When the Emperor passed away, the entire realm donned white mourning. The late Emperor’s catalfalque had been properly arranged in Jinshen Hall, with layered white hangings suspended from the doorway. The mourning canopy was so high, and beneath it knelt countless officials and eunuchs in mourning dress paying their respects. Wanwan still remembered everything from eight years ago—when Father ascended to heaven, it was the same scene. Memories truly had cycles. She had once felt terror at the eighty-one layers of red lacquered golden coffin, but then Elder Brother had protected her. Now even Elder Brother lay inside, and she finally understood that living was essentially continuous farewells, with brief meetings and long separations.
The weeping of the Empress Dowager and palace ladies drowned in a vast sea of tears, everyone feeling lost about the road ahead. The mourning cap was very deep, blocking the view on both sides. Before Wanwan’s eyes were only the tall offering table and sugar confections and pastries piled into pagoda shapes.
Palace attendants constantly came and went adding incense and candles. The paper money burning in copper basins formed a warm zone that eventually scorched one’s face. Wanwan knelt long beneath the funeral couplets beside the catalfalque, her vision alternating between blurred and clear. As Emperor, Elder Brother might not have been particularly competent, but he was a good brother. She still remembered the scene of him sitting on the wall helping her retrieve her shuttlecock. Even if he failed the common people, he never failed her. She wept not for the realm losing a wise ruler, but for her own flesh and blood. Perhaps when he was alive, she hadn’t realized how precious he was. Only after losing him did she suddenly discover she had no one to depend on. She knelt from dawn until noon with no intention of leaving. What would she do by going back? She could smell the pervasive scent of hemp cloth in the air—even sitting in her bedchamber wouldn’t bring peace. Better to stay here accompanying Elder Brother through his final journey. From now on, this person would merely be a string of lengthy honorific titles on a memorial tablet, no longer having any meaning.
Tonghuan came to persuade her: “Your Highness, the midday meal has been prepared and placed in the eastern side hall. Please rest a while. There are still several days ahead—this won’t do.”
She came to her senses and tried to stand, but couldn’t straighten her legs for a moment. Tonghuan stepped forward to help, barely managing to move her out of the great hall.
The court’s mourning announcement had been sent out at midnight, and eunuchs with white flags on their backs were returning one after another to report. Wanwan glanced toward the side chambers: “The Factory Minister is terribly busy today—one can’t even see him.”
Tonghuan said indeed: “Your Highness doesn’t know—this morning Consort Shao committed righteous death to follow the late Emperor.”
Wanwan’s scalp immediately tingled as she asked in shock: “Such a thing happened?”
Tonghuan nodded: “She must have had too deep feelings for the late Emperor and couldn’t bear separation. Our Daye has always had the custom of court ladies following in death. By going with him, she can constantly accompany the late Emperor. Otherwise, with her rank, she could only be buried in the consorts’ mausoleum in the future.”
Her heart felt vague and lost: “What about Prince Rong? She’s not caring for him anymore?”
“Prince Rong still has the Empress. After ascending the throne, he won’t lack people to assist him.”
So living wasn’t necessary—even if one died, no one would care. The imperial court was just that cruel. Wanwan exhaled a breath of stale air toward the vast imperial avenue, steadied herself, and descended the steps into the eastern side hall.
There was someone in the hall who seemed to have arrived early. Seeing her enter, he stood up and came forward: “Still haven’t eaten at this hour, and you’ve knelt for half the day—you won’t listen to advice either. Rest here this afternoon. When tired, have your attendants escort you back to the palace. Burning the midnight oil—how much energy does that consume?” As he spoke, he gestured to the eunuchs, and food from the meal boxes was brought out and neatly arranged on the food table before her.
Wanwan looked up and called out “Second Brother.” This was her full brother Prince Fu. Unlike the historical Prince Fu, this Prince Fu was well-proportioned and graceful in manner, usually fond of composing poetry and quite renowned for his scholarly elegance. When Father was alive, all the siblings lived in the palace and interacted closely. Later, when the late Emperor ascended the throne, he left the palace to establish Prince Fu’s mansion. These years there were fewer opportunities to meet, only during holidays and festivals, and in terms of closeness, he was actually less close than Elder Brother.
But flesh and blood were still flesh and blood. Seeing him, her eyes also welled with tears. Sitting at the table to eat, she couldn’t help choking up: “Everything was fine—how did he suddenly pass away!”
Prince Fu’s five fingers tightened on the round chair’s armrest as he frowned: “This illness wasn’t a matter of just a day or two—it worsened from last spring onward. You didn’t know in the palace, but the morning audiences at the front court were frequently canceled. His health probably truly wasn’t up to it.”
Wanwan put down her chopsticks: “The Empress Dowager never let anyone see him. I wanted to enter Qianqing Palace several times but didn’t dare once I reached the entrance. Thinking about it now, Elder Brother was truly pitiful—so young, and dead just like that.”
Prince Fu stood up and slowly paced in that patch of light and shadow by the door, his expression desolate like the mourning robes he wore, murmuring: “He enjoyed the blessings he should have enjoyed and suffered the hardships he should have suffered. This life wasn’t lived in vain. I know you were close to Elder Brother, and his passing grieves you, but you must also take care of your health. Constantly kneeling before the spirit won’t accomplish anything. Don’t keep vigil tonight—the Palace Ceremonial Department is handling the court ladies’ martyrdom. With so many deaths in the palace at once, the yin energy is too strong. You’re just a child—don’t let it harm you. Rest assured, with Elder Brother gone, you still have me. We came from the same mother’s womb—closer than anyone else.”
She knew this second brother—sometimes not entirely reliable, but blood was thicker than water. Seriously speaking, he was indeed her closest remaining person.
She nodded, having palace attendants help her rinse her mouth, then remembered Consort Shao’s matter: “I heard Consort Shao from Chenggan Palace committed martyrdom?”
Prince Fu’s expression was indifferent: “Even if her son had ascended the throne, she wouldn’t have become Empress Dowager in the future—there’s still Consort Zhao above her. When the late Emperor was alive, she relied on favor to be arrogant and offended many people. Now that her backing has fallen, martyrdom is also a good way out—at least she died with dignity.”
At the time, Wanwan didn’t penetrate the meaning of his words. The late Emperor had only Prince Rong as his sole heir, so his succession was already decided—why use the phrase “even if”? Only later did she realize that perhaps everything had long been in his calculations. Yannian ran out of Kunning Palace in the middle of the night and mysteriously died in Chenggan Palace, while the vigil-keeping eunuchs invented a whole set of supernatural nonsense to deceive people. The Daye dynasty had existed for 260 years. With Yannian’s early death, Prince Fu stood alone—the throne would be his no matter what.
“To be Emperor, must one pay with relatives’ lives?” Wanwan later asked Tonghuan. “Don’t you feel that being born into the imperial family isn’t necessarily fortunate?”
Tonghuan stood attending at the side, her gaze directed toward the distant sky, her voice somewhat hollow: “Your Highness was born supremely noble—how could you know the world beyond these high walls? People come in a hundred varieties—some wear silk and eat jade, others freeze to death by rivers. Since you’ve enjoyed the most towering wealth in the world, naturally you must also experience pain beyond ordinary people’s imagination. Imperial succession has no right or wrong, only success or failure. This servant actually thinks that rather than letting a six-year-old child be Emperor, it’s better to entrust the realm to the imperial uncle. They’re both Emperor Xiaozong’s blood anyway—who couldn’t be Emperor?”
These words made sense too. What was done was done—what was there left to dispute? She was a girl, and the storms and clouds of the court had nothing to do with her. She still lived the same life, except for the Empress Dowager’s increasingly lonely expression and Consort Zhao’s helpless change to being called Old Consort Zhao. What she saw in the harem was merely old and new replacing each other—aside from having more people, there weren’t any other differences.
Since Empress Zhao’s matchmaking attempt was rejected last time, she had roughly guessed Wanwan’s thoughts. To avoid making herself unwelcome, she deliberately distanced herself, and for a period even stopped speaking to her. But after the former Emperor’s death and Prince Rong’s subsequent demise, Empress Zhao’s dream of becoming Empress Dowager came to an end. Suddenly realizing she was completely alone, she became warm with Wanwan again.
As for Wanwan, because her full brother became Emperor, her days in the palace were more leisurely than before. Although the current Empress was also just ordinarily friendly, at least she didn’t make things difficult for her, and when necessary would address her as “Your Highness” quite enthusiastically.
Empress Zhao invited her to visit. The former Empress had to vacate Kunning Palace for others and moved to live in Jiefeng Palace. When Wanwan entered, she seemed very embarrassed: “Look at this place—no different from the Cold Palace. That the Grand Princess would condescend to see me brings some joy to my heart. What are people like us now? Unloved by grandmother, unwanted by uncle—just dependent on others’ charity. My face is thick, so I still endure, but Consort Hui sought death—do you know why?”
Every time she saw her, there was always endless bitterness to pour out. The Consort Hui she mentioned was Consort Zheng Hui, once a favorite of the Empress Dowager, who starved herself to death half a month ago. Regarding her death, there were still various opinions.
Deaths in the palace were never rare occurrences. Wanwan had no interest in those strange inside stories, only fearing she’d lose face, so she pretended to be curious. This opened Old Consort Zhao’s floodgates, and she chattered extensively, saying Consort Hui’s death wasn’t voluntary but at her family’s instigation. When the former Emperor died, she hadn’t accompanied him in death, nor was she selected to guard the mausoleum. Staying in the palace, she was despised by all. She cried daily in Shoukang Palace, and the Empress Dowager, disgusted by her clinging to life, also disliked her, making her days quite difficult. With no other options, she consulted her family. Scholar Zheng was clever and sent someone to deliver an empty food box. Seeing it, Consort Hui awakened from her great dream and from that day stopped eating or drinking, dying within three days.
“Each new emperor brings new ministers—isn’t it the same for people like us? Now there’s no one close in the palace except you.” Old Consort Zhao held her cup, glancing at Wanwan’s expression: “Speaking presumptuously, Your Highness is someone I watched grow up. When the former Emperor ascended the throne, you were barely table-height. In a flash, you’ve become a grown young lady. I’ve always had something on my mind—you’re at the age for marriage discussions. Your sister-in-law would like to arrange a match for you. Would you be willing?”
Last time was merely beating around the bush; this time was a direct proposal. Wanwan wasn’t very pleased, but young ladies were thin-skinned, and her red face from anger could also look like bashfulness.
“Sister-in-law, please don’t joke. Since Emperor Taizu, Daye has never had the principle of girls agreeing to their own marriages. I have Mother Empress above me, plus brother and sister-in-law. It would never be my turn to decide.”
Old Consort Zhao still wouldn’t give up: “Although the former Emperor wasn’t born of the same mother as you, his love for you was no less than His Majesty’s. Speaking of sister-in-law, am I not your sister-in-law? The relative from my maternal family I mentioned also serves as an official in court. His father is Right Censor-in-Chief of the Censorate, and he himself serves as Counselor in the Provincial Administration Commission. He’s handsome and famously good-natured. Although marrying a princess would be reaching high, when young couples live together, isn’t it all about harmony? I know you’re embarrassed, and I blame myself for being too hasty—I should have mentioned it to the Empress Dowager first. Never mind, let me sound out the Empress Dowager’s opinion first, then we can discuss it in detail.”
Wanwan stood up and left Jiefeng Palace with a stern expression.
Tonghuan pursued with questions: “What does Your Highness think?”
“This Consort Zhao is now desperately seeking medical help anywhere. Seeing her maternal family about to fall, she’s forcibly dragging me to make up numbers. If she wants to mention it to the Empress Dowager, let her go. She’ll inevitably embarrass herself.” She said indignantly, then paused and sighed wistfully: “The Factory Minister warned me before going to Jiangnan, probably fearing I’d act rashly. He beat around the bush hinting—it was hard on him. Now there’s nothing to fear. He had Junior Supervisor Yan look after Yude Palace, so Consort Zhao has no recourse. Let’s wait and see—when he returns, I’ll ask his opinion.”
“What if the Empress Dowager agrees? What method does Your Highness have?”
“I’m not a cat or dog to be disposed of as they please.” She lightly brushed her sleeves: “I have my own principles. If they force me, at worst I’ll ask His Majesty to grant me a residence and leave the palace to live alone.”
Tonghuan had been with her for a year and saw every change in her. Last year’s Grand Princess was still a child who cried when encountering problems, but this year she had matured considerably through experience. A girl’s character formation might happen overnight—having principles, having opinions, having her own likes and dislikes, far superior to those clan daughters.
“This servant will guess—does Your Highness perhaps have someone you like in your heart?” Tonghuan teased her: “If so, don’t hide it. Matters of marriage pass in a flash—don’t regret it for a lifetime.”
Wanwan smiled: “Where would there be…” She thought of Xiao Duo, but what a pity—ultimately lacking just a bit. It was a dream from her youth that couldn’t be spoken. As long as he was still there, she was content.