After the clouds parted and the rain cleared, a brilliant rainbow arched across the sky.
In the afternoon, soft sunlight filtered through the glazed window panels, filling the inner hall with a cascade of shimmering light that illuminated the Emperor’s young and handsome face.
He had his eyes closed.
From his initial uncontrollable fury and a complex emotion that even he could scarcely comprehend, it gradually shifted into a scalp-tingling ecstasy. The corners of the Emperor’s lips curved upward slightly, and in an instant, he opened his eyes.
He heard footsteps approaching from outside the hall—the several ministers he had summoned after lunch had arrived.
The Emperor was in high spirits today.
The ministers could sense it, and a few even received words of praise. One of them floated on air, stroking his beard contentedly. The discussion wrapped up with unusual speed.
Once the ministers had taken their leave, the Emperor lingered in his seat for a moment before abruptly rising and striding toward the bedchamber.
He waved for the two palace maids stationed by the bed to withdraw. For some inexplicable reason, even though he was just a step away, he hesitated before lifting the hanging bed curtains.
She lay curled up entirely, one pink and rosy leg peeking out—she was fast asleep.
The Emperor shed his outer robe and lay down beside her. She let out a sleepy hum. Then she slowly opened her eyes, cast him a light glance, turned her face away, and drifted off again.
Her reaction was identical to the one she had shown at the end.
The Emperor hadn’t expected Yirong to be quite so drained; even after resting for so long, she still looked far from refreshed. He furrowed his brow, certain that he had already exercised considerable restraint. Propping his head on one hand, he simply gazed at her serene and innocent sleeping face.
A twinge of guilt stirred in his heart.
But it was overshadowed by delight.
Especially since she had been so very obedient afterward.
The light within the bed curtains was dim, and the woman beside him gave off a faint, alluring fragrance. With one arm draped around Yirong’s waist, the Emperor watched her until his own eyes drifted shut.
When he awoke, he summoned a servant and learned it was already late afternoon. Any more sleep now, and he wouldn’t rest at night. He gently patted Yirong’s cheek. When her eyes fluttered open, he brushed the stray locks of hair from her temple and asked softly, “Are you hungry?”
Yirong nodded.
The Emperor asked if she was tired. She blinked her eyes and sidestepped the question. “I want to bathe first.”
“Have Shuilian come serve me,” she added.
Shuilian had accompanied her that day and was waiting just outside the hall. The Emperor took this minor request as mere shyness about unfamiliar palace maids attending her bath and agreed without hesitation, immediately ordering the arrangements.
Moments later, everything was prepared in the Pure Bathing Chamber. The large tub brimmed with precious spices, tendrils of white steam curling upward. Yirong dismissed the palace maids and exchanged a silent glance with Shulian.
Seeing the scattered marks on her body, Shuilian drew a deep breath. “Miss, what are your plans going forward?”
Exhausted in both body and mind, Yirong pondered for a moment. “When you return to the Landscape Serenity Mirror shortly, say that I have something for you to organize.”
Shuilian lowered her voice. “Do you have a message for me to carry out?”
“No.” Yirong shook her head and beckoned Shuilian to lean in close. From between her lips came a string of nearly inaudible instructions.
Shuilian was baffled at first. She stood frozen, thinking it over, then hesitated. “Have you truly decided?”
Yirong nodded solemnly and whispered, “Be careful.”
She paid Shuilian no further mind and sank fully into the water, her face the only part breaking the surface.
Yirong soaked for a long while, until her fingers had pruned and she was certain every trace of the Emperor’s scent had been scoured away by the fragrant bath. Only then did she rise. After scenting her hair, she emerged to find dinner laid out in the inner hall.
The Emperor had never dined with her before.
Yirong was unaccustomed to the palace maids’ diligent serving of dishes. She glanced at the Emperor and saw him eating on his own, so she signaled for the servants to withdraw.
Someone had astutely anticipated the Emperor’s wishes: a bowl of red date black chicken soup sat before Yirong, its oil skimmed impeccably clean. She finished the soup and took a few bites of the dishes in front of her. Surveying the spread, the Emperor asked, “Don’t care for these?”
He paused to think. “Zhen recalls there’s a chef at the Imperial Retreat Palace who excels at Jiangnan cuisine.”
Yirong murmured softly, “I’m simply too tired to eat.”
Her words came slower than usual, and she appeared somewhat dazed—quite unlike her normal self. Tenderness welled in the Emperor’s heart, and he abandoned any thought of having the meal remade.
With a smile, he instructed the servants to prepare some night snacks.
After the meal, the Emperor frowned at the sight of Yirong reclining directly on the soft couch. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to suggest she walk a bit to aid digestion. He touched his nose, feeling an uncharacteristic awkwardness.
Leaning down, he whispered, “Zhen has some matters to attend. Rest well—command them for anything you need.”
His gaze swept over the attending palace maids. They dropped to their knees at once and kowtowed. “We servants will attend Madam diligently.”
Yirong had noticed during dinner that one of the inner eunuchs had whispered something to the perpetually smiling chief eunuch, who then reported it to His Majesty. Loath to engage with the Emperor, she lay perfectly still, feigning ignorance.
The Emperor caressed her cheek lightly. “Zhen is going.”
With no choice, she nodded. Once his figure had vanished from sight, she sat up and gazed at the blood-red sunset beyond the window. Softly, to the kneeling maids, she said, “All of you, rise.”
The moment the Emperor stepped out of the bedchamber, he paused and made for the parlor farthest from it—the one used for private discussions.
–
After hearing his eldest sister-in-law’s words, Cui Cheng felt a vein throbbing at his temple. Trembling with boundless rage, he raced onward.
His father and sister had spoken to her with grave expressions. Though Cui Cheng seethed with hatred and betrayal, he redirected some of it away from the Emperor and Yirong.
But the Eldest Young Madam’s expression of mockery and pity shattered him completely.
He might well have been the last in the household to learn of it.
And she—the very woman who had agreed with him just yesterday to abandon their lives in the capital—was now consorting with the Emperor once more!
“Out of my way!” he bellowed.
The Imperial Retreat Palace was no place for these accompanying nobles to enter at will. The gate guards recognized him as the brother of Empress Dowager Zhaoyi. Seeing his frantic anger, they weighed the matter and let him pass, then hurried to report the incident up the chain.
Blinded by fury, Cui Cheng initially took a wrong turn. Every grand scheme he had devised the night before evaporated from his mind. It was the hottest part of the day; passing palace maids and eunuchs stared at him in bewilderment as he wandered blindly for what felt like ages before finally spotting the Emperor’s bedchamber in the distance.
The nearer he drew to the central hall, the quieter the paths became.
The on-duty martial guards halted him. One, a familiar face, warned in a low voice, “Cui Cheng! What’s with that look on your face? What do you think you’re doing? Don’t act rashly in His Majesty’s presence, or you’ll be charged with grave disrespect!”
Cui Cheng’s face flushed crimson. Through gritted teeth, he spat, “I demand to see him.”
His friend was stunned into silence for a long moment. He called for someone to relay the request, then pulled Cui Cheng aside to press for details. Seeing only clenched jaws and fuming silence, he urged him not to lose his temper before His Majesty, no matter the provocation.
At long last, the Emperor’s command arrived: summon him for an audience.
Cui Cheng strode after the guiding eunuch but was blocked at the jade-white steps by a youth in martial robes, who appeared no older than fourteen or fifteen.
The youth fixed him with amber eyes and barked, “Compose yourself!”
His gaze lingered on Cui Cheng’s arm, and he declared firmly, “We search you.”
Cui Cheng’s mind had been divorced from reason since that afternoon. Enraged that the youth had spotted the dagger he still carried, he shoved at him. To his surprise, the apparently slender boy didn’t budge an inch.
They squared off, fists clenched and ready to clash, when a low, resonant voice issued from within. “Cheng Ye, let him enter.”
Cheng Ye withdrew his hand and snorted coldly.
Cui Cheng’s momentum faltered inexplicably from the delay. Then the immense humiliation inflicted by the Emperor flooded back, and his gaze darkened.
He stepped inside. The Emperor sat behind the desk in a casual brocade robe, utterly pristine.
Just the two of them.
Cui Cheng made no move to kneel or bow. He roared, “Shameless cur!”
The Emperor’s finger paused on his ring. He had anticipated curses from Cui Cheng for stealing away such a beauty from his side.
Yet he hadn’t expected the words to echo precisely what Lu Yirong had shrieked at him the day before.
He fixed Cui Cheng with a cold stare.
Cui Cheng charged forward several paces, his features twisting. “Where is Rongrong? Where have you imprisoned her? Let me tell you—you’re nothing more than a thief hiding behind the throne! If you were just some commoner, how could you coerce her, or force my parents? She was unwilling—”
He broke off there, gasping raggedly for breath, regretting that he had dragged her into it.
The Emperor suddenly smiled, a glint of intrigue in his eyes. “You only learned of it the day before yesterday?”
Cui Cheng snorted in fury and admitted as much.
“If Yirong were my wife, she would tell me at once if anyone so much as eyed her,” the Emperor said, tapping the desk with measured calm. “No matter what Zhen’s station.”
Cui Cheng froze, suddenly recalling Rongrong’s words—she had been afraid, too afraid to confide in him.
She hadn’t trusted him enough.
The thought flashed through his mind. Fuming, he shot back, “Don’t try to drive a wedge between us!”
The Emperor smiled faintly. “You want to assassinate Zhen?”
Cui Cheng replied coldly, “Does Your Majesty have the courage to spar with this subject?”
Hearing this, the Emperor arched a brow slightly, his gaze no different from that of a man looking upon the dead.
Before the Emperor could respond, a commotion arose from the hall outside, mingled with the low murmur of women’s voices.
A young eunuch knocked on the door and reported, “Your Majesty, Empress Dowager Zhaoyi and the Eldest Young Madam from Duke Qiao’s Mansion have an urgent matter and request an audience.”
After Cui Cheng had departed, the Eldest Young Madam grew more and more regretful. Seeing the awful pallor on his face, she feared her words had spurred him to make a scene at the Imperial Retreat Palace. After pondering the matter, she decided to confess her mistake to the Empress Dowager and implore her to intervene.
She hurried back to the Imperial Retreat Palace and made straight for Empress Dowager Cui’s sleeping chambers.
To her surprise, the palace maids informed her that the Empress Dowager had overexerted herself in recent days and was still napping. She dared not speak to anyone else about the incident at the side courtyard gate. She waited anxiously until the Empress Dowager finally awoke, then forced herself to recount the tale despite her burning shame.
Empress Dowager Cui stared at her for a long moment. She was tempted to order someone to slap the woman’s mouth shut but held back, wary of the speculation it might provoke. Just then, a report arrived that Cui Cheng had already been granted an audience with the Emperor. Ignoring any further punishment for the moment, the Empress Dowager ordered her to accompany her at once.
“Open the door,” the Emperor commanded.
Cui Cheng turned to look. Beneath the setting sun, his eldest sister-in-law knelt at the foot of the steps, kowtowing repeatedly, while his sister—looking utterly weary—was supported by palace maids. He watched as the women of his household pleaded mercy on his behalf.
As soon as the door swung open, Empress Dowager Cui waved off any assistance and strode into the hall. She seized Cui Cheng’s hand and mustered a strained smile. “Your Majesty, my younger brother has truly been too foolish. I shall take him home and discipline him properly.”
She strove to keep her tone perfectly measured, neither servile nor defiant.
The Emperor nodded to Cheng Ye, who stepped forward with understanding and confronted the stunned Cui Cheng. With swift precision, he extracted a slender dagger from the young man’s sleeve and flung it down the steps.
In that instant, everyone held their breath.
The Emperor’s face was a mask of cold resolve, his piercing gaze raking over the siblings. “Very well. Take him away.”
Killing Cui Cheng right then was hardly the opportune moment.
Once everyone had withdrawn, the Emperor did not return immediately to his chambers. He pondered in silence for a moment before abruptly recalling her concealment from the day before.
She had been covering for Cui Cheng—hiding his murderous intent toward the throne.
Killing intent flared within him once more. He narrowed his eyes and issued a grave command. “Inform the Cui Family to keep a tight leash on Cui Cheng.”
—-
After they had walked some distance, his sister halted and murmured, “From this day forward, I will wash my hands of you. If you insist on courting death, do not drag the rest of us down with you.”
She reckoned she had already sacrificed more than enough for the Cui Family. Now, she regretted not having made different choices from the outset.
The Emperor would deal with that old crone sooner or later. What harm was there in biding her time for a spell? What harm in relinquishing that lofty title?
Anything was preferable to the daily torment of guilt and regret twisting in her heart.
Empress Dowager Cui declared she would interfere no longer and retreated to her chambers amid a throng of palace maids. Even so, her personal guards escorted the Eldest Young Madam and Cui Cheng back to the side courtyard under strict watch, then reported the matter to Duke Qiao at home.
Duke Qiao wasted no time in deciding the matter. Cui Cheng was locked away, with guards posted day and night before his bedroom door.
He slept deeply for a time, then sat up and slapped himself across the face twice.
Night had fallen, and a servant boy entered to light the candles. He ordered ink prepared. Cui Cheng took up the brush but hesitated, unsure where to begin; his cheeks still burned with stinging pain. Those slaps might as well have come from the Emperor’s own hand.
He gripped the brush shaft tightly and wrote with resolute strokes in one unbroken flow.
When he finally set the brush down, a faint twitch played across his cheek muscles, lending his face a bizarre cast in the dancing candlelight.
He moved to the window and began observing the intervals between the guards’ shift changes.