Yirong knew at once, from Madam Chen’s words, that there was no more room for negotiation.
“But my husband…” she protested.
Before she could finish, Madam Chen said, “The Sixth Young Master needn’t return to the capital or the mansion. He’s gone straight to Cuiwei Palace.”
Yirong could think of no other excuse just then. Madam Chen reached for her teacup, but Yirong hurried forward, lifted it first, and held it carefully to her mother-in-law’s lips to serve her tea.
Madam Chen patted her hand once more and smiled. “There, now. Sit down.”
Yirong gave a faint smile. She endured lunch in the main courtyard as best she could before retreating to her own.
The midday sun blazed down in the heat of high summer, leaving her drenched in cold sweat.
“You aren’t afraid that I might kill Cui Cheng?”
The emperor’s words echoed relentlessly through her mind. Yirong shot to her feet. She had to tell Madam Chen at once—have her send someone to fetch Cui Cheng back!
What if the emperor decided to have her husband quietly disposed of…
She took only two steps before halting.
The emperor’s intentions yesterday had been perfectly clear: he meant to bring her into the palace. That meant Cui Cheng would live. Otherwise, even if the emperor desired her, he would hardly take her before she had observed the full period of mourning for her husband.
A maidservant ventured, “Does the Young Madam have any orders?”
Yirong waved her off, then called after Shui Zhi. “Send someone to check on my mother. Shui Zhi—you go.”
Yirong trusted these two maidservants that Madam Chen had assigned her, more or less. When she had first married into the household, they had reported back to Madam Chen, but Yirong had won their loyalty long ago.
She slipped the jadeite bangles from her wrist and pressed them into Shui Zhi’s hand. “They say concern addles the mind,” she said gravely. “I visited yesterday, but I might have overlooked something. Take a good look around the house for anything amiss. And bring a few guards to patrol the area—see if any ruffians or loafers have been sniffing around my mother’s residence.”
Shui Zhi pushed them back at once. “The Young Madam is too generous. This servant will check everything most carefully.”
Yirong insisted, and Shui Zhi accepted them with delight. “This servant will fetch some nourishing tonics from the storeroom for Madam Qiao right away, then go inform Madam.”
With that, she withdrew, beaming.
Yirong had rushed about outside all the previous day and even slipped out again for the better part of an hour late into the night. She had held herself together through her time in the main courtyard without noticing her fatigue, but now her limbs ached with weakness. Were it not for the soft couch to lean on, she would have collapsed right there.
She sat staring blankly, her eyes burning dry. She dared not venture out herself but could only hope all was well at her mother’s.
Shui Zhi did not return from Lingshi Town until nearly the first watch of the night. She came smiling to report. “The Young Madam needn’t worry. Madam Qiao is perfectly well. She said not to trouble yourself over her and even kept this servant for dinner. I inspected every inch of the house and found nothing out of the ordinary. I also tipped the local clerks to keep a closer eye on Madam Qiao.”
“You’ve done splendidly,” Yirong said softly. “Go have some tea and rest.”
Her mother seemed safe enough, but what of Cui Cheng? Yirong took to her bed early, eyes closed, her thoughts a chaotic whirl of fear and uncertainty.
She stared up at the embroidered pattern on the bed canopy. The gauze curtains stirred in the night breeze like ripples on water, brushing softly against the bedframe.
A wind chill to keep her from the Imperial Retreat Palace once more?
It was midsummer now—claiming a chill would sound utterly implausible. Her health had always been robust; since marrying into Duke Qiao’s Mansion, she had fallen ill only once before, that time she had made herself sick, and then just a minor ailment that passed in two or three days.
Her husband, too, had gone directly to the Imperial Retreat Palace.
Yirong slept fitfully that night. At times she woke clear-headed enough to hear the faint trickle of ice melting into water within the ice mirror; at others, nightmares plagued her—the emperor perched at her bedside, staring as she slept.
When she woke the next morning, dark circles shadowed her eyes. She was so exhausted that her eyelids drifted shut twice on the path to pay morning respects to Madam Chen.
Seated in the main courtyard, she dozed off without realizing it, chin propped in her hand. The Eldest Young Madam opened her mouth to mock, only for Madam Chen’s sharp glance to silence her.
“See your Young Madam back to her quarters,” Madam Chen instructed the maids. “She clearly hasn’t recovered fully from her recent illness. She needn’t come pay respects again before we depart for the Imperial Retreat Palace.” She ordered a soft sedan to carry Yirong home.
Yirong woke soon after reaching her courtyard. Shuilian hurried to relay Madam Chen’s words. Yirong paused, then sighed. The kinder her mother-in-law was to her, the worse she felt.
Half a month remained before their departure for the Imperial Retreat Palace. Obeying Madam Chen, Yirong rested in Guanxian Courtyard without once stepping outside.
Ice was supplied without fail, yet Yirong grew feverish as if from heatstroke, sleepless at night and utterly listless by day. She sat on her soft couch from dawn to dusk; only the maids’ calls to meals or bed roused her.
Tonics arrived daily from the main courtyard, but the Young Madam wasted away regardless. Shuilian understood a little of the reason, but Shui Zhi and Shuiyun were baffled. Their Young Madam was a woman of many talents, rarely idle even indoors. On quiet days she would lounge on the soft couch with a travelogue or chat and stroll with the four young misses and the Fifth Young Madam. When had she ever appeared so lost and vacant, like some witless fool?
The half month passed for Yirong like oil frying in a pan. Visions flashed unbidden through her mind: Cui Cheng lying in a pool of blood, the light gone from those ever-smiling eyes.
She scorned herself inwardly a thousand times over and more than once came close to confessing everything to her mother-in-law.
What was the worst that could happen? Death?
On one occasion she even rehearsed the words in her head—but a stubborn flicker of hope held her back. Perhaps Cui Cheng’s transfer from the capital had been mere coincidence. Perhaps the emperor had put her from his mind.
She could not bear to lose Cui Cheng or the life she had now. And what would become of her mother if anything happened to her?
On the day they set out for the Imperial Retreat Palace, Second Miss Cui had been assigned to share a carriage with her Sixth Sister-in-law. She arrived at Guanxian Courtyard bright and early, brimming with excitement. When the maids helped her Sixth Sister-in-law out, however, she gasped in alarm.
Her Sixth Sister-in-law had always been slender, but in a graceful, swaying way. How was it that after more than ten days of rest, she looked so frail and worn?
Second Miss Cui faltered. “Sixth Sister-in-law, are you still unwell? Why don’t I stay behind with you? We can skip the Imperial Retreat Palace.”
With people to face, Yirong found a spark of energy. She smiled. “What nonsense, Fan’er? Come—we’ll bid Mother farewell first. Have you eaten? If not, I’ll have some pastries packed…”
They could bring few servants to Cuiwei Palace, so Yirong took only Shuilian. She left the packing of trunks to the maids, confident they would manage. The journey would take some twenty days, with stops to rest, eat, and overnight—plenty of occasions to be seen.
Her spirits lifted by degrees until she was once more the poised Young Madam of Duke Qiao’s Mansion.
The day before reaching Cuiwei Palace, Second Miss Cui paid a visit to the carriage from Guangling Marquis Mansion and returned with a crystal bottle of nail dye. Yirong’s hands were nimble; she applied it to her sister-in-law right there in the carriage, a soft shade of red that bloomed fresh and youthful.
Second Miss Cui grinned. “Let me do yours, too, Sixth Sister-in-law!”
Yirong extended her hand without protest, letting her little sister paint her nails.
They reached Cuiwei Palace the next day. High ministers and noble houses maintained villas nearby; a privileged few even had quarters within the Imperial Retreat Palace itself. Yirong knew she would likely be housed inside. A chill of grim acceptance passed through her.
The carriage slowed as they entered the grounds of Cuiwei Palace, where shady trees cast a natural coolness over everything.
No sooner had it stopped than servants led Second Miss Cui away. A palace maid curtsied to Yirong. “Peace to Young Madam Cui. Please follow this servant.”
Yirong walked a few paces before asking, “Where will I be staying? Near Empress Dowager Zhaoyi’s residence?”
The palace maid bowed respectfully. “Your quarters are called Landscape Serenity Mirror. This servant does not know where Empress Dowager Zhaoyi resides but will send someone to inquire at once.”
A young eunuch darted off from behind her.
“And you?” Yirong asked. “What is your name?”
“This servant is called Xingxiang.”
They soon reached the residence. Xingxiang steadied Yirong as they crossed a little bridge over a winding stream. Flower-shaded trees screened the grand front rooms, where a plaque proclaimed “Landscape Serenity Mirror.”
Within, attendants stood silent; a cool breeze whispered through. Windwheel ice mirrors gleamed in all four corners, their furnishings lavish yet tastefully elegant. The air carried delicate scents of flowers and fruit—from fresh blooms and produce artfully arranged within the ice mirrors themselves, purely to perfume the space.
Xingxiang affected not to notice the Young Madam’s pallor. “Allow this servant to show you around,” she said with a smile.
She led Yirong to the back garden, where flowering trees massed like drifting clouds against the distant indigo mountains. At the center stood Self-Rain Pavilion, a water-driven fan cart positioned behind it so that mist fell like rain from all four corners.
“If the Young Madam has leisure,” Xingxiang said, laughing, “a seat in Self-Rain Pavilion is wonderfully refreshing.” She summoned the palace maids and eunuchs of Landscape Serenity Mirror to pay their respects to Yirong. Confronted by their deferential ranks, Yirong found no words; she managed a weak smile before retreating to her bedchamber.
She had clung to a faint hope along the way that Empress Dowager Cui might have arranged her quarters, but nothing like this splendor had existed even in the days when Empress Dowager Cui had been empress.
On any other day, Yirong would have wandered the beautiful, cool garden, admiring flowers and reading. Today she had no heart for it. She told Shuilian and Xingxiang, who attended her, that she was weary, then undid her hair and lay down.
She woke after the first watch. Shuilian asked, “Shall we set dinner, Young Madam?”
Yirong glanced at the smiling Xingxiang. “My thanks for arranging it.”
Once Xingxiang had gone, Shuilian murmured, “This servant made some inquiries this evening. Empress Dowager Cui is at Changming Hall—not too far, not too near. The Sixth Young Master won’t arrive for another four or five days. Empress Dowager Cui said the journey has wearied her and bade you rest a few days before coming to pay respects.”
She gazed at Yirong’s face, unsure how to offer comfort.
Yirong whispered, “Be careful. If you hear any news about him, tell me right away.”
She sneered to herself. Clearly, she and Cui Cheng were a proper married couple, yet even inquiring about Cui Cheng’s whereabouts had to be done in secret. How utterly absurd!
Before long, Yirong took a few more bites from the table laden with Yue Prefecture delicacies, then strolled in the back garden to settle her meal.
The Emperor regarded her as little more than a courtesan. Yet with a mere offhand command from him, the palace servants treated her like royalty, anticipating her every desire. Her accommodations outshone even those of Empress Dowager Cui.
The more Yirong dwelled on it, the more amusing it seemed. She laughed aloud, then tilted her head back to stare at the moon, blinking back her tears before retiring to her room and sleeping soundly.
The next morning, she awoke to brilliant daylight. The room felt refreshingly cool and filled with a pleasant fragrance. A dull ache troubled her lower abdomen, so Yirong changed into fresh nightclothes and checked—her monthly courses had indeed arrived. In no mood to venture out, she remained in her quarters, absorbed in a book on epigraphy that Xingxiang had brought her. She was deep into it when Third Miss Cui arrived.
The previous day, Third Miss Cui had admired Second Miss Cui’s manicured nails and had her own maid replicate the look. But no matter how she examined them, they paled in comparison to Sixth Sister-in-law’s handiwork. And so she had come first thing in the morning.
Yirong set the book aside and tapped her little sister’s forehead. “I knew you’d come bossing me around.”
Third Miss Cui obligingly massaged Yirong’s shoulders, exclaiming in surprise, “Sixth Sister-in-law, you’ve gotten so thin! How did this happen? Wait, I know—you must be pining for Sixth Brother!”
“Don’t spout nonsense,” Yirong replied, her expression clouding slightly.
Third Miss Cui stuck out her tongue and switched topics. Always bubbly and talkative, she adored Yirong. Even after her nails were done, she lingered, perched across from Yirong and chattering nonstop.
Abruptly, she stood and declared, “Sixth Sister-in-law, the quarters Big Sister arranged for you are wonderful.”
Yirong’s face stiffened momentarily. She managed only a few vague responses before a palace servant arrived with a message. “Young Madam Cui, peace be upon you. My master requests your presence.”
Yirong froze in place, silent, with no sign of rising.
The servant repeated the summons unhurriedly.
An eerie quiet settled over the room. Sixth Sister-in-law’s face had drained to a deathly pallor. Third Miss Cui sensed something amiss and darted glances between her sister-in-law and the servant. An inexplicable dread stirred in her chest. “Is this from Big Sister? Sixth Sister-in-law, I’ll go with you.”
She urged Yirong softly. “Sixth Sister-in-law, say something!”
Yirong snapped out of her daze. “No, I’ll go alone.”
She shot to her feet, brushing past the bewildered Third Miss Cui, and strode out. A palanquin awaited outside. Yirong boarded in silence.
She had visited Cuiwei Palace the previous year. The Imperial Retreat Palace dwarfed the Palace City in the capital, sprawling across vast grounds with picturesque vignettes every few paces. The ride passed in utter quiet. In the blink of an eye, the palanquin halted smoothly. Servants assisted her into a side hall.
“Young Madam, please have a seat. Your Majesty is occupied in the front hall study.”
Yirong remained silent.
The servant presented tea and refreshments before retreating noiselessly to a corner.
The hall fell still, the faint chirps of crickets beyond the windows ringing out with crystalline clarity. Propped on her hand, chin in palm, Yirong’s mind wandered. She jolted back to awareness—the Emperor had yet to appear.
Uncomfortable in her chair, she shifted to a nearby soft couch and resumed her blank stare.
Some time later, a palace maid approached within a couple of paces. “Young Madam Cui, please follow this servant to take your meal.”
Yirong nodded and trailed the servant to the dining hall. Lunch was already arrayed on the table. Needing no assistance, she took up jade chopsticks and selected the nearest dish: hibiscus pork. Only after swallowing did she register the servant’s strange look—as if they had wanted to intervene but held back.
It dawned on her: the Emperor intended to dine with her.
Yet she had been left to wait as long as her arrival, with no clue to his whereabouts. Yirong paused mid-reach as men’s voices drifted from nearby. She strained to listen. Apart from recognizing the Emperor chastising an official—punctuated by the loud, resounding thuds of kowtows—she caught nothing distinct.
Soon enough, she would be the one kowtowing.
Yirong gave a wry smile, her appetite vanished. She forced down a few bites before returning to the side hall.
She knew the rules for awaiting the Emperor: no distractions, or it would betray a lack of proper deference. Settling back in, she dazed once more, gently massaging her abdomen before closing her eyes.
Last time, his gaze had brimmed with contempt as he swept away. What words awaited her now?
She pushed the thought aside.
Her discomfort mounted. Yirong lost track of time as the hours slipped by—likely late afternoon by then. She finally spoke. “Where is Your Majesty?”
Taken aback by her sharp tone, the palace maid dispatched someone to check, then reported back: Your Majesty was in the study, reviewing memorials.
–
The Emperor set down his vermilion brush. “What time is it?”
“Replying to Your Majesty, it is early evening,” Gao Fuliang replied. “Miss Lu has been waiting in the side hall for four hours.”
The Emperor paused, startled. Swamped with affairs of state that day, he had clean forgotten. He glanced at Gao Fuliang, who cringed and promptly knelt, kowtowing. “This slave deserves a thousand deaths. This slave dared not disturb you.”
The Emperor said nothing, rising and proceeding to the side hall. Rounding two sandalwood screens upon entry, he spotted her on the couch—chin pointed, eyes fixed vacantly on the floor.
He approached, tilting up Yirong’s chin with his fingers. After a close inspection, he remarked, “You’ve lost weight.”
Yirong shuddered and hastily stood, kneeling off to the side. “Your Majesty, this subject-wife has a word that must be spoken.”
The Emperor narrowed his eyes and dismissed the servants with a wave. Settling onto the soft couch, he said in a low voice, “Speak.”