She turned and left the imperial study.
The palace lamps swayed, casting their glow across the dim stretch of corridor at her feet. In the air drifted the fragrance of magnolias blooming somewhere unseen in the darkness. She walked out of the Hall of Yuanchen, noticing nothing — yet just behind her, sheltered beneath the dappled shadows of trees and flowering shrubs, a young boy’s figure stood quietly.
From the imperial study came once more the sound of stifled coughing — broken and halting — threaded through with a eunuch’s low, pleading voice.
“…Your Majesty, you just coughed up blood — please, let us summon the Imperial Physicians…”
A sharp crack — the sound of a bowl or cup striking the floor and shattering — perhaps the Emperor, grown finally impatient, had swept it aside in frustration.
The surroundings fell silent.
A moment later, when another fit of coughing came from within, something moved through the young boy’s eyes — an expression mingling a trace of resentment with a trace of something he could not harden himself to.
He closed his eyes, then at last stepped out from the shadows of the night, climbed the palace steps, and knocked on the half-open hall door.
“Imperial Father, while I was reading earlier, I came upon something I did not understand and wished to ask Imperial Father about it. I did not expect to find Imperial Father feeling unwell…”
He glanced at the eunuch crouched on the floor gathering the fragments of the medicine bowl, then knelt before the man on the other side who had raised his head to look at him.
“I ask Imperial Father to take care of his health.” He pressed his forehead to the floor.
In this place, aside from the Empress, the Crown Prince was the other person who could enter and leave without announcement. The eunuchs, seeing him arrive at this moment, regarded him as a savior — they took his cue and knelt together, pleading quietly in chorus.
The Emperor slowly set down the memorial in his hands and fell silent. The young boy then instructed the eunuchs to summon the Imperial Physicians, and the eunuch rose and rushed out.
Shortly afterward, several Imperial Physicians arrived, examined the Emperor with great care, then gathered together to consult and wrote out a prescription which they presented, saying: “We wonder if the Empress should perhaps review this…”
“There is no need to disturb her. You may decide among yourselves.”
The Emperor’s expression showed weariness. He spoke lightly.
The Imperial Physicians exchanged glances, assented in quiet voices, and withdrew.
Only the young boy remained before the Emperor. He bid the Emperor rest early, and under the Emperor’s gaze — warm with fondness and gratified relief — he took his leave with proper deference.
He withdrew from the hall, descended the palace steps one by one, then turned his head and looked back at the lamplight filling the doors and windows behind him. His expression gradually cooled. He stood in thought for a moment, then turned and walked away, his figure disappearing into the night.
Mu Fulan returned to the Palace of Ziwei.
The blood that had been churning ceaselessly within her — even now, in this moment, it seemed as though it could not quiet itself, pressing against her until her eyes grew hot and her heart ached.
She sat alone beneath the lamp for a long while before she gradually calmed. When she asked the time, the palace attendant told her it was the third quarter of the hour of Hai.
Nearly midnight. She thought of Xi’er, who was staying in the side hall.
Since entering the palace, he had grown even more diligent than before, frequently reading by lamplight deep into the night — several times Mu Fulan had come upon him still poring over his books long after midnight.
Just then, she suddenly wished to go and look in on him. Even if he was already asleep, to see the peaceable expression of his sleeping face would be enough.
Heaven had not, in the end, been entirely unkind to her — it had let this child accompany her into this world. Many times, in moments of helplessness and bewilderment, the sight of this child had cleared the fog in her heart and restored her sense of direction and anchor.
She left her sleeping chamber and was about to walk toward the side hall when she saw a young boy’s figure standing outside the hall.
She gave a start, then walked toward him, a gentle smile on her face, softly reproaching him: “It is so late — why are you still not asleep? What are you doing standing here?”
The young boy still stood as he was, without a word.
Mu Fulan gradually sensed something was not right.
She thought for a moment, then took the young boy’s hand and brought him inside. She dismissed the attendants and maids, and said gently: “Xi’er, if something is weighing on you, you may tell Mother freely.”
The young boy said quietly: “Tonight’s events — I know all of it.”
Mu Fulan was startled. Before she had time to wonder how he had come to know what had transpired tonight, a wave of embarrassment rose in her chest.
She looked at the half-grown boy before her. Afraid he had misunderstood, she immediately wanted to offer him some explanation — but opening her mouth, she found she did not know where to begin.
She paused for a moment. “Xi’er, please do not misunderstand…”
The young boy shook his head, and beneath Mu Fulan’s startled, somewhat embarrassed gaze, he slowly knelt before her.
“Mother.” He looked up at her — no longer calling her “Imperial Mother,” but “Mother,” as he used to.
“I know you entered this palace for my sake. I am already Crown Prince, and all goes well. I am not small anymore — I will be able to take care of myself from now on. Besides, Imperial Father treats me better than a blood son. Mother, you need no longer worry on my account. If you do not like it here, and wish to return — you may return to the Dongting, without hesitation, without being held back on my account by any bind or entanglement.”
He looked steadily at Mu Fulan.
“Mother — you must especially not, because of me, force yourself to face a person you are unwilling to face.”
Mu Fulan’s heart gave a sudden lurch.
“In truth, Mother, if you could be with General Yuan, I would be very glad. He is a good man. He would do everything in his power to give you a life of peace and happiness for the rest of your days, free from all fear and sorrow.”
“Mother — Xi’er can promise you: there will come a day when Xi’er will allow you to leave the past behind entirely and begin a new life. All of this is what Mother deserves.”
Last of all, he said these words in a slow and deliberate tone, with great emphasis.
Mu Fulan was utterly dumbfounded.
Not that she was unmoved. It was that in this moment, the shock and weight of his words had far surpassed any feeling of being moved.
She lowered her head and looked at the young boy kneeling before her.
This is her Xi’er — he has truly grown up, she thought.
He was no longer the child she had once found at the temple, tilting his head up, waiting for her to take him home.
She ought to have felt boundless relief and pride. And yet in her heart, in this moment, what was truly there — with absolute certainty — was only a deep and expansive blankness.
She slowly sat down, lost in thought for a moment, then said quietly: “Mother will think it over. Once Mother has thought it through, I will decide.”
The young boy rose from the floor, took Mu Fulan’s hand, and walked her inside.
“Mother, go and rest first.”
“There is no hurry. We will take it slowly.” The young boy smiled and said softly.
In the palace of Penglai, the days and months stretched long.
Yuan Handing returned to the Kingdom of Changsha. The Imperial Physicians spared no effort in treating the Emperor’s injuries. The Emperor governed diligently, allowed the people to rest and recuperate, recognized and employed the talented, rectified discipline, and pursued the vigorous ordering of affairs. The new dynasty took on a fresh and vital aspect, and the ten thousand people of the realm bowed in joyful submission.
And so the days passed — like still water, flowing away without sound. All things seemed to be moving toward the better, save for the Empress Dowager’s condition.
According to the Imperial Physicians’ Hall’s daily records, the Empress Dowager’s initial fall had injured her sinews and channels, causing her meridians to be obstructed and one side of her body to be drawn tight. At times she suffered episodes of dizziness and palpitations, her speech was impaired, and her memory was failing. Though treated with all possible means, the condition was unstable and gave little cause for optimism. By late summer, the Empress Dowager’s jaw had also grown progressively more rigid, making eating and drinking increasingly difficult.
Misfortune rarely comes alone. At this same time, speculation about the Emperor’s condition — rumors that old wounds sustained over years of war had recurred — began gradually spreading.
At first this speculation was confined to certain officials in the court, but it slowly expanded outward until it became a rumor that the Emperor’s wounds were severe and beyond treatment. Within the capital and beyond, unease began to stir among the people.
But very quickly, this rumor simply disappeared.
The Emperor was known throughout the realm as a deeply filial son. With the Empress Dowager ill, the Emperor was consumed with anxiety. The imperial procession left the palace, the Emperor personally leading the assembled ministers out of the capital to conduct a suburban ritual sacrifice and pray for the Empress Dowager’s recovery.
On that day, the Emperor appeared in his ceremonial robes, his imperial bearing and majesty in full view — the entire city witnessed it with their own eyes. The rumor collapsed without a single rebuttal, and the people finally set their hearts at rest.
After the sacrifice, that afternoon, Mu Fulan sat before the south-facing window of the main living hall in the Palace of Ziwei, reading through the medication diary sent by the Imperial Physicians recording the treatment of the Emperor’s lung injuries. Suddenly she felt the surroundings had grown strangely quiet, and looked outside — only to find that, at some point she had not noticed, all the palace attendants had withdrawn from the courtyard in front of the hall. Beneath the magnolia tree stood a figure robed in the dragon robe.
Xie Changgeng had come. He had been standing there like that, looking at her as she faced the window — she did not know for how long.
She closed the medical diary and slowly rose.
He stepped forward, walking in her direction.
It was the height of summer, sweltering and sultry. Mu Fulan welcomed him into the hall, saw that his brow was damp with perspiration, and knowing he had always been sensitive to heat, instructed the attendants to draw fully open all the curtains that had been half-lowered.
“Has Your Majesty come for a particular matter?” she asked.
Xie Changgeng stopped at the hall entrance and said, “In a few days, I intend to go to the north for a time.”
The new dynasty had just been established. On the surface all was calm, but in truth danger lurked everywhere — particularly in the form of assassination attempts and the activities of spies, which were rampant. In the past half year alone — not counting the provinces — within the capital itself, Mu Fulan knew that no fewer than a dozen or more attempted assassinations had been quietly dealt with. Drawing close to him was far too difficult, and so these attacks were mostly aimed at his most trusted ministers. The rumor of his old wounds recurring and his life being in peril had, naturally, been spread in this very manner.
“Just a few days ago, the surveillance authorities completely rooted out the last remaining cell of spies left behind in the capital. But rumors of my imminent death have already spread as far as Hexi. It has been quiet there for a few years, but now those in the north are stirring again, and the mood is somewhat unsettled. If I do not appear in person, political decrees alone will be difficult to reassure the troops. Hexi is of critical importance — it absolutely cannot be allowed to fall into disorder. I must go there personally — consider it an imperial campaign. I will entrust matters here in the capital to Liu An and the others, who will assist the Crown Prince, while you take charge of overseeing governance. What are your thoughts?”
He finished speaking and looked at her.
Mu Fulan raised her eyes to meet his gaze and said, “I understand.”
“I will also do my best on the Empress Dowager’s end,” she added.
He did not move, as though still waiting for her to say more.
The afternoon heat pressed in through the south window, setting the crystal pendants on the curtains tinkling and swaying, enough to make anyone’s heart feel restless and unsettled.
Yet she said nothing more.
He stood a moment longer, as though coming to himself, then suddenly turned his face away and said something hurriedly — “Thank you for the trouble.”
Mu Fulan watched the retreating figure moving quickly away, then turned her head and looked at the medical diary behind her. Something surged in her chest. She could suppress it no longer. She called out: “Your Majesty!”
The man had already crossed the threshold. He stopped in an instant, turned his head, and looked at her.
Mu Fulan drew a slow breath, held his gaze, walked toward him, and said: “When Your Majesty arrives there, if you should see the old clan chief, please convey my greetings.”
“Very well.” He answered.
“The Hexi region lacks physicians and medicine — the people find it difficult to seek treatment. When the situation is stable, if Your Majesty permits, I may select physicians to be stationed there and help spread medical knowledge.”
“Very well.” He answered again.
“And — Your Majesty, please take care of yourself…” She paused for a moment.
“The new dynasty cannot afford to be without Your Majesty for long,” she said.
Something imperceptible and dark flickered through his eyes. He was silent for a moment, then a gentle smile appeared on his face, and slowly he spoke the third “very well.”
“I am only going to show my face. Do not worry.”
His throat seemed faintly hoarse. He gave her a nod, withdrew his gaze, turned, and walked away with quick strides.