“Why does she keep sleeping like this?”
It was the evening of Yirong’s second day in Central Harmony Hall. She had buried her face in the pillow when she heard the Emperor’s voice, lowered to a murmur beside her.
There came a soft rustle of fabric, and in her drowsiness, she felt a wrinkled, elderly hand settle on her wrist to take her pulse.
This was already the second Imperial Physician.
She had been utterly exhausted to begin with, and the accumulated fatigue of recent days meant she could fall asleep with her eyes closed.
On top of that, she was pretending to sleep as part of her plan.
At first, she had worried that the Emperor might suspect something or see right through her feigned slumber. Fortunately, he seemed softened toward her because of what had happened the day before, and he also harbored some misunderstanding.
He truly believed she was this worn out.
As for the Imperial Physicians, Yirong wasn’t sure if they could tell she wasn’t really asleep. But at least none of them had called her out on it. The previous one had said she was simply overtired and prescribed a calming formula to steady her qi. This one declared that her emotions had fluctuated wildly and that she needed careful recuperation going forward.
After hearing the diagnosis, she could no longer fight off her drowsiness and truly fell asleep. When she woke, it was the dead of night. Candlelight filtered through layers of gauze curtains, casting faint, wavering shadows.
She lay still for a moment, adjusting to the dimness, then realized she was cradled in the Emperor’s arms, her nose pressed to his chest.
The gentle rise and fall of his chest, his even breathing, the clean scent of his skin, the warmth of his body… Her waist was firmly held in his grasp. In the profound silence of the night, every sensation was magnified.
Yirong lifted her gaze and studied the sharp line of the Emperor’s jaw in the murky darkness for a moment before closing her eyes again.
The next day, Yirong forced herself not to think of anything, keeping her eyes shut as she slept.
The Emperor usually held morning court early, but today he had canceled it. He sat by her bed, frowning as he watched her.
Even without much experience with women, he didn’t believe he could have worn someone out to the point of sleeping through a third day.
She must be ill.
The Emperor rose and strode out, ordering more Imperial Physicians to be summoned at once.
Moments later, in her half-dreaming state, Yirong heard hurried footsteps. She kept her eyes naturally closed, wrestling with sleep to maintain a thread of awareness as she listened to the diagnosis.
“Your Majesty, this Noble Lady may have caught a seasonal illness. It would be best if she could be moved elsewhere to recuperate for a time…”
Finally!
The words she had been waiting for had arrived!
The Imperial Physicians withdrew to discuss her prescription, and the Emperor lifted the bed curtains. He had just sat down when he saw her slowly open her eyes, their clear, autumn-water depths gazing at him.
“I think I heard the Imperial Physician say I should be moved somewhere to recover,” she said softly.
The Emperor replied promptly, “No need. Rest here in peace.”
He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Are you hungry?”
For the past two days, palace maids had been carefully feeding her bird’s nest porridge and nourishing soups.
Yirong didn’t pull her hand away. In a small voice, she said, “Your Majesty, let me go back to rest quietly. I’m afraid someone might discover me here, and there are always people coming to pay their respects…”
She paused, then continued, “Let me return to the Landscape Serenity Mirror. It’s quieter there.”
The Emperor hesitated. “When Zhen summons ministers, will you hear the commotion?”
Yirong naturally wouldn’t hear anything—she only knew that when the Emperor left the bedchamber, he was usually meeting with officials, and when he returned, the discussions were over.
She hesitated. “I think I can hear some footsteps.”
The Emperor frowned. Yirong feared he still wouldn’t agree and worried she might overdo it if she pressed further, so she fell silent, simply looking at him.
After a long while, she heard the Emperor say, “Very well. Don’t worry about anything. Go back and recuperate properly. If there’s anything you want to eat or use, have Xingxiang arrange it.”
Yirong nodded weakly.
Since she was awake for once, the Emperor immediately ordered a meal to be served.
Yirong ate a light dinner, and the Emperor repeated, “Don’t worry. Don’t overthink it.”
She assented and was soon sent back with all due care. After pretending to sleep a little longer and hearing Xingxiang leave the bedchamber, Yirong sat up at once.
For these two or three days, she had kept herself in a liminal state between sleep and wakefulness, plagued now and then by hallucinations of falling off a cliff—like it was more exhausting than not sleeping at all.
She decided to walk a few laps around the room—her bones ached from lying down so much—then bathe thoroughly and finally get some real rest.
Shuilian reported in a low voice, “The Sixth Young Master entered the palace to pay his respects.”
Yirong had known nothing about this, and her face paled.
“Don’t worry, miss. This servant didn’t pry too much, but the Sixth Young Master should be fine,” Shuilian hastened to reassure her.
Yirong was silent for a moment. “Never mind. From now on, it has nothing to do with me… with me.”
“The things you asked this servant to prepare are mostly ready,” Shuilian said, changing the subject to spare her distress.
She nodded. “Go out and handle something for me.”
Yirong retraced the route she had sketched with her finger before, drawing it carefully on the table for Shuilian to see. Once she was sure Shuilian had memorized it—at least the key halls along the way—she let her go.
Yirong’s head swam a little. She paced around the screen and the daybed a few times, bathed, changed into fresh nightclothes, and went to bed.
–
Cui Cheng left the Family Severance Letter on the desk. He glanced back at the room’s furnishings, identical to those in the Cui family estate in the Capital City, then looked away without lingering.
Taking advantage of the brief gap during the midday guard shift, he nimbly leaped out the window, scaled the wall, and vanished from the Cui Family Separate Estate in the blink of an eye.
Before leaving home, he had one more thing to do.
Cui Cheng mounted his horse calmly and rode toward the secret door into the Imperial Retreat Palace that he knew of.
Once inside, he walked a ways before ducking under the green shade of some trees, patiently waiting for a passing eunuch. Finally, he spotted one about his build. Cui Cheng grabbed him from behind, choking him until he passed out, then stripped off his robes and changed into them.
No matter what, he had to see Lu Yirong one more time.
Cui Cheng proceeded cautiously for a while before suddenly halting.
“Shuilian?”
Shuilian had been muttering the route to herself, head down as she navigated. Hearing her name, she let out a startled cry. “Sixth Young Master? What are you doing here?”
She hurriedly beckoned him behind a rockery.
“Where is she?” Cui Cheng asked bluntly. “Shuilian, take me to her!”
Shuilian asked anxiously, “Did you come in through the secret door? Did anyone see you?”
Cui Cheng nodded and shook his head—he had been extremely careful. He pressed his palms together in supplication. “Shuilian, please, help me see her.”
Shuilian hesitated at once, afraid of getting her mistress in trouble.
But she couldn’t withstand Cui Cheng’s persistent pleading. After all, they were meant for each other, and he had once been her master too. After weighing it, she nodded.
They conferred briefly. Shuilian removed her bracelet, covered it with a handkerchief, and had Cui Cheng hold it, pretending to be an errand-running eunuch delivering a gift.
She went ahead first, finding an excuse to send Xingxiang out of the Landscape Serenity Mirror. Then she brought in the “eunuch” Cui Cheng—who kept his head bowed and his posture servile—without issue. She rushed back to the bedchamber and woke Yirong.
“Miss, miss, look who’s here!”
Yirong had been sleeping soundly for once and irritably muttered at Shuilian’s insistent calls, “I don’t want to look.”
She rolled over to keep sleeping.
Shuilian smiled faintly, curtsied, and withdrew, softly closing the door behind her to stand guard. As soon as she was gone, Cui Cheng hurried to the bedside and patted Yirong’s shoulder. “Rongrong, Rongrong—”
Cui Cheng’s voice cut off abruptly, as if someone had seized his throat.
His former wife had rolled over toward him. A lock of cloud-like dark hair had fallen loose, and beneath her slightly disheveled nightclothes, faint red marks dotted her collarbone.
Anyone could tell they were from being kissed and sucked.
He stood frozen, blood rushing to his head in an instant before slowly receding through his body.
Yirong was fully awake now. Clutching the silk covers, she sat up and stared at Cui Cheng’s furious expression. In a low voice, she asked, “How did you get in here?”
Cui Cheng said, “You’re the Emperor’s woman now. Your ex-husband shouldn’t come to see you, right?”
Following his gaze, Yirong looked down at what he was staring at and pulled her collar closed.
She was silent for a moment, then said softly, “You know that already. You shouldn’t have come. Leave, quickly.”
Cui Cheng advanced abruptly, raising his hand high. He could imagine the other marks hidden beneath her flimsy nightclothes—all evidence of her illicit trysts with the Emperor.
His eyes bloodshot, he clenched his fist and slammed it into the bedpost.
The whole bed shook.
“Are you doing this willingly?” he demanded, word by word, seizing her arm.
Yirong knew she was gripped tight. She knew she ought to pretend she was willing, to quash his treasonous notions, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it.
Her arm ached. Coolly, she said, “It doesn’t matter anymore. Just go.”
This attitude was worlds apart from the days before, when she had been ready to elope with him.
Cui Cheng’s fury knew no bounds.
“Back at Little Penglai, you deliberately told me who you were. Fine. So how did you seduce the Emperor? What, was I not good enough for your ambitions to climb higher, so you switched to latching onto him instead?”
In a fit of anger, he spat out those words mocking her character. Seeing Yirong’s face drain of color as she sat there dazed, tears streaming down her cheeks, a wave of regret immediately washed over Cui Cheng’s heart.
He wanted to tell her it was just talk born of anger—that he’d never truly seen her as that kind of woman.
Their first meeting in youth: he’d thought her an ethereal fairy straight out of legend. Learning her family name had filled him with boundless joy, and realizing she returned his feelings had made him itch to gallop across the plains on horseback just to burn off his elation.
Cui Cheng’s lips parted, but no words came. Instead, he reached out to brush the tears from her face.
Yirong recoiled, turning her head away and leaving him only a veil of dark hair from one side.
“You’re right—I did it on purpose. It hardly matters if I tell you now—” she said coldly.
“Don’t say another word!” Cui Cheng bellowed.
His fists clenched and unclenched. Lips pressed into a tight line, he took two steps forward before whirling back to stare at her silhouette.
She wore a jade-hued nightgown, her raven hair spilling across one side of her face. Only a delicate sliver of jawline and the glistening teardrops at her lips were visible. She sat perfectly still, unmoving.
Two years of day and night in perfect harmony, like a lute and zither in duet. Even the underlayers of his robes had been sewn by her hand.
Cui Cheng watched her for a long moment, his eyes growing misty, before he turned on his heel and strode out.
A while later, Shuilian returned from seeing Cui Cheng off. As she stepped back into the room, she reported, “Miss, rest easy—the Sixth Young Master slipped away without anyone noticing. He didn’t need me to escort him; he went on his own—Miss, are you all right?”
She hurried forward, nearly tripping on her skirt hem. Reaching Yirong’s side, she instinctively lowered her voice. “Are you all right?”
Yirong kept absently tucking strands of hair behind her ear until Shuilian gently caught her hand. Only then did her eyes flicker.
“So he knew all along.”
The words came out faint and hoarse, almost inaudible.
With that, Yirong coughed up a mouthful of blood and slumped backward.
—
When Yirong came to again, evening had fallen. Sunset clouds glowed through the latticed windows.
She realized she was back in Central Harmony Hall. In one corner, a golden lion incense burner trailed delicate wisps of white smoke. The Emperor sat at a small desk nearby, poring over stacks of memorials.
At the faint sound of her stirring, he set down his brush, crossed to her side, sat, and cradled her cool hand in his.
“You’re awake.”
“Your Majesty…” Yirong murmured, at a loss for words.
She wasn’t even sure what she was thinking herself.
“Zhen knows all about it,” the Emperor said. “The imperial physician says there’s pent-up frustration weighing on your heart. Better out than in—we’ll nurse you back to health slowly from here.”
He hadn’t even scolded her for meeting Cui Cheng!
A spark of astonishment flared in Yirong’s chest.
The Emperor beckoned, and a palace maid timidly proffered a bowl of thick, bitter black medicine.
Seeing him move as if to feed her himself, Yirong pretended not to notice and took the bowl. It had cooled enough not to scald, so she braced against the acrid taste and drained it in one gulp.
He watched the graceful arch of her throat as she tilted her head back, and the way her brows pinched in despite herself.
“The Cui Family boy left a Family Severance Letter for his kin and vanished,” the Emperor said flatly. “Zhen has ordered his capture.”
Meeting Yirong’s gaze, he added, “He deserves death.”
The words carried unyielding resolve.
Yirong let out a sudden laugh. “Why? Because he upset me so badly I spat blood, you want him dead?”
The Emperor inclined his head, his imperial presence brooking no argument.
She clamped down hard on her lip, her chest heaving with rage.
“Zheng Yan, you’re shameless!”
In that instant, she cared nothing for her life or the doom of her nine clans.
“You blame Cui Cheng? Think you’re nobly avenging me? I was perfectly happy until you destroyed it all!”