The next day, Xue Yunyi was jolted awake by a clap of thunder.
A torrential downpour hammered relentlessly, accompanied by the low, mournful howl of the wind. Countless branches from the magnolia tree in the courtyard had snapped, lying crooked and sodden in the rain.
“Your Highness, the rain is so heavy. Why not stay put?” Mo Ying gazed out the window, her face etched with worry as she tried to dissuade her.
Xue Yunyi pushed the window open just a crack. A gust of cold wind immediately roared into the room, and raindrops spattered her collar, chilling her skin where they soaked through.
The rain was fierce, true enough, but nowhere near bad enough to close the mountain roads.
“Prepare the carriage.”
Today was her Empress Mother’s birthday. She couldn’t burn incense or pay her respects in the palace, so she had to go to a secluded spot in the temple to offer paper money and have a quiet word with her.
Seeing her resolve, Mo Ying had no choice but to summon the palace servants to ready the sedan.
“Mistress, please take care on the road.”
The boy with ink-black hair and snow-pale skin knelt before her, carefully smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt hem, his brows knitted with unmistakable concern.
Xue Yunyi curved her lips in a smile and casually patted his head. “Don’t worry. I’ve walked that mountain path every year—I know it like the back of my hand.”
She paused, then added, “The rain’s heavy outside. Stay in the bedchamber these next couple of days and don’t wander about. I don’t want you catching a chill.”
“Yes.” Wu Lang acknowledged her words. “Mistress, I’ve given your medicine for the next three days to Miss Mo Ying. After you take it, remember to have her massage your legs.”
“Mm, This Palace knows.”
“Your Highness, it’s time to set off,” Mo Ying said softly as she approached. “If we delay any longer, the roads will flood even worse.”
Seeing that she was about to leave, a flicker of reluctance crossed the boy’s eyes. He gently clutched at Xue Yunyi’s skirt hem and murmured, “Mistress.”
“What is it?” Xue Yunyi looked down at him.
With great care, Wu Lang drew a crudely made sachet from his bosom and held it out to her in both hands. “Th-this is a sachet I made with Miss Liu Yin’s help. My handiwork is rough… I hope Mistress won’t mind.”
The boy bit his lip, watching her anxiously, terrified she might show distaste or displeasure.
The sachet was white with blue floral embroidery—rough around the edges, but in colors she favored. Up close, it carried a faint magnolia scent, likely made from the fallen blossoms that had blanketed the courtyard some days before.
Xue Yunyi toyed with it in her hand and teased offhandedly, “The palace embroiderers are the ones obsessed with these things. What made Ah Lang take it up?”
A blush crept across the boy’s cheeks, his voice dropping even lower and huskier. “Mistress has given this slave so many gifts. I wanted to give you something in return. If you don’t like it… feel free to toss it.”
How could she not like something the little dog had made himself?
Xue Yunyi tossed the sachet back into his arms with a laugh. “Tie it on for This Palace.”
The boy’s eyes lit up at once, just like a pup handed a bone. He agreed joyfully and fumbled to secure the sachet to the plain white sash at her waist.
Xue Yunyi leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “This Palace is off. Take good care of yourself.”
“Yes.”
Wu Lang bit his lip, watching her back until it vanished through the bedchamber door. His eyes gradually dimmed, and a hollow ache settled in his chest.
He didn’t return to his side room. Instead, he slipped behind the screen and curled up under her desk, knees drawn to his chest.
This was his spot. The place that brought him peace.
He clutched the last plum candy in his palm, inhaling the faint remnants of magnolia scent lingering in the air. He hugged the thin blanket she’d given him to cushion his knees, imagining his mistress right there beside him.
The carriage reached the foot of Azure Mausoleum Mountain, where monks from Kaiyuan Temple were already waiting to receive them.
It was the familiar face of Monk Lingci who came forward. He inclined his head in salute and smiled. “I thought the rain would keep Your Highness away this year. Fortunately, the abbot insisted I wait here from early morning—and here you are.”
“But…” Lingci hesitated, his gaze dropping to Xue Yunyi’s legs. Noticing only a single carriage behind her, a puzzled frown creased his brow.
Mo Ying cleared her throat sharply, cutting off his question before it could form. “Your Highness’s clothes are soaked. Let’s head into the temple first. We can talk once we’re inside.”
Only then did Lingci look away, stepping aside with a complicated expression.
Mo Ying directed two sturdy guards to carry the wheelchair up a side path. She hoisted Xue Yunyi onto her back and bounded up the stone steps in a few strides. Lingci blinked in surprise before hurrying after them, holding an umbrella over Xue Yunyi.
At the gates of Kaiyuan Temple, Xue Yunyi spotted Abbot Linghui from afar, standing in the rain with a slender umbrella. He appeared to have been waiting quite some time.
She settled back into the wheelchair and had Mo Ying push her forward.
“Prince Hui.” Xue Yunyi gave Linghui a slight nod by way of greeting.
“Please, Your Highness—call me Linghui.”
Few in the world still remembered him as Prince Hui. Only Empress Jiang and her daughter continued to address him so.
Linghui’s gaze swept over the wheelchair beneath Xue Yunyi, then to the empty space behind her. A foreboding unease stirred within him.
He had spent years in quiet cultivation at the temple, cultivating an unshakable calm. Yet now, his grip tightened on the umbrella handle, his lips parting as raindrops traced down his gaunt jaw.
Sensing his doubts, Xue Yunyi said softly, “I injured my leg recently. Nothing serious—just needs time to heal.”
Linghui fell silent for a long moment before voicing the question he shouldn’t have asked.
“Why hasn’t Her Majesty the Empress come with Your Highness? Is she unwell?”
Xue Yunyi hummed in affirmation. “Empress Mother is ill and shouldn’t travel outside the palace, so I came alone.”
It was best to keep the empress’s passing from Linghui for now.
Linghui asked no more and stepped aside to usher her into the temple. Two young monks led her to a guest room, where she took a simple vegetarian meal before having Mo Ying wheel her to the Buddhist Hall.
With so many pilgrims coming and going in the temple, fearing they might disturb Her Majesty the Empress’s repose, Linghui had personally built this hall in a remote, serene corner of the grounds.
He stood by the incense table, holding a long box and gazing at the Buddha statue, lost in thought.
“Is that incense for Empress Mother?” Xue Yunyi asked gently.
A year ago, Empress Jiang had casually praised the temple’s incense sticks. Ever since, Linghui sent her a fresh supply each year to take back to the palace.
Linghui schooled his emotions and turned, his face resuming its serene mask. He handed over the long box, his voice low and measured. “Please convey my respects to Her Majesty the Empress on my behalf, Your Highness.”
Linghui had never told Empress Jiang that every plain incense stick was made by his own hands.
—Let it be his birthday gift to her.
He still remembered, two years prior, when Empress Jiang visited the temple. Two white hairs had appeared at her temples. She knelt on the prayer mat, beseeching the Buddha, while he stood nearby, staring at those snowy strands for what felt like ages.
It was the first time he’d spoken to Empress Jiang after taking his vows.
Gazing at her weary features, he couldn’t hold back and murmured, “Yuanruo, do you regret it?”
Jiang Yuanruo had always favored only the finest men in the world. Unfortunately, the crown prince had fallen early on the battlefield. At the time, he’d thought perhaps he could be her second choice.
Though his mother’s family held little power and he had no allies at court, he was willing to stake everything for her—even his life—without a moment’s hesitation.
But Jiang Yuanruo had only smiled and told him she was merely a pawn her family used to shore up their influence. No matter who ascended the throne, the empress would always be a direct daughter of the Jiang Family. Old Madam Jiang had been close with Consort Shu for years and had long set her sights on placing Consort Shu’s son on the dragon throne.
His heart had turned to ash. He cast aside his princely honors, entered the empty gate, and shaved the long hair that had once brushed against hers in the snow.
When he saw her next, she was the mother of the nation, come to offer incense with her young Eldest Princess in tow.
The Eldest Princess’s features mirrored her mother’s exactly, bearing no resemblance to his own unremarkable younger brother.
He stood outside the Buddhist Hall, watching the woman’s frail back as she whispered her pleas to the Buddha.
Year after year. Always the same.
Now she was ill—no doubt the work of his faithless brother.
No—
It was likely worse than mere illness.
Linghui’s eyes darkened, a flicker of murderous intent—unbecoming of a monk—crossing his handsome features.
He slowly offered her an incense stick, leaning in to whisper to Xue Yunyi, “Her Majesty has endured much hardship for so many years, and now the throne is held by a tyrant. Why not take it for yourself, Your Highness?”
Xue Yunyi’s head snapped up, staring at him in disbelief.
Linghui’s expression remained calm as he turned slightly, shielding his words from the Buddha’s compassionate gaze.
“Your Highness resembles Her Majesty so closely. You would make a wise ruler.”
“Prince, as a man of the cloth, you should embrace compassion. These are not words for you to speak.”
Linghui’s lips twitched in a sardonic smile. He said nothing more and walked out of the Buddhist Hall.
A chill raced down Xue Yunyi’s spine as she slumped against the chair back. Her hand trembled as she took the thin incense stick, her mind reeling from Linghui’s treasonous suggestion and the memory of Empress Jiang’s final tears of resentment. A surge of fury boiled in her chest.
After a long while, she finally steadied herself and raised her eyes to the Buddha smiling benignly before her.
“What if I choose not to be merciful…?”
Mo Ying, standing nearby, felt her blood run cold. Fortunately, the hall was secluded and empty; no one else heard. Still, she cautiously shut the doors.
Xue Yunyi leaned forward and inserted the incense into the ash, closing her eyes in prayer.
May Empress Mother be swiftly reborn, and in her next life, never enter the house of a heartless emperor.
May the Buddha bless her with good health and a swift recovery.
And may he also bless Ah Lang, granting him peace and joy for the rest of his life, free from worry year after year…
Suddenly, a gust of wind drifted in from somewhere, snapping one of the incense sticks in the censer clean in half.
Xue Yunyi frowned and ordered Mo Ying to fetch fresh incense. Her hands weren’t shaking at all, yet every single stick broke the moment she touched it.
Once, twice.
Three times.
Behind her, the rain poured in a steady roar, while the mountain wind battered the doorframe.
Xue Yunyi stared at the half-burned incense stick, her heart suddenly pounding. She lowered her head and clutched the magnolia sachet hanging at her waist, unease gripping her.
Ninghua Palace.
Rainwater flooded the cobblestone paths, washing away the bloodstains on the pale stones over and over until they were spotless.
Two guards carried a gaunt corpse, hurrying along until they found a deserted spot to bury it without ceremony.
This was already the sixth one Xue Qingzhi had ruined this month.
Lately, Xue Qingzhi’s temper had grown increasingly volatile. Consort Jiang had forbidden her from attending to the sick, which sent her into a rage throughout the palace. Afterward, she had slipped back into her old ways of indulgence and debauchery, never mentioning a return to Azure Serenity Pavilion for her studies again.
Every one of these dead slaves had shared the same traits: handsome features, slender builds, a fondness for white robes. The princess had graciously bestowed names upon them all, and curiously enough, each name contained the character for “Lang.”
The one being buried now had enjoyed her favor for several days. They said his name was Ye Lang. For some reason, on that day, the princess had ordered him to prepare some incense for her clothes. When he claimed he didn’t know how, she had someone teach him. But even after several days, he still hadn’t learned. The princess flew into a temper.
The next time anyone saw Ye Lang, he was like this.
The two guards exchanged a glance, sighing inwardly but saying nothing. They returned to the bedchamber in silence to report to Xue Qingzhi.
“All taken care of?” Xue Qingzhi reclined against her soft pillows, plucking a grape to eat as she asked offhandedly.
“Yes,” the guards replied, heads bowed, not daring to glance at the bed.
Xue Qingzhi waved them away. Casually, she tugged the chain in her hand, dragging the half-dead, beautiful youth on the bed to the floor.
“Useless thing. Get out.”
Her mood was foul, and her methods had indeed grown harsher. But she couldn’t be blamed for that. Jie An had always seemed timid and obedient, so she had promoted him, even pleading with the Emperor on his behalf for an official post. Who would have thought he would be so ungrateful, preferring to leave the palace and become a penniless storyteller rather than accept the position she offered?
Without that voice of his to read from storybooks by her side, her days had grown far duller.
The slave scrambled away on all fours, leaving blood smeared across her floor.
Xue Qingzhi frowned and yanked the chain on the slave, about to punish him further, when Qingdai hurried in with her head lowered and whispered, “Princess, the Eldest Princess’s carriage has entered Azure Mausoleum Mountain.”
Xue Qingzhi paused for a moment, then slowly released her grip.