Whoever caused the trouble should clean it up—she was an outsider and didn’t plan to get involved. However, she still felt somewhat guilty about rashly agreeing to Prince Nanyuan that day at Tanzhe Temple. She hadn’t thought it through and had sympathized with him too much, making herself into someone who went back on her word. Fortunately, the deep palace was locked away, and they wouldn’t have to meet again. Even if he cursed her to pieces behind her back, at worst her ears would burn—she could pretend not to hear.
When she went to pay her morning and evening respects to the Empress Dowager, she saw her sighing to a roomful of consorts: “How wonderful—now we’re leaderless. Your master is something else. The palace isn’t like the court where every position has someone assigned to it. If you remove one, you have to fill it with another. Now the middle palace position is vacant—how are we to handle the palace’s major and minor affairs? Among all these people, at least pick one out. If that won’t do, if any court officials have suitable candidates at home, conferring a title wouldn’t be improper either.” She lowered her voice, muttering with disappointment: “Spending all day entangled with that sister from Consort Duan’s family—what will outsiders say? That woman has a husband. His Majesty’s causing this scene, and now she’s even pregnant. How will it be handled before Prince Nanyuan later? In my opinion, it would be better not to have this child at all. Without proper name or status, if born, it would disrupt protocol.”
The consorts below, having witnessed Empress Zhang’s fate, didn’t dare speak. The Empress Dowager’s gaze swept over their heads, shaking her head in disappointment. The men were incompetent, and the women were like sawed-mouth gourds. When there was finally one with high rank who dared to speak up, she too was pulled down. This punishment of women was probably the Emperor’s most decisive action since taking power.
Since the late Emperor’s death and her legitimate daughter-in-law’s death in Jiefeng Palace, the Empress Dowager was actually quite indifferent to everything. Among that large group of grandsons, not one was close to her. Whether this Emperor was good or bad, she didn’t take to heart either. But asking about it was still proper—she couldn’t be more carefree than the late Emperor Xiaozong who had already departed this world. Her gaze surveyed the crowd when she suddenly noticed Consort Duan hiding in the corner. She coughed and raised her voice: “Have you asked her about it? How exactly is this matter to be handled?”
Yin Luo looked innocent: “In response to the Empress Dowager, we sisters were never close. How it will be handled—she hasn’t mentioned it to me.”
“What about His Majesty? No instructions either?”
Yin Luo still shook her head: “His Majesty rarely visits my quarters, much less would he discuss such shameful matters with me.”
The Empress Dowager was annoyed by her claiming to know nothing: “Both these people have extremely deep relationships with you, yet you come here to deceive me?”
Seeing things going badly, Wanwan quickly stood up to comfort the Empress Dowager: “She has her difficulties. Mother, please don’t blame her. Look—one is her sister, one is her master. She’s caught in the middle and in a difficult position. When she first got this news, she asked His Majesty’s intentions. His Majesty didn’t explicitly say no, so she was anxious too and willing to give up her status to settle the Secondary Consort. Who knew His Majesty wouldn’t agree and instead blamed her thoroughly. If you also resent her, wouldn’t she be wronged?”
With her gentle persuasion, the Empress Dowager gradually calmed her anger, though still displeased, saying coldly: “The winter solstice is right ahead. I want to see how your brother explains this to others. Don’t think that being Emperor means you can do anything. If you anger those feudal princes, you might not get good results.”
Wanwan was also helpless, supposing the Emperor must have his reasons. She had made up her mind that this wasn’t her concern.
In her memory, winter had always been accompanied by ice and snow. The remaining snow from a few days ago that hadn’t melted was covered again. Icicles hung upside down from the glazed tiles on the walls, and the northwest wind swept past, freezing sharp as a nine-pronged rake.
Outside was an icy wasteland, but Yude Palace was quite warm. Thick felt hung from the doors, the heated kang was lit inside, and tribute fruits from the south were placed on tables. Lifting the door curtain released a burst of fruit fragrance.
During days when Wanwan couldn’t go out, she spent all her time playing with instruments, writing, and painting. Occasionally she did needlework, following the nanny to embroider pouches—embroidering “small lotus buds just emerging” stretched on an embroidery frame, perfecting it stitch by stitch.
That day, leaning by the south window threading a needle, she saw a figure in the wind and snow slowly walking around the glazed screen wall. Because he was facing the wind and snow, the umbrella covered his eyes and brow. She could only see the rising dragon scales on his chest, the bright yellow outer robe opening and closing with his steps, unhurried, reaching the gallery.
Wanwan was somewhat surprised, not knowing why the Emperor would suddenly visit. Before she could think deeply, when the palace maids lifted the curtain to announce him, she had already arranged her appearance and welcomed him at the door.
Upon entering, the Emperor saw her standing respectfully to the side. He seemed confused about why he had come here, momentarily dazed. After a while, he made a sound of recognition and stepped forward with a perfunctory gesture: “I was passing Yude Palace and came in to see you. What have you been busy with lately?”
Wanwan welcomed the Emperor to the throne, then personally presented tea while saying: “It’s too cold to accomplish anything. I just got two new patterns and am embroidering a pouch for my brother.”
The Emperor was startled: “Embroidering for me?” He picked up the embroidery frame for a look: “Embroidering a lotus?”
She smiled bashfully: “A gentleman’s nobility matches the lotus perfectly. To draw the pattern, I even got chilblains—look, brother.”
She extended her right hand—jade fingers slender and white as scallions. On one section of her little finger was indeed a red spot, the size of a mung bean, faintly visible under the skin. According to her, it itched terribly, and even sparrow brain medicine couldn’t cure it.
The Emperor couldn’t help laughing: “How old are you now, still using methods for treating children? Of course it won’t work. Your servants too—isn’t the room warm enough? How could they let their master develop such a thing!” He turned to call Chong Mau: “Bring that salve the Koreans prepared for Her Highness, and add two more braziers—light them behind the screen too.”
Daughters of the Murong family were born with extraordinary nobility. Before the Emperor ascended the throne, he was focused on having sons at home, so now when he wanted a princess, there were none. From Emperor Xiaozong onward, Wanwan was the only one in three generations, so he was particularly fond of this sister. Wanwan’s temperament was very good—selfless at heart, content with her circumstances, with fewer demands on the outside world than even ordinary pampered young ladies. Seeing her frowning and rubbing that chilblain, the Emperor felt indescribable heartache.
But this absurd brother of hers was planning to use her today…
He licked his lips, feeling troubled. Glancing at her, he gestured: “You sit down too. Before your own brother, you needn’t observe such formalities.”
Wanwan sensed something unusual about him and felt only uneasy. She sat in the lower seat, stealing glances at him: “Brother, did you come to find me today because you have something to say?”
The Emperor swallowed and slowly shook his head, then nodded.
She smiled: “What does this mean? Do you have something to say or not?”
The Emperor didn’t dare raise his eyes, staring at the gold-threaded embroidery on his knees: “I still remember when Father was on his deathbed, he summoned me and elder brother to Yangxin Hall to speak. He said all worldly matters could be cast aside, but he couldn’t rest easy about you alone. He wanted us brothers to take good care of you. Eight years have passed in a flash, and you’re fifteen now. We Xianbei don’t have coming-of-age ceremonies, but by Han standards, you’re already a grown woman. I’ve been thinking lately that I can’t delay your future—I must find you a good family to be worthy of our departed father and elder brother… Wanwan, do you have anyone you like in your heart? You can tell your brother. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about—we’re the closest blood relatives. In this vast palace, only we truly understand each other.”
Wanwan vaguely felt an ominous premonition. Reasonably speaking, elder brother had also mentioned this last year, asking her to choose her own consort. She hadn’t panicked at all then—why did she feel unreliable when it came to this second brother?
She forced a smile: “You came through the snow specifically for this? Though I’m not young anymore, I haven’t thought about marrying out yet…”
Before she could finish, he cut her off: “I heard some news. On the night of the Mid-Autumn banquet, that bastard son of the Zhao family was disrespectful to you, and Prince Nanyuan saved you. Did this happen?”
Wanwan’s heart lurched. She had thought this would never be brought up again, not knowing where he got this information.
The Emperor didn’t wait for her reply, continuing leisurely: “It really proves that saying—when fate arrives, nothing can stop it. Speaking of character and learning, Prince Nanyuan is truly excellent in both. If you have that intention, I’ll grant you marriage and let you lovers finally unite.”
Wanwan was shocked and hurriedly turned to look at Tonghuan. Standing to the side, Tonghuan was stunned, probably not expecting the Emperor to suddenly play this card either.
She darkened her face: “Your Majesty has forgotten ancestral teachings—the Yuwen clan of Nanyuan cannot marry princesses. If you grant me marriage, aren’t you afraid of criticism from court ministers?”
The Emperor obviously didn’t care about those censors, saying proudly: “You can’t build without destroying. Ancestral teachings should certainly be followed, but we must distinguish right from wrong, importance from triviality. Why can’t the Yuwen clan marry princesses? Because our ancestors feared feudal princes becoming too powerful and harming the court. Now all the feudal domains’ military forces are controlled by the court—feudal princes are just empty shells. What’s there to fear? Our dynasty has eight feudal princes. In terms of wealth, Prince Nanyuan alone is the most prosperous. If you marry into Jiangnan, your life of luxury might not be inferior to being in the capital. As your brother, I wholeheartedly hope for your happiness. I’ve also observed the court officials—they’re nothing special, none can compare to Prince Nanyuan. Moreover, you’ve had dealings with each other, you know his appearance and character. Marrying him wouldn’t disgrace you.”
He spoke as if it were already decided. Only then did Wanwan understand—she was being used to fill a hole. He had unclear relations with someone else’s concubine, and now unable to repay the debt, he wanted to use her as compensation.
She flushed with anger: “These words all came from the Secondary Consort’s mouth, didn’t they? Has Your Majesty come today to issue an edict?”
The Emperor, having his sore spot poked, couldn’t help becoming angry from shame: “What kind of talk is this!”
Her eyes heated up and she immediately began crying: “When elder brother gave thousands of warnings not to choose Prince Nanyuan, now my own brother from the same mother’s womb, for the sake of exchanging someone else’s concubine, is willing to compensate me to others. Second brother, clearly we two are the closest—why are you not as good as elder brother?”
What the Emperor most taboo was being compared to Emperor Yuanzhen, because his throne had been obtained confusedly, and in the end, the late Emperor had almost become a scar on his heart. This time Wanwan had touched his reverse scale, provoking his fury. He shouted: “I’ve been too indulgent with you before! Now you dare speak to me like this! I haven’t sent you to some wasteland—in what way have I wronged you? You needn’t say more. Stay properly in your chambers and wait for my edict!” Having said this, he snorted and left with a flick of his sleeves.
Wanwan stood woodenly, ice forming in her chest. She had originally felt somewhat fond of Prince Nanyuan, but now being used like plaster to mend broken bowls, to repair the situation, even her liking had turned to dislike.
Her face was ashen. Tonghuan and Xiao You came to support her, busily settling her on the south kang, saying urgently: “Your Highness, don’t worry. The edict hasn’t come down yet. If His Majesty comes to his senses, this matter won’t count.”
She slowly shook her head: “If this were just playing around, he wouldn’t have made a special trip to Yude Palace today. I’m not afraid to tell you—being betrothed to Prince Nanyuan, I should be happy. Last time I failed him, this time I could finally give him an explanation. But at this particular moment, His Majesty has hurt me too deeply. What same-mother siblings—this is how he regards me as a person!”
Tonghuan was also at a loss. After all, the Emperor’s word was golden, and with Prince Nanyuan’s Secondary Consort pregnant, His Majesty wanted both the woman and the child, so he could only deceive his own sister.