seized up, and I blurted out: “What has happened? Where is His Highness?”

“The Princess Consort need not be alarmed. His Highness is presently in the palace. This subordinate has been ordered to protect the estate and the vital areas of the capital; the Princess Consort is please requested not to leave the estate for the time being!” Song Huai’an replied in a grave voice, his face full of deadly solemn intent, gesturing for me to dismiss all attendants to the side.

I quickly ordered everyone to withdraw. Then I saw him step forward and lower his voice: “Two hours ago, the Emperor fell from his horse inside the palace and sustained serious injuries.”