Yan Xiu made a gesture, and the surrounding guards and officials all withdrew several zhang away.
“She’s still at the Liu residence,” Liu Chaoming finally said, looking at Zhu Nanxian. His gaze and voice were both indifferent. “If Your Majesty wishes to see her, your subject will have her enter the palace before long.”
Before long, but not today.
Zhu Nanxian understood the meaning in Liu Yun’s words. Without further questions, he walked toward the carriage waiting for him outside Zhengyang Gate: “Return to the palace.”
The inner servants and palace maids attending Minghua Palace had been replaced with a new batch. The newly appointed head steward was actually someone familiar—named Ma Zhao, who had once served in the Eastern Palace. Years ago, when Su Jin lay unconscious in Weiyang Palace, Zhu Nanxian had asked Eunuch You to find someone trustworthy to manage things. Eunuch You had recommended Ma Zhao, saying this person was not only steady but also learned, able to read the stars. Now it seemed he was indeed steady to an unfathomable degree.
Ma Zhao said: “Eunuch You fell ill last year. The Court of Imperial Clan Affairs, mindful that he had served the late Crown Prince and Your Majesty in the Eastern Palace for over twenty years, gave him a large reward and sent him home to enjoy his retirement years.”
He bent down and used his whisk to sweep the threshold before the hall. “Your Majesty, please.”
Zhu Nanxian stepped over the threshold without looking sideways and left behind a remark: “When Our late father established his dynasty, he clearly stated ‘Inner court officials shall not interfere in government affairs—violators shall be executed.’ In Our opinion, you people should all be dragged out and beheaded.”
What was there left to not understand?
The reason Zhu Yushen’s faction knew everything happening in the palace and the realm was that they had made these eunuchs who constantly attended the Emperor into their eyes and ears.
The evening meal at Minghua Palace was already prepared.
A quick glance showed the dishes were all excellent, prepared according to imperial protocol. At least they hadn’t been perfunctory with him.
A pair of silver chopsticks was even specially placed on the desk. What for—to have him personally test for poison? Who would have thought that even under Zhu Yushen and Liu Yun there were such tactless creatures. Was this covering one’s ears while stealing a bell, or protesting too much?
Zhu Nanxian bent to pick up the silver chopsticks and threw them to the ground with a “clack.”
The serving maids in the hall were so frightened they bowed their heads and knelt. Two of them crawled forward on their knees: “Your Majesty, this servant will serve Your Majesty’s meal.”
But Zhu Nanxian ignored them. With a flick of his sleeve, he went to the inner palace.
The inner palace had not yet been lit. The inner servants guarding outside saw Emperor Jin’an approaching and hurriedly struck fire to light the lamp wicks, but were driven away by Zhu Nanxian’s single word “Out.” They retreated outside, bowed three times, and closed the door.
Once the door closed, the light from the wind lantern vanished. There wasn’t a single spark of candlelight in the inner palace, though it wasn’t pitch black either. The dark white of the snowy wind came through the windows, blurring into a mass of ash-gray color, shadowy, like a beast lying in wait in the darkness.
Zhu Nanxian lay back on the sleeping couch, listening to the howling of the evening snow, reaching up to slowly touch his chest.
Then his fingertips trembled.
It was empty there—the jade pendant carved with the character for rain was gone.
This jade pendant was like armor over his heart. Without it, throughout this thousand-mile journey, the bone-piercing longing burst into his heart like a flood.
Lovesickness met with warfare—more unbearable than death by a thousand cuts.
But he wasn’t afraid of pain. He just—very, very, very much missed her.
“A’Yu.”
The hoarse voice, carrying a trace of stagnation, suddenly rang out in the inner palace of Minghua, as if it could no longer be hidden and had to pour forth, carefully placing his life’s love in this corner of the deep palace.
So that even afterward, in the days and nights with him or without him, it could burn bright and never be extinguished.
If it could burn bright and never be extinguished, whether they met or not, what difference did it make?
Better not to add to her heartache needlessly.
After an unknown amount of time, a knocking sound came from outside. The inner servant waiting outside said: “Your Majesty, Lord Yan from the Imperial Censorate requests an audience.”
As soon as Yan Xiu entered the palace gates, he brought in a wave of cold air. He handed his cloak to the inner servant behind him and waited for the chill to fade somewhat before stepping forward to pay respects: “Your Majesty, Lord Su will enter the palace in about five days. Lord Liu has sent your subject to ask Your Majesty how you wish to see her.”
He hadn’t had anyone light the lamps. Looking toward the dragon couch through the mass of ash-gray snow color, he could make out Zhu Nanxian’s reclining outline but couldn’t distinguish his expression.
“We… need not see her up close.” After a while, the hoarse voice came. “Just to see her from afar would be enough.”
Yan Xiu was stunned for a moment, then bowed with clasped hands: “Very well, your subject will arrange everything properly for Your Majesty.”
After another pause: “Your Majesty, there is one more matter. Three days from now, after Your ‘dragon carriage’ returns to the palace, Director Li from the Imperial Medical Bureau will come daily to Minghua Palace to ‘treat Your illness.'”
After these words, there was no response from that end for a long while.
Yan Xiu didn’t know how long he stood there in the distance. He had just assumed Zhu Nanxian had fallen asleep when a voice came from the dragon couch.
“Get out.”
Yan Xiu knelt and performed a grand bow, responding: “Yes, your subject takes his leave.”
The next day, the wind and snow stopped. Along with news of Emperor Jin’an’s triumphant return, the dire news that this young Emperor bore battle wounds and had fallen gravely ill also hung like a shadow over the hearts of all officials and common people.
The court had just stabilized, warfare had just ceased, the realm had just been settled—yet Emperor Jin’an, who had guarded the territory for half his life, had shallow fortune.
On the day Zhu Nanxian “returned to the capital,” because he could not be exposed to wind, the dragon carriage was covered with three layers of imperial curtains. But the more this was done, the more it drew commoners to worship along the streets.
The dragon carriage entered through Chengtian Gate, stopped briefly before the assembled officials, then proceeded directly to Minghua Palace.
That night, Duke Gong and a group of court officials requested an imperial audience outside Minghua Palace but were stopped by the Director of the Imperial Medical Bureau, who said the Emperor was indisposed and with the cold wind and snow, needed to recuperate for several days before receiving the ministers.
Though the officials voiced dissent at that time, feeling Emperor Jin’an’s actions violated protocol, this dissent lasted less than a day before being suppressed by another piece of news—the criminal official who had been on the run for three months after committing the An’nan merchant case, Cabinet Vice Minister and Minister of Justice Su Jin, had been captured and arrested in the Baiping County area of the capital and was to be sent back to the Ministry of Justice for trial by the Three Judicial Offices.
When A’Liu went to the study to find Su Jin, it was already evening.
Ever since he had relayed that message for Tan Zhaolin, An’ran had never again allowed him to set foot in the study.
But today was different. Today, Master Su was leaving.
A’Liu didn’t know where Su Jin would go afterward. He packed her traveling bag for her, and just before sending her to the carriage, he took a money pouch from his sleeve and pressed it into her hand.
Inside the pouch was a banknote—his savings from all these years.
He felt guilty, feeling that though he had relayed the message to Tan Zhaolin, he hadn’t been able to help her.
Su Jin had grown somewhat thinner these three months. The moment she received the pouch, a trace of confusion flashed in her eyes. Then she came to her senses and said: “No need. I’m going to the palace—I won’t need it in the future.”
Then she returned the pouch to him.
A’Liu couldn’t understand. He felt that as long as a person was still alive, wherever they went, they would need silver, wouldn’t they?
But he couldn’t speak.
Ever since he relayed that message, An’ran had forbidden him from saying another word to Su Jin. He feared this was My Lord’s intention, feared it would implicate Third Brother.
Just as he was about to push the pouch back to Su Jin, she had already sat back in the carriage and said to the driver: “Let’s go.”
Darkness fell quickly. With the sound of wind and snow, by the time they reached Chengtian Gate, all around was already a scene of twilight.
A censor waiting outside the palace gate came forward. After Su Jin descended from the carriage, he cupped his hands and said: “Lord Su, I apologize. Because you are a serious offender, you must wear a cangue. This cangue is somewhat heavy. Please bear with it. Lord Qian from the Imperial Censorate has already given orders—as soon as you enter the Ministry of Justice, we’ll immediately remove it for you.”
Su Jin said nothing and raised both hands.
Two guards secured the cangue around her neck and locked it.
Only then did she discover that the heaviest part of this instrument of punishment was actually the iron chain below. With every step, there was a clanging sound, pulling her hands downward while the wood pressed against her shoulders, rubbing painfully.
On Xuanyuan Terrace, the vast snow was like a wilderness, and the sky-covering, sun-blocking snowflakes nearly blinded the eyes.
Su Jin hadn’t slept well these three months. Blown by the cold wind, her mind was a muddle. Before even reaching Zhengwu Gate, her legs and feet had been frozen numb by the foot-thick snow—she could walk no further.
She raised her eyes, wanting to call out to the guards walking ahead, but inadvertently, her gaze fixed on one spot.
Evening snow drifted and scattered. Below the palace tower, a single spark of lamplight drifted helplessly in this expanse of white between heaven and earth. But it was by this faint firelight that she saw, at the railing, a figure cloaked in an ink-colored cloak.
That person seemed to be looking at her.
It was too far away, and with the snow between them, she clearly couldn’t make out this person’s appearance. Yet somehow, she suddenly felt—was almost certain—that it was him.
The legs that had just been numb suddenly gained a surge of strength. She walked several steps through the snow toward the direction of the terrace railing.
Snow particles scattered across her cheeks and the corners of her eyes. The bone-piercing cold was nothing compared to the cold in her heart.
In a daze, Su Jin realized only one thing—if Zhu Nanxian had returned, there was only one path: death.
Fear, like weeds taking root where they fell, grew wildly in her heart. Su Jin was so frantic she couldn’t think carefully. Her hesitant steps in the snow turned to swift strides. By the time the censor leading her way reacted, she had already walked several dozen steps.
The person on the terrace railing seemed to see her walking toward him. He stood silently in the snow for a while, then turned around and left Xuanyuan Terrace before she could clearly see his features.
Su Jin halted abruptly. The figure appearing and disappearing in the wind and snow was like a dream.
But she was only dazed for an instant. The next moment, she almost frantically tried to run toward the terrace.
The guards and censor chased while calling out: “Lord Su, that way leads toward Minghua Palace.”
But Su Jin turned a deaf ear.
The snow accumulated under the eaves was too thick, and the clanging chains hanging from her neck were too heavy. When Su Jin tried to lift her foot again, unable to support herself, she actually fell in the snow.
The censor who caught up tried to help her up. Su Jin grasped his arm tightly: “This censor, can you… can you help me go ask who that person standing on the east terrace railing of Xuanyuan Terrace just now was?”
The censor looked at the terrace hesitantly: “Lord Su, this humble official did not see anyone there.”
“Then go inquire immediately!” Su Jin said sharply.
She made an effort to calm herself down, then said: “This official will wait right here. If you don’t inquire clearly, this official would rather freeze to death in this wind and snow today than go with you to the Ministry of Justice.”
The censor and guard exchanged glances. After a moment, one guard cupped his hands to her and hurried off.
Su Jin was helped to her feet by the other guard and leaned against the railing to catch her breath. Only then did she realize she had truly lost her composure. She had been confined in the Liu residence for nearly a hundred days, long cut off from news. Rather than having someone inquire, it would be better to ask directly for clarity.
She looked at the censor before her: “What is your name? When this official was at the Imperial Censorate years ago, why did I never see you?”
“In response to Lord Su, this humble official is surnamed Liu with the given name Fangchang. I originally served in the Court of Judicial Review. In the first year of Jin’an, after His Majesty personally led the campaign, I was transferred to the Imperial Censorate. At that time, you had already gone on your diplomatic mission, so you haven’t really seen this humble official.”
Su Jin made a sound of acknowledgment: “When official positions in various ministries and courts became vacant, in July the Cabinet deliberated that taking advantage of His Majesty’s triumphant return, several censors from the Imperial Censorate would be transferred to important positions in various offices. Has the name list been finalized?”
At that time, the Cabinet had deliberated that the name list would only be announced to everyone after Zhu Nanxian returned. In other words, if this censor answered that it had been finalized, it would mean Emperor Jin’an had already returned from his campaign.
“In response to Lord Su, the name list—” Before the censor could finish his sentence, his gaze suddenly swept across the steps. He lifted his robes and bowed respectfully. “This humble official pays respects to Lord Liu.”