The Emperor had arrived a little early, waiting along the path that led from Zhaoyang Palace into the northern reaches of the rear palace. The flowers and trees grew lush and thick, their branches heavy with blossoms. Lu Yirong’s face emerged from amid the clusters of pink and white blooms, and she approached with graceful steps.
Yirong was inwardly puzzled.
On this visit to the palace, Empress Cui’s expression had seemed rather unnatural, yet she had said nothing of any pressing matters. When Yirong had asked repeatedly if there was some difficulty that Duke Qiao’s mansion might assist with, it had only provoked a flash of irritation from the Empress.
So why had she been summoned to the palace at all? Yirong pondered absently, only to suddenly notice a grand imperial procession up ahead. She drew in a deep breath and hurried forward to kneel in obeisance.
She prostrated herself on the ground, her posture dignified and proper, the slender curve of her pale neck particularly lovely.
The Emperor bade her rise. Throughout, Yirong kept her eyes modestly lowered. She stood with her hands clasped before her and stepped aside, assuming the stance of one ready to see His Majesty off.
Then the Emperor spoke. “Have you come to visit the Empress?”
Yirong had never imagined the Emperor would address her directly. Her downcast gaze caught sight of him already striding forward, leaving her momentarily dazed. One of the eunuchs gestured urgently for her to follow, and in a haze, Yirong quickened her pace to fall into step a proper distance behind him. “In response to Your Majesty,” she said, “this subject-wife entered the palace to visit Empress Cui.”
How very strange. She had already declared her identity and the reason for her visit when she knelt in greeting.
Even stranger was the way these eunuchs clustered around her and the Emperor—almost as if they were walking side by side.
The Emperor nodded and asked, “Is all well with Young Madam Cui’s family? I hear you were born in Yue Prefecture and returned to your uncle’s household in the capital at age fourteen.”
His voice was low and resonant. Yirong instinctively felt something was off. How would the Emperor know such details?
He was asking about the Cui family, so she replied with due deference. “In response to Your Majesty, we are deeply grateful for Your gracious concern. All is well in this subject-wife’s household.”
The Emperor said nothing more. As if compelled by some strange force, Yirong glanced at him—then immediately averted her eyes.
But that single glance left her stunned. She had heard tales of the Emperor guarding the borders, and she had imagined a stern, battle-hardened warrior, burly and tanned. Instead, he was so young, so strikingly handsome, his face fair and unmarked.
Yirong lowered her gaze once more. She was a married woman now; though surprised by the Emperor’s refined and handsome bearing, she thought no more of it.
The Emperor smiled faintly. “Why did you return to the capital?”
She found it ever more peculiar. Why was the Emperor questioning the private affairs of a distantly related kinswoman? Even before the Previous Emperor, when she had been the wife of his subject-brother-in-law, she had never received such attention.
Yet she dared not refuse to answer in the Emperor’s presence. “In response to Your Majesty,” Yirong said, “my late father served as the Yue Prefecture Education Commissioner. He passed away when I was eleven. My mother and I observed mourning in Yue Prefecture for three years, but she longed for our homeland day and night, so we returned to the capital.”
The Emperor showed no surprise. Casually, he remarked, “Your great-uncle, Old Marquis Pingyang, once gave me a wooden bow when I was a child.”
Yirong pressed her lips together, mustering her wits to respond without error.
The sunlight was mild and warm, yet cold sweat trickled down her back.
She did not dare raise her eyes, but she could feel the Emperor’s gaze fixed steadily upon her, heavy and unwavering.
He had even slowed his pace to walk abreast of her.
The roadside flowers and trees stood in neat profusion, their fragrance wafting gently. Her heart hung in suspense the entire time. If this were mere reminiscing, she herself had only met her late great-uncle twice. And her falling out with Uncle Marquis Pingyang’s family had been a complete rupture. If the Emperor asked about it, she truly wouldn’t know what to say.
She didn’t dare ask why the Emperor was chatting so familiarly about her family matters—matters he clearly knew all about!
From the corner of her eye, Yirong glimpsed the next intersection. Another turn, and they would reach the lakeside pavilion. There was no precedent in the world for an Emperor strolling to admire the scenery with a minister’s wife. Yet the Emperor showed no sign of dismissing her.
Yirong halted her steps and, eyes lowered, said, “The hour grows late. This subject-wife dares not linger in the palace and must take her leave. I beg Your Majesty’s permission to withdraw.”
Young and inexperienced, her voice trembled faintly.
The breeze was clear, the day warm. After a moment of silence, the Emperor said gently, “Raise your head.”
The eunuchs nearby were startled by the rare softness in the Emperor’s tone. Yirong hesitated, then lifted her head to meet his gaze for an instant. The moment their eyes locked, she recoiled as if frightened and knelt once more. “This subject-wife begs Your Majesty’s permission to withdraw.”
The Emperor gazed at the jade earrings hanging from her delicate, pale earlobes—today, a pair of emerald green ones, trembling with their wearer’s fear. Further down was a stretch of tender skin, glowing like snow, disappearing into the lotus-pink gauze of her bodice.
He smiled and lifted his chin, signaling the eunuchs to see her out.
Two of them stepped forward at once, smiling as they said, “Please rise, Young Madam Cui. This slave will escort you from the palace.”
Yirong had no time to wonder if it was proper for palace servants to see her out in the Emperor’s presence. She rose hastily, curtsied once more to the Emperor, and followed the two young eunuchs.
The imperial servants were discreet and said nothing along the way. Yirong’s thoughts were a jumble. Once outside the palace gates, Shuilian didn’t dare speak carelessly in public. Together with an old servant woman, she helped Yirong into the carriage before anxiously asking, “Young Madam, are you unwell somewhere?”
Yirong leaned weakly against the carriage wall and waved her hand dismissively, saying nothing.
Her face was ashen, fine beads of sweat at her temples. Shuilian dabbed at them with a handkerchief, then touched her back and exclaimed in surprise, “Young Madam, why are you soaked with sweat?”
Shuilian opened the carriage door and instructed the servant woman to hurry back ahead of them and prepare basins of ice once they neared Duke Qiao’s mansion. Unable to wipe Yirong down properly in the carriage, she asked softly, “Young Madam, did something happen in the palace?”
“No matter,” Yirong murmured.
She closed her eyes, and the scene from moments ago unrolled in her mind like a hazy painting—almost dreamlike.
No one would ever believe it.
Only the Emperor’s gaze, invading inch by inch, had felt utterly real. Yirong couldn’t help shuddering. She was no stranger to the various looks men cast her way—some admiring, some lecherous.
But the Emperor’s gaze was different from all others, and it terrified her so that even recalling it made her lips tremble.
Beyond the gaze, there had been those gentle questions…
Yirong was utterly frightened. She didn’t dare dwell on the Emperor’s intentions, though in truth, it required no deep thought.
Should she tell Cheng?
Yirong mulled it over the entire journey home but reached no conclusion. Back at the mansion, she bathed, soaking in scented water until she felt somewhat recovered. She changed into fresh clothes and fixed the hairpin that had come loose in the carriage.
At that moment, a maid’s voice came from outside the inner chamber. “Madam requests the Sixth Young Madam’s presence to report.”
The tone carried a hint of reproach. Indeed, she should have gone to pay respects to Madam Chen the moment she returned.
Yirong slammed the white jade comb down on the dressing table, and tears spilled from her eyes.
Shuilian, Shui Zhi, and Shuiyun, who had been helping her dress, froze in shock before asking softly, “Young Madam, what’s wrong?”
Yirong bit her lip, quickly wiping away her tears. “I’m just exhausted these past few days. Shuiyun, go out and tell them that I was sweating on the way back, so I bathed first upon arriving. Ask her to wait a moment; I’ll go once I’m presentable.”
She urged the other two maids to hurry. Once ready, she set out.
On the way to the main courtyard, she passed several towering camphor trees, their greenery dense and foreboding. It was a path she walked every day, yet Yirong felt dazed, as if the shadows were too deep, almost sinister.
Discipline was strict in Duke Qiao’s mansion; all was hushed and still along the way.
The servants and maids she encountered curtsied silently. She traversed long covered walkways and passed through countless gates. Amid the profound quiet of the vast compound, Yirong’s thoughts rose and fell until, just before reaching the main courtyard, she regained her composure and donned a suitable smile.
Yirong had wondered if Empress Cui’s sudden summons had come at the Emperor’s command, but she had quickly dismissed the notion. More likely, the Empress had some embarrassment she couldn’t voice and wanted a close kinswoman for company.
Before Madam Chen, Yirong summoned her strength and spoke softly. First, she apologized for not reporting immediately upon her return, then recounted her conversation with Empress Cui at length.
Madam Chen pondered for a long while before saying that if the Empress summoned her again, Yirong should take care to comfort her.
Yirong agreed outwardly, but inwardly resolved never to go again.
Indeed. She hurried back to Guanxian Courtyard and drank a cup of strong hot tea. She absolutely could not go again.
The Emperor showed no anger, and an unmarried girl entering the palace might spark rumors of Duke Qiao’s mansion angling for another consort. But surely her elder sisters-in-law could go instead.
Yet Empress Cui doted on Cui Cheng most among her brothers, and among the young madams, her relationship with Yirong was the closest. If summoned again, Madam Chen would almost certainly send her.
She needed a plan… Yirong stood by the window, absently tearing at a peony blossom until its crimson juice stained her nails. Only then did she realize she had her solution.
She could not tell Cui Cheng.
Given the Emperor’s position, what could Cui Cheng do? Storm off to confront him over a few extra words? Better for her to find a way to avoid the palace for a time. Once the Emperor installed an empress and took concubines, how would he remember a mere minister’s wife?
Yirong pressed a hand to her chest, her racing heart gradually calming.
She summoned Shuilian and gave a brief account of the Emperor’s words.
Shuilian nearly gasped aloud, clapping a hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened as she stared at Yirong’s calm face. Shui Zhi and Shuiyun were mansion maids, so Shuilian kept her voice to a whisper. “Young Madam, has His Majesty taken a liking to you?”
As expected, anyone else would react the same way.
Yirong gave a wry smile.
“What do you plan to do?” Shuilian whispered. “If we weren’t in mourning, it would be ideal if you could get pregnant right now.”
She sighed softly. Yes, the Emperor would hardly seize a pregnant woman. But never mind mourning—a pregnancy wasn’t something one could will into being. Yirong already had a plan. “The Sixth Young Master won’t return tonight on rotation. Prepare some ice in advance.”
“You’re going to feign illness?”
Yirong replied weakly, “I’ll make it real.”
She made up her mind: tonight, she would leave only Shuilian to watch over her. Once the world outside fell utterly silent, mistress and servant quietly made their way to the Pure Bathing Chamber.
Shuilian carefully avoided Yirong’s lower abdomen and other sensitive areas as she laid ice blocks over her mistress’s naked body. Her own teeth chattered uncontrollably, and she hugged herself against the relentless shivering. When Shuilian’s movements faltered, Yirong squeezed the words out through clenched teeth: “Continue.”
Yirong lay back in the bathtub, tears streaming silently down her face. After about the time it takes to burn one stick of incense, Shuilian helped her up and draped a nightgown over her mistress’s body, now numb from the cold. She supported Yirong as they returned to the bed.
Yirong lay on her side atop the bed, her lips deathly pale. She grasped Shuilian’s hand and said, “Would you please clean up the Pure Bathing Chamber?”
Beneath the moonlight, Shuilian gazed at the single glistening teardrop on Yirong’s cheek. Tears welled up in her own eyes unbidden, and she nodded vigorously.
By midnight, Yirong had indeed developed a fever, her breathing growing labored and heavy. Shuilian had planned to follow her mistress’s instructions and summon help only at dawn, but when she touched Yirong’s scorching forehead, she immediately changed her mind. She sent a servant woman rushing to fetch the estate physician to check her pulse and prescribe medicine.
The commotion had spread through the entire household by the time dawn broke. Several sisters-in-law, along with Yunying—who was waiting to be married—came to visit. They gazed at Yirong on her sickbed, her lips moving faintly, her face flushed with an unnatural, sickly glow. The Eldest Young Madam, who managed the household’s affairs, was the first to speak. “What illness has befallen our Sixth Little Sister-in-law?”
Shuilian replied, “The estate physician said the Young Madam overexerted herself and let a chill enter her body, which caused her to fall ill.”
At those words, the Eldest Young Madam gave a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “So it was those repeated trips to the palace that wore out our Sixth Little Sister-in-law.”
Laughter rippled through the room in agreement. The Third Lady’s eyes flashed as she retorted, “Traveling anywhere is exhausting. Big Sister-in-law, you’re in such fine health—why haven’t we seen you enter the palace to pay respects to our elder sister?”
Someone else stepped in to smooth things over with a few bland words of mediation. The various Young Madams soon departed, each with their own duties to attend to, while the four young ladies remained.
Yirong did not stir.
Mid-morning, Cui Cheng returned from his night watch and heard the news of Yirong’s head cold while hurrying back to their courtyard. He thanked the four sisters who had been tending to her and sent them off to rest.
He stared at Yirong, still lost in a deep slumber, and harshly scolded the maids. Then he personally fed her the medicine, pacing anxiously back and forth beside the bed. Every so often, he would lean over to check if she had woken. It was not until noon that Yirong finally pried open her heavy eyelids. Her head throbbed, and discomfort wracked her entire body.
It must have been from overdoing it with the ice yesterday, she thought hazily. But it was for the best—she would have some time now to rest and recuperate quietly.
The moment she awoke, Cui Cheng pulled her into his arms, letting her lean against him as she ate a light lunch. Yirong looked at his anxious profile, and a pang twisted in her heart. Yet even in her muddled state, after turning the matter over and over in her mind, she decided not to tell him.
After the meal, a servant came to summon Cui Cheng away on business. He glanced at his wife on the bed, on the verge of postponing it, but Yirong said softly, “Go on. Official duties come first. Staying here won’t help me anyway—I’ll recover once I’ve taken the medicine.”
Her throat ached, so she spoke in a faint, fragile whisper, repeating herself several times before Cui Cheng finally left, though most reluctantly.
Once he was gone, Yirong looked at the maids, their eyes all red and puffy. She knew he must have punished them, and guilt welled up within her. “When I’m better,” she said, “I’ll take you all out shopping.”
With that, she lacked the strength to say more. She closed her eyes and slept straight through until evening.
The setting sun bled red across the sky as she opened her eyes. Shui Zhi carefully fed her some water. “While you were asleep, an Imperial Physician came to check your pulse and prescribed a new formula.”
“This servant was just thinking,” Shuiyun added with a laugh, “how did the Imperial Physician arrive so quickly?”
Yirong blinked, taking a moment to process it. Given the current season, no one—neither her mother-in-law nor her sisters-in-law—would send for an Imperial Physician over a mere head cold. It had to have been Cui Cheng.
“How quickly?” she asked offhandedly.
“About the time it takes to drink a cup of tea after the Sixth Young Master left, and the Imperial Physician was here.”