Yirong woke early, her mind heavy with worries. The days were long now, with dawn breaking early, and in the clear morning light, she finished her toilette before turning to Xingxiang, who was smiling as always. “I’m going to make a trip to the Cui Family Separate Estate,” she said.
“This servant will go prepare the carriage at once,” Xingxiang replied.
Yirong hadn’t expected such ready agreement and raised her brows slightly. “Very well. You stay behind when the time comes—Shuilian will accompany me.”
Xingxiang’s smile didn’t falter as she agreed and went off to make the arrangements. Before long, she returned to report that the carriage was ready and Yirong could leave whenever she wished.
With such an attitude, Yirong couldn’t bring herself to dislike her, even knowing she had been sent by the Emperor. She smiled at Xingxiang, then set out from the Imperial Retreat Palace in grand style, accompanied by Shuilian and escorted by guards and palace maids.
Last year, when the entire household from Duke Qiao’s Mansion had come to the retreat palace, they had all stayed in their own separate estate. Women like them rarely lodged in the palace itself, and as for the young ladies, though Empress Dowager Cui often summoned them, she hadn’t let them stay in the palace—perhaps fearing that her two sisters, both in the bloom of youth, might cross paths with the Previous Emperor.
This year, however, the Second Miss Cui was keeping her company.
It made sense; the current Emperor would never visit Empress Dowager Cui’s halls.
Fortunately, the retreat palace also housed several married noblewomen from imperial clans and ducal houses, so Yirong’s presence didn’t stand out. At least when the Third Lady had visited yesterday, her surprise at the fine lodgings had only led her to assume it was Empress Dowager Cui’s arrangement.
The Eldest Young Madam might be a different story—she was sure to have a few barbed remarks.
In the spacious and bright parlor of the Cui Family Separate Estate, with its carved beams and embroidered rafters, the faint sound of children’s laughter drifted in from somewhere nearby. The Eldest Young Madam said, “Sixth Younger Sister-in-law, you’re comfortably settled in the retreat palace—whatever made you think to come find me?”
Yirong personally poured her a cup of tea and offered it with both hands. “Sister-in-law, you jest. You’re always so busy managing the household; I shouldn’t disturb your peace.”
The Eldest Young Madam’s eyes nearly popped out in shock as she hesitantly accepted the cup. She oversaw the inner household and was the eldest sister-in-law, so all the younger siblings showed her respect. But she had taken a dislike to the Lu clan girl from the start and had deliberately made things difficult for her a few times after her marriage. Before the girl could even respond, her husband had jumped to her defense. That had only made the Eldest Young Madam dislike her more, and the two had scarcely spoken privately since.
“What is it you want from me?”
Yirong smiled gently. “Back in the capital, did the gatekeeper ever receive any letters from my husband, Sister-in-law?”
She had planned a more circuitous way to bring it up, but with no patience for pleasantries, she asked directly.
“No,” the Eldest Young Madam said with a frown, thinking it over before confirming. She looked at Yirong, whose brows were knit with worry. “Why? Has Sixth Brother not written to you?”
Yirong didn’t know how to respond and was still weighing her words when the Eldest Young Madam continued. “That’s hardly unusual. Men away on official business are lucky not to take a few servant girls along—when would they find time to write home?”
She frowned at Yirong. “You come asking if I know, so do you suspect I’ve deliberately withheld his letters to you?”
Yirong hastened to reassure her. “Sister-in-law, you’ve misunderstood. That’s not what I meant at all—it was just a casual question.”
She mulled over the Eldest Young Madam’s words, hoping Cui Cheng simply hadn’t written because he was too busy. Yirong sat a while longer, but with nothing much to say to her sister-in-law, she exchanged a few bland pleasantries and took her leave.
What the Eldest Young Madam had said made a certain sense.
Her husband probably thought he’d only be gone ten days or so and hadn’t found a spare moment to write. Her own father was a scholar who loved letters, but her husband preferred swords and spears—perhaps it simply hadn’t occurred to him.
She twisted the silk shawl draped over her shoulders and paused beneath the shade of a tall bitter neem tree.
She didn’t want to return to the retreat palace. She couldn’t stay with the Cui family either.
She didn’t want to go anywhere. If only some immortal magic could take her back three months…
“Let’s just walk around nearby,” Yirong murmured.
This area was dotted with separate estates belonging to high officials and nobles, their multi-storied pavilions adorned with ornate windows and pearl curtains. In the distance, colorful tents suggested someone was feasting and making merry outdoors. She headed toward a quieter spot, where birdsong filled the air and a gentle breeze stirred, though it carried the summer heat with it.
She hadn’t gone far before sweat beaded on her brow. Yirong languidly fanned herself with an embroidered fan depicting a grape arbor, then suddenly glanced at the sun and hurled the fan forward with all her might.
Shuilian hurried to pick it up and wiped the dust from it with her handkerchief. Glancing at Yirong’s expression, she ventured, “Miss, it’s too hot outside. Let’s go back.”
“Back where?” Yirong replied.
Shuilian knew her mistress didn’t want to return anywhere, but wandering aimlessly like this risked heatstroke—not to mention the guards and palace maids trailing them were all from the palace. Any argument could draw attention, which would only make things worse. She sighed. “Didn’t you still want to pay respects to Empress Dowager Cui and ask about the Sixth Young Master?”
Yirong stared straight ahead without responding. She neither pressed on nor turned back, frozen in place.
Moments later, two young ladies emerged from behind a cluster of tall trees, surrounded by a throng of servants. Their clear laughter carried from afar. In no mood for company, Yirong was about to turn away when one of the girls curtsied slightly toward her.
She recognized them and composed a proper smile on her face as she walked forward.
“Greetings, Madam Lu,” the two girls said in unison.
“Eldest Miss Pei, Second Miss Pei,” Yirong replied softly, returning their curtsey.
Though the two daughters of Duke Miguo’s Pei family were twins, their appearances were easy to distinguish. Pei Jingqi wore a water-green gown that seemed to flow with natural grace, while her younger sister was dressed in purple, vibrant and poised, both wearing identical pearl-and-gem gold necklaces.
Yirong thought of the rumors and couldn’t help giving Pei Jingqi an extra glance.
Young ladies rarely mingled much with married madams, so Pei Jingqi knew little of this Sixth Young Madam from the Cui family—only that her maiden name was Lu, and she couldn’t even recall her given name.
But Madam Lu was beautiful; anyone would feel a soft breeze of warmth upon seeing her and wish to draw near. Pei Jingqi smiled. “My sister and I have just left home to visit our uncle’s estate for some flower viewing—they say there’s a late-blooming peony that’s quite rare. If Madam Lu has time, why not join us?”
Pei Jingwan chimed in warmly. “Don’t worry, Madam—it’ll only take the time for half a cup of tea to get there.”
Yirong first thanked them for their kind invitation, then made her excuses. “I have matters at the retreat palace and fear I can’t join you young ladies for flower viewing.”
Pei Jingqi smiled. “Then we won’t keep you.”
The three walked together for a stretch, exchanging polite remarks, before Yirong boarded her carriage and felt immediate relief from the coolness inside. She cracked the window open a sliver and watched the Pei sisters walk off hand in hand, their servants holding parasols to shield them from the sun.
They had said they weren’t staying in the retreat palace—was it to avoid the Emperor?
Yirong closed the window, but her knee accidentally bumped the ice chest, sending a stab of pain through her. The thin summer skirts and trousers offered little protection, and the two steps the Emperor had dragged her yesterday hadn’t hurt at the time, but back in her room, she’d found a patch of scraped skin oozing tiny beads of blood.
Not wanting Xingxiang to know, she’d had Shuilian apply some fine ointment from the chest twice, and by morning, the small wound was barely noticeable. Now it ached again.
Yirong listlessly fanned herself, deciding not to visit Empress Dowager Cui today.
She wasn’t sure she could pretend in front of her that nothing was wrong…
Among the Cui family, aside from her husband, his five sisters had always been kindest to her. In their presence, Yirong felt an inexplicable guilt—wanting to confess yet terrified it would sever their bond forever.
And her husband—where was he now? A few days ago, Empress Dowager Cui had said he’d arrive at Cuiwei Palace in another four or five days. Should she wait for him and confess then? Would he even reach Cuiwei Palace safely…?
They had never been parted for so long since their marriage.
She kept fanning herself, her heart pounding with panic.
What should she do? What could she do?
Yirong maintained a calm facade and, upon returning to Landscape Serenity Mirror, barely touched her lunch before pacing her room a few times and climbing into bed.
She grabbed a book at random, forcing herself to focus on reading and banish those thoughts, but the dense lines of text danced before her eyes, impossible to take in.
–
A palace maid lifted the beaded curtain as the Emperor strode into Yirong’s bedchamber. Her two maids were quietly sewing on a long bench at the foot of the bed.
The moment they saw the Emperor, Xingxiang set aside her work and swiftly pulled the stunned Shuilian into a silent curtsey before dragging her out.
In the outer chamber, Shuilian fidgeted restlessly, stealing glances toward the bedroom, her heart in turmoil. Xingxiang sat calmly for a moment before softly reminding her, “Madam Lu is menstruating.”
Shuilian blinked in surprise, then looked at Xingxiang’s composed profile, her own heart gradually settling.
In the bedchamber, the Emperor approached Yirong’s bed. Three layers of thin gauze curtains hung low; he lifted them one by one, parting them like clouds and mist to reveal the beauty within. Yirong lay utterly still on the bed, a thin brocade coverlet draped across her waist, a book resting over her face, rising and falling with her breaths.
A smile flickered in the Emperor’s eyes, and he moved more gently, carefully lifting the book from her face.
It was Prince Zinian’s Records of the Supernatural. The Emperor flipped through a few pages—tales of immortals and sorcerers—and quickly lost interest, setting it aside.
The beauty on the bed slept soundly, clad in light lotus-colored nightclothes. Her chest rose and fell softly with each breath, her cheeks faintly flushed, her raven hair spilled across the cool pillow, held only by two pearl hairpins.
He gazed quietly for a moment, then leaned down to remove the pins, letting her hair cascade freely.
She let out the faintest hum through her nose.
It was soft. So very soft.
The Emperor’s throat bobbed as he shifted his fixed gaze from her flushed cheeks, letting it drift slowly downward. When he caught sight of the pale glimpse of her calf peeking from beneath her gauze trousers, a memory suddenly struck him.
She had knelt for so long the day before.
Born a prince swaddled in luxury, the Emperor had been granted a royal title at the age of three, overseeing eight provinces as their governor from afar. People kneeling before him was simply the natural order of things.
He had bidden her to rise yesterday, as well.
The Emperor’s brow furrowed. He kept up his gentle motions, carefully rolling up her trouser leg until her knee was bared, then stopped.
She did not stir.
The Emperor let out a huff of laughter. “You sleep so soundly.”
Her knee bore no bruises or dark marks, only a small patch tinged with pink. The Emperor rolled her trouser leg back down for Yirong, his large hand with its prominent knuckles lingering at her ankle. It took all his willpower to pull it away.
He recalled the Imperial Physician’s words, delivered with a flickering gaze and a pointed reminder.
Then another thought followed: if word got out that someone had barged into a lady’s private chambers, he would scorn them without mercy. So why did it feel so utterly natural when he did it himself? For the first time, a thread of shame stirred in the young Emperor’s heart—only to swiftly harden into defiant justification.
He was the sovereign. If he took a fancy to someone, it was their privilege.
And yet this woman on the bed had no sense of gratitude. She defied him time and again: threatening suicide one moment, then playing the hypocrite by pretending to scheme for the Cui Family’s young master’s benefit the next. She even mimicked the ministers, nagging him endlessly about taking a consort…
Though, to be fair, her words went down easier than theirs.
And she had the gall to claim she wasn’t interested in him. If anyone else had dared such insolence, he would have ordered them hauled off for a thrashing.
The memory of her stubborn expression darkened the Emperor’s face.
If Yirong knew in her dreams what ran through the Emperor’s mind, she would have bolted awake, crying foul. She had flattered him quite nicely, after all. And when he pressed her a second time, she had simply fallen silent—never daring to say she held no interest in him.
He watched her sleeping face in silence. He had already undone her garments earlier, but even now, simply watching the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathed left him aching with discomfort below.
The Emperor shut his eyes and leaned forward to pat her cheek, intending to rouse her, when a soft voice called from the doorway: “Your Majesty.”
A palace maid knelt just outside, murmuring the words. Gao Fuliang cowered behind her, head ducked to avoid glimpsing inside the bedchamber and catching the Emperor in an indecorous moment. In a low voice, he said, “Your Majesty, Minister Zhang seeks an urgent audience.”
The Emperor rose to his feet. He had taken only a single step before turning back. He reached out to snatch up the pearl hairpin he had idly placed beside Yirong’s face and set it aside. With one last glance at her deep, untroubled slumber, he strode from the room.