Yirong knew she should say she was already better.
She should take the initiative to cater to the emperor, should wrap her arms around his arm or waist, should kiss his thin lips…
Only like this could she make the emperor relax his watch over her, could make him agree to let her leave the hall and walk around.
She gave no reply. Beneath the brocade canopy, she suddenly felt her heartbeat racing unusually fast. Just as she was about to speak, the emperor’s voice rang out.
“Never mind. Rest a few more days.”
Zheng Yan kissed Yirong’s lips and drew her into his arms. “Sleep.”
That day, the imperial physician had impressed upon him time and again that Yirong’s constitution was sturdier than that of most young women—likely thanks to being pampered from childhood in her family home. Though vomiting blood as a youth had been an ill omen, with proper care, it wouldn’t shorten her lifespan.
Let her rest quietly a few more days.
It was this same confining embrace. Yirong’s arms trembled faintly; she couldn’t tell if it was fear or loathing, or perhaps both.
She only knew it felt profoundly uncomfortable, yet she closed her eyes and gradually drifted off to sleep once more in the emperor’s arms.
Summer dusks came early. In a hazy daze, Yirong sensed the person beside her had risen. She opened her eyes to find the bed curtains half-drawn back. The emperor was changing clothes on his own. Broad shoulders tapered into sleek, taut lines down his powerful waist and into his undergarments, several old scars marring his back.
He quickly noticed Yirong’s gaze and turned to her after donning his inner robes.
Pretending she had only just awakened, Yirong sat up slowly and reached out her arms to him in a gesture begging for an embrace.
A single lock of hair from her temple draped across her snow-white neck, making her look utterly adorable. The emperor arched a brow faintly. Abruptly, he recalled their chance encounter months earlier in the capital’s outskirts. As she stirred from her faint, she had mistaken his hand for Cui Cheng’s and cried out an endearment for Cui Cheng, bidding him stop.
For some reason, he couldn’t suppress the thought: Back in the Cui family days, did she demand a morning embrace from Cui Cheng every day upon waking?
The notion fled his mind in an instant. He forbade her from dwelling on past people and events—why should he indulge in them himself?
Seeing the emperor stand motionless, Yirong wondered if she had overplayed her hand.
She had no idea why he had stormed off in a rage that day, only to return calmly and exchange a few words with her, nor why last night he had let her earlier words slide entirely.
Yirong still believed she had said nothing wrong, but it was treasonous all the same. The emperor must have “forgiven” her by now.
Perhaps her act had been too obvious, alerting the emperor to something off. Heat rose to Yirong’s cheeks; just as she moved to pull back her hand, the emperor caught her up in his arms.
“Zhen has business. Eat your breakfast alone.” He paused. “What have you been doing these past few days?”
His breath fanned across her lips as he spoke.
The emperor always did this: staring into her eyes while talking, murmuring against her cheek while holding her—enough to make anyone’s heart quiver.
All the more with those piercing, predatory eyes of his; even lying felt impossible under their scrutiny.
Thank goodness the tent’s light had been dim and shadowy last night.
Yirong replied, “The palace maids kept me company with card games to pass the time. Sometimes I read on my own. Um, and I admired the flowers. I love gazing at blooms and scenery—they brought me many potted plants.”
She figured he wouldn’t let her venture out just yet, so she sowed the seed now. A later plea to tour the gardens wouldn’t seem so abrupt.
The emperor nodded, finished dressing, and strode out.
Yirong stared in surprise. He hadn’t summoned attendants, nor shown any sign of wanting her to serve him.
Once he was gone, she leaned against the soft pillows, lost in thought for a good while. Zhu Jin and Dan Liu entered to help her dress and wash, then served breakfast.
She had always meant to win them over and issued no orders. After sitting a spell, several palace servants arrived bearing boxes, accompanied by a woman in her thirties or forties who looked like a female official. They all bowed and paid their respects to Yirong.
Yirong bid them rise. The middle-aged woman smiled genially, finished her bow regardless, and waved for the servants to open the boxes.
The room erupted in dazzling splendor at once. South sea pearls, agates, fire pearls, mutton-fat jade, glittering gems… all shimmered, casting light in every direction.
Yirong’s father might have held a lowly post, but he hailed from a great Jiangnan clan, and her birth mother was a marquis’s noble daughter. They had never stinted on finery or jewels for her—yet even so, she stared, transfixed, for a long moment.
The woman laughed. “If anything catches Your Ladyship’s eye, just tell this servant the style you desire.”
Unbidden, Yirong remembered a few days prior, when the emperor—face like frost—had vowed to lavish her with a hundredfold, a thousandfold the silver and freedom she craved.
She had sent Shuilian back expressly so she could sew all Yirong’s precious jewels into her clothing linings. She had brought little silver on the journey and meant to pawn the gems for road expenses.
Now Shuilian’s labor was wasted; the emperor had handed her heaps of gems outright.
She could simply take some when the time came.
Yirong shook her head, claiming no styles came to mind for the moment, and dismissed them.
The boxes of jewels remained arrayed before her, lids flung wide amid the crush, beside a pot of Treasure Pearl Jasmine in full bloom.
Yirong’s lips curved in a smile. She sent Dan Liu to summon Shuilian. When she arrived, Yirong bade the three of them choose.
Zhu Jin and Dan Liu exchanged wide-eyed glances, stepped back, and shook their heads frantically, insisting they dared not. Their unease made Shuilian too shy to touch anything, but Yirong winked at her and smiled.
All at once, she thought of Xingxiang.
Zhu Jin and Dan Liu were fine servants, but overly timid. They would never both leave her side; one step from her, and they shadowed.
Xingxiang had better measure. The emperor had sent her to watch, true enough, but without the stifling rigidity—and she granted more leeway.
The realization drew a wry smile from her. These days, even a simple stroll demanded endless scheming.
Yirong made her decision swiftly: she would request Xingxiang’s transfer.
Calling for a palace maid was no great matter, yet Zhu Jin and Dan Liu still went to seek permission before fetching her.
Xingxiang’s face was wan as well.
Yirong’s suspicions from yesterday resurfaced. She asked softly, “Did His Majesty punish you all?”
After a brief silence, Xingxiang smiled. “His Majesty is merciful. This servant fares well.”
Yirong nodded and let the matter drop.
Four people looming before her—even just standing there—left her ill at ease.
Pleading weariness, Yirong had them step back a ways. She settled on the soft couch, mulling her escape plans.
Shuilian had to come along. After that, back to the capital for her mother. If Mother refused the southbound flight, so be it. Mother had loyal retainers and funds aplenty; they needn’t flee as one.
The emperor wouldn’t stoop so low as to target her mother.
Yirong weighed preparations and routes, honing every detail, until noon crept up unawares.
A palace maid reported that His Majesty was occupied; she should lunch alone.
Yirong exhaled in relief. Dealing with the emperor was utterly draining.
Especially feigning that awakening to the emperor’s favor as Lu Yirong’s lifetime blessing—without overdoing the fawning, lest suspicion arise.
Truth be told, she had no knack for simpering endearments. She simply wouldn’t.
After the meal, Yirong raised the notion of a walk once more.
She knew they wouldn’t yield, but it reinforced her apparent eagerness for outings. To her shock, Xingxiang agreed at once, supporting her on a stroll through a small courtyard behind the rear hall of the central palace—the time it takes an incense stick to burn.
She did not see the emperor again until after the first watch. Fresh from her bath, Yirong sat by the window as Zhu Jin and Dan Liu scented her hair.
He stood before her and waved off any need to rise and curtsy.
Her hair hung half-damp, strands clinging to her cheeks and neck. Her head tilted faintly, earrings swaying with the motion, and she offered him a small smile.
He lingered there, watching her a moment, then went to bathe.
Yirong sensed his mood was foul today.
Whatever had transpired, even abed beside her, the emperor’s brow remained faintly furrowed, his thoughts distant.
The bed curtains dropped. The night attendants withdrew on tiptoe. The emperor said nothing, merely closing his eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, she ventured, “Your Majesty, is something troubling you?”
“Nothing.” Zheng Yan roused from his reverie, eyes opening as he denied it.
“Rest well and recuperate,” he said. “Once you’re better, Zhen will take you out to play.”
As expected, the emperor knew her every move.
Yirong beamed. “Your Majesty is busy with state affairs. Another day, Shuilian and Xingxiang can escort me on a stroll around the imperial retreat palace.”
The emperor murmured a faint “Mm.”
He had no heart for banter today. Yirong ought to have eased—yet her heart lurched as a realization struck. She tilted her face up to him and blinked.
“Your Majesty, you bade me forget the past… but I still feel uneasy at heart.” She paused, gauging his expression.
His features chilled slightly, those ink-black eyes fixed upon her in brooding silence.
Yirong pillowed her head on his arm and continued, “I don’t know where Cui Cheng went after leaving the Imperial Retreat Palace, but I believe Your Majesty is a wise ruler who won’t kill indiscriminately. He should still be alive. Could you spare him this once? In the end, it’s I who has wronged him.”
“I swear I absolutely won’t see him again. Can you let him go, so I don’t keep feeling that I’ve let him down?”
By the end of her words, her voice trembled.
The Emperor’s finger gently stroked beneath her eye, and he gravely warned her, “No crying.”
He fell silent for a moment before saying, “You needn’t feel guilty. All this happened because Zhen took a fancy to you. You did nothing wrong—no guilt, no overthinking.”
“But,” Yirong said as she hugged the Emperor’s waist, “if he loses his life because of me, I won’t be able to live with myself. And… if you execute him not long after our divorce, even a fool would see something was wrong. In the end, everyone would blame me…”
She gazed at him intently, hoping to sway his resolve to kill.
This was the last thing she could do for Cui Cheng.
“No one will blame you.”
“Please spare him,” she pleaded softly once more.
“Alright.”
He agreed too readily. Yirong was stunned for several moments and said nothing further.
The Emperor also fell silent.
She closed her eyes, a complex swirl of indescribable emotions rising in her heart.
In the cool summer night, she suddenly recalled the half-finished nightgown she had made for Cui Cheng… Afterward, she had lost all interest in sewing, and the maids had packed it away. When the Cui Family returned to the capital, it would probably be burned or cut to pieces.
The night passed quietly.
Fortunately, the Emperor was very busy. He was always summoning ministers, reviewing memorials to the throne, and meeting with imperial clansmen, so he rarely had free time during the day to linger in the bedchamber. At night, he would talk with her, asking what she had done that day and often inquiring about the places she had visited as a child.
She was not a taciturn woman by nature, but conversing with the Emperor always left her uncomfortable. She had no desire to let him know about her past—why should she tell him?
Why share her most carefree and joyful memories from before?
Yet she couldn’t very well say nothing at all.
While fending off his questions, she endlessly pondered in her mind how to escape. In the blink of an eye, half a month of these peaceful days had passed.
That day, Yirong heard Zhu Jin mention that they would set off back to the capital in another ten days. A smile lingered on her face, but her heart suddenly tightened.
Ten days left.
Escaping from the Imperial Retreat Palace offered the best chance of success. The road back was swarming with Imperial Guards protecting the imperial carriage, and once they reached the capital, heaven only knew how the Emperor would arrange things for her.
Moreover, she knew about the Secret Door in the palace.
How could she convince the Emperor to let her go out for a stroll with just a few attendants?
She needed him to know that her body had fully recovered—and that he was in a good mood.
Her face instantly burned like fire, a mix of anger at her own idea and a deep wave of shame.
That night, Yirong pillowed her head on the Emperor’s arm as she had the previous nights. Suddenly, she rubbed her cheek against him and asked softly, “Your Majesty, after we return to the capital, are you planning to send me to stay in a temple or a Taoist abbey for a time before I enter the palace, to avoid any gossip about you?”
The Emperor glanced down at her, seemingly surprised by the thought, and denied it. “No need for that.”
“You needn’t entertain such notions. Zhen will handle everything properly,” he added.
Yirong murmured softly, “Then why haven’t you…”
She simply couldn’t go on. She blinked, her delicate face flushing red.
The Emperor arched a brow slightly and gazed at her steadily for a moment before asking, “Have you thought it through?”
Yirong’s voice faded to a near whisper. “I was too foolish before. Your Majesty treats me well.”
After she spoke, she couldn’t help sneering inwardly.
It was true—the Emperor had treated her well these past days. He never interfered with what she did in the hall, and when he had time, he would accompany her on walks in the courtyard or help her trim the potted plants. Not to mention the extraordinarily precious gems from that day and the generous daily provisions, which were truly a hundred—no, a thousand—times better than what she had enjoyed before.
But she remembered all too clearly his previous high-handed coercions and the mental torment they had inflicted, along with how he had forced her to undress right here in this hall…
The memories were vivid; even now, dwelling on them filled her with lingering dread.
She slipped off her nightgown and proactively wrapped her two snow-white arms around the Emperor’s neck. Her warm breath drew nearer and nearer to his, finally pausing at his lips.
The Emperor remained utterly still, allowing her soft, fragrant lips to press against his. The moment they grew hot, his breathing deepened. His palm registered the slick warmth nearby, and he could hold back no longer.
His lips and tongue seized her breath at once, drawing her tongue tip into a deep, sucking kiss. They pressed tightly together, as if he meant to merge her entire being into his own. A moment later, he rolled over and covered her.
…
Zheng Yan touched Yirong’s face, beaded with thin sweat. Compared to last time, this was worlds apart—they lay entwined, reluctant to part.
He wanted to ask if she felt the same, but a strange pang of shame stopped him. He said nothing, merely stroking her face and flushed lips over and over.
Trapped in the Emperor’s embrace, Yirong was about to speak up and propose a garden outing through the gate when another matter suddenly occurred to her.
She stopped him just as he was about to summon attendants for a bath. His voice came out hoarse. “What is it?”
“Your Majesty,” Yirong said, “there’s one thing you must promise me!”
The Emperor chuckled lightly, asking with keen interest, “What?”
“After we enter the palace, I really don’t want to live in the same palace as Empress Dowager Zhaoyi.”