On this fine day, Prince Ning attended the Emperor from early in the morning. They rode out to hunt in the woods not far from the Imperial Retreat Palace.
Yet the Emperor’s expression remained indifferent throughout, as if he could not muster any enthusiasm from start to finish.
Prince Ning had forsaken the pleasures of drinking and revelry at the palace to proactively offer his company, all in hopes of maintaining his bond with his imperial brother. Puzzled, he asked, “Does Imperial Brother no longer enjoy hunting?”
Speaking with a hint of disdain, the Emperor smiled faintly. “There’s no fun in doing it with you.”
He simply found his younger brother’s riding and archery skills too poor to spark any interest. Prince Ning never dreamed the issue lay with his own shortcomings. Joking lightly, he said, “Would it be more fun if you brought that Madam along for the hunt?”
The Emperor rode ahead of him, his posture ramrod straight. Glancing back coolly, his imperious air drew an awkward chuckle from Prince Ning, who dared not tease further.
Last time, when his imperial brother had brought it up, Prince Ning had assumed it was some titillating gossip worth discussing.
Though curiosity gnawed at him about the woman’s identity, Prince Ning obediently held his tongue.
As boys, his eldest brother—born to the rightful empress—had kept his distance from them, claiming superior legitimacy. That had drawn the two of them closer. His imperial brother was the sort who could gallop his horse right up to Purple Chen Hall without facing a shred of reprimand.
The once wild and carefree youth had become an emperor whose emotions never showed on his face. Prince Ning had no idea how much of their old bond remained, so he did his best to preserve it.
“What are people saying about the Guangling Marquis Mansion?” the Emperor suddenly asked.
Prince Ning answered promptly. He could tell the Emperor held no grudge against them and added his own supportive words. “Everyone’s reflecting on their actions. Even those who attended the birthday banquet asked if there was trouble—I just brushed them off. Truth be told, it’s not just them. All the flashy families in the Capital City do the same for birthdays, though most keep it to ten days or half a month.”
“This time, they’re just fined and made to reflect. If anyone dares violate protocol again, their houses will be confiscated,” the Emperor said with a cold laugh. “Zhen just doesn’t understand—living off their stipends and ancestral estates, where do they get all that silver?”
He claimed not to understand, but Prince Ning met the Emperor’s gaze and knew full well he saw through it all. The brothers slowed their pace and discussed state affairs for a good while.
In the new Emperor’s eyes, taxes were too heavy, officials and private slaves too numerous, aristocratic families held too much land, irrigation works lay neglected—all hindrances to the common people’s livelihood, let alone amassing funds to wipe out the northern barbarians who raided periodically.
Reforms could not happen overnight. Too swift or drastic a change would breed instability.
As the sun climbed higher, the Emperor and his retinue scattered into the dense woods. At noon, they tallied the hunt. Servants immediately set to skinning and cleaning the game, while others erected a pavilion for the Emperor to rest and dine.
Lunch consisted of the fresh kill. Prince Ning joined the Emperor for roast meat. Afterward, he said, “Does Imperial Brother have time this afternoon? Your humble brother could accompany you for another round.”
The Emperor frowned slightly, then understood. “No need. Attend to your duties.”
He flicked his riding crop. “We’re heading back.”
The Emperor spurred his horse through the woods, Prince Ning and a sea of Imperial Guards trailing behind. Back at the palace’s sleeping hall, the Emperor bathed and changed, washing away the sweat mingled with dirt. He sat on the cool couch for a moment, then suddenly recalled Prince Ning’s words.
Hunting with her probably wouldn’t be much fun either. Perhaps some other amusement.
–
The Imperial Retreat Palace sprawled across vast grounds, but few were permitted to reside there. Yirong encountered no one on her way out, so her worries of awkward questions from half-acquaintances—about the divorce, perfunctory comforts—never came to pass.
The gardens bloomed like a tapestry of flowers, dense trees forming deep canopies that stretched like emerald tents. She waved her fan idly, her mood gradually lifting.
Yirong strolled beneath the trees, cicadas droning overhead. As she drew near the Primordial Pool, the relentless chorus eroded the fragile good humor she had managed to salvage these past days.
Her steps slowed the closer she got, until by the pool’s edge, she was practically inching forward.
Would the Emperor make her wait again today?
Yirong scanned about for a shady spot to wait out the heat. Amid the encircling greenery, she spotted the Emperor standing alone under a tree, without a single servant attending him.
Clad in brocade robes, his face was indistinct at a distance, but he seemed in good spirits, beckoning her over.
The two maids Yirong had brought halted in unison. Shuilian started to follow, but Yirong waved her back lightly.
She continued her languid approach.
The Emperor’s eyesight far surpassed ordinary men’s. He clearly saw her dragging steps and the way she bit her lip, and he chuckled. Arms folded, he stood beneath the tree, patiently watching her draw near.
The surroundings lay hushed, the water’s flow soft and unhurried. Yirong heard her skirts rustling through the leaves. Almost upon him, she saw his knowing look and quickened her pace. She curtsied and paid her respects.
“You’ve come,” the Emperor said. “Do you know how to row?”
Yirong shook her head. “I don’t.”
The words slipped out before she could catch them. One didn’t use such casual pronouns before the Emperor. But thanks to his grace, she could no longer call herself a minister’s wife, and “minister’s daughter” felt off too.
The Emperor didn’t seem to mind her slip, merely arching a brow. Collecting herself, Yirong said, “I really don’t.”
She had grown up in a watery region, yet truly could not row a boat.
“No matter,” the Emperor said. “This boat doesn’t need rowing.”
With that, he headed to the pool’s edge. Glancing back to see Yirong rooted in place, he said, “Come along.”
His tone was light.
From the corner of her eye, she spotted a sturdy willow by the bank, a small boat moored to it. Was the Emperor planning to boat with her? What if someone saw?
As if reading her thoughts, he said, “No one comes here.”
Still reluctant, she reflected that outdoors beat the Emperor’s bedchamber. On such a tiny boat, nothing untoward could happen. Yirong approached. At the shore, the Emperor extended an arm for her to steady herself.
She took it silently and settled at the stern. Watching him step to the bow, untie the rope, and paddle a short way before sitting where he had stood, she frowned. His weight made the little vessel suddenly feel cramped.
The Emperor set down the oars and leaned forward slightly, adopting a conversational pose. “Has anyone sought you out these past days?”
Yirong instinctively wanted to lean back but feared tipping the rocking boat. She held still. The scenery along the way was breathtaking, yet she spared it no glance, answering under his piercing gaze, “No.”
“There hasn’t been a chance before now to tell you—your divorce from Cui Cheng.”
If someone had told him beforehand that he would take a fancy to another man’s wife, the Emperor would never have believed it. Raised in the palace, he had seen countless beautiful palace maids and noble ladies. He would never stoop so low as to covet another’s spouse.
But she was not only beautiful; she unexpectedly suited him.
A fleeting thought sometimes crossed his mind that snatching a married woman was foolish, but as the Son of Heaven, if he wanted someone, must he suppress it?
Yirong fell silent a moment, then said, “By granting Empress Dowager Cui honors, the world will only praise Your Majesty for repaying enmity with virtue and treating your late brother’s widow generously. You’ve used this to enlist her aid, and Duke Qiao’s Mansion may even feel they’re doing you a favor, poised for further advancement—while already reaping the benefits of her honors. For all of you, it’s a win-win. Am I right?”
She lifted her eyes to him.
The Emperor’s gaze was strange—soft, perhaps, laced with… approval?
“One thing you said is wrong,” he replied after a pause. “Even without any favors to the Cui family, they have only one choice.”
Yirong shuddered, staring at him blankly for a few moments before hastily looking away.
Her hands trembled uncontrollably.
She had so many questions: Had Empress Dowager Cui given him the pouch of her own accord? Had the Emperor deliberately concealed the divorce papers? Who had spread word of her maternal grandfather’s affairs?
But there was no point asking. It made no difference who had done it. She didn’t care.
The Emperor waited for her to speak, but she merely sat with a blank face, joyless and sorrowless. He continued, “You once worried about your reputation. Zhen has had people watching—no one will speculate, and the Cui family dares not breathe a word.”
She murmured a soft “Mm.”
He had no wish to dwell on her ex-husband and changed the subject. “Did you boat on the rivers in Yue Prefecture as a child?”
Yirong’s eyes flickered, a gleam passing through them. “Of course.”
She recalled boating with her parents as a girl, reaching for lotus flowers. She missed the blooms but lost the jeweled ornament in her hair with a plop into the lake, which sent her into a tantrum. The Primordial Pool stretched empty, though green lily pads dotted the distance, pink lotuses standing tall.
A gentle breeze whispered, water murmured. Yirong relaxed a fraction.
She spoke sparingly, and the Emperor eyed her displeasure for a while but did not press further.
The little boat drifted on the Primordial Pool, silence reigning for a spell. Then the Emperor spoke again. “Zhen plans to formally bring you into the palace upon returning to the Capital City.”
Another soft “Mm” from Yirong.
She had agreed, yet the Emperor found it hard to credit. “You consent?”
Yirong spoke calmly. “What does it matter whether I’m willing or not? If Your Majesty desires it, let alone a minister’s wife like me—even if you took a fancy to a corpse, there would be people desperate to resurrect it and deliver it straight to your bed.”
The Emperor’s eyes, sharp as lightning, fixed straight on her. Yirong lowered her gaze, feeling uncomfortable.
He showed no anger. Instead, the corners of his lips curved upward, and a smile slowly spread across his handsome face.
“You’re right.”
No sooner had he spoken than the boat bumped into a small island mounded with silt in the pool. The hull rocked lightly. The Emperor reached for the oar, rowed them away, then set it down. When he glanced up, he saw a string of pearl hairpins swaying in her dark, heavy bun, making her fair, pink-cheeked face all the more captivating.
His heart stirred. The Emperor reached out to draw her into his arms. But the moment he moved, Yirong’s eyes flew wide. “Please don’t move, Your Majesty. If the boat capsizes, I can’t swim.”
She had rarely spoken to him first, and her tone held no stiffness. The Emperor readily sat back down. “Alright.”
Waves lapped against the boat’s hull, and fine droplets occasionally splashed into the cabin. Yirong couldn’t for the life of her figure out why the Emperor had summoned her out here for a boat ride. She assumed he simply saw her as a pretty plaything. Why bother sharing a leisurely cruise through the scenery?
Last year, when she had visited the Imperial Retreat Palace, Yirong had longed to take a boat out on the Primordial Pool—but she hadn’t dared. Now, sharing one with the Emperor, she would rather never set foot on a lake again.
The Emperor picked up the oar and rowed for a moment to steer clear of a dense clump of nameless water weeds.
For the first time, she noticed a faint, lengthy scar across the web of his right thumb.
Seeing her gaze on it, the Emperor simply extended his hand right in front of her eyes for a closer look, then withdrew it moments later. He examined it himself a few times before saying, “This scar is from when Zhen was five or six years old—being mischievous and falling out of a tree.”
In that instant, Yirong suddenly recalled two years prior.
Her first meeting with Cui Cheng had been right there by the poolside.