The next day, after court adjourned, the Emperor returned to the East Wing of Purple Chen Hall and ordered the burning incense extinguished.
Not a soul in the hall dared to breathe.
The Emperor buried himself in reviewing memorials for a moment before setting down his brush. He spoke thoughtfully, “When did Zhen ever say that I would marry a cousin from the Pei family?”
Gao Fuliang replied, “Your Majesty, you never said any such thing. You did mention it once to your uncle and aunt, the Duke of Miguo and his wife—that if your cousins found a suitor to their liking, you could grant them a marriage.”
“Then who is spreading such nonsense?”
The Emperor looked thoroughly displeased.
Gao Fuliang gave an awkward smile. “Your Majesty, matters of your harem are always on people’s minds. The two young ladies of the Pei family are both exceptionally talented and beautiful, so it’s only natural that there would be some talk.”
The first thing the Emperor had done after formally ascending the throne was to grant his birth mother the posthumous title of Empress Dowager, entomb her with the imperial ancestors in the mausoleum, and add her tablet to the Imperial Ancestral Temple. Any keen observer could see the depth of his filial piety in this, and it was widely assumed that his maternal cousins from the Pei family might have a bright future ahead.
As they spoke, Fan Ying requested an audience.
Once they had finished discussing official business, the Emperor glanced at him. Fan Ying was tall and sturdy, his features stern and martial.
“Fan Ying,” the Emperor said, “Zhen recalls that you are two years older than me.”
“Yes, this minister is merely two years your senior in age, Your Majesty.”
“You have no sweetheart, do you?” the Emperor asked directly. He knew Fan Ying had no wife or concubines.
Fan Ying shook his head in denial, his earlobes turning faintly red. At his age, having no woman was a matter of shame in these times.
“The age difference isn’t much…” The Emperor pondered for a moment before making up his mind. “Zhen will grant you a marriage. You shall wed the Second Miss of Duke Miguo’s household, Pei Jingwan.”
Fan Ying was stunned. As he came back to his senses and moved to kneel in gratitude, the Emperor waved him off. “Don’t rush to thank me yet. Zhen will arrange for you to meet her first. If it’s not a good match, then forget it.”
The chance to marry one of His Majesty’s cousins was a great favor. Fan Ying knelt and expressed his thanks regardless, a rare smile softening his usually solemn face as he withdrew.
The Emperor closed his eyes, seemingly resting.
After a long while, he gave an order. “Go to Duke Miguo’s mansion and summon Pei Jingqi to enter the palace and reside here.”
Gao Fuliang grew even more baffled by what was going through the Emperor’s mind these days. He mustered his courage to remind him, “Your Majesty, Eldest Miss Pei is not yet betrothed. It would be improper to bring her into the palace so rashly.”
“Zhen has my own arrangements.” The Emperor leaned idly back in his chair, a sharp glint flashing in his eyes.
“Also summon Cheng Ye. Zhen has an urgent command for him.”
That morning, the Emperor resolved the matter with Cheng Ye. By lunchtime, with the rule of silence during meals, a dazed quiet fell over the entire Purple Chen Hall.
No one dared disturb him as he ate.
Zheng Yan ate his lunch in silence. The memorials would eventually be reviewed, the ministers’ familiar old faces would grow tiresome to look at, and besides, there were no major matters requiring the court’s attention that day.
It was a pity that the realm was not yet at peace. Great Yan had stood for a century, its deep-seated ills accumulated over generations and not easily reformed.
He permitted himself half a day of rest and took up an old childhood pastime: painting. He spent the entire afternoon secluded in the East Wing, depicting the floral and wooded scenery behind Purple Chen Hall. In summer, the pavilion would be overrun with sprawling vines, offering a spot of vivid color amid the sea of green for anyone sitting within.
In autumn, red leaves would drift down. He paused his brush, rolled up the painting, and burned it over a candle flame.
Dinner passed in the same silence.
After the meal, as the Emperor raised his eyes, Gao Fuliang intuitively grasped the unspoken question and reported, “Madam chose the Pregnancy Stabilizing Drug.”
It was only natural—the effects of either bowl were the same.
A frosty expression settled on the Emperor’s face, though it was unclear if he had truly registered the words.
No one dared speak again.
Three days passed like this. Finally, after dinner on the third evening, the Emperor commanded, “To the side hall.”
—
Yirong sat in a chair, the lamps in the hall unlit. After Xingxiang delivered her medicine and was led away, only four silent palace maids remained, each stationed in a corner.
With nothing to occupy her, she combed her hair with her fingers under the dim yellow candlelight until she drifted off to sleep. She jolted awake at the shrill announcement, “His Majesty arrives!”
When the Emperor entered, he saw Yirong suddenly rousing herself, her face still heavy with sleep.
He waved for everyone to withdraw the moment he stepped inside.
Under the lamplight, the beauty was mesmerizing. Her lips were slightly pursed like delicate petals, and her fair, creamy face seemed draped in a veil of pale yellow gauze by the candle’s glow—utterly captivating.
Yirong watched as the Emperor walked unhurriedly to her side and sat down. Anger surged within her, her chest heaving. After a long moment, she shattered the silence with sarcasm. “Your Majesty is early this time.”
“Zhen heard that you made your choice.”
She had chosen almost without hesitation that day. Yirong nodded and gave him a cold smile.
“Zheng Yan, you are truly shameless,” she said, word by word. “You merely wish to humiliate me for my cowardice and fear of death. Tell me, what have I done wrong to deserve your decree of execution? You told me before not to overthink it, that it was all your fault—but that was just pillow talk to please you in bed. You don’t truly believe that at all.”
She smiled faintly. “I’ve offended the Emperor, so drinking a bowl of poison and dying painlessly is already your great mercy. I ask for nothing more, only that Your Majesty not take out your anger on my mother or my maids.”
With that, Yirong looked at him calmly.
The Emperor instinctively wanted to sneer but forced it down.
“Zhen did not,” he said.
Whether he meant he had no intention of executing her or that he hadn’t merely been coaxing her, Yirong had no interest in parsing it. Her dark eyes gazed at him steadily.
They sat mere inches apart, close enough to touch, yet those eyes felt worlds away.
He wanted to say something more, but it all seemed pointless.
In the end, his words came out icy cold. “You’ve committed such a grave offense, yet you show no remorse.”
Yirong gave a smile and nodded.
She was indeed at fault—a grave mistake. Why had she hesitated back then?
If she had harbored such intentions earlier, she should have studied medicine and figured it out herself. Why wait until the former emperor’s palace women were leaving the palace to suddenly recall it?
She shouldn’t have resigned herself to her fate or convinced herself that staying by the Emperor’s side wouldn’t be so bad.
Just half a year ago, she had been the Young Madam of the Cui family.
Why had she ever felt gratitude toward the man before her—or even a sliver of hope?
The Emperor watched her smile for no apparent reason, but there was no joy in it. In recent days, he had seen her truly light up with happiness, just as captivating as the glimpses he had stolen from afar before.
He could tell at once that this smile was insincere.
The hall was dim as the two sat facing each other.
The last time the Emperor had punished her, she had still clung to the hope that once back in the capital, she could bribe the palace staff with silver to jog his memory—whatever the blade or lash, at least there would be a verdict.
This time, she didn’t care at all.
She didn’t want to see anyone or be watched by prying eyes.
The Emperor broke her reverie, his voice heavy with two words: “House her.”
Yirong stared at him in astonishment.
The Emperor gave a cold snort. “Zhen said it’s not up to you whether you’re willing or not.”
Yirong let out an indifferent laugh. “Thanks to Your Majesty, even my hair reeks now.”
He detected no odd smell at all and scoffed. “Overly fussy.”
He walked over, scooped her up into his arms, and upon seeing her eyes misty and brimming with tears as she nestled against him, he understood. “You’re permitted to bathe first.”
Zheng Yan set her down and raised his voice to order hot water prepared.
Gao Fuliang, waiting outside the hall, marveled inwardly. In the past, if the Emperor despised someone, he would never see them again. Once, a young advisor had schemed and slandered before him, and the Emperor had immediately ordered the man dragged away and sent back to his native place.
A man of such brilliance and talent, and the Emperor had felt no regret over it.
Hot water was soon brought in. Behind a screen, her silhouette flickered vaguely in the dim light.
The Emperor had refused the palace servants’ offer to light more candles. He sat in a chair behind the screen, watching with an inexpressible mix of irritation and heat stirring within him.
It was a long while before Yirong finished her bath. She allowed no one to assist her and quietly donned her nightclothes.
Moments later, the Emperor entered, carried her to the bed, and laid her down.
The palace servants quietly removed the tub, leaving only a single lamp.
With no stars or moon, the Emperor touched her cool cheek. His hands grew rougher as he roughly wiped away her tears.
A low cry of pain escaped Yirong’s throat.
The night deepened. In the past, to spare herself suffering, Yirong would subtly guide him. Later, the Emperor had learned the ways himself, sparing her much pain. Tonight, however, she lay rigidly still, teeth gritted, and he showed not a shred of tenderness.
It was the third watch before the snow-blue bed curtains finally ceased their swaying.
Yirong lifted her damp face. “Your Majesty, please return. I’ve read of emperors in previous dynasties who died from exhaustion—such things are faithfully recorded. It would be poor for Your Majesty if it were noted down.”
No man could hear such mockery without anger.
Yet a smile gradually crept across Zheng Yan’s sullen face. “Very good. So well-read—you’ll surely bear me clever children in the future.”
She was gentle and amiable by nature, but when riled, her words struck like daggers, laced with mockery.
The former was her true softness; the latter likely was as well.
“You’re right—these things must be recorded, or how else to verify?” he said with a laugh.
Yirong’s eyes reddened with fury. “Shameless.”
She had no more words to say, and the tears she had held back earlier now flowed freely.
The Emperor dressed himself. Seeing her lying there with eyes closed, tears streaming onto the pillow, he paused to gaze at her for a moment before departing.
The next morning, palace servants came to report that Madam Lu was ill. She had summoned the imperial physician before dawn, who diagnosed her with a wind chill invading her body and prescribed bed rest.
It was nothing more than a common cold.
The Emperor paused in his movements and said, “Tell her to rest well and recover.”
Gao Fuliang nodded and bowed obsequiously. “This slave will go and visit Madam Lu on Your Majesty’s behalf.”
The Emperor gave a slight nod to himself and muttered, “The matters outside aren’t finished yet anyway.”
He attended morning court and, upon returning to the East Hall, found Gao Fuliang with a furrowed brow. The eunuch immediately poured out his report like beans spilling from a bamboo tube. “Your Majesty, Madam Lu refused to see this slave. The moment she heard my voice, she ordered me to withdraw. Her voice was hoarse from the illness.”
Gao Fuliang had to admit that Madam Lu’s attitude toward them was somewhat milder than toward the Emperor. She had merely told him to leave, without telling him to get lost.
Still, it was rather strange compared to her usual behavior.
The Emperor’s expression darkened with displeasure. “Who permitted you to approach her in the first place?”
Gao Fuliang was struck speechless. Eunuchs like them were accustomed to moving freely in and out of the inner chambers without restraint. He quickly begged for mercy.
The Emperor remained dissatisfied and issued further orders. “From now on, none of you are to draw near her. When reporting, do so from behind the screen.”
“Transfer the two palace maids who attended her at the Imperial Retreat Palace. Let her rest without worry.”
Having given his commands, the Emperor buried himself in the documents on his desk.
Yirong had always enjoyed robust health and rarely fell ill, but this time the sickness struck her like a collapsing mountain. That morning, upon hearing Gao Fuliang’s familiar voice, she recalled the humiliations of the past few days that he had witnessed firsthand. The thought made her feel even worse.
She had never cared before what others thought of her, but now she could vividly imagine the palace servants pointing and whispering about her even with her eyes closed.
Her condition worsened, and by evening, she had begun to speak in delirious ramblings.
Zhu Jin watched as Madam Lu drank the medicinal soup and fell into a deep sleep. She breathed a small sigh of relief but still fretted over the words her mistress had uttered. Hurrying off, she went to report to Gao Fuliang.
“What did she say?” he asked.
“Madam Lu first called for her mother and asked why she had to come to the Capital City. Then she called for her father for a while. Finally, she murmured that person’s name very softly…” Zhu Jin watched Gao Fuliang’s expression closely. “This slave might have misheard. Madam Lu’s voice at the end was so faint.”
It was likely that even in her muddled state, she remembered not to speak the name aloud.
Gao Fuliang pondered for a moment before saying, “You misheard. Do not mention this to anyone else.”
Zhu Jin let out a full breath of relief, nodded repeatedly, and took her leave.
The East Hall was brightly lit by candlelight. It was past the first watch when the Emperor finally dismissed the court ministers who had come to discuss state affairs. The senior officials sometimes could not fathom what the young Emperor truly intended or whom he planned to target next. As they walked outside the hall, they exchanged a few more words of speculation before each boarding their carriages and departing.
After they left, the Emperor immediately summoned Cheng Ye and heard his report that the matters had been satisfactorily handled.
He closed his eyes to rest for a moment, then rose to go visit Yirong.
On the way, Gao Fuliang reported, “Your Majesty, Zhu Jin just came to say that Madam Lu’s illness took a turn for the worse. After taking her evening medicine, she broke out in a heavy sweat and seemed a bit better. Now she has fallen asleep again, though it seemed like she mumbled something about her parents in her delirium.”
“Worsened?” The Emperor frowned. “Why did it worsen?”
Before the inner eunuch could respond, the Emperor gave a faint, ambiguous smile. “I can guess. It must be her mood.”
His footsteps halted at the entrance to the side hall. Inside, the candlelight burned brightly, accompanied by the soft rustle of skirts as a maid moved about.