After the begonia flowers in the palace had bloomed thirteen times, she understood it was time for her to leave.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t thought about staying by his side for a lifetime.

Nor had she not considered losing herself in that gentle smile, thinking of nothing, questioning nothing, letting time slip away hastily as black hair turned frost-white and beauty faded—using up this lifetime so quickly.

However, he hadn’t even given her such an opportunity.

In her childhood years, she hadn’t paid much attention to him.

Back then, her parents were still alive, and she was still that pampered Princess of a Commandery. Her impression of him was limited to that distant figure she once saw at a grand ceremony.

At that time, the somewhat frail youth in the distance, wrapped in imperial yellow court robes, stood quietly below the throne, easily overlooked.

The entire court’s attitude toward him during that period was similar to overlooking him. Before the Late Emperor’s passing, and even before his rule began, almost no one believed his existence would have any significant impact on the empire.

Perhaps there are always some people who must be polished over time before gradually revealing their brilliance.

And there are always some people who slowly make their way into one’s heart—just like that, one laugh, one touch of warmth, daily trifles, bit by bit. By the time one realizes it, looking back, what fills the heart is already completely that person’s smile and figure, branded into the deepest dreams, impossible to erase.

That must have been how he made his way into her heart.

At six years old, she suddenly lost both parents and was taken into the palace as an adopted daughter by Noble Consort Liu out of pity. When she first entered the palace, she was just a helpless orphaned girl, facing completely unfamiliar people and things, with loneliness and fear like ghostly shadows following her constantly.

In those most unbearable days, he was the first to approach her.

It was also he who showed her a gentle smile, gradually leading her into the monotonous palace life. He would make casual jokes when she was troubled, give her an encouraging and approving look after her efforts, and quietly shield her from idle gossip when she faced contempt.

Unknowingly, she began to feel that youth’s faint smile shone brighter than any dazzling light, and though his hands weren’t warm, holding them gave the safest shelter.

That time was so beautiful—a lonely young girl newly entered into the deep palace, a gentle and handsome youth, lotus flowers in the imperial garden blooming and falling in pairs, the clear waters of the Golden Water River quietly flowing past the red walls and golden tiles of the forbidden palace, quietly carrying away two years of time.

Looking back, it was somewhat foolish. At first, she thought this would be for a lifetime.

But who isn’t like this? The first person you meet in your youth, you believe all their gentleness and care will be given to you alone, and from then on through the long years, it will all be a tale of childhood sweethearts.

The one who shattered her fairy tale was that little girl, that girl who was two years younger than her, the daughter of Prime Minister Ling.

During that time, rumors spread through the palace that the Late Emperor was going to choose a Crown Princess for him. She didn’t take it seriously; marriage seemed too distant a matter to her. Moreover, in her subtle emotions, there had never been the shadow of any other girl besides him and her.

But that day, after he met with the Late Emperor in the Hall of Mental Cultivation, she saw him and was surprised to find his usually pale face carried a blush.

She thought he had been scolded by the Late Emperor and was feeling unwell, so she hurriedly came forward to ask.

But he shook his head and smiled, his expression both joyful and sorrowful: “Father Emperor says he wants to choose her as my wife.”

She was somewhat confused, so he smiled and explained: “It’s Minister Ling’s daughter.” As if worried she wouldn’t be familiar, he added: “A very spirited, talkative little girl.”

She nodded, an indescribable feeling rising in her heart. She had never seen so many emotions on his face before—his lips unconsciously upturned, clearly wanting to smile, yet his elegant eyebrows slightly furrowed together, and his deep black eyes seemed to have been lit by something, occasionally flashing with light.

With slight sourness and unclear expectations, she asked: “Brother Huan, do you like her as your wife?”

The answer she heard next, she would never forget in her lifetime.

Seeming to be stunned for a moment, that youth’s raised corners of his mouth slowly lowered, his furrowed brows gradually smoothed. He finally smiled, his eyes full of calm tenderness: “If I can make her happy, then I like it.”

She looked at him smiling before her and forced herself to smile and turn away, but her chest was filled with bitterness.

This must be jealousy. For the first time in her life, such a thing took residence in her peaceful life: resentful and unwilling, sour and bitter, piercing into her heart like needles, inescapable.

She began to deeply resent that nameless girl—she had only been one step ahead, just one step ahead, yet had already taken all the luck.

Something had already silently changed, but her palace life continued as usual.

Her intelligence was already well-known in the capital before she entered the palace, so Noble Consort Liu, who doted on her, made her the Crown Prince’s study companion. Every day during lessons, he was with her.

Besides her, the one even closer to him was Ying, who followed him like a little tail, his only half-sister.

Outside of lessons, he would also bring Ying to visit her quarters, making small talk, discussing poetry, books, music, and chess with the clever and knowledgeable her, growing familiar with a steady intimacy.

Just like that, several years passed swiftly. During this time, the Late Emperor passed away, and he ascended the throne as emperor and changed the era name, Ying no longer followed him all day, and Miss Ling became his betrothed, the designated future empress, yet their relationship remained as usual.

There was a time when she secretly hoped he would turn his gaze to her, after all, their temperaments were so compatible, even their favorite poets and beloved poems were identical, while that girl was never by his side, they knew almost nothing about each other.

Moreover, that kind of girl had absolutely no merits!

She often paid attention to news of the Ling family’s eldest daughter, all of which were unfavorable rumors: crude and hot-tempered, lacking education, not accomplished in any of the four arts or needlework, the only well-known thing about her was her pair of fists always getting into fights and causing trouble.

Such a girl, she thought somewhat conceitedly, could never be more suitable for him than herself, could she?

However, as they grew older, while his attitude toward her remained the same as in his youth, he gradually began to mind the propriety between men and women. His gaze toward her lost the familiarity of childhood, slowly becoming respectful and polite.

Her heart was sour and bitter, unable to guess what he was thinking, not knowing whether to be happy or sad.

That day, they were leisurely reading a collection of lyrics together when his gaze fell on one piece, and a smile suddenly appeared at the corners of his mouth.

No matter how she looked, she couldn’t see what was funny about that lyric, so she teasingly asked him what was amusing.

His smile deepened: “Just seeing these lines made me think of someone.”

She curiously asked which lines, and he smiled, pointing to one of them. It was a line that seemed unremarkable at first glance: “Not for particular fondness of light demeanor, but in coldness especially lovely.”

Her heart soured slightly, but she still smiled and asked: “Are you thinking of Miss Ling?”

He actually nodded without any avoidance, even his eyes showing mirth: “This morning I heard from Shi Yan that she beat up the Minister of Rites’ son for standing up for a street vendor.” He smiled and sighed: “When will this always-explosive temper ever change?”

Her heart suddenly felt hollow, echoing emptily: he knew much more about her affairs than she did, he had been watching her all along, not telling anyone, but always observing her.

A bitter taste gradually rose in her mouth, and again for the first time, he made her know the taste of despair.

Realizing her long silence, he finally turned back with some surprise.

She would never forget the way he looked at her that day, his gaze changing from surprise to understanding, and finally, what remained was a calm apology and sympathy.

As if intentionally, from then on, he became even more polite and distant with her. Even for usual visits, he would send someone to notify in advance. His manners became increasingly impeccable, but his attitude seemed to grow more distant.

Before he took personal control of the government, because he was forced to study medicine with Doctor Li, and also didn’t need to concern himself too much with state affairs, he would go out with Doctor Li every so often to practice medicine and understand local customs. At these times, because she had exceptional talent in disguise, she would pretend to be him, deceiving others’ eyes.

They did this several times, and because they were careful, and he never stayed out too long, they never revealed any flaws.

In the autumn of the year, before he took personal control, he prepared to leave the palace again as before, coming to tell her some matters that needed attention. After everything was arranged, he smiled and said, breaking precedent for the first time: “If I haven’t returned by the appointed day, I’ll have to trouble Xin’er to hold on a bit longer.”

He had always come and gone on schedule when leaving the palace, never having delays, but this time was an exception as he prepared for a delayed return.

She was stunned for a moment, then quickly realized that the girl had run away on her own a few days ago. This was dissatisfaction with the upcoming grand wedding and had already caused many who knew about it to gossip. He was going out this time to look for her, wasn’t he?

Didn’t he understand that willful girl had already brought him shame? Yet he still went to look for her?

She was both angry and indignant, and for the first time in her life, lost control and suddenly laughed coldly: “How embarrassing!”

His brows furrowed slightly, and also for the first time, his tone toward her cooled: “I’ve never cared about such things.”

She was stunned speechless. He was still gentle, and to prevent her from becoming more embarrassed, he only said this much before lightly changing the subject, telling her some more things to be careful about.

Finally, when everything was said and done, just before saying goodbye, he suddenly smiled and said to her: “Xin’er, you’ve helped me all this time, thank you.”

She was stunned again, then smiled and said it was nothing, seeing him out.

Watching his figure disappear behind the screen wall, she finally lost all strength and collapsed back into her chair. She understood that from now on, even if he needed to leave the palace, he would no longer come to ask for her help.

There was always something between them, always something separating her and him, as if they were just one step apart, yet she could never get close to him.

Actually, when had she ever cared about others’ views and worldly judgments?

When had Du Tingxin ever minded the gazes of such common people? But he had to consider them. He was the Son of Heaven of Great Wu, the ruler sent by Heaven, presiding over all under Heaven, commanding authority within the seas, he had to be as perfect as a deity—even his companion had to be equally perfect.

Hadn’t she always done that? Trying to perform better, showing her best side to others. She wanted so much to be the perfect woman by his side; for someone like him, she didn’t want him to receive even a bit of criticism because the woman beside him wasn’t good enough.

That night, she covered her face and wept bitterly. What use was her quick wit? What use were her silent devotions?

Her efforts, he had never seen them, or perhaps, he had never looked at them with his heart.

The night’s color was as cold as water, and from that day on, she thoroughly became an observer.

From then on, thousands of miles away in Jiangnan, her laughter and charm, his tenderness and indulgence, had nothing more to do with her.

Even having reached this point, she hadn’t completely given up, had she?

In the deep palace, as she heard the news of his delayed return time and again, dealt with new situations according to his arrangements time, and through countless sleepless nights, she began to develop the habit of lighting incense alone.

She had all kinds of incense—tribute camphor from vassal states, hundred-year sandalwood from deep mountains, Tibetan incense enhanced with blessed nectar pills. Each burner when lit would spread a thick fragrance, enveloping her within.

Finally, she came to favor a peculiar fragrance blended within the palace.

When lit, as the delicate smoke dispersed, the first scent was bright floral, blooming after spring rain, skipping with a young girl’s tenderness. But smelling further, there was an extremely tranquil scent that slowly penetrated the floral fragrance, like hands cradling delicate flower buds, vast as the sea—the pure fragrance of camphor.

Camphor fragrance was the scent that often lingered in his sleeves.

Just such a burner of incense, she would smell it through the deep night until dawn.

In the empty room, only that scent slowly permeated: those gentle hands, cradling that delicate flower bud.

Again and again, like an endless dream.

This incense burned until that winter when she waited for his return.

Several months later, when she saw him again, tears silently flowed down.

In the temporary palace at Daiyu City, though he was awake, he could only sit at the table, no longer having the strength to take even one step.

He had been stabbed in the chest by that girl, the blood from his wound staining half his clothes red. He had been unconscious for four full days before waking.

When she rushed to see him, he had been awake for less than a day, yet was already sitting by the window. Seeing her, he smiled, and though his voice was soft, it still carried his usual tone, light with some warmth: “Xin’er, you’ve come all this way, thank you for your trouble.”

She could no longer bear it, rushing over to embrace him, yet afraid of touching his wound, tears endlessly falling onto his green robe at his shoulder.

He watched her cry, but only smiled, softly comforting: “Don’t worry, it’s nothing.”

But her tears wouldn’t stop, she was so distressed she could barely breathe.

Such a deep stab, and with his constitution—how could it be nothing?

She dared not imagine how that girl had struck the blow, dared not examine the details of that scene, only repeatedly giving thanks that he hadn’t suffered even greater harm.

But such a wound was already too severe a damage for his body. He forced himself to return to the capital before the twelfth lunar month, and throughout the bumpy journey, she heard him constantly coughing in the carriage behind her. When he got out of the carriage and she went to support him, his silk handkerchief was already stained dark red.

Throughout the following winter, his injury continued to fluctuate, showing no significant improvement.

She heard fragments from Eunuch Feng of the Hall of Mental Cultivation that he had coughed up blood several more times, and his already weak heart and lungs, after being injured, never stopped coughing.

However, he never let anyone approach him when he was ill. When she went to see him each day, she still saw his best appearance—besides paleness and thinness, nothing else showed through.

After the initial shock and heartache passed, in her long-calm heart, such thoughts had emerged: now that that girl had hurt him so, would he become disillusioned and return to her side?

Holding onto this thought, she waited day after day for the long winter to pass.

This was the seventh year of Deyou, her eleventh year by his side.

After being stabbed by that girl, she had never heard a single word of hatred or anger from his lips, not even the slightest complaint.

His grand wedding was imminent, and that girl had finally stopped running away. The wedding preparations were complex, and people would often mention her in front of him. Sometimes he would also speak her name, his tone gentle and calm, no different from before.

Perhaps this was better, she thought: since that girl was destined to become his empress, wasn’t it better if he didn’t mind that past?

While she felt sad, she couldn’t help but feel somewhat relieved for him.

However, one day when she went to the Hall of Mental Cultivation to visit him, she inadvertently saw a draft edict on his desk. He was preparing to revoke the Late Emperor’s edict and instead establish Princess Xingyi Yong, daughter of Xingyu, as empress.

She was shocked and flustered. This was the Late Emperor’s edict! Did he want those tactless officials to criticize him? To violate the Late Emperor’s will before even taking personal rule?

Snatching the edict from before him, she anxiously questioned him, and being somewhat agitated, she said many things.

He listened to her speak without a word, waiting until she finished before smiling and taking back the edict from her hands, spreading it on the table before him, picking up his brush to continue polishing it.

She looked at his pale profile, finally turning her head away, not saying another word.

Even in such an edict, he still calmly took all responsibility upon himself—there was nothing wrong with the Ling family’s eldest daughter, the fault was his, fickle in affection, falling in love with another woman.

Once this edict was issued, it would become a stain on his life.

She silently turned and walked out of the Hall of Mental Cultivation, cold tears unstoppably sliding down her cheeks. What kind of girl was she after all? Worth him doing this much for her?

Strong bitterness surged in her heart, for him, but more for: why wasn’t it her? Why couldn’t it be her?

This question was asked hundreds and thousands of times but still had no answer.

Just like that incense burned hundreds and thousands of times, burning to ash inch by inch, forever silent.

That edict ultimately was never issued.

That day she happened to be in the Hall of Mental Cultivation when he received a secret letter from outside the palace. Without even changing his clothes, he hurriedly bid her farewell and left.

She had never seen him in such a hurry before, and somewhat worried and confused, stayed in the Hall of Mental Cultivation waiting for his return.

He had left in the afternoon, but when he returned it was already deep night.

The weather was still extremely cold, and he entered carrying a chill, his face especially pale. Seeing her there, he smiled at her, exchanged greetings, and sat down.

As soon as he sat down, he seemed unable to support himself, leaning on the table coughing, his voice deep and suppressed.

She didn’t know what to say, and could only pass him a cup of warm tea.

He thanked her and took it, but his hands shook too much to hold the teacup steady, tea splashing piece by piece onto his hands, and he finally leaned powerlessly against the table, coughing softly.

She sat beside watching him until he finally managed to regulate his breathing and support himself up, only then trying to speak: “You went to see her?”

He paused slightly, then gently nodded, smiling.

Indeed, he had gone to see her. She could only smile too, continuing to ask: “What did she say?”

After a slight pause, he smiled: “She let me meet someone, told me she would be my empress, that’s all.”

“Who did she let you meet?” What did this have to do with whether she would be empress? She was somewhat confused, but in an instant, her heart suddenly became clear: “She said that person… was her lover?”

He still smiled, his profile carrying shadows cast by the candle flame, but his expression remained gentle: “Mm, she said she likes him.”

Telling him she liked another man, yet still going to marry him.

That girl, how could she be so cruel?

She stared blankly at his calm face, his lips still carrying a slight smile, gently upturned, tender and peaceful.

She suddenly wished he could look a little sad, at least show some anger or give a few cold laughs, anything but remaining so calm.

Tears silently flowed down her face, she couldn’t even control them.

Seeing her cry, he paused for a moment, and after a delay, passed her a clean handkerchief: “Xin’er, don’t cry.”

She gripped the handkerchief, burying her face deep within it, but her tears flowed even more, gradually crying out loud.

As if hesitating for a long time, his hand reached over, very lightly resting on her shoulder: “Xin’er, don’t cry.”

She suddenly could no longer endure, gripping his hand, her arms embracing his body.

For the first time in her life, she began to sob loudly, across the low table between them, embracing his body like this, burying her face in his collar, crying with none of a noble young lady’s dignity.

He also reached out his hands, lightly patting her shoulders, but didn’t say another word. Until she cried herself hoarse, finally raising her head from his shoulder, he still hadn’t said anything, only quietly looking at her, his gaze carrying faint pity.

She wiped the tears from her face, smiled somewhat self-mockingly, then spoke with a slightly hoarse voice: “Brother Huan, I’ll be eighteen next year, that’s the age for arranged marriage, isn’t it?”

He paused slightly, then nodded and smiled: “Yes, Xin’er is also at the age to marry.”

She smiled: “I’m used to living in the palace and don’t want to leave for now, Brother Huan also knows I most detest dealing with outsiders. Why not take advantage of the grand wedding to make me a consort, then I can stay in the palace properly, alright?”

He looked at her, for the first time, she read bewilderment in those deep black eyes, that gaze brilliant as the night sky seemed covered by a layer of mist, as if looking through her at some unknown distance.

He quietly gazed at her for a long time, finally, he smiled, slowly nodding: “Alright, Xin’er, I will petition Mother Empress.” He paused, then smiled: “Xin’er, if one day, you have a man you love, I will do everything in my power to help you leave the palace.”

Holding his hands, she also smiled, having long known it would be this outcome, no matter how much she begged, it would still be this outcome: he was willing to make her a consort but unwilling to give her any promises, even at such a time, still unwilling.

Already so humble, yet unable to gain any promises.

She kept smiling, kept smiling until tears welled up in her eyes again, dropping onto the back of his hand.

This time, he watched quietly, saying nothing more.

In the eighth year of Deyou, in the bitter cold of February, she became his empress.

Three months later, they shared a bed for the first time.

Five months after that, she was kidnapped to Shanhai Pass, and he immediately rushed there, disguising himself as a common soldier to infiltrate the enemy camp to rescue her.

One month later, they returned to the Forbidden Palace.

Thirteen days later, to ensure her safe passage out of the city, he fell from the white jade railings in front of the Hall of Supreme Harmony, his breath gone.

One day later, the Empress Dowager announced his death to the nation and established the Prince of Yu as the new emperor.

Seven days later, she led one hundred thousand iron cavalry of the Shanhai Pass garrison back to the capital, imprisoned the Empress Dowager and the Prince of Yu, and using his edict, established Xiao Qianqing as regent.

One day later, at her request, the new year was named the ninth year of Deyou. Also on this day, she disappeared from the Forbidden Palace, never to return.

In the third month of the ninth year of Deyou, when begonia filled the imperial garden’s courtyard, carrying her traveling belongings, standing under the brilliantly blooming begonia trees, faintly drifting to her nose was the begonia’s thin fragrance.

She suddenly felt this flower’s scent was very much like that incense she loved to burn, which she had not lit since his departure: at first smell, it was a clear floral fragrance, like blooming after spring rain, playful and pure, but smelling further, one could detect another rich and fresh fragrance, vast as the sea, like a pair of hands cradling delicate flower buds—his scent.

She smiled gently, turning to walk out from the layered flowering branches of the begonia trees, that lingering fragrance in her nose flashed once more, then was gone.

She thought this burner of her incense finally need not be lit again.