The Grand Princess watched as Lu Yirong came to a halt. Beside a tree ablaze with fiery red autumn leaves, she slowly turned her face—that breathtakingly beautiful face of hers.
Her expression froze, utterly blank.
Pretending not to notice anything amiss, the Grand Princess linked arms with her affectionately and continued walking forward.
“Don’t worry too much,” the Grand Princess of Linchuan chattered on. “It’s easy to mistake someone for another if you didn’t see them clearly. The Cui family wouldn’t truly abandon their own child, not after raising him for twenty years with such care…” She sounded just like any noble lady gossiping about another family’s young scions.
Yirong, her arm held fast, stood stunned for a long moment before softly murmuring, “Is that so?”
The Grand Princess faltered, unsure how to continue for the moment. She could only chuckle. “Never mind, I’m the foolish one. You’ve already divorced, so why should I be telling you about Young Lord Cui?”
Yirong smiled faintly. “It doesn’t matter.”
With that, silence fell between them.
She might not want this!
The thought suddenly flashed through the Grand Princess’s mind. She had always seen women of the Lu clan as vulgar climbers, the sort unmoved even by shaming their chastity. But for the first time, it occurred to her that this one might truly be unwilling.
Of course—Cui family’s Sixth Young Master was strikingly handsome, married young as a boy.
Yet subconsciously, she had assumed that in the face of the Emperor’s favor, anyone would eagerly accept.
“Is there… some hidden matter with you Cuis?” the Grand Princess pressed, her tone casual.
Yirong replied vaguely, a hint of resentment in her voice. “How would I know? It’s not something I can speak of.”
She glanced up, quickly eyeing the middle-aged noblewoman beside her.
The Grand Princess lowered her voice. “If you’re still thinking of him, I can ask a friend of mine who has seen him to keep an eye out.”
Yirong said nothing, merely looking at her and nodding.
“Then give me something personal of yours—a handkerchief or a pouch. That way, Young Lord Cui will know it’s you looking for him,” the Grand Princess said gently.
This time, Yirong couldn’t hold back. She burst out laughing.
Did they think her a fool?
But if this had been a few months ago—if Cui Cheng hadn’t come to speak with her at the end, if she hadn’t witnessed how lightly the Emperor could decide life and death with a few words, if she were still just an inexperienced young girl—perhaps she really would have been deeply moved and accepted the Grand Princess’s “kindness.”
The Grand Princess laughed too, shaking her head.
Yirong couldn’t help but admire her—for this shamelessness, or perhaps this brazen honesty.
But seeking her out was utterly pointless.
In this world, if anyone could control whom the Emperor took to bed, it would only be his late parents rising from their shared tomb. If she herself could control the Emperor, her first demand would be for him to let her go.
The two had little to talk about to begin with. With the conversation at an end, they soon parted ways.
Yirong returned to her carefully arranged room.
Not long after her marriage to Cui Cheng, he had once gone to a friend’s home for a banquet. He returned late at night, changed his clothes, and carried the rich scent of fragrance on him.
She had burst into tears at once, her heart aching, eyes brimming with them.
Startled sober, Cui Cheng had dragged her to the pure bathing chamber, stripped off his clothes to show her—his body clean, without a single mark—and explained that he had spilled wine on his garments and changed, and the incense was from a Western Regions friend; who knew a little would smell so strong…
The next day, he bought her a box of precious Western Regions incense to enjoy.
As she lit it, half-joking, she had uttered a treasonous words, making him swear he would have only her forever. She had been terrified then; saying such a thing, Cui Cheng could have divorced her outright.
He had laughed and called her a jealous wife, held her, kissed her, and promised her.
…
But toward the Grand Princess of Linchuan and her daughter, Yirong felt no jealousy—only irritation.
The Lu family’s uncles and their concubines rarely left their rooms. Her Qiao family uncles and cousins had several little concubines who worked tirelessly; her aunt’s chambers always had one fanning or pouring tea, and one cousin even had a young concubine near Yirong’s age who had made her a few pairs of socks. In the Cui family, Madam Chen was lenient with her concubines, hosting little banquets for them on their birthdays and inviting young daughters-in-law like Yirong to join. With a mother-in-law like that setting the example, the young madams never let the concubines serve their husbands.
So she had always thought Madam Chen a righteous, good person.
But in the palace… the Emperor’s harem was still empty, yet already so vexing.
She and Empress Dowager Cui rarely spoke of the palace concubines, but her compatriot Gu Shi had once mentioned it in passing. With so many consorts under the Previous Emperor, even when she was favored for a time, she was soon forgotten—but by currying favor with the Empress, she still gained fine clothes and food.
Thinking of these things just exhausted her.
Jealousy might make one ache and weep, but now she lay back on the soft couch, idly rolling her eyes now and then.
–
The Grand Princess heard that the Emperor and General Fan had returned from horseback. After a short wait, she went to take her leave.
After some pleasantries, she spoke offhandedly. “I never expected to run into Madam Lu here. She said she was just avoiding the rain… She used to look like such a fortunate young woman, but now she’s so thin. I suppose life after the divorce hasn’t been happy… She mentioned Young Lord Cui a bit. Young couples with good feelings—it’s hard not to pine when parted…”
In the Emperor’s eyes, she knew nothing of this.
Naturally, she would strike where it hurt most.
What man could tolerate his woman thinking of another while at his side?
Lu had indeed grown thin, and had indeed spoken of her ex-husband to her.
From her demeanor—even well-masked—the Grand Princess, experienced in such worldly dealings and of an age to see through it, could tell she hadn’t forgotten her former husband.
But the Emperor…
The Emperor sat at the head, his purple-gold coronet in place, his expression unchanged. He merely nodded faintly, as if he had heard.
The Grand Princess smiled. “Auntie here is getting on in years and loves gossiping about family matters. I’ve forgotten that Ah Yan doesn’t care for such things.”
The Emperor smiled slightly.
If the Emperor were merely her nephew, this cool response would be disrespectful to an elder. She was older even than his father, of an age to know heaven’s decree, one of his closest blood relatives.
In truth, the Emperor should respect her.
But she could not reproach him.
Nor could she tell if these words had angered him.
As a child, the Emperor had been adorably fair and delicate; grown a bit, a spirited and upright youth. Even young, he excelled in letters and arms, with a fiery temper—riding horseback right up to Purple Chen Hall, personally whipping bullying ruffians he met while out of the palace… She had secretly sighed then: a pity his mother was not the Empress, that his father could not resolve to change the Crown Prince.
Ten years had passed in a blink. Now, she could not fathom what this once-radiant nephew was thinking.
She hesitated.
With such a stern, inscrutable Emperor whose joys and angers never showed, how would her daughter fare with him once in the palace?
And how did this Lu woman, once a minister’s wife, get on with the Emperor?
Naturally, the Grand Princess could not imagine that the way the Emperor dealt with her and this Lu woman—whom she so disdained—was entirely different.
Yesterday, the men of her house who ought to have performed before the Emperor had done so. Bringing her daughter out to meet him would be too undignified, and those words to Lu had been pointless. Having thought it through, the Grand Princess took her leave.
Once she had gone, the Emperor tapped the table.
Gao Fuliang bowed. “Your Majesty, the lady is resting in her room.”
He awaited the Emperor’s command. After a moment, it came.
“I wish to bathe.”
After bathing and redressing, he strode into the bedchamber where Yirong rested.
She sat on the soft couch reading. Seeing him enter, she rose to curtsy.
Then she lay back down, facing inward. A thin silk coverlet draped over her waist and abdomen, failing to hide her graceful curves—a clear sign she had no wish to speak.
The Emperor stared at her figure for a moment where he stood, then walked to the couch and sat on its edge.
Even facing away, Yirong could feel the weight of the Emperor’s gaze upon her.
Those pitch-black eyes were surely fixed on her profile, unblinking.
Irritated, she slowly sat up, rolling the lotus-root silk coverlet to one side.
Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither spoke.
It was not yet noon; autumn sunlight streamed through the windows, bright enough to reveal the fine motes of dust floating in the air.
The Emperor said nothing; it was impossible to tell how much he knew or what he thought.
Yirong spoke first. “Your Majesty, I think I heard the Grand Princess and her family leaving.”
“What do you wish to say?” he replied evenly.
She smiled brightly. “I really should thank the Grand Princess. First, last night she specially sent someone to warn me that my only end was death. Then today, she kindly offered to help me find Cui Cheng.”
The Emperor’s brow furrowed slightly.
He had some inkling of the latter half—from what his aunt had said about her mentioning Cui Cheng, his heart had inevitably sunk.
But then he realized: how could she discuss her ex-husband with the Grand Princess, whom she scarcely knew?
Even if… she truly missed him, she would not speak of it to a stranger.
“What happened?” he asked.
Yirong had no interest in repeating it all herself. She instructed, “Xingxiang, you tell it.”
Xingxiang knew nothing about what had happened the night before, but she had accompanied them on both outings. After a moment’s thought, she began recounting from the encounter with Miss Liu the previous day, all the way to the conversation between the Grand Princess and the Madam today.
As she retold the exchange, Xingxiang pondered to herself. If Madam Lu had tipped her off beforehand, they might have discussed what to conceal. But since there had been no such heads-up, she figured she had to report everything faithfully.
And so she relayed the dialogue word for word.
The Emperor waved her away, then turned to Yirong. “And what happened last night?”
Yirong gave a general account of what the two palace maids had said.
She had deliberately made some noise at the time to send them back on their errand.
The Grand Princess must have been quite disappointed. Yirong had shown no reaction whatsoever.
No shame-driven suicide, no panicked foolishness, no reckless outburst before the Emperor.
After all, she had already contemplated such matters—and even acted on some—before.
The Emperor issued a curt order to Gao Fuliang. “Investigate it.”
His gaze was dark and brooding. Yirong quickly interjected, “Your Majesty, they were only parroting orders from others. Spare their lives, please.”
The Emperor nodded in agreement.
As a youth in the palace, the eunuchs and female officials managing his residence had been handpicked by his parents. Out in the Vast Sea, it had been Fan Ying’s mother overseeing the princely estate’s household affairs. The Emperor fell silent. The palace ought to have been the easiest place to control, with airtight security around him. That it wasn’t meant his own people weren’t entirely trustworthy either.
He hadn’t realized things had deteriorated to this extent.
Fortunately, he had been on the throne for only half a year, with ample energy and time to set things right.
His eyes shifted to Yirong, who was leaning forward in her urgent plea. Suddenly, he smiled. “She said she saw Cui Cheng.”
Yirong wouldn’t tell him how stunned she had truly been in that moment—wondering where Cui Cheng was, and whether he was doing well. He so rarely left home.
She returned his smile with one tinged with sarcasm. “I don’t believe it. Your Majesty said you wanted to catch and kill him, even make him an… eunuch. If even you can’t find him, how could she have seen him?”
Zheng Yan paused, then couldn’t suppress a chuckle.
The last traces of his foul mood evaporated.
He had long since given up searching for Cui Cheng.
Finding and killing him—or castrating him—would only ensure the man haunted her for life.
The best solution was for the Cui Family to arrange a new marriage for him, and in time, they would both forget. But with the man vanished, the Emperor saw no point in wasting effort on it.
Yirong watched the smile playing at the corners of the Emperor’s mouth. Had she explained herself clearly enough?
The Grand Princess had been trying to sow discord. If Yirong let her succeed, it would only anger the Emperor once more.
Truth be told, she hadn’t wanted to say anything—hadn’t wanted to tattle to the Emperor like some aggrieved child.
But they weren’t separated by mountains and rivers. Better to speak plainly and clear the air sooner rather than later.
There was no “estrangement” between them, but leaving things unspoken would only torment her.
Seeing her hesitate, the Emperor prompted, “Speak your mind.”
Yirong said, “Your Majesty, I never want to see those two again.”
A flush of embarrassment colored her cheeks. She had said much the same before about not wanting to see Empress Dowager Cui. Of course, placing the Grand Princess and her daughter under house arrest was out of the question. She simply hoped Miss Liu would never enter the palace—never become the “wife” she would have to face day after day.
“I can’t promise that just yet,” the Emperor replied gravely. “Their crimes don’t warrant death—for now.”
Yirong blinked in stunned silence for a few moments, then drew a deep breath.
Which part of her plea had suggested she wanted them dead?
Of course—in the Emperor’s eyes, the Grand Princess bribing palace servants was a grave offense.
But it was hardly unusual. Imperial clans, maternal relatives, nobles, and ministers all had their contacts among the maids and eunuchs. It was par for the course.
Even she had a couple of acquaintances in the Palace Gate Office she could speak to candidly.
It had always been an unspoken understanding.
Yirong leaned in closer, pleading once more. “Your Majesty, forgive them. Punish or reprimand them for their errors—that should suffice. There’s no need for execution. It doesn’t have to come to that.”
Her wide, dewy eyes brimmed with confusion and entreaty.
The Emperor gazed at her steadily for a moment, watching as she beseeched him without blinking. He reached out and poked her cheek. “Do you really think your uncle is that formidable?”
Yirong froze completely.
They had known all along—and so soon?
Truly, their influence reached everywhere, and their resolve was ruthless.
After a long pause, she asked, “When did you find out?”
The Emperor replied, “Two days after it happened.”
The two of them were squeezed together on the narrow daybed, chatting as casually as family.
With patient deliberation, he explained, “Zhen isn’t refusing to let you vent your anger. Keeping them alive still serves a purpose. Besides, sentencing them now wouldn’t stick—there are no solid charges. At most, a few senior imperial relatives would step in to scold my aunt.”
After all, the Grand Princess had only pulled some strings for Marquis Pingyang. The ideas for poisoning and corpse disposal had been his alone.
Yirong understood that well enough. With the realm governed by filial piety, harshly punishing an aunt who hadn’t committed a major crime would invite ministers to remonstrate, perhaps even to their deaths.
But what “purpose” did he mean?
She didn’t ask why he hadn’t told her sooner. Instead, hesitantly, she ventured, “So Miss Liu won’t be entering the palace, then?”
Zheng Yan glanced at her in surprise. “You didn’t know?”
Yirong stared at him in bewilderment.
The daybed was too cramped. Zheng Yan scooped her up and carried her to the bed, positioning her head to rest on his arm. In no hurry to answer, he called out to the eunuch waiting beyond the screen. “We’re not returning to the palace tonight.”
Yirong hesitated, trying to dissuade him. “Is that really appropriate?”
“Zhen is just giving them a chance to rest,” the Emperor said. Suddenly recalling Zhang Jiaheng, the sixty-year-old veteran of three reigns whom he often summoned for counsel, he ordered supplements like ginseng sent over—and told the man not to bother with thanks.
Yirong knew the Previous Emperor had held court four or five days a month, while this Emperor took only the occasional day off. It shouldn’t be a major issue.
“Your Majesty, what is it that I don’t know?”
Zheng Yan explained, “You were only three at the time. The Prince Consort of Linchuan got tangled in a case of privately hoarding armor.”
It was the first Yirong had heard of it. Fifteen years had passed; the scandal had surely faded. Who would bring up such a major case casually?
It was tantamount to treason—an unpardonable crime.
She mulled it over. “For the Grand Princess’s entire family to still be alive and well… that’s already quite merciful.”
“Indeed,” he said coolly. “But Linchuan likely assumed that since Imperial Father spared the Liu Family for her sake, he would restore their honors and wealth on her account as well. For over a decade, they’ve been pulling strings alongside the other implicated parties, corrupting the bureaucracy…”
Yirong blinked, taking a moment to process his words.
She rarely heard such matters discussed.
One thing was clear, though: Miss Liu had no chance. Unless the Emperor took a real liking to her and defied some ministers’ opposition to bring her in.
Surely the Grand Princess understood that logic?
It had happened the year she turned three… Linchuan had been scheming for fifteen years. The princess’s prestige had remained unscathed, all to pave the way for her descendants.
Perhaps after striving so long, she was willing to grasp at any opportunity.
“Don’t think about them anymore.”
The Emperor’s voice sounded close to her ear.
Yirong covered her earlobe, half-hidden by her temple locks, and sat up.
It was the first time she had lain on the bed fully clothed; her garments were already rumpled.
The Emperor lay with eyes closed on the pillow she had used the night before, murmuring drowsily, “I’m tired.”
Yirong watched him, considering for a moment before scooting closer to examine his face.
He had actually fallen asleep.
In her impression, the Emperor was always brimming with vigor, yet here he was, dozing off early.
And deeply, it seemed.
She watched quietly for a while, then summoned the servants to help him undress before slipping out herself.
–
When the Emperor awoke, it was already mid-afternoon, with warm breezes and clear sunlight.
“Where is she?”
Gao Fuliang reported, “Your Majesty, the Madam has gone to bathe in the hot springs.”
Seeing the Emperor about to dress and go find Madam Lu himself, the eunuchs hurriedly dissuaded him. “Your Majesty, you’ve slept for quite some time. Please have your meal first.”