Cui Cheng had wept himself dry over the past two days. He slammed the food tray in his hands onto the steps, and the thick, pitch-black medicinal broth splashed out, long since gone cold.
His legs buckled beneath him, and he collapsed to the ground. No longer caring about decorum, he roughly wiped the snot and tears from his face with his sleeve.
“Your Majesty…”
As Cui Cheng wiped his face, he buried it deep in his sleeve and began to sob.
He had no idea what exactly had transpired that night in Fengluan Palace.
He had been standing guard outside the hall at the time when a guttural roar pierced the air—it sounded like His Majesty calling out the Late Empress’s maiden name.
Moments later, a figure streaked past, and His Majesty bolted toward the rear of Fengluan Palace.
Cui Cheng’s heart hammered in his chest. He had never seen His Majesty so utterly undone, drenched in blood and stumbling along the way.
By the time Cui Cheng caught up, His Majesty stood motionless in that open clearing, his soul seemingly adrift.
All around stretched vast expanses of lush green grass, gleaming pale under the chill moonlight. His Majesty tilted his head toward Fengluan Palace, then scanned his surroundings.
Then his body swayed, and he clutched his forehead.
Cui Cheng approached on trembling legs and only then heard His Majesty murmuring over and over: “Ah Chu… Ah Chu!”
The Imperial Forest Army mobilized in the dead of night, torches raised high as they scoured every corner of the Imperial Palace.
Yet they found no trace of the newly enfeoffed Empress.
The Empress had vanished into thin air!
His Majesty plunged into despair from which he could not recover.
For the first two days, he still mustered the strength to drag his ailing body down the steps of Fengluan Palace, wandering the vast halls in search of her.
Summer had arrived, the sunlight blazing fiercely, but the Emperor exuded an aura of deathly pallor, like a spectral wanderer chilled beneath the scorching sun.
This morning, however, he seemed to have accepted his fate. He made no attempt to rise from his sickbed.
“Your Majesty, it rained today. This servant has prepared a small sedan. Would Your Majesty care to rise and take some fresh air?”
The Emperor said nothing, his gaze fixed on the canopy above the bed as he clutched a delicate little box in his hand.
For days now, he had refused all food, save for the half-bowl of porridge he had eaten yesterday at the Princess’s tearful pleading.
Now he lay there in silence, like a beast trapped in a cage.
A beast that had lost all will to fight.
“Your Majesty…”
“Summon the Crown Prince, Zhang Ou, Liu Zhen, and General Yu.”
“Your Majesty!” Cui Cheng dropped to his knees in panic, kowtowing desperately. “Your Majesty! This servant begs you—please drink the medicine!”
Zhang Ou, Liu Zhen, and the others were all trusted confidants the Emperor had carefully cultivated over the years.
His Majesty intended to entrust his children to them!
The Emperor fell silent for a long moment before murmuring, “Go.”
Cui Cheng lifted his face from his sleeve. When Xue Gui had died, he had thought that grief the pinnacle of sorrow for his lifetime.
He never imagined that mere days later, calamity would strike anew.
Only now did Cui Cheng truly grasp the meaning of heartbreak unto death.
In his youth, His Majesty had led armies to pacify the Northwest and Northeast. Upon laying down his arms, he had proven himself a master of civil arts, earning the Late Emperor’s lavish praise—a man at the height of his vigor.
But now…
Cui Cheng was steeped in the scent of medicine, yet oblivious to it.
Years of serving at His Majesty’s side had inured him to the bitter tang of tonics.
Cui Cheng rose to his feet, too distraught to brush the dust from his robes. He drew a handkerchief and wiped the tear tracks from his face before hurrying toward Penglai Hall.
The Crown Prince kept vigil in the Princess Palace.
With the Empress gone, His Majesty was not the only one lost to despair.
The Little Princess had collapsed in grief-stricken faint, requiring two full days of treatment. Only last night, feeling somewhat recovered, had she rushed to Fengluan Palace.
The Princess wept at the Emperor’s bedside, offering a bowl of fish porridge.
His Majesty, who had always doted most on the Princess and the Crown Prince, reclined against his pillows, staring blankly ahead.
“Imperial Father, Ah Nian and Ah Huan have only you left… Imperial Father…”
His Majesty replied only, “You have grown up.”
Cui Cheng, listening nearby, suddenly recalled an event from two years prior.
His Majesty had lain gravely ill then, and the two Little Highnesses—still innocent and unknowing—had wailed their hearts out in Lady Yu’s arms.
Lady Yu had been able to sway him in those days.
But now…
His Majesty merely said they had grown up.
As though he had fulfilled a solemn charge, leaving nothing behind to tether him.
Had all these years of His Majesty’s loving care and cherishing of the two Little Highnesses been merely to honor the Late Empress’s dying wish?
All those tender words and painstaking guidance counted for nothing now. Gained and lost once more, they had scattered like smoke.
The Princess stepped forward and clasped the Emperor’s hand. “Imperial Father… Mother will surely return.”
Over these days, those words had passed the lips of the Empress Dowager, Lady Yu, Lord Zhang—and Cui Cheng himself had uttered them countless times.
But would she truly return?
In recent days, Cui Cheng had pieced together fragments from the Emperor’s feverish mutterings. He glanced once more at the rear window.
The sill stood several zhang above the ground. Who could survive such a fall?
And yet no body had been found, no sign of life.
It left a faint spark of hope flickering in the heart.
His Majesty had waited two days and searched for two days as well. No one knew what thoughts had crossed his mind, but the notions of death and rebirth, loss and recovery, had utterly dissipated.
The princess knelt by the bed, chattering on, but His Majesty never spared her a single glance.
“If not for Ah Huan and Ah Nian, Zhen and Ah Chu should have reunited five years ago.”
These words carried a deep resentment.
“Ah Chu returned only to depart again, reminding Zhen that she had waited far too long.”
“Imperial Father… don’t leave, don’t…”
The Emperor finally lowered his head. His eyelids drooped as he gazed at the princess with a look of profound compassion.
“You’ve grown up now. Support each other from here on out.”
The princess swayed unsteadily, her face drained of color. Her already frail body now resembled wilted grass in the depths of winter.
“Imperial Father, Imperial Father, can’t you wait just a few more days? A soul takes seven days to enter the underworld. In those seven days, perhaps you can still see Mother.”
Silence fell over the Grand Hall. Cui Cheng noticed ripples stirring in the Emperor’s eyes.
In truth, it was all nonsense.
Yet the wise and mighty His Majesty would rather believe a thousand falsehoods than risk overlooking a single possibility.
Deep down, His Majesty held no certainty that he would see the consort after death.
But perhaps he could catch one more glimpse in life—be it in a dream or some other way. The temptation was simply too great.
He might even endure that excruciating headache, as if splitting mountains and uprooting trees, just to wait a little longer.
That was why, the day before, Cui Cheng had seen His Majesty reach out and accept the bowl of fish porridge.
Now, seeing the princess again, Cui Cheng’s heart ached with sorrow. In just one short day, how had she withered so much? Such a tiny figure lying there on the bed.
The Crown Prince’s eyes were bloodshot, though no tears stained his face.
He led Cui Cheng out of the hall.
“Eunuch Cui, what exactly happened in Fengluan Palace that night? Why did Mother fall from the tower?”
Cui Cheng racked his brains, trying to recall.
“The palace maid who served the Empress, Little Lian, was beheaded by His Majesty right there in Fengluan Palace.”
“Little Lian?”
Cui Cheng would never forget the scene that greeted him upon entering the Grand Hall that night, just as the sky began to lighten.
Little Lian’s head was nearly severed from her body, blood sprayed everywhere.
The winding river had dried to nothing, leaving only thick coagulated gore that spread all the way to the bedside.
Eyes filled with reddish-brown horror, nostrils assaulted by the metallic stench.
It was splattered across the paintings, the incense table, the table corners, the bed curtains, the beaded screens, the glazed lamps…
Cui Cheng scrubbed and replaced it all.
It was noon by the time he had everything cleaned up.
“His Majesty has already dispatched men to the northwest to wipe out the remnants of the Qian Family.”
The Crown Prince stood with his hands clasped behind his back, lost in thought. “The Qian Family…”
“The same Qian Family from three years ago during the selection—the ones who impersonated Mother.”
Cui Cheng nodded.
“Outrageous! That woman back then was trained and groomed by her family, dosed with drugs until she bore a seventy percent resemblance to Mother. What did they think they were doing? Did they truly believe Imperial Father was blind to it all?”
The Crown Prince seethed. “Imperial Father spared that woman’s life and exiled the Qian Family for their scheme to sow chaos in the palace and seize power. That was mercy enough!”
“Who was Little Lian to the Qian Family?”
Cui Cheng answered, “The younger sister of that selection candidate from back then.”
The Crown Prince said, “Did she think her elder sister’s death was unjust?”
Cui Cheng didn’t dare speculate. “After Selection Candidate Qian returned home that year, she withered away and died.”
“That was the Qian Family that drove her to it!”
The Crown Prince asked again, “Has the Imperial Forest Army found any leads these past two days?”
Cui Cheng shook his head. “None.”
The two fell silent for a long while before the Crown Prince finally spoke. “How is His Majesty?”
Cui Cheng’s expression grew troubled. “His Majesty summoned Your Highness along with Lords Zhang, Liu, and the others.”
The summer night hung heavy with heat, yet Fengluan Palace lay cold and still.
Zhang Ou, Liu Zhen, and General Yu knelt before the desk, while the Crown Prince stood at the Emperor’s side.
The Emperor was bent low over the table, carefully piecing something together.
The Crown Prince was just tall enough to peer over the desk’s edge, but the brushes, inkstick, and inkstone blocked his view of what lay in the Emperor’s hands.
All he could tell was that the Emperor’s breathing was soft and steady, his movements gentle and deliberate—piece by piece, sheet by sheet, with utter concentration.
Though the Crown Prince had no idea what it was, a suspicion stirred in his heart.