The sunlight was dazzling, yet from a distance of forty or fifty paces, Yirong could clearly see the mockery on Zheng Yan’s face.
Her lips and throat were parched beyond measure. Her lips moved soundlessly several times, but no words came out.
He had known all along.
That was why her outing today had gone so extraordinarily smoothly.
The realization crashed over Yirong’s heart like relentless waves from the sea.
With things deteriorated to this extent, she instead calmed down and met his gaze.
Zheng Yan regarded her coldly for a moment before waving his hand. In short order, an imperial sedan arrived. Without so much as a glance at Yirong, he boarded it on his own. Several palace maids approached Yirong then, clamping down firmly on her arms and dragging her forward. They forced her aboard the sedan as well.
The moment she sat down, she looked warily toward the Emperor.
He sat opposite her with his eyes closed in repose. A tiny bead of sweat slid from his temple and vanished in an instant.
Yirong’s vision swam. She wanted to ask how he had known, but then wondered what point there would be in doing so.
After a long hesitation, Yirong said, “Your Majesty—”
“Shut your mouth.” Zheng Yan’s eyes snapped open, his aura that of a ferocious beast, though his voice remained exceedingly soft. “Zhen has no desire to hear a single word from you right now.”
Her lips trembled, but she fell silent.
From time to time came the murmur of birds and insects nearby, along with the faint rustle of fabric from the palace servants carrying the sedan below. Atop it reigned utter silence, the air so thick it seemed solidified, leaving Yirong struggling to draw breath.
The one small mercy was that even if someone passed by, they could not see who occupied the Emperor’s sedan.
After a long while, she was helped down. Spotting Shuilian held fast between two palace servants, Yirong rushed over and yanked her free from their grasp.
“Shuilian!”
Shuilian gripped Yirong’s hand in return. The two of them supported each other, trembling, as they followed the guiding palace servant. In complete silence, they were led back to the bedchamber—the very place from which they had set out.
The Emperor stood at the window, issuing his command without turning his head. “Drag this wretched maid out and beat her to death.”
Yirong froze. As the attendant palace servants moved to pry her hand from Shuilian’s, she came back to herself and cried out shrilly, “No! Your Majesty, please don’t kill her!”
She stumbled forward and dropped to her knees at the Emperor’s feet.
“Your Majesty, I beg you to spare her! She tried to talk me out of it—she urged me not to go!” Yirong’s words tumbled out in a jumbled rush as she clutched at the hem of the Emperor’s robe.
The Emperor finally glanced her way.
“So you’re saying she advised you against it, yet you insisted on going anyway?” He bent down to pinch her chin, his voice soft as he questioned her.
Tears streamed down Yirong’s face. “It was my fault—all my fault. Your Majesty, please show mercy. Shuilian is the daughter of my wet nurse. We grew up together, like true sisters. I beg you to spare her…”
She kowtowed repeatedly. Hearing footsteps behind her, she whipped her head around. Shuilian was being dragged away, mouth covered by a hand. Amid the crowd, Xingxiang gave her the slightest nod.
Yirong’s tears fell one by one onto the cold, hard floor tiles.
The Emperor stepped away from the window and pointed to a low stool. “Sit.”
She rose slowly and took a seat, then lifted her eyes to the Emperor. “Your Majesty, please spare her! It was all my fault.”
Zheng Yan let out a few cold sneers. “Very well!”
No sooner had he spoken than the vast, empty hall plunged into silence.
Yirong wept quietly as she said, “Your Majesty, you knew yesterday what I intended to do, didn’t you? Why didn’t you expose me then? Why allow me to make the attempt again today?”
“Then why did you try to flee?” he shot back. “Yesterday, had you simply told Zhen what you were doing outside—even if you’d only mentioned the Qiao family bullying you—Zhen would not have held it against you.”
She fell silent for a moment before replying, “Anything Your Majesty wishes to know, you can always discover. For this matter, I must thank you.”
Her words hung in the air, and the hall grew quiet once more.
Out of nowhere, the Emperor said, “What were your plans? Return to the Capital City from the Imperial Retreat Palace, collect your mother, then head back to Yue Prefecture? Or flee somewhere else entirely?”
Yirong made no reply.
She had worked up quite a sweat, with stray locks of hair plastered to her face and her bun coming askew. She looked utterly disheveled—and all the more pitiable for it.
A surge of anger ignited in the Emperor’s chest. “You ignorant fool! Dressed like that, you’d fall prey to brigands before you’d gone five li toward the Capital City!”
Yirong gritted her teeth. “A few years ago, I traveled by boat from Yue Prefecture all the way to the Capital City.”
“You had maids, guards, and boatmen with you then,” the Emperor reminded her coldly.
She had nothing to say to that. Should she prove to him here and now that she could make it back to the Capital City on her own?
How absurd.
The Emperor stared at her intently, awaiting her answer.
Her sun-scorched cheeks glowed red, her damp face a blur of sweat and tears impossible to distinguish.
At last, Yirong could no longer contain her burning question. “How did Your Majesty find out?”
Could it be that the Secret Door was no secret at all?
The Emperor gave a mocking laugh. “You asked Zhen what weighed on Zhen’s mind. How could Zhen not worry, upon learning years ago that the Imperial Retreat Palace harbored such a vulnerability?”
He regarded Yirong’s crestfallen expression and added coldly, “Were it not for your late husband’s carelessness, Zhen never would have uncovered that door.”
Yirong nodded at random. “Since Your Majesty finds me both ignorant and a fool, why send men to drag me back?”
“You’re a fool?” The Emperor laughed, his rage turning to incredulity. “You deceived Zhen—wherein lies your foolishness?”
Yirong went rigid for an instant, then understood what he meant.
She let out a hollow chuckle. “Isn’t this exactly what Your Majesty wanted? Weren’t you pleased when I offered myself to you? How has that become me deceiving you?”
The Emperor reined in his temper. “You claimed Zhen treated you well. Then why were you so discontent that you had to flee the Imperial Retreat Palace?”
It had taken two full days—braving the scorching afternoon sun to traverse nearly the entire grounds to that Secret Door known only to her and Cui Cheng.
When she offered no response, he leaned forward, tilting up her chin and forcing her to meet his pitch-black gaze. His callused thumb grazed her soft skin.
“Speak.”
Yirong shuddered despite herself, compelled to stare into the Emperor’s dark eyes. She gave a bitter smile.
Indifferently, she said, “What would Your Majesty have me say? That these days have been utter torment? That I’ve weighed suicide or disfigurement a hundred times? And then what—beg for your favor afterward? Be granted a life of luxury, with fine silks and jewels, servants to command?”
“That’s the ‘good’ you offer me, and I have no interest in it,” she said flatly.
“You could have simply told me.” Yirong’s voice trembled. “You let me walk out happily, just as you’d foreseen—only to have me caught and dragged back…”
You’re nothing but a toy for his amusement, a faint voice whispered in her mind.
Coldly, the Emperor replied, “Had Zhen warned you, would you truly have stayed behind willingly from then on?”
Yirong froze, offering no answer.
“Speak.”
She remained mute after several heartbeats. The Emperor’s patience shattered.
Suddenly, she smiled—like a spring breeze caressing a canopy of blooming flowers.
“You see? When you bid me shut my mouth, I must obey. When you demand I speak, I must answer. Yet you still wonder why I wanted to leave?”
The Emperor’s brow furrowed. His grip tightened on her chin as he demanded, “Who taught you to speak such words? Who filled your head with this unfilial, treasonous drivel—disrespect for father and sovereign alike?”
“I’ve butted heads with my parents since I was a girl. After marriage, I never dressed or bathed my husband, nor slept on the room’s outer side. If Your Majesty expects me to fawn over you happily, you’ve chosen the wrong woman. But to call me unfilial and treasonous—that’s unfair.”
Her gaze bored straight into the Emperor’s. “Were you any ordinary man, I’d find a way to thrash you within an inch of your life. Even…”
Yirong broke off there. To say more would be true treason, and she wasn’t quite that reckless.
The Emperor’s eyes turned to ice. Of course he understood—but there was no point continuing.
She wrenched free of his grasp, then untied her pouch. From it, she produced the precious Fire Pearls, pieces of agate, and other gems she had kept hidden.
“These are the gifts Your Majesty bestowed on me before. I return them now.”
The Emperor’s cheek twitched oddly before settling back into its habitual stern lines.
He picked up a piece of agate and toyed with it between his fingers for a moment.
“Very well. You want nothing of them—Zhen shall reclaim them.”
She smiled. “My thanks to Your Majesty for taking them back.”
“You needn’t stay here any longer. Not if you scorn such a life.”
The Emperor shot her one final glance before striding from the room.
Yirong had stood her ground against him for what felt like ages. The moment he departed, her strength failed her completely, and she collapsed.
All her hopes had dissolved into nothing with that single cold laugh from the Emperor.
Yirong’s heart bled with hatred—even as she cursed herself for being stupid as a pig.
Every encounter with the Emperor had brought her utter misfortune, yet today had been suspiciously smooth. Even the eunuch’s claim that the Emperor had left the city—she should have known something was amiss!
And Shuilian…
Propping herself up on her knees, Yirong sat upright. Her vision darkened in waves, but once it cleared, she lurched to her feet.
She had taken only a few steps when Zhu Jin and Dan Liu entered, heads bowed. “Madam, His Majesty bids us escort you to rest.”
“And Shuilian—where is she?”
The two fell silent for a moment. Then Zhu Jin whispered, “Miss Shuilian is well.”
Yirong murmured her thanks and started forward, but Zhu Jin steeled herself and added, “His Majesty commands that Madam remove all her jewelry.”
No sooner had the words faded than thunder boomed abruptly from the horizon. Torrential rain cascaded like a waterfall, turning the hall’s light and shadows misty and gray in an instant.
Yirong smiled and nodded.
She removed all the pearl hairpins, floral ornaments, and dangling hairpins from her bun. Raising her hand, her sleeve fell naturally, revealing a gold-inlaid jade bracelet. “This was given to me by my mother,” Yirong said. “Do I need to take off my clothes too?”
“No need, no need!” The palace maids waved their hands frantically, nearly dropping to their knees in fright as they gestured for Yirong to follow them.
She smoothed back her loose side locks. Beyond the corridor, curtains of rain fell, their roar drowning out every other sound between heaven and earth.
After a long while, Zhu Jin and Dan Liu came to a halt and pushed open a side room at the end of the corridor.
Yirong stepped inside. The room held scant furnishings and was quite plain.
Dan Liu said softly, “Madam, you will stay here for a time. Someone will bring you meals and water.”
Amid the drumming rain, Yirong had to focus intently to make out her words. She nodded in acknowledgment.
“Rest well,” Zhu Jin said comfortingly. “His Majesty will return to the capital in seven days.”
Yirong smiled and agreed.
The two women did not linger. They lit candles for her, left her an umbrella, and departed.
Yirong sat on a chair, propping her chin in her hand.
Though they had led her a considerable distance, she was still within the sprawling grounds of Central Harmony Hall.
Moments later, Zhu Jin returned, cradling a set of clothes. Before she could speak, Yirong guessed her intent and smiled. “Wait just a moment. I’ll change right now.”
Yirong was accustomed to being dressed by servants, so she began unfastening her garments right in front of her. Zhu Jin hurriedly shut the door and sighed. “Madam, why give up on yourself like this? His Majesty kept you in Central Harmony Hall, after all. Better days may yet come.”
Yirong smiled, thanked her for the kind words of encouragement, and said nothing more as she donned the cotton dress Zhu Jin had brought.
In the stormy gloom, she ate a very plain supper. Some time later, a young palace maid slipped inside, tucked a scrap of paper onto her table, and scurried away.
Yirong unfolded it. The handwriting was hurried scrawl:
“Shuilian is safe.
Please take good care of yourself, Madam, in hopes of future imperial favor.
Tear this up after reading.
Xingxiang.”
Yirong gave a wry smile. She stepped outside and tore the note to shreds, letting the rain soak them away until nothing remained.
Everyone kept consoling her, even urging her onward. She truly had no idea what to say.
She sat lost in thought for a long while. There was nothing at all to do in this room.
The dim candlelight cast her shadow on the floor—slender and frail.
Abruptly, Yirong recalled how she had wandered in a similar fog before arriving at the Imperial Retreat Palace. It felt much like the melancholy she had once read about in books.
She had to find something to occupy herself; she could not keep drifting like this.
Yirong examined the room’s sparse furnishings closely, then mustered her courage and knocked on the door of the neighboring chamber.
A palace maid of sixteen or seventeen lay inside. She did not know Yirong and, upon hearing her request to borrow a cleaning cloth, merely pointed to its location before ignoring her.