It was only after I returned to the residence that I learned there was yet another problem.
After Zidan and Consort Hu’s wedding, things had remained tranquil for a time — it was not in his nature to make a woman’s life too difficult. Yet last night, for reasons unknown, Hu Yao had stormed back to her parents’ home in the night in a fit of wounded pride. This provoked Hu Guanglie to appear at the Worthy King’s residence early that morning to make a scene. Zidan shut his gates and refused to respond, leaving Hu Guanglie to kick up a clamor at the entrance. In no time it had become an irremediable uproar. Those around them were unable to persuade him to desist, and could only dispatch a rider at full gallop to report the matter to Xiao Qi.
Hu Guanglie had been truly reckless this time, provoking Xiao Qi to genuine anger. He ordered the man seized and thrown into prison.
Xiao Qi was now working to place Zidan on the throne. For Hu Guanglie to cause such trouble by flaunting his usual arrogance at this critical juncture — not only did Xiao Qi find it infuriating, I too felt that this boorish oaf was sorely in need of a lesson. Two days later, Hu Yao finally could endure no more. She came to the residence to seek an audience with me and plead for mercy on her brother’s behalf. In just that brief span of time, the vivacious, high-spirited woman I knew had withered noticeably. When I asked her what had happened, she refused to say anything at all, only blaming herself over and over. I found myself at a loss for how to console her — instead, her distress made my own heart ache. Could it be that I had been wrong? In my preoccupation with finding Zidan a refuge, I had perhaps sacrificed another person’s happiness.
I brought Hu Yao with me to intercede before Xiao Qi. This punishment of Hu Guanglie was not solely on account of his storming the Worthy King’s residence. Xiao Qi had long relied on this fierce general, but had also long been vexed by his habitual insolence and arrogance, and had harbored the intention of cutting down his pride a little — to make him learn some restraint. Since I had come to plead on his behalf, Xiao Qi was happy to oblige, released Hu Guanglie, stripped him of half a year’s stipend, and ordered him to go in person to offer his apologies.
After Zidan’s wedding, I never again set foot in the Worthy King’s residence. I escorted Hu Yao back to the gates, hesitated for a moment, and ultimately turned and departed.
On the third day after the Lantern Festival, the Imperial Physicians’ Academy submitted a memorial stating that the Emperor’s paralytic ailment had grown progressively worse, and the prospect of recovery was remote.
Officials submitted memorials in rapid succession, declaring that the Emperor was young and afflicted with a grave illness beyond hope of cure, and was unfit to bear the great responsibilities of the realm. They entreated the Grand Empress Dowager and the Regent to deliberate on the succession and install a new Emperor, so as to preserve the stability of the imperial line.
Xiao Qi invited Zidan into the palace several times to discuss affairs of state. Zidan steadfastly pleaded illness and refused to leave his gates.
On this day, the court was convened to discuss the matter of the ancestral temple sacrificial rites — cabinet ministers and senior officials had all gathered — yet Zidan alone was absent. When a messenger returned from the Prince’s residence with word that the Worthy King was still sleeping off a drunken stupor, the assembled ministers exchanged whispered glances. This provoked Xiao Qi to furious anger in open court. He ordered the ceremonial officers to bring the imperial palanquin to the Worthy King’s residence to escort him — even carry him, if necessary — into the palace. The imperial palanquin was an object reserved exclusively for the Emperor — with this declaration, Xiao Qi’s intent was transparent, his purpose unmistakable.
The President of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, constrained by the duties of his office, prostrated himself to offer a remonstrance, citing that the Worthy King held only the rank of a prince. To escort him by imperial palanquin would risk the charge of overstepping ritual propriety.
Before the words had fully left his mouth, Xiao Qi gave a cold laugh. “If I say he may have it, then he may receive it. What overstepping?”
The President of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices broke into a cold sweat and kowtowed deeply. Ministers and senior officials throughout the hall prostrated themselves on the floor, not daring to perspire, not a single one venturing another word. Since taking power as Regent, Xiao Qi had conducted himself with a deep, stern composure, deliberately holding his martial dominance in check, rarely allowing it to surface in court. Today, however, he had arrogantly trampled the rites and laws of the imperial succession underfoot. I held Jinmin in my arms and sat behind the lowered curtain, my heart a landscape of perfect clarity — Xiao Qi was using this moment to establish his authority, to give the newly enthroned Emperor-to-be Zidan a warning from the very outset; and moreover, to make all those present in court understand plainly that the majesty of the Son of Heaven was in his eyes merely a plaything. Life and death, bestowal and deprivation — his word alone would be supreme.
Before long, the Worthy King Zidan was escorted into the palace by the imperial palanquin.
In the depths of winter, he had come wearing only a single layer of plain, everyday clothing — wide sleeves and open collar, bareheaded, without headdress pin or ornament, hair loose, feet bare — leaning on those who supported him, staggering drunk into the hall. There is an old saying that describes one intoxicated as swaying like a jade mountain on the verge of toppling — precisely the image of Zidan before me now. Xiao Qi ordered a brocade couch set below the imperial dais, and the attendants on either side helped Zidan to take his place. Before the gaze of all assembled, he lay down, drunk, upon the golden hall floor, and promptly fell into an oblivious slumber.
That Zidan who was always so elegant and proud, who bore within him the final dignity of the imperial family — he now lay sprawled like a common drunkard, no longer caring even for the bearing and appearance he had always so carefully guarded. He simply let others arrange him as they would, a spectacle of self-abandonment, no longer free, no longer resistant.
Watching Zidan so close at hand, I suddenly forgot everything — I only wanted to push aside the curtain, stride out, and drive every civil and military official from the hall. No one should be permitted to cast that look of pity and contempt upon him again. Then suddenly a cold, penetrating gaze fell upon me — barely more than a fleeting, unobtrusive glance, yet it made the blood in my entire body congeal.
That Regent who held all lives in contempt — he was my husband, and he was also the man who had brought Zidan to utter and irredeemable ruin. If it could be said that Xiao Qi was the one who had pushed Zidan to this state, then I was his greatest accomplice.
In that single instant I wavered. For the first time I began to doubt whether, all along, it was truly I who had been wrong. Perhaps I should never have gone to such lengths to keep Zidan alive — this humiliating kind of living was crueler than death. Perhaps I should never have presumed to arrange a marriage for him of my own accord — beneath what I had convinced myself was a perfectly contrived happiness lay his utter, hopeless descent.
I closed my eyes and turned sharply away, not daring to look at Zidan again.
Below the vermilion steps, the assembled officials called out their long-life salutations three times. Their tall, beaded court hats and vermilion tassels, their serpent-embroidered robes and jade-studded sashes — these noble heads bowed now at Xiao Qi’s feet, as lowly as insects.
Several hundred years of supreme imperial authority — in a single night brought beneath his heel. This was the heaven-shaking might of the true sovereign.
Watching Xiao Qi’s silhouette, I gradually felt cold.
In the first month of the third year of Chengkang, Emperor Mingjing abdicated due to illness.
The Grand Empress Dowager, in accordance with the petition submitted by the Regent, Prince Yuzhang Xiao Qi, issued a decree: the Worthy King was installed as Emperor, and the deposed Emperor Mingjing was reduced to the rank of Prince of Changsha.
On the twenty-first day of the first month, the Worthy King Zidan ascended the throne in Chengtian Hall. Consort Hu was installed as Empress, and his birth mother, Madam Xie, was posthumously honored with the title of Empress Dowager Xiaochun Yuning. The reign title was changed to Yuanxi. An imperial amnesty was immediately proclaimed throughout the realm, and official ranks were conferred. Left Cabinet Elder Wang Su was elevated to Left Chancellor, and Song Huai’an to Right Chancellor. The new Emperor took up residence in the Qianyuan Palace. On that same day, the deposed Emperor, the Prince of Changsha, was removed from his quarters and temporarily housed in the Yongnian Palace.
Three days after Zidan’s enthronement, Xiao Qi submitted a memorial asking to relinquish his position as Regent. The officials knelt in a long row outside Chengtian Hall, earnestly entreating him to withdraw his petition. Xiao Qi refused. When the memorial was passed to Zidan, he expressed neither assent nor dissent, and the matter was left hanging unresolved. To all outward appearances, Xiao Qi had already returned governance to the new Emperor and retired to his own residence, going about with a small and unassuming retinue. Yet the two Chancellors, left and right, continued to report every matter to him as before. The core of the court’s power remained unchanged — authority was layered and interwoven, drawn by invisible threads that all ultimately converged in Xiao Qi’s hands.
It was early spring. New willows put out their first faint green shoots.
Birdsong wove its intricate melody outside the window. I languidly propped myself up — I had been indulging in a long nap and had not realized it was already nearly noon. Now that Jinmin had abdicated, there was no longer any need to rise early each morning to bring him to court. I felt wonderfully at leisure.
“A’Yue.” I called out twice and heard no reply, which struck me as odd. I simply pushed aside the gauze curtain, slipped my bare feet into silk slippers, and stepped out of the inner chamber.
After all, spring was returning and the air was growing warmer — even wearing only a single layer of light gauze didn’t feel cold. A gentle breeze came drifting through the curtain, carrying with it the faint, clean fragrance of grass and leaves. The effect on my spirits was instantly refreshing. I pushed open the tall window and leaned out, just about to breathe in the fragrance of the courtyard flowers. Suddenly a warmth closed around my waist and I was pulled from behind, before I could even cry out, tumbling into a warm embrace.
I laughed softly and settled back against his chest without turning around, simply resting in the curve of his arm.
“Running out here dressed like this — you’ll catch a chill.” He tightened his arms, wrapping me entirely within them.
“It’s not cold at all. You’ve been feeding me so well I’ve grown quite sturdy — don’t you think I’ve put on a little weight?” I wriggled free of him, laughing, and spun around — only to lose my footing and collide directly with him. I let out a startled cry and began to fall backward.
Xiao Qi burst out laughing and caught me with both arms, carrying me horizontally back to the bed.
“I just woke up, this doesn’t count…” I laughed, a little flustered. “I really have put on some weight, you know.”
“Yes, you have put on some weight.” He was caught between laughter and exasperation. “Carrying you is like carrying a cat now — heavier than before.”
I firmly pushed away his hand as it slipped into the front of my robe. “Is the Prince very free today, lounging in a lady’s chamber in broad daylight seeking amusement?”
He nodded with great gravity. “Quite so. This Prince, having retired from his duties, finds himself with nothing to do, and has no choice but to lose himself in the pleasures of the boudoir.”
I was still laughing and pushing him away when I felt a warmth at my ear — he caught my earlobe between his lips, and my entire body went soft at once. The sound that rose in my throat was sealed away by his kiss before it could escape.
The chamber filled with the soft light of spring, tender and infinitely languorous.
Afterward, I lay against his chest, the warm masculine scent of him brushing against my neck. He suddenly sighed. “You must take good care of your health, grow stronger and stronger — only then can you give birth to our child.”
In the midst of that warm, lingering intimacy, his words fell like a bucket of ice water. I closed my eyes and lay utterly still, letting him gently stroke my cheek, his lips pressing against my forehead. I shrank and turned away. From my fingertips to the depths of my heart, a creeping coldness settled in.
Xiao Qi took my ice-cold hand and drew the brocade quilt over me, wrapping me inside it. “Why are your hands this cold?”
I could not find a single word to say. I lowered my face, afraid he would see the guilt in my eyes. My heart was desolate.
That afternoon, someone came to report and summoned Xiao Qi into the palace to discuss affairs of state.
After he left the residence, I had nothing to occupy me, and brought A’Yue into the garden to trim the flower branches.
I must have genuinely caught a chill — I gradually developed a headache. A’Yue hurriedly helped me back to the room and called the physician to take my pulse.
Leaning against the bed, I drifted off into sleep without realizing it. In the dream I found myself surrounded on all sides by jagged, grotesque rocks and dense, sinister vines, all blocking my way no matter how I tried to pass. I walked for a long, long time and was still in the same place. Suddenly something coiled around my foot — strange vines were creeping up my leg, rustling as they climbed. I heard my own sharp cry, and then I jolted awake from the nightmare.
A’Yue came running, hastily taking up a silk handkerchief to wipe my perspiration. “Princess Consort, what is the matter?”
I could not speak. My back felt like a sheet of ice — covered in cold sweat.
The physician had just arrived. He took my pulse promptly, and said only that it was a mild chill, nothing serious. Moreover, from the pattern of my pulse in recent days, the condition of blood and energy deficiency had shown considerable improvement.
I pondered this and said, “I have been recovering for so many years now. Is there still concern regarding childbearing?”
“Well…” The physician deliberated at length. “As things currently stand, Princess Consort, if you continue to convalesce, there is good reason to hope for a full recovery — though it is imperative to avoid excessive worry and fatigue. Even after a complete recovery, bearing children would still not come easily.”
Joy rose in my heart, yet I gave nothing away. I dismissed the physician and instructed him to say nothing of this to the Prince for the time being.
The newly appointed senior physician of the Imperial Physicians’ Academy was a southerner, widely traveled and with a perspective all his own. He had prescribed that I soak daily in medicated baths — once in the morning and once in the evening — to encourage the free flow of blood and the cultivation of vital energy. Each day, internal medicine and external soaking, supplemented by acupuncture. Xiao Qi had been extremely apprehensive at first, refusing to let me try anything risky. I insisted with great determination, and after several days, seeing that the color had returned to my complexion and all was well, he finally allowed the physician to continue the treatment.
Over this past half year and more, I had, by some miracle, not fallen ill once. The physician too said I was gradually growing stronger.
I ventured to try to persuade Xiao Qi that it might be time to stop the medicine. He refused absolutely, forbidding me to take any such risk again.
Yet the physician also said that I had been taking the medicine for so many years that stopping now was likely already too late — the possibility of bearing children again was vanishingly small. This caused the single thread of hope I had just glimpsed to slip away once more. Day by day, year by year, I had grown accustomed to disappointment without number. Only this time I felt especially reluctant to accept it — not even allowed an attempt, simply forced to give up.
In the third month of spring, all things stirred and began to quicken.
Silver-Ribbon Guanglu Grand Master Wu Jun came to the capital to escort his bride. Princess Xuanning left for Jiangnan. The union of two great aristocratic clans sent the capital into a stir, and the wedding ceremony was conducted with spectacular, dazzling splendor. On the day the princess departed the capital, tens of thousands of people poured into the streets. For more than ten days afterward, the tale of that day’s grandeur continued to spread. The prestige of the Wang Family had reached its zenith.
After Pei’er’s marriage, only my aunt and Qian’er remained, dependent on each other in the vast Duke Zhenguo’s residence. My brother, pitying the mother and daughter in their solitude and fond of Qian’er’s guileless vivacity, frequently invited them to stay as guests at the Prince Jiangxia residence.
I had thought my aunt would be unlikely to set aside her old grievances. To my surprise, she now seemed entirely unbothered. In a short span of time she had grown acquainted with all the concubines in my brother’s household and was on excellent terms with everyone. She also had Qian’er learn painting under my brother’s guidance. My brother said Qian’er bore a resemblance to what I had been like as a young girl, and Xiao Qi had also once praised the daughters of the Wang Family as all being of the finest caliber — a remark that greatly delighted my aunt.
Gradually, however, I noticed that my aunt was bringing Qian’er with increasing frequency to call at the Prince Yuzhang residence. In name she was visiting me — yet every time, she chose moments when Xiao Qi was home. Qian’er was often clinging to Xiao Qi, even asking him to teach her riding, which left Xiao Qi with no end of headaches. My aunt, too, would bring up my brother’s children time and again in Xiao Qi’s presence — mentioning how delightful they were, touching on my own frail health as if in passing.
I would rather it had been my own narrow-mindedness — that I was reading too much into things. But at first, keeping still and watching with cool detachment, my aunt seemed to take my apparent meekness and frailty as genuine weakness, and grew increasingly brazen in her probing.
I had the habit of a short rest after noon, and during such times Xiao Qi would often be alone in the study reading through official documents. One afternoon, I woke and heard faint laughter drifting in from outside. When I rose to look, I found Qian’er and my brother’s small daughter Qingyi playing in the courtyard. Xiao Qi had come from the study and stood motionless beneath the covered corridor, gazing at the scene with an expression I could not read — a vibrant, lively young woman, coaxing and playing with a child as exquisitely adorable as a porcelain doll, surrounded by blooming flowers, warmth that was enough to make the heart ache.
I quietly let the curtain fall, turned without a word, and went back into the inner chamber.
After Qian’er had gone, I sat in a daze under the corridor, staring absently at the riot of flowers filling the courtyard. I turned over in my hands an exquisitely crafted jade hairpin — one I had originally intended to give Qian’er when I saw her… Xiao Qi had appeared at my side at some unknown moment and was making easy small talk. My spirits were low and I responded little. Seeing that my mood was poor, he too fell quiet. After a long silence, he suddenly laughed. “Just now, watching Qian’er play with Qingyi — it was really quite amusing.”
A sharp crack rang out. The jade hairpin snapped in two between my fingers, for no reason at all.
Toward my aunt, I could be gracious and courteous, respectful as to an elder — but that did not mean she was free to lose all sense of proportion.
After that, my aunt called several times requesting to see me, and each time I sent word that I was bedridden and turned her away. She then tried to have my brother invite both of us to a banquet at a separate villa. After several such attempts without any new approach, she seemed to give up.
Today, however, I went in person, bringing my senior attendant Xu with me, to visit her at the residence. She was visibly startled when she saw me appear at the door. In the course of our conversation, I voluntarily brought up how endearing my brother’s children were.
My aunt sat facing me and sighed softly. “You have been frail since childhood, and for all these years of treatment, there has been no improvement. It is such a pity that the Grand Princess left so early. She always adored children — if she had lived to see your own, she would have had no more wishes left unfulfilled.” I looked up at her, my brow faintly creasing. “Aunt is right. That A’Wu has not been able to fulfill this wish of our mother’s is something I have always regarded as a deep regret.”
My aunt bowed her head with a sigh, seeming about to say something but holding back. I suddenly asked: “Qian’er will soon be fifteen, won’t she?”
“Yes, the child is getting on in years.” My aunt started, then quickly smiled and answered, her gaze shifting briefly to my face.
I smiled and nodded. “Qian’er’s lively nature is something I can only envy. If I could have her by my side more often, my residence would be a much livelier place.”
“I fear she is far too unruly.” My aunt hastened to smile. A flash of something calculating lit her eyes. “If you find your household too quiet, you could always have her come keep you company from time to time.”
I smiled lightly, then turned the conversation sharply: “That would be wonderful — but now that she is in the capital, where everything is so different from home, Qian’er is ultimately a young lady from a distinguished family. It is not appropriate for her to be playing all day long. I think she still needs a steady person at her side to guide and instruct her at all times.” My aunt fell silent, her gaze shifting, seemingly weighing the intent behind my words. Without waiting for her reply, I turned and called for Attendant Xu. “Aunt surely still remembers an old acquaintance? Since my mother passed, Attendant Xu has remained by my side. Though master and servant in name, I have regarded her as family through these decades.” Attendant Xu smiled without speaking, her gaze calm and still.
“I was thinking — since Aunt has been away from the capital for many years, and various affairs in the residence have been neglected, there really ought to be someone to manage things and keep them in order.” I said with a smile. “Moreover, Attendant Xu has served in the palace for many years and is deeply familiar with the rites and regulations. With her at hand to provide guidance at all times, there would be no need to send Qian’er to the palace to be taught by the palace instructors.” My aunt’s expression stiffened. She sat there, speechless. My words left not a single flaw to refute — from any angle they sounded like pure goodwill. With no graceful way to decline, my aunt could only accept, however awkwardly. From that point on, with Attendant Xu present at her side, every move her mother and daughter made was within my view. I looked at my aunt with a faint, composed smile, and in her eyes I saw the wary apprehension that satisfied me.
In former days she had exhausted every scheme and could not prevail over my aunt. If she now supposed she could take advantage of my youth, she was welcome to try.
After that, my aunt restrained herself considerably. Even so, she continued to send Qian’er often to my brother’s household. I pretended not to notice. On those occasions when I encountered Qian’er at my brother’s residence, I was just as pleasant and smiling as ever, and sometimes even taught her a few pieces on the qin. Qian’er seemed to be somewhat afraid of me — before my brother she was all sweetness and playful exuberance, but the moment she saw me, she quieted herself and became exceptionally proper. Seeing that she was still a child at heart, I could not bring myself to treat her coldly.