First Year of Jianyuan, May 6th.
Summer arrived in Chang'an with fierce intensity. Before the sun had even reached its zenith, the bricks on the palace walls were already scorching to the touch. I sat in the workshop, a large red wedding dress spread out on the desk. The phoenix patterns shimmered with golden light under the candle flame. Qingxing stood behind me, holding a gold hairpin with dangling steps, urging me for the third time, yet I remained motionless. It wasn't that I didn't want to move; my hands were trembling. Hands that had spent five years restoring artifacts, hands steady enough to handle countless fragments, were now clutching the corner of the garment, knuckles turning white.
"Madam," Qingxing's voice softened. "It is time to change."
"Wait a little longer."
"But His Majesty said today—"
"I know." I took a deep breath. The person in the mirror wore a half-wornquju robe, with cinnabar stains still visible on the cuffs. She did not look like an Empress; she looked like someone who was not yet ready. I reached out and touched the mirror surface. Cold. Just as cold as when I first woke up in the Han Palace. But the face in that mirror held much more than it did back then. Not wrinkles, but something deeper, something indefinable.
"Let's go," I stood up.
The large red wedding dress felt heavier on my body than I had imagined. Phoenix patterns stretched from the collar to the hem, every feather embroidered with gold thread, flashing in the light. Qingxing inserted the gold hairpin into my bun and stepped back, her eyes turning red.
"Your Majesty looks truly beautiful."
"Do not call me 'Your Majesty' (Niangniang)," I said. "Call me 'Madam' (Niango)."
"But—"
"We are not married yet."
She smiled. I took one last look at the bronze mirror. The person inside, clad in the red wedding dress with a gold phoenix in her hair, did not look like me. But the eyes were mine. Bright, steady. Unafraid.
Before the Xuanshi Hall, a hundred officials stood in solemn silence. From the hall door to the steps, a black mass of people stood densely packed. The Grand Censor, the Chancellor, the Grand Commandant, the Nine Ministers—all eyes were fixed in the same direction. I stood at the bottom of the steps, looking up. That position was high. So high one had to tilt their head to see it. Standing at the very top was a figure in imperial ceremonial robes: black deep garments, a crown with twelve strands of jade beads. His face was partially visible behind the hanging beads, his expression unreadable. But I saw his hand—hanging by his side, clenched tight. Not out of nervousness, but something heavier.
I stepped onto the first stair. The stone step was warm from the sun, the heat transmitting through the sole of my shoe. Qingxing whispered from behind, "Your Majesty, slow down." I did not slow down. Every step was steady. Hands that had steadied countless fragments for five years were now used to steady my own heartbeat. Reaching the tenth step, I remembered the first time I met him. In the main hall, he sat at the head, before a shattered bronze ding. He said, "Come here." Back then, I did not fear him. I do not fear him now. But my heart beat much faster than it did then. Not out of fear. But knowing that once these steps were climbed, everything would be different.
Reaching the final step, he extended his hand.
"You're here?" he asked. His voice was low, audible only to me.
"I am here."
He took my hand. His palm was very hot. This time, his hand did not tremble. It was steady. He pulled me along and turned to face the hundred officials. Sunlight fell upon us; his robes were black, my wedding dress was crimson. Black and red merged together in the light.
The Ancestral Temple lay to the southeast of Weiyang Palace. It was a fifteen-minute walk from the Xuanshi Hall. The road was paved with yellow earth, sprinkled with water to keep down the dust. On both sides stood the imperial guards, their armor gleaming in the sunlight. Liu Che walked ahead, holding my hand. His strides were not large, just fast enough for me to keep up. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in his jade bead crown, drawing lines of light and shadow across his face. His profile was hard, jaw tense, lips pressed together. But I saw his eyes—very bright. Not the brightness of the court, but another kind. Like that time long ago, in the snow of Shanglin Park, when he smiled and said, "You smiled."
"Nervous?" he suddenly asked, without turning around.
"Fine."
"Liar. Your hands are sweating."
"...Can Your Majesty please not expose me?"
The corner of his mouth curled up slightly. He said nothing more.
The gate of the Ancestral Temple was black, the door studs made of copper, polished bright by time. The Grand Master of Ceremonies stood at the entrance, wearing sacrificial robes, holding the announcement text in his hands. Incense smoke drifted out from within the hall, mixing with the腥 (fishy/gamey) scent of thetailao sacrifice, swirling in the air. Liu Che stopped and looked at me.
"Lu Xingye."
"Mm."
"Once we go in, there is no turning back."
"Who wants to turn back?"
He looked at me, his gaze deep, as if trying to see through something.
"Let's go," he said.
Inside the hall was darker than outside. Candle flames danced on the altar, illuminating the spirit tablets of the ancestors in flickering light and shadow. Incense smoke rose gracefully, coiling around the beams like souls unwilling to disperse. The Grand Master of Ceremonies had already arranged the offerings—thetailao (ox, sheep, pig), jade discs, and black wine. The gamey scent of the animals mixed with the smell of incense candles, thick and unyielding in the air. My footsteps echoed on the stone slabs with every step. The Grand Master of Ceremonies stood before the spirit tablets, unfolded the announcement text, and began to read.
"Emperor Che, dares to announce to the August Heaven, the Emperor God, the Post-Earth Deities, and the Ancestors of the Han House—"
His voice echoed within the hall, word by word, as solemn as if carved into stone. After each sentence, he paused for several breaths, waiting for the echo to dissipate before reading the next. The pauses were long, long enough to hear one's own heartbeat. The candle flames flickered during those pauses, then steadied. I stood beside Liu Che, looking at those spirit tablets. Gaozu, Emperor Wen, Emperor Jing—Emperor Jing's tablet was new, the wood not yet fully darkened. He had lain there, thin as a withered bone, saying, "I know you are a good person." He had been gone less than two months.
"Now there is a woman of the Lu clan, named Xingye, gentle, virtuous, wise, and fitting to match the Imperial House."
My fingers tightened slightly. Liu Che felt it; his grip on my hand became firmer.
"Respectfully, on this first day of the month, she is established as Empress. May she inherit the ancestral temple and serve as a model for the world."
The announcement was finished. The Grand Master of Ceremonies closed the text and stepped aside. The hall fell silent for a moment. So silent one could hear the sound of a candle wick cracking.
Then—
"Wait."
Ajiao's voice came from the doorway. Everyone turned their heads. She stood at the entrance, wearing plain clothes, devoid of any jewelry. The hem of her skirt dragged on the threshold, kicking up a small cloud of dust. She walked in step by step, each footfall heavy, her heels striking the stone slab with a dull thud. Her face was pale, her lips bloodless, but her eyes were bright—bright like burning fire. She stopped before Liu Che.
"Your Majesty," she said, "you cannot marry her."
Liu Che looked at her. He said nothing.
"You cannot marry her. She is not from here. Do you know where she comes from? Do you know what kind of person she is? You do not know. You know nothing."
Her voice trembled, but every word was clear. Her fingers clutched her sleeve, knuckles white as bone. Her gaze shifted from Liu Che's face to mine, pausing for an instant. In that instant, I saw what lay in the depths of her eyes—not hatred, but something more painful.
"She is—"
"Enough." Liu Che interrupted her. His voice was not loud, but everyone in the hall heard it.
Ajiao's lips trembled. "Your Majesty—"
"I said, enough."
He released my hand and walked to Ajiao. His steps were slow, each one steady. He showed no anger, no rebuke. He simply looked at her, his gaze calm. His Adam's apple rolled, as if suppressing something.
"Ajiao, I know where she comes from. I know who she is."
Ajiao froze. Her fingers loosened their grip on her sleeve, then clenched again.
"She knows what I will become in the future. She knows what this world will become. She knows—but she is still here. She has not left."
He turned around and looked at me. The candle flames danced behind him, his face half-lit, half-dark. But his eyes were bright—not with anger, but with something deeper, heavier, like moonlight.
"I do not care where she comes from. I do not care who she is. I only know—I want to marry her. Only her."
Ajiao stood there. Her shoulders trembled, her lips trembled, her fingers trembled. She wanted to speak, but nothing came out. Her gaze shifted from Liu Che's face to mine, then back. In that moment, I saw the last glimmer of light in her eyes extinguish. Like a lamp blown out by the wind.
Liu Che did not look at her again. He turned around, walked to the spirit tablets of the ancestors, and knelt down.
The sound of knees hitting the stone slab was loud. Everyone in the hall was stunned. The Son of Heaven kneeling before the ancestral temple. Not the ceremonial bow of a grand ritual, but a true, personal kneel of a man before his ancestors. Incense smoke coiled above his head, candle flames danced behind him. His back was straight, the jade beads of his crown hanging before him, swaying gently.
"Ancestors above, your unworthy descendant Liu Che, today announces to the ancestral temple."
His voice was flat, but every word carried weight.
"The only person I wish to marry is her. My harem will have only her. In this life, I will love only her."
He paused. The hall was as silent as an empty grave. No one spoke. No one dared to speak.
"No matter where she comes from, no matter who she is. I will find her. I will marry her. I will love only her."
His voice echoed within the hall, word by word, as if carved into stone. I looked at his back. That silhouette, under the candlelight, was huge. So huge it covered half the wall. That silhouette did not look like a fifteen-year-old Son of Heaven. That silhouette looked like a man who, once he made a promise, would never renege.
Ajiao stood to the side, tears falling drop by drop. She did not cry out; tears streamed down her cheeks, dripping onto her skirt, spreading into small dark patches. Her fingers clutched her sleeve, knuckles white as bone. She looked at Liu Che's kneeling back, at his hand holding mine. In that moment, I knew what she was thinking. She had not lost to a person. She had lost to something she could never obtain.
She turned around and left. Her footsteps were light, so light as if afraid to disturb something. At the door, she paused for a moment. She did not turn back. Just paused. Then she left.
Liu Che stood up. Dust clung to his knees; he did not brush it off. He turned around and looked at me.
"Lu Xingye."
"I am here."
"Are you willing?"
I looked at him. Candle flames danced in his eyes, illuminating his face brightly. Where he had knelt, marks remained on the ground. A Son of Heaven, kneeling before his ancestors, saying—I will love only her in this life.
The hall was very quiet. All eyes were upon us. The Grand Censor, the Chancellor, the Grand Commandant, the Nine Ministers—all gazes fell here. But I saw only his eyes. Bright, steady, unafraid.
"I am willing," I said.
He smiled. Not the smile of the court, not a smile for anyone else to see. It was a smile just for me. Small, faint. But I saw it.
The voice of the Grand Master of Ceremonies rang out in the hall. "Emperor Che establishes Lu Xingye as Empress. May Heaven, Earth, and the Ancestral Temple bear witness."
His voice echoed within the hall, word by word, as solemn as if carved into stone. The hundred officials knelt in homage, shouting "Long live the Empress!" The sound reverberated above the ancestral temple, wave upon wave, like a tide.
Liu Che held my hand, standing at the highest point. His hand was hot, his palm calloused.
"Lu Xingye."
"Mm."
"From now on, you are the Empress."
"Mm."
"Are you afraid?"
"No," I said. "When you knelt before the ancestors, I was not afraid. Now, even less so."
He laughed. Low, audible only to me.
"From now on, no matter what happens, you must stand by my side."
"Okay."
"No matter how many people ask you to leave, you are not allowed to go."
"Okay."
"No matter—" he paused, "no matter how many people bring up your origins in the future, do not pay them any mind. You are my Empress. That is enough."
I looked into his eyes. A fifteen-year-old Son of Heaven, standing before the Han ancestral temple, holding my hand, saying "That is enough." In that moment, I knew this man was worth traveling two thousand years through time for.
"Liu Che," I called his name. Not 'Your Majesty', but his name.
He looked at me. His gaze was deep.
"I only want you too."
Outside the hall, summer in Chang'an was very quiet. Sunlight streamed through the window lattice, falling upon us. His robes were black, my wedding dress was crimson. Black and red merged together in the light, indistinguishable where he ended and I began.
Incense smoke still coiled around the beams. The spirit tablets of the ancestors stood silently in the candlelight. Emperor Jing's tablet was still new, the wood not yet fully darkened. He was inside, watching his son kneel on the ground, saying—I will love only her in this life. Would he smile? I do not know. But I know he once said: "That son of mine has a bad temper. Please bear with him."
I bore with him. And he bore with me.
Walking out of the ancestral temple, the sunlight was so bright I squinted. Liu Che held my hand, not letting go. His strides were still not large, still just fast enough for me to keep up.
"Lu Xingye."
"Mm."
"Today, I am very happy."
"I can tell."
"How can you tell?"
"You smiled."
"I did not smile."
"You did. You've been smiling since we left the temple."
He turned his head away. But I saw it—the roots of his ears had turned red.
First Year of Jianyuan, May 6th. The Son of Heaven establishes his Empress. Announced to the Ancestral Temple. Vows made to Heaven and Earth. The Harem shall have only one person.
[End of Chapter 26]