Water droplets fell from the ice basin, sounding especially clear and piercing in Yirong’s ears.
She looked up at Empress Dowager Cui. At twenty-six years old, the Empress Dowager was in the prime of her youth and beauty. Though she had grown haggard of late, she still exuded an air of elegant nobility as she gazed at Yirong with a warm smile.
“Yirong, are you unwilling?”
Yirong was naturally unwilling. She could hide in the Empress Dowager’s palace every day, but the Emperor could also come to pay his respects to his imperial sister-in-law.
If the Empress Dowager caught them… she would be furious. She would no longer treat Yirong with gentle affection but would instead send someone to tell Cui Cheng.
Yet Yirong could not reveal the Emperor’s interest in her. Even someone as reasonable and kind as the Empress Dowager would suspect Yirong of improper conduct—of flirting and scheming.
Yirong knelt down and said softly, “Sister, it’s not that I don’t wish to keep you company. It’s just that as a married woman, if I were to stay in the palace, people might gossip about breaches in palace etiquette. That would harm your reputation. Besides, at home, my husband relies on me to manage his silver and salary. If I left abruptly, it would inconvenience him there as well.”
“Of course, the most important thing is your reputation, Sister,” she added. “You are the mother of the realm, your wise name renowned far and wide. It would not do for my staying in the palace to cast any shadow on that.” Her eyelashes trembled lightly as she lifted her eyes to the Empress Dowager.
Her words were utterly sincere. There was no precedent for married women staying overnight in the palace—unwed girls were one thing, but not wives.
As she spoke, Yirong felt a pang of sympathy for the Empress Dowager. Confined to the depths of the palace in endless loneliness, bored day after day, it was no wonder she would say something so out of keeping with propriety.
Empress Dowager Cui fixed her gaze on Yirong’s face. Yirong knelt before her, her words earnest, faint worry clouding her expressive features, which could shift so readily from joy to reproach.
Few dared defy the Empress Dowager to her face. She had meant to give Yirong a cold look for a while, but after drifting into a momentary daze, she saw that Yirong was still kneeling. A sudden realization struck her—
This was the very woman the Emperor currently had designs on.
“Get up, quickly,” the Empress Dowager said warmly. She turned to scold the palace servants. “I was lost in thought about other matters and didn’t notice. How can you all be so unobservant as not to help the Sixth Young Madam to her feet?”
The maids hurried forward to help Yirong rise. Yirong smiled and said, “I’m fine, Sister. Please don’t be angry.”
A flicker of guilt stirred in the Empress Dowager’s heart, complex and unspoken. But then she recalled that the Emperor had not instructed her to keep Yirong in the palace—it was only her own eagerness to bring this matter to a swift close. With that thought, her heart eased a little.
Better not to keep her, in any case. It would spare them all the gossip.
The Empress Dowager had no further interest in detaining Yirong. After a few perfunctory words, she dismissed her.
Once outside the Hall of Eternal Peace, Yirong followed the palace servant step for step, her eyes fixed straight ahead. She dreaded turning a corner and finding that tall figure in dark robes lying in wait. The ninefold palaces rose in endless layers of terraces and pavilions, bright sunlight gleaming everywhere amid the profound depths of the inner palace. Yirong had never found the path out of the palace to feel so interminably long.
She walked the whole way on tenterhooks. Only when she reached the palace gates and spotted Shuilian waiting beside the carriage did she let out a long breath of relief.
Yirong hurried joyfully to Shuilian’s side with a laugh. “Come on, let’s get in the carriage.”
Once inside, Shuilian couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “They say those who laugh often are blessed by fortune. I see it’s true—our Young Madam does love to smile.”
Yirong cupped her hands around her own face and flashed Shuilian a radiant smile. In a small voice, she said, “Today, I didn’t run into anyone.”
“That’s good, that’s good. I haven’t seen the Young Madam walking so tensely in years.” Shuilian patted her chest. Yirong had been on edge these past few days, and it had worried her too.
Yirong grinned. “The weather’s really nice today.”
She pushed open the carriage window and peeked out, eyes lifted to the sky. Azure blue stretched overhead, lazy clouds drifting slowly by—it was utterly charming.
Yirong gave an order. “It’s still early today. Don’t head back to the mansion yet. Let’s go see my mother first.”
At her command, the coachman turned the carriage toward the outskirts of the Capital City. Yirong, who had risen early that morning, relaxed against Shuilian and fell asleep.
The carriage rumbled along until noon, when it reached a town called Lingshi. Yirong unconsciously pinched her fingers, wondering if her mother would recognize her today.
The carriage pulled up before the courtyard, where Song Mama was already waiting at the gate, having received word of their arrival. The moment she saw Yirong, she stepped forward to support her with a smile. “Miss, it’s been too long.”
“I’ve truly been tied up lately,” Yirong replied, tension knotting inside her. “How has Mother’s condition been these past few days?”
“The tonics you sent have been taken without fail. She was doing better the last couple of days—even went out for a stroll around town. But last night, she started not recognizing people again. She cried half the night, missing the master and our young miss. We barely coaxed her to sleep.” Song Mama sighed as she helped Yirong across the threshold.
Yirong said softly, “You’ve worked so hard.”
Her parents had only the one daughter, but Yirong knew the girl her mother longed for was not her as she was now—but the child she had been before the age of eleven.
Ever since her father passed away, her mother had suffered occasional lapses in awareness. After three years of mourning in Yue Prefecture, her mother had insisted on returning to the Capital City. She had brought Yirong back across mountains and rivers to her family’s home, Pingyang Marquis Mansion.
Uncle and aunt managed Pingyang Marquis Mansion. In the beginning, they had treated mother and daughter with reasonable courtesy. After all, Madam Qiao had private savings of her own—she spent none of theirs and even subsidized the household.
But Yirong had always been unhappy living under her uncle’s roof.
Her parents had been refined souls, their marriage harmonious, their only daughter the apple of their eye. They had often taken her traveling, viewing flowers and watching birds. Even the three years of mourning in Yue Prefecture had been peaceful. At her uncle’s home, however, she could rarely venture out. Her cousins mocked her slow, soft speech with its Yue Prefecture accent and ganged up to tease her.
And her mother’s episodes of confusion had only grown worse.
When lucid, Madam Qiao had one thought on her mind: finding a husband for Yirong. The Pingyang Marquis Heir was Yirong’s older cousin by eight years—a widower without children. Madam Qiao wanted Yirong to marry him.
Yirong had no desire for the match. She had no wish to wed a widower, especially one whose looks were merely passable. Her uncle and aunt opposed it as well, preferring their son marry into a high-born family rather than take their lowlier niece. The Heir weighed his options and declined; his cousin might be beautiful, but she offered no real advantage.
Madam Qiao pressed the matter for a long time until, at last, the Heir said he could take Yirong as a concubine.
Her cousins mocked Yirong mercilessly after that. She saw them for what they were: Pingyang Marquis Mansion treated her mother and her as poor country relatives come begging. They spent her mother’s dowry and private savings freely, all while looking down on them with self-righteous disdain.
Yirong had urged her mother to leave early on. Even if they did not return to Yue Prefecture, the two of them could buy a small house in the Capital City and live free of others’ judgment. But after the incident, Madam Qiao still hesitated. She believed the Pingyang name would help Yirong find a better match.
Then came her betrothal to Cui Cheng, and Pingyang Marquis Mansion erupted in outrage. Yirong cast aside her mother’s lingering concerns, settled all accounts with her aunt, and moved out.
Yet her mother’s delusions—that her husband still lived, that her daughter was still a child—did not improve after they left the mansion. Yirong took charge and chose this quiet town on the outskirts of the Capital City, where her mother could rest in peace.
“Madam, the Young Madam from Duke Qiao’s Mansion has come to see you.”
A maid lifted the curtain, and Yirong subtly took in the room. Everything appeared well-provided for, so she withdrew her gaze. Her mother was frail and often confused; Yirong worried the servants might grow lax.
Madam Qiao’s delicate features were etched with sorrow, making her seem far younger than a woman nearing forty. She reclined on a soft couch. When Yirong entered, she slowly sat up. “Young Madam, you’ve come.”
Yirong’s nose stung, and a slow smile spread across her face as she sat beside her mother.
In the past, when her mother failed to recognize her, Yirong had invented a story about being drawn by fate to visit often.
At lunchtime, the two ate a quiet meal together. Madam Qiao gazed at the familiar face and frowned with a smile. “We truly are fated. My daughter has eyes and a nose just like the Young Madam’s. But by coincidence, her father took her out sketching…”
Yirong listened quietly to her mother’s rambling tales from nine years past. Midway through, Madam Qiao drifted off to sleep. Yirong and Song Mama gently helped her back to the bedroom and settled her.
An ice basin cooled the room, soothing incense filling the air. As Yirong watched her mother sleep, Song Mama lightly touched her shoulder.
Understanding the cue, Yirong followed her out. Song Mama whispered, “Three days ago, the Madam of Marquis Pingyang sent people over with some produce from their estates—said it was for a taste. Madam was lucid at the time and accepted it. Then she gave them several bolts of fabric to take back.”
It was as good as accepting and settling the score on the spot.
“I suspect Pingyang Marquis Mansion is testing the waters to reconnect. Naturally, Miss, after the great wrong they did you, reconciliation is impossible. But if they come again when Madam is not herself, how should we handle it?”
Yirong felt a stifled anger rise in her chest. She had forgotten all about loosening her chest binding. After a moment’s thought, she said, “Handle it the same as three days ago.”
She questioned Song Mama closely about her mother’s condition in recent days. Servants reported to Duke Qiao’s Mansion every few days, but nothing compared to hearing it firsthand from those who tended her.
The two spoke softly outside for a long while until a sound came from the inner room. Yirong hurried inside to find Madam Qiao awake and propped against the bedhead, looking bewildered. “Rongrong, you’ve come.”
Yirong rushed over, wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist, and buried her face in the warm embrace. Great tears rolled down her cheeks.
Madam Qiao stroked her hair, asking anxiously again and again, “Rongrong, what is it? Has Cui Cheng been bullying you? Or has someone in Duke Qiao’s Mansion caused trouble? If you’re short of silver, just tell Mother. Don’t cry, don’t cry.”
Yirong’s heart ached all the more, and she sobbed without catching her breath.
Madam Qiao patiently patted her daughter’s slender back, comforting her.
It was a long while before Yirong finally stopped crying. Smiling through her tears, she said, “I just missed you so much.”
If her mother weren’t ill, Yirong would have told her about the Emperor right away. But in this moment, as Yirong wiped away her tears, there was nothing good to say. She wanted to cherish this rare chance to see her mother while she was lucid.
–
The Emperor had no court assembly that day. He set out early to inspect the farming in the villages outside the Capital City, ate a simple meal, and then rode slowly back toward the city.
He had deliberately slowed his pace, and those around him knew he wished to observe his surroundings. Apart from the men far ahead clearing the path, the rest gripped their swords and knives as they followed behind the Emperor. He sat tall and straight in the saddle, his young and handsome face gleaming like a god’s under the sunlight.
Suddenly, one of the scouts ahead wheeled his horse around and galloped back. After saluting the Emperor, he reined in two steps behind him and reported, “Your Majesty, ahead is the carriage of the Sixth Young Madam of Duke Qiao’s Mansion.”
The Emperor arched a brow slightly and flicked his whip.