One learns from one’s mistakes. The last time Noble Consort Zhang had supervised homework, she was nearly humiliated by the two princesses and was only saved by Hu Shanwei’s intervention. Now the two princesses were being instigated by Prince Han again—she couldn’t beat them or scold them. Noble Consort Zhang had no choice but to ask Hu Shanwei for advice on how to keep the two princesses under control.
Hu Shanwei had invited Princess Huaiqing to come.
First, Princess Huaiqing was an elder; second, she had rendered service in supporting the dragon’s ascent, greatly helping Emperor Yongle’s enthronement, and Emperor Yongle greatly trusted this princess sister; third, she had personal connections with Princess Huaiqing, their relationship beginning with the funeral arrangements for the princess’s birth mother, Noble Consort Chengmu Sun, and she could successfully invite her—after all, Princess Huaiqing had always maintained neutrality in the open and covert struggles between the Crown Prince and Prince Han, never expressing any position. Now with Princess Huaiqing entering the palace to stabilize the two princesses, this was beneficial to the Eastern Palace.
Since Prince Consort Wang Ning’s death, Princess Huaiqing had lived in a state of semi-retirement. Apart from entering the palace to worship at Fengxian Hall on the memorial days of Emperor Gaozhu, Empress Xiaoci, Noble Consort Chengmu, and Empress Renxiao, and entering the palace for major festivals like New Year’s greetings, she never set foot in the court.
Regarding politics, Princess Huaiqing never expressed any position. Her two sons with Wang Ning—Wang Zhenqing and Wang Zhenliang—only accepted honorary positions and rewards, never taking actual posts. They usually studied poetry and literature, only associating with leisurely scholars, staying far from politics. No matter how Prince Han tried to court and win them over, they remained unmoved.
Having suffered the pain of losing her husband in middle age, Princess Huaiqing truly didn’t want to lose any more relatives.
However, when Hu Shanwei came to request her presence, Princess Huaiqing felt that with the emperor so seriously ill, for the stability of the imperial family, it was still necessary to enter the palace.
Princess Huaiqing immediately took control of the situation. Noble Consort Zhang expressed her gratitude, and Princess Huaiqing said: “The noble consorts of the Ming Dynasty all have it difficult—my birth mother was once a noble consort too. You don’t need to thank me; I didn’t come for you either. I haven’t entered the palace for a long time. I want to walk around my birth mother’s Changchun Palace and take a look.”
Noble Consort Zhang looked troubled: “That’s easy, except… Noble Consort Quan, who held the main position in Changchun Palace, just died tragically, so perhaps…”
Princess Huaiqing asked: “Where is Noble Consort Quan’s coffin placed?”
Noble Consort Zhang said: “Rouyi Hall. We’re waiting for His Majesty to regain consciousness before handling the funeral arrangements.” Empress Renxiao’s coffin had also once been placed there.
Princess Huaiqing said: “Since the coffin isn’t in Changchun Palace, I need not worry about taboos.”
Hu Shanwei accompanied Princess Huaiqing to Changchun Palace. After Noble Consort Quan’s sudden death, the other seven lower-ranking consorts were relocated to other palaces, leaving this place empty.
With no one living there, the palace’s thick accumulated snow went unswept, giving the once-glorious Changchun Palace a lonely and desolate air.
Princess Huaiqing came to a swing set in the courtyard: “This swing is still here. I grew up in Changchun Palace and often played here as a child.”
Hu Shanwei spoke truthfully: “The old one had rotted away—this was torn down and rebuilt. Noble Consort Quan came from Korea and enjoyed swinging and performing.”
“Things remain, but people have changed.” Princess Huaiqing brushed the snow from the swing seat: “Palace Supervisor Hu, please push me.”
Hu Shanwei gently pushed Princess Huaiqing’s back.
Princess Huaiqing swung high, and at the moment of landing, deliberately used her boot tips to kick up the accumulated snow, as if returning to her carefree princess days before marriage. “In deep night I suddenly dream of youthful matters, weeping in dreams with makeup tears streaking red. Last night, I dreamed of my prince consort.”
Princess Huaiqing said: “I dreamed of when I first met him—the Dragon Boat Festival archery contest, where he hit the target with all three arrows. Later playing polo, he didn’t compete aggressively or use underhanded tactics, remaining honorable and upright. Finally, the dragon boat race—I disguised myself as a young man and sat behind him holding an oar. Unexpectedly, the dragon boat capsized. I couldn’t swim, and he dove underwater to drag me to shore.”
Hu Shanwei hadn’t known there was such an incident during the dragon boat race back then.
“All these years, every day, every moment, I think of him.” Princess Huaiqing swung on the swing as the north wind lashed her face, and the tears she’d been holding back formed a layer of white frost on her eyelashes.
Feeling sympathy for another’s sorrow, seeing Princess Huaiqing so melancholic, Hu Shanwei projected her own feelings, thinking that if Mu Chun couldn’t return from quelling the rebellion in Jiaozhi, she would probably suffer like Princess Huaiqing.
Hu Shanwei said: “Prince Consort was always an excellent person. He didn’t fail the country, nor did he fail the princess’s deep affection.”
Princess Huaiqing stopped swinging and said: “But he failed you. Don’t you hate him?”
“I did hate him,” Hu Shanwei said. “However, from the moment I stopped loving him, I stopped hating him too.”
Princess Huaiqing’s right hand gripping the swing suddenly seized Hu Shanwei’s hand: “During these years of suffering in agony, I’ve always had a shameful fantasy. I fantasized that when Father Emperor proposed the marriage, Wang Ning refused, and you two reconciled and made up. You left the palace and became the wife of Earl Yongchun.”
“An emperor’s daughter need not worry about marriage. I would have been disappointed for a while, but still followed Father Emperor, Mother Empress, and birth mother’s choice, marrying someone not as excellent as Wang Ning, living a life without waves. The prince consort would just be my accessory—with or without him wouldn’t affect my life. Without love, there’s no concern. If the prince consort died, I’d still live in wealth and honor my whole life without much sorrow. How good that would have been.”
Hu Shanwei said: “If Wang Ning had refused Emperor Gaozhu then, both he and I would have died. That’s reality—under imperial power, what you cannot obtain is destroyed. No one can achieve reconciliation. Princess, don’t think wildly—there are no ‘what ifs.’ To have loved is to have loved. Don’t deceive yourself—Wang Ning was worthy of the princess’s love.”
Princess Huaiqing still wouldn’t let go, hesitating to speak.
Hu Shanwei said decisively: “I loved him—he was my first and most painful love.”
Having received her answer, Princess Huaiqing finally released her grip, laughing self-mockingly: “I, a grand Ming princess, am still not as magnanimous as Palace Supervisor Hu. You never regret having loved him, while I fantasize about what life would have been like if I’d never loved him.”
“Living in this world, all emotion is suffering. To escape this sea of suffering, one can only cut off emotion and abandon love. But after all these years, with children and grandchildren filling my halls, wealth and honor, I still cannot stop thinking of him, loving him. My body has been exhausted in matters of emotion and cannot escape. It seems only death can bring liberation.”
Princess Huaiqing fell ill from longing and died in melancholy, passing away in early December. Emperor Yongle ordered a lavish burial. According to imperial family rules, princesses could not be buried together with their prince consorts. Before dying, Princess Huaiqing instructed her two sons to place a set of her prince consort’s clothing and crown in the coffin, arranged side by side with her.
Her two sons tearfully agreed. Princess Huaiqing was buried at Niushou Mountain in Jiangning County. After several hundred years of wind and rain, the princess’s tomb was repeatedly disturbed by grave robbers. When the Nanjing Archaeological Research Institute received reports and conducted rescue excavations of the ancient tomb in 2017, only pottery jars, bronze coffin rings, scattered gold ornaments, and bones remained.
Fortunately, the tomb inscription marking “Princess Huaiqing” behind the sealing stone was well preserved, proving this ancient tomb’s owner was Princess Huaiqing, the sixth daughter of Ming Emperor Gaozhu.
Those regretful partings that began with joy but ended in hopeless waiting and tears, those loves of mutual devotion that couldn’t last to old age, those marriages of lifelong obsession where one could never escape sorrow—all eventually turned to dust, leaving only a cold tombstone.
On the tenth day of Emperor Yongle’s recuperation, he could finally speak complete sentences.
“Duke of Ying Zhang Fu shall manage the capital’s defense.” Previously this had been Prince Han Zhu Gaoxu.
“I am ill and need recuperation. During this period, the Crown Prince shall serve as regent, but matters involving military affairs and changes to officials of third rank and above must be handled by me personally.”
At this critical moment, whether Crown Prince or Prince Han, neither was someone Emperor Yongle could trust. As a father, he wouldn’t depend on either side.
Emperor Yongle tacitly approved Shen Qionglian’s private decision to invite Noble Consort Zhang out to preside over the harem. He ultimately trusted Noble Consort Zhang and the Zhang family—the previous confinement was treated as if it had never happened. When his body was weak, keeping the situation firmly in his own hands gave him a sense of security.
In the Fish-Lu Rebellion, Acting Palace Supervisor Shen Qionglian bore the crime of oversight failure, but because she made amends and stabilized the situation, her merits offset her faults. She was fined one year’s salary, returned to the Court Bureau of Rites, and demoted to Court Lady.
Shen Qionglian had plenty of money—in this harem, apart from the emperor, she was probably the second wealthiest. She didn’t care about one year’s salary. As for becoming a Court Lady, she felt this arrangement was quite good. She hadn’t wanted to be Palace Supervisor anyway—the responsibility was too great. Writing palace poems was much easier.
With the situation stabilized, Emperor Yongle handled Noble Consort Quan’s funeral arrangements.
“In the Fish-Lu Rebellion in the harem, Noble Consort Quan was innocently harmed. Summon her father and brothers to the capital to handle Noble Consort Quan’s funeral. The Ceremonial Directorate shall send people to Korea to console the consort’s mother.”
With over a thousand people suddenly dead in the harem, most of the Korean families who had sent daughters to the capital for marriage alliances were from the yangban nobility class and required an explanation. If deaths remained unclear and were merely covered up, it would only cause more unsavory speculation.
The official statement was that Korean tribute woman Lu, jealous of fellow Korean Noble Consort Quan’s favor, conspired with Korean eunuch Yu in the palace to obtain poison from outside and poison Noble Consort Quan, causing palace chaos. The main culprit, accomplices, and victim were all from Korea, as were those implicated—hence it was called the Fish-Lu Rebellion.
Noble Consort Quan’s coffin was to be carried out of the palace for burial.
Noble Consort Zhang came to Rouyi Hall to see Noble Consort Quan off on her final journey. The winter cold meant the corpse had been preserved and carefully prepared. Noble Consort Quan wore a complete phoenix crown and bright red court robes, lying in the coffin with a peaceful expression, though the dehydration from preservation made her much thinner than usual.
Noble Consort Quan had always been slender and delicate, too weak to bear heavy clothing, rather like Xi Shi holding her heart. Now she appeared even more fragile and weak, like a budding maiden not yet fully developed.
The person who least deserved to die had died most tragically, suffering such an undeserved disaster. Noble Consort Zhang looked at Noble Consort Quan in the coffin as a thousand feelings surged through her heart, finally condensing into bitterness.
Noble Consort Zhang sighed: “Rest assured, I have decided to abandon those vain fantasies and hopeless love, and properly fulfill the role of Noble Consort…
A obedient chess piece. From love arises sorrow, from love arises fear. For one free from love, there is no sorrow and no fear.”
Life is hasty; I am bending down.
Pride, love, children, hope—none of these were things a noble consort could possess, especially a noble consort of the Yongle era.
Extinguishing emotion and severing love, without desire or demand. A noble consort’s self-cultivation was to treat the imperial palace at the very center of fame and fortune as a monastery for spiritual practice, cultivating body and character amid the interweaving of power, love, and hate.
After Emperor Yongle recuperated for a month, his body recovered and he resumed work, though at his age, after such severe damage to his vitality, his health was not what it had been.
Emperor Yongle buried himself in reviewing memorials he had missed during his illness. According to the Crown Prince’s regency rules, military and state affairs required Emperor Yongle’s personal handling, but in such a vast empire, how could matters requiring the emperor’s attention be trivial?
Besides major affairs, Emperor Yongle also needed to comprehensively understand what had happened in the country during his serious illness.
Emperor Yongle’s gaze stopped on one memorial.
This was submitted by Xie Jin, formerly the empire’s chief confidential secretary, editor-in-chief of the “Yongle Encyclopedia,” and banished by him to Jiaozhi.
Officials posted outside were due to return to the capital for audience and duty reports. Emperor Yongle had originally planned to carefully cultivate Xie Jin—banishing him to Jiaozhi that year served two purposes: first, to suppress the Crown Prince, and second, to have Xie Jin gain experience in Jiaozhi.
But when Xie Jin returned to the capital for his duty report, he had only met with the Crown Prince before hastily leaving the capital, not even waiting for Emperor Yongle’s summons.
What had Xie Jin and the Crown Prince discussed? Why hadn’t the Crown Prince detained this important minister to wait for the emperor to personally hear his report?
Having just suffered betrayal and still physically weak, Emperor Yongle’s suspicions flared. He immediately suspected the relationship between the Crown Prince and Xie Jin, and ordered Brocade Guard Commander Ji Gang to pursue Xie Jin, place him in the imperial prison, and interrogate him severely.