Lu Zong and Madam Deng had diligently studied the protocols for an imperial audience for two days outside the palace before they were finally summoned inside.
Dressed in splendid and proper attire, the couple was escorted into the palace by palace servants and Imperial Guards.
The Emperor had always been the sort who forbade anyone from interrupting or announcing visitors while he attended to official business—even Prince Ning had to wait patiently outside. But after leaving Yirong waiting in vain, he hadn’t mentioned it at the time. A few days later, however, he suddenly ordered the palace servants in the East Hall to announce any visitor directly, no matter who it was.
As a result, Lu Zong and his wife didn’t have to wait long before an inner eunuch led them in.
The moment they stepped into the room, their eyes were dazzled by the light. Seated at the head was a handsome and noble young man who nodded to them from afar. “You’ve come a long way. You must be tired.”
Overwhelmed by the honor, Lu Zong and his wife hurried to kneel and pay their respects to the Emperor. A eunuch at the side tactfully helped them up.
Though the Lu Family was a wealthy clan in their region, living in luxury, they had never had occasion to enter the palace and pay homage to the Emperor. After two days of studying etiquette, they were even more nervous, terrified of making a mistake. Yet the Emperor turned out to be milder than they had expected.
Lu Zong offered an apology. “Your Majesty, the family head should have come in person. But he is over seventy and can no longer travel by carriage, so he had these two juniors come ahead instead. Please forgive our disrespect.”
When the palace servants dispatched by the Emperor arrived at the Lu Family home, no one could believe it at first.
How could that girl from the clan—the one who had married and then divorced—have such fortune now?
In the end, the elderly family head made the decision. No one was to speak of the decree outside the family before it was announced, and he instructed Lu Zong and his wife not to bring their children—just travel lightly and head to the capital as quickly as possible to see what was really going on.
“No matter,” the Emperor said, unconcerned.
He knew the Lu Family’s background well. When Qiao Shi had insisted on returning to the capital, they had let her go, returned her dowry, and even divided half of Yirong’s father’s property to Yirong and her mother. They had been exceedingly generous.
At the right moment, Gao Fuliang read out the Emperor’s verbal decree, ordering the pair to reside in the granted residence and await their honors at the ceremony.
Lu Zong said in sincere trepidation, “Your Majesty, we have no merits to speak of. We are not worthy—”
Zheng Yan cut him off. “Zhen knows you took good care of her. Just rest easy and wait.”
The two murmured their thanks.
Madam Deng said humbly, “Fifth Miss has been clever since she was little. We hardly took care of her.”
Seeing the Emperor’s mouth twitch slightly, Madam Deng explained, “In our family, the children all address each other by their generational rank. Noble Lady Yirong is the fifth among the girls of her generation. By four or five, she could already recognize many characters. When she came out with her mother to watch plays with us, she was always asking why… Even as a child, Noble Lady Yirong pitied the poor and weak… She was always filial to her elders… And so deft with her hands…”
Madam Deng went on praising her niece Yirong, whom she hadn’t seen in four years—not with a single sentence or one virtue, but three or four anecdotes for each. Finally, her husband couldn’t stand it anymore and nudged her with his elbow. She startled and fell silent.
She had not only prattled on for a long time but had also glanced up at the Emperor several times.
Realizing her mistake, Madam Deng’s face drained of color.
The Emperor smiled faintly. “Madam, your heart is kind.”
The couple simultaneously breathed a sigh of relief.
Zheng Yan said no more to them and ordered a meal to be bestowed upon Lu Zong and his wife. They were led to a side hall to dine and didn’t dare speak in front of the palace servants. But the Emperor’s refusal to dine with them actually put the pair more at ease.
After the meal, Zheng Yan summoned Lu Zong again for questioning. He began by testing Lu Zong’s scholarship, then asked his views on state affairs. Yirong’s uncle had always led a stable, affluent life, managing only clan business, and he knew little of such matters. His answers came haltingly.
The Emperor then asked about local products and grain prices in Yue Prefecture, and on that he could respond fluently.
After about half a stick of incense had burned, the Emperor, having questioned him patiently, saw Lu Zong’s persistent look of fear and waved his hand, signaling Gao Fuliang to see the couple out.
By the time Lu Zong and his wife returned to the Lu Residence granted by the Emperor, dusk had fallen.
The grand estate, with its layered pavilions, was bathed in magnificent sunset glow, presenting a spectacular sight. Madam Deng mustered her courage and asked the evidently high-ranking eunuch, “Eunuch, may we see the Noble Lady?”
Gao Fuliang smiled. “Rest easy, both of you. You’ll see her soon enough.”
–
Night had deepened.
Yirong sat at her desk, set down her brush, and lifted the rice paper. No matter how she looked at it, the painting dissatisfied her. She rolled it up and burned it in the candle flame.
It was about the second watch by now.
She still had to rise early tomorrow. The past few days, when she couldn’t sleep at night, she had been advised to make up for it during the day, but afterward she always felt a bit ashamed.
Preparing to retire, she frowned slightly.
Everyone else in the palace had long since gone to bed, and she had dismissed her serving maids early. In the profound silence of the night, the slightest sound stood out.
Footsteps.
Heading straight for her room.
Yirong simply went to the door and pushed it open. There she saw several palace servants holding lanterns, with Gao Fuliang supporting the Emperor behind them.
Her frown deepened.
Yirong silently stepped back and watched as Gao Fuliang helped the Emperor into the room and onto the bed. He gave her an awkward smile. “We’ll leave him in your care.”
The group withdrew lightly on tiptoe and shut the door.
Yirong stood there for a moment before sighing.
She walked over helplessly. The Emperor had his eyes closed, seemingly asleep, his breath carrying a faint scent of wine.
So he was drunk.
Yirong sat beside him, motionless for a long while. Finally, she stood up. The moment she moved, the Emperor suddenly awoke, grabbed her hand, and pulled her down into his embrace.
Their eyes met. It had been some time since they had seen each other, and Yirong’s heart suddenly quickened.
His face was slightly flushed, his breath hot—but not unpleasant. His dark eyes fixed steadily on her.
During the period when things between them had still been somewhat harmonious, they had almost always shared their midday and evening meals, and Yirong had never seen the Emperor drink. Seeing him now, silently watching her with such profound gaze, her heart pounded, and her earlobes inevitably turned red and hot.
The deep autumn night was cool as water, and she was already dressed warmly. With the Emperor’s arm firmly around her waist, trapping her in his embrace, her face pressed to his chest beneath the half-drawn bed curtains, her whole body gradually grew warm. She suspected she was starting to sweat beneath her collar.
After a long silence, Zheng Yan spoke. “What is wrong with Zhen?”
Yirong listened to the strong heartbeat beneath the Emperor’s chest and didn’t immediately register his question.
She sat up slowly, and the Emperor sat up with her, his eyes pursuing hers.
His gaze was indeed less clear than usual.
Yirong said softly, “Your Majesty is drunk.”
The Emperor neither confirmed nor denied it, holding her hand to keep her from leaving.
Yirong said, “Let me fetch someone to make Your Majesty a bowl of sobering soup.”
“I’ve already had some,” he said lazily, reaching out to touch her cheek.
Serene, she was like a flower reflected in still water; smiling, she was vivid and spirited. When she was bold in his presence… only she dared to be bold with him. But Zheng Yan could tell she was afraid too.
That was normal.
Ever since he had gained supreme power, no one was unafraid of him.
He wasn’t sure himself whether he wanted her to fear him or not.
His vision blurred, his fingers lingering on Yirong’s cheek. He called softly, “Fifth Miss.”
Yirong blinked in astonishment, but there was nothing strange about it—the Emperor could find out anything he wanted.
His breath drew even closer.
Was the Emperor about to pester her again about whether she would bear him children?
Yirong’s expression darkened.
The room next door held an innocent unmarried girl and a nun old enough to be her grandmother. The thought of them possibly overhearing made Yirong frown; she clenched her fists and pushed at the Emperor.
Before she could stop him, he spoke again.
“Where does Zhen fall short of Cui Cheng?”
His tone was probing, incredulous, almost like sleep-talk.
Yirong fell silent for a moment. “Your Majesty, you are truly drunk.”
Otherwise, he would never ask such a question.
“Tell Zhen.”
She brushed it off casually. “You surpass him in every way.”
“Tell Zhen the truth.” He turned her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.
Yirong leaned back uncomfortably. What was there to compare?
Cui Cheng had essentially been the husband she chose herself, the man she favored.
After a thought, she couldn’t help but speak the truth. “Before he found out about Your Majesty and me, he never lost his temper with me.”
“Did you ever lose your temper with him?”
He countered.
Wasn’t he drunk? Yirong hadn’t expected the Emperor to be so clear-headed in his retort. Irritated, she said, “He never angered me. Why would I lose my temper with him for no reason?”
The moment he was distracted, Yirong stood up at once, her expression solemn. “Your Majesty, this is the palace where your mother once lived. It would be best if you conducted yourself with dignity.”
He sat half-upright on the bed, eyes closed.
Had he fallen asleep? Yirong crouched down to check his breathing, only for the Emperor to slowly capture her hand.
“Let’s go.”
He pulled Yirong’s hand, heading outward. Puzzled, she asked, “Where to?”
“Your Majesty, it’s very late. Where are you going?”
The door opened, and the Emperor reached out. Gao Fuliang hesitated for an instant, and the Emperor said impatiently, “A lantern.”
Someone immediately bowed forward and handed him an exquisite lantern.
Her hand was gripped tightly in the Emperor’s, so Yirong gave up on questioning or stopping him. She let him lead her forward.
The palace servants didn’t follow right away.
Yirong realized the Emperor was heading toward the main hall. Though he was drunk, his steps remained steady. He glanced back at her and slowed his pace.
The main hall was where she and Pei Jingqi had copied scriptures and offered prayers during the day. A portrait of Empress Dowager Pei hung above the incense table at the center.
The night-watch servants were startled by the commotion, but no one failed to recognize the Emperor and Madam Lu.
Yirong waved them off, signaling for them all to withdraw.
After a rustle of retreating footsteps, the doors closed.
She had grown quite familiar with this place lately, so she felt no fear. Gazing at the gentle, smiling young noblewoman in the portrait, she truly couldn’t guess what her son intended to do.
The Emperor slowly released Yirong’s hand and set the palace lantern aside. He rummaged in his pouch and pulled out a faded jade die, perfectly square.
As a boy, he had been greedy for treats and always craved an extra bowl of the sweet soup made each evening in his mother’s palace kitchen. She would make him toss the die—if the side etched with a landscape faced up, she would let him have it.
Perhaps because he was drunk, a rare flicker of hesitation crossed his face.
Mother, he thought, the woman by your son’s side—your son has already entered her name alongside yours in the merit records. If the landscape faces up, it means even you consent to her becoming your daughter-in-law.
Zheng Yan laid the jade die flat on his palm.
Yirong watched him quietly.
As a child, he had thought getting that extra sweet soup was the most important thing in the world. Not getting it just left him upset for a day.
Back then, he couldn’t control how it would land.
When he tossed it this time, he instinctively gave it a little flick.
With a clink, it hit the floor. Zheng Yan asked, “Which side is facing up?”
Though Yirong was sure the Emperor had already seen it clearly, she stepped forward to check. “The landscape is up,” she confirmed.
Zheng Yan smiled. He drew Yirong into his arms and kissed her forehead.