When Yun Jichu opened her eyes again, it was already noon. Her body felt much lighter now, and she knew the high fever had finally broken. She was out of danger.
From yesterday until now, she had eaten only three pieces of red bean pastry. Her stomach rumbled fiercely, and she called out softly, “Lady Shuxiu.”
Only after she spoke did she realize how hoarse her voice was. Her throat was far from healed.
The response that came was not Lady Shuxiu’s gentle tone, but a man’s voice.
“You’re awake.”
Like a ghost that refused to leave.
Yun Jichu pushed herself up, intending to part the bed curtains and pay her respects, only to discover that the silk robe she had worn to bed was gone.
She hurriedly clutched the thin quilt around herself. Getting up now was impossible, and lying back down felt equally wrong.
The bed curtains shrouded her almost completely. Yun Jichu prayed Helian Jin wouldn’t suddenly slip inside as she frantically searched for her clothes.
Helian Jin did not move. He merely spoke to her through the thin gauze. “You spiked another fever at the hour of the Snake and slept so deeply that Zhen wiped down your body once more. Are you feeling better now?”
With that, his long, clean fingers brushed the gauze, ready to lift the curtain.
“Don’t!” Yun Jichu cried out in haste. “I… I’m afraid I’ll pass my illness to Your Majesty. Please, no.”
Her words tumbled out in panic, incoherent with desperation.
Helian Jin’s hand paused but did not withdraw. He pressed on. “Are you still feverish? Ah Chu, let Zhen see you.”
Tears of anxiety welled in Yun Jichu’s eyes. Where were her clothes? Where had they gone?
Only Helian Jin knew the answer.
He had wiped her down twice while she lay unconscious, but that hardly meant she could face him bare while fully awake.
Thankfully, Yun Jichu held firm. His fingers advanced no further—not even parting the curtain’s edge by a fraction.
“I’m completely better, Your Majesty. Please don’t worry.”
“Truly?”
Helian Jin called to her again. “Ah Chu.”
No luck. Her silk robe simply wasn’t anywhere in the bed.
In her panic, Yun Jichu tilted her forehead forward, pressing it into Helian Jin’s palm so he could test her temperature.
“I’m truly better.”
The faint sounds from within the bed continued. Helian Jin held Ah Chu’s robe in one hand and rested the other on the gauze curtain, waiting patiently.
To his surprise, Ah Chu rubbed her forehead against his palm. Half the warmth pressed directly to his fingers, the other half seeping through the gauze into his palm’s center.
Her eyelashes fluttered lightly against his skin before suddenly withdrawing.
The heat lingered in his palm, and a puff of warm, sweet fragrance wafted out amid the rustling inside the bed.
Helian Jin paused for a moment. He withdrew his hand and curled his fingers lightly, as if savoring the memory of that temperature.
“The fever has broken.”
He slid the robe through a gap in the curtain, turning his head away from the shadowed figure within. “Put it on before you eat. Don’t catch a chill.”
Yun Jichu stared at that exquisite hand—faint cyan veins tracing its surface, lines clean and precise, broad without bulk, long without gauntness, clutching the pearlescent silk. She wanted nothing more than to sink her teeth into it.
How could this man be so infuriating?
Hiding her robe for no reason, trapping her in bed like this—what kind of propriety was that?
At least it was just a simple garment. Yun Jichu could manage it herself. She snatched the robe and dressed swiftly.
Then she yanked the bed curtains open, her face still flushed with lingering indignation.
“Mother, have some porridge.”
The Little Princess approached with tiny steps, cradling a bowl of steaming porridge. A few pristine white flakes of fish rose from it like snowcapped ridges.
Yun Jichu’s flicker of anger vanished in an instant. She took the bowl and set it aside, her voice warm. “Ah Huan, what brings you here?”
The Princess glanced at the Emperor seated nearby, then tiptoed closer and whispered, “Ah Huan threw a tantrum and refused to sleep, so Imperial Father brought me to see you.”
Yun Jichu laughed. “And you say that right out loud? Aren’t you afraid your Imperial Father will hear and never fall for that trick again?”
“He won’t,” the Princess replied. “Imperial Father has the softest heart.”
A chill prickled through the air. Clearly, Helian Jin was fiercely protective of his own—gentle with his children, indulgent with his wife, but who knew what he might do to outsiders.
The Princess’s little hand stirred the golden spoon in the bowl. “Mother, it’s perfectly warm. Taste it quick. When I was sick before, Imperial Father fed me fish porridge just like this.”
Yun Jichu wouldn’t dream of letting the Princess feed her. She lifted the bowl herself and took a spoonful.
The fish was soft yet springy, tender and impeccably clean in its thin slices, bursting with fresh, savory flavor. Yun Jichu couldn’t resist a few more bites. Her empty stomach filled, warmth spreading through her limbs.
Before her sat the adorable, obedient Little Princess; in her hands was this nourishing meal. The anxiety that had plagued Yun Jichu these past two days eased a little.
Helian Jin settled into a grand chair a few paces away, a towering stack of memorials at his side.
Beside them sat a cup of herbal tea to clear the mind and quell inner fire.
Cui Cheng had brought the tea. Helian Jin had caught the bitter scent and shot him an impatient glare.
Cui Cheng offered a shy smile and scurried out.
He drained the tea in one gulp, his gaze fixed on Ah Chu.
The fish porridge was just to her taste. Ah Chu’s eyes curved into happy crescents as she whispered with the Princess.
The Princess sat familiarly on the edge of the bed, her arm resting casually on Ah Chu’s leg. She propped her cheek on her palm and gazed up at Ah Chu as she sipped the porridge.
A pair of little feet swung back and forth, betraying the joy bubbling in her heart.
Helian Jin toyed idly with the item Ah Nian had handed him.
A Beaded Butterfly Hairpin.
“Mother loves this treasure. Please ask Imperial Father to deliver it to her.”
Back at the hour of the Dragon, the Crown Prince had tiptoed up to the window and peered inside for a moment. In the end, he never stepped into the Side Hall, merely passing the item to Helian Jin.
Helian Jin gripped the hairpin. It felt smooth and warm to the touch, just like Ah Chu.
He tucked the Beaded Butterfly Hairpin away carefully.
Yun Jichu finished the last of the fish porridge and dabbed at her mouth.
The Little Princess scampered over to the desk and gathered up a pile of things in her arms.
“I’m lending you this little tiger, Mother. Hold it while you sleep, and you won’t have any more nightmares.”
The stuffed toy had faded from countless washings. Its eyes were black buttons, worn smooth around the edges, but the thick, dense cross-stitches in their centers gleamed with fresh thread.
It had clearly been mended many times.
The doll looked familiar, though Yun Jichu couldn’t quite place it. Perhaps it was simply a common children’s toy—nothing special about it, which was why it felt recognizable after seeing so many.
The Princess, adorned in jewels and finery, treasured this shabby little thing so dearly. Yun Jichu accepted it solemnly, her fingers brushing gently over the tiger’s eyes.
The Princess loved her little tiger.
So when one of those buttons had fallen off, had she searched high and low for it?
Likely more frantically than her hunt for that dress today.
A pang of tenderness softened Yun Jichu’s heart. The worn toy in her hands felt utterly priceless.
“Thank you, Ah Huan.”
“There’s more!” The Little Princess rummaged through the pile. “And this!”
“When Ah Huan gets bored during the day, she flips through these books. Take them to ease Mother’s boredom while you’re ill.”
Yun Jichu had expected travelogues or some amusing tales, but when she opened one, she froze.
What?
Serial Comics?
Serial… comics!
“……” Yun Jichu’s breath hitched as she rapidly flipped through several pages.
The art was loose and carefree, yet the skill behind it was masterful. A few deft strokes brought the characters vividly to life, and the simple storyline carried surprising depth.
It followed a fearless little girl as she roamed the world, righting wrongs and upholding justice.
“……” Yun Jichu gaped, unable to close her mouth. “Who drew this?”
Seeing how much she liked it, the Little Princess introduced it earnestly. “The palace painters, of course! Imperial Father brings in many painters to the palace every year. This one came last year. Good, isn’t it?”
She leaned in with a mysterious whisper. “Ah Nian won’t let me look, but I love them anyway. I give that painter a hundred taels of silver every month to keep drawing.”
Commissioning artwork?
Yun Jichu’s mind short-circuited once more.
Painters made bank like this?
Just simple serial comics for a hundred taels a month? Then what about her own five years of scraping by on thin pay, slaving from dawn till dusk, only for Yu Ming to steal the Chief Artist position in the end?
All that for her willingness to endure hardship?
Yun Jichu thought of the three measly banknotes stashed under her pillow. How pathetic!
She closed the booklet, shut her eyes, and steadied her breathing. “What’s his name?”
The Little Princess tilted her head up innocently. “He’s just the Painter, isn’t he? Does he need another name?”
Never mind. No point arguing.
Yun Jichu dropped the subject, tucked the booklet away, and patted the Little Princess’s head. “Thank you, Ah Huan.”
The Princess clasped her hand. “Get better soon, Mother. If we wait any longer to fly the kite, it’ll be too hot. Ah Huan will wait for you.”
“Ah Huan, go play with Ah Nian. Lady Yu is waiting for you outside the Side Hall.”
Helian Jin rose abruptly to see her off.
Thoroughly content today, the Princess didn’t fuss. She nodded obediently, gave Yun Jichu one last glance, and left.
With her clothes now properly arranged, Yun Jichu felt far less embarrassed when Helian Jin drew near.
He glanced at the little tiger cradled in her arms, then looked away. “Ah Huan and Ah Nian both like you very much.”
Yun Jichu nodded. “This concubine will take good care of the Little Highnesses.”
“Ah Chu, what exactly was that nightmare last night?”
The fragments of terror she’d half-forgotten sharpened in her mind, and Yun Jichu’s face drained of color.
Helian Jin noticed her pallor. “Zhen shouldn’t bring it up again.”
He took her hand and gently rubbed her palm to soothe her.
“Ah Chu, if Zhen makes you Empress to stand by Zhen’s side from here on, are you willing?”
What was this? A proposal?
Yun Jichu suddenly recalled years ago, when restraint had failed them both. In the hush of a tranquil night, they had burned together—from shy, tentative caresses to wild abandon and perfect accord as the first ray of dawn pierced the horizon. Exhausted, she had collapsed into his arms.
Watching the sunrise creep slowly into view outside the window, she had murmured in drowsy complaint.
“Helian Jin, do you even know what you did wrong?”
“What wrong?”
“You should ask me properly, beg me. Only after I agree can you… can you…”
“Chu Chu, I appoint you as my consort, to accompany me from now on. Are you willing?”
Helian Jin lowered his head and kissed her. “Please. Beg Chu Chu to agree.”
She teased him. “What if I’m not willing?”
He pinned her down again. “Then I’ll make you willing.”
“Helian Jin, get off me…”
The Side Hall fell silent for a long time. Helian Jin lowered his thin eyelids, his expression unreadable. The pearl hairpin in his palm pricked his skin, and he asked in a low voice once more, “Are you willing?”
Yun Jichu snapped back to her senses. “This concubine obeys His Majesty’s decree.”
Her voice was hoarse and subdued, sounding both pitiful and resigned.
Being the Empress wasn’t so bad, after all.
Last night’s nightmare had left her mentally exhausted, and today’s inexplicable flood of memories had filled her with melancholy. Yun Jichu didn’t even have the energy to celebrate. She had grown somewhat indifferent to life and death itself.
Clack—
The sound of pearl beads scattering across the floor tiles rang out. Yun Jichu looked down and saw small pearls strewn everywhere, though she couldn’t tell where they had come from.
They were like a single drop of water hitting the ground and splashing outward in all directions.
Helian Jin rose to his feet. “Very well.”
Night had deepened, and medicine was once again delivered to Zichen Hall.
Cui Cheng knelt in the hall, quietly wiping away a bead of cold sweat.
No one knew what the Consort and His Majesty had discussed in the Side Hall, but upon his return, His Majesty had begun packing away the Late Empress’s belongings.
He carefully traced each portrait with his gaze before rolling them up. The purple sandalwood tubes that held the images stood at varying heights, resembling jagged mountain peaks at a glance.
The incense table, white silk, and flickering candles had long since been cleared away.
The dresses the Late Empress had loved to wear in life, her favorite jewelry, even the lip rouge and powder she had used, and the handkerchiefs stained with her tears—all were carefully put away.
The eerie, bone-chilling aura of death that had once permeated the Grand Hall was gone, yet it hadn’t vanished entirely.
That deathly pallor had simply shifted entirely onto the Emperor himself.
Finally, the Emperor’s gaze settled on the memorial tablet.
In the end, he left it untouched.
It was already the small hours of the night when the Emperor seemed to suddenly remember Cui Cheng still kneeling in the hall. In a deep voice, he commanded, “Speak.”
Cui Cheng jolted to attention, rousing himself as he presented an object. “The cause of the Consort’s nightmare may lie with this item.”