First Year of Jianyuan, May 18th.
Twelve days after the announcement at the ancestral temple, Chang'an welcomed the true heat of summer. Before dawn, Qingxing pulled me from my bed. I opened my eyes; outside the window, it was still pitch black. The workshop was filled with lights and people—not just the usual few maids, but female officials sent by the Grand Master of Ceremonies, dressed in uniform cyan robes, standing in two rows. In their hands, they held lacquer boxes, bronze mirrors, combs, and hairpins, so many that it seemed they intended to fill the entire workshop.
"Your Majesty, please bathe."
I was led to a side hall. In the center stood a massive copper bathtub, filled with hot water, floating with orchid grass and sweet wormwood. Steam rose up; I took a deep breath, the clear scent of orchids filling my lungs from my nose, driving away the last traces of sleep. I sat in the tub, the water reaching my shoulders, so hot it turned my skin red. Qingxing added a spoonful of spice nearby, changing the scent in the air—not the agarwood usually used, but an indescribable fragrance, crisp and clear like dew in late autumn.
"What is this?"
"Lan Tang (Orchid Bath)," a female official said. "For the Empress's grand wedding, one must bathe in Orchid Water to ward off misfortune."
I nodded. The steam blurred the bronze mirror; I could not see my face clearly. I only saw a hazy patch of red—the wedding dress hanging on the screen, red as a ball of fire.
After the bath, I was helped to the dressing table. The bronze mirror was polished bright, reflecting my face—wet hair draped over my shoulders, cheeks flushed red from the steam. The official picked up a comb and began to comb my hair. As the comb passed through the strands, I felt something strange—not a sense of ritual, but something older, deeper. These hands, this comb, these words had been used by countless women before. They were all gone, but the ritual remained.
After combing, the official began applying makeup. Rice powder for the face, rouge for the cheeks, lip balm for the lips. The face in the bronze mirror changed bit by bit—it was no longer my face, but the face of an Empress. White as jade, red as morning clouds, eyebrows painted thin and long like distant mountains. I stared at the person in the mirror for a long time, trying to find my own shadow. Finally, I found it at the corner of my eye—a very fine line, left from staring at lights for too long while restoring artifacts in Florence. It was still there.
The wedding dress was put on layer by layer. First the white undergarment, then the deep robe, then thequju, and finally the large crimsonYudi (a specific ceremonial robe). TheYudi was exclusive to the Empress, embroidered with patterns of theDi bird—not the phoenix, but theDi. A bird more ancient than the phoenix. The collar and cuffs were edged in black, the waist bound by a leather belt adorned with jade pendants and sachets. Finally, the crown was placed. Not the usual hair crown, but the Empress's grand ceremonial crown. Made of gold, inserted with sixHui bird hairpins, three on each side. At the top of the crown sat a golden phoenix, wings spread as if ready to fly.
The crown was too heavy. When it was placed on my head, my whole body swayed slightly, my neck aching from the pressure. But I did not lower my head. I saw my own eyes in the mirror—bright, steady, unafraid.
The voice of the Grand Master of Ceremonies came from outside the hall. "The auspicious hour has arrived. Please, the Empress, ascend the carriage."
I stood up. TheYudi was so heavy that with every step, I could hear the friction of the fabric, a rustling sound like autumn leaves falling. Qingxing supported my hand as I walked step by step toward the hall door. Outside waited a huge carriage. Drawn by six white horses, its body entirely crimson, the roof golden, with copper bells hanging from the four corners. Behind the carriage followed a long procession of guards—banners, canopies, fans, standards—red and yellow, looking like a flowing river in the morning light. I looked up; the six white horses stepped on the morning dew, their hooves striking the stone slabs with a dull sound like war drums. The copper bells rang in the wind,ding-ding-dang-dang, like rain.
The Grand Master of Ceremonies stood before the carriage, bowing deeply. "Please, the Empress, ascend the carriage."
Qingxing helped me into the carriage. The interior was (paved) with thick felt rugs, soft as stepping on clouds. Once seated, the Grand Master's voice rang out again. "Proceed—"
The carriage moved. I lifted the curtain; the streets of Chang'an unfolded in the morning light. Both sides of the street were crowded with people, densely packed, extending from the palace gates to wherever the eye could see. Commoners wore new clothes, standing by the roadside watching the carriage pass. Some knelt, some held flowers, some held children. Children sat on their fathers' shoulders, stretching their necks to look this way. Sounds surged from all directions, mixing together until individual voices were indistinguishable. But I saw their eyes. Bright, curious, joyful.
The carriage traveled for most of an hour before reaching Weiyang Palace. The palace gates stood wide open; imperial guards lined both sides, their armor gleaming in the sunlight. Liu Che stood on the steps before the Xuanshi Hall, wearing imperial ceremonial robes: black deep garments, a crown with twelve strands of jade beads. Sunlight fell upon him, the shadows of the jade beads dancing on his face, making his expression unreadable. The carriage stopped. The Grand Master's voice echoed before the hall.
"Please, the Empress, descend the carriage—"
Qingxing helped me down. The hem of theYudi dragged on the ground, over a foot long. With every step, I heard the sound of fabric rubbing against the stone steps, rustling like wind through bamboo groves. I raised my head, looking at the person standing at the highest point. He extended his hand. Palm facing up. Sunlight struck his hand, illuminating the lines of his palm clearly.
"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. He pulled me along and turned to face the hundred officials. Before the Xuanshi Hall, a black mass of people stood densely packed. The Grand Censor, the Chancellor, the Grand Commandant, the Nine Ministers—all eyes were fixed on us. Sunlight shone directly from above, so bright it was hard to keep eyes open. But I did not lower my head. My neck ached from the weight of the gold crown, but I did not lower my head. The Grand Master of Ceremonies unfolded the announcement text and began to read. His voice echoed before the hall, word by word, as solemn as if carved into stone. After each sentence, drum sounds rang out. One beat after another, dull and distant, vibrating until my chest felt numb.
When the announcement was finished, the Grand Master closed the text and stepped aside. Liu Che held my hand and walked to the front of the hall. The hundred officials knelt in homage. They shouted "Long live the Emperor!" and "Long live the Empress!" The sound echoed before the hall, wave upon wave, like a tide crashing against the palace walls and surging back. I stood at the highest point, looking down at those kneeling people. Their faces showed reverence, some试探 (testing), some hiding daggers. They were not kneeling to me. They were kneeling to the Empress. To this dress, this crown, this position. But I stood here. Not someone else. It was me.
After the ceremony, we returned to the Xuanshi Hall. A banquet was set inside; the hundred officials took their seats, cups and chopsticks clinking. Liu Che sat at the head, I beside him. The table was laden with dishes—roasted meat, raw fish slices, soups, pastries, fruits and melons. But I could not eat. TheYudi was too tight, the crown too heavy, my neck so sore I could barely lift it. I secretly moved my neck; theHui bird hairpins on the gold crown swayed slightly, making ading sound.
"Can't eat?" he asked in a low voice.
"Mm."
"Me neither."
He glanced at me, the corner of his mouth curling up. Then he reached out, not to pick up food, but directly grabbed my sleeve cuff, pulling me slightly toward him. I nearly lost my balance and glared at him. He had already picked up a piece of roasted meat and brought it to my lips.
"Take a bite."
"Your Majesty—"
"Take a bite." He looked at me, his gaze serious, but his嘴角 (corner of mouth) curled. "You haven't eaten since morning. If you faint, today's rites will have been in vain."
I opened my mouth and took a bite. The meat was cold, but I swallowed it. He also picked up a piece, put it in his mouth, chewed twice. Then he put down his chopsticks, leaned back in his chair, and looked at me.
"Lu Xingye."
"Mm."
"You look very beautiful today."
I raised my head. Sunlight streamed through the window lattice, striking his face. The shadows of the jade beads danced, but his eyes were bright, so bright I could not look away.
"Your Majesty also looks very handsome."
"I look handsome every day."
"...Can Your Majesty be a little humble?"
He laughed. Low, audible only to me.
The banquet lasted a long time. The sun moved from east to west; candles were lit inside the hall. Gradually, the officials dispersed, and the hall grew quiet. Liu Che stood up and extended his hand to me.
"Let's go."
"Where?"
"Back to the palace."
He pulled me out of the Xuanshi Hall. It was already dark; the moon hung above the palace walls, large and round. He walked very slowly, every step steady. Moonlight fell on him, the jade beads of his crown swaying gently in the wind, the sound of jade colliding softly like wind chimes.
"Liu Che," I called his name.
"Mm."
"Today, I am very happy."
He stopped and looked at me. Moonlight struck his face; his eyes were very bright.
"Me too," he said.
He reached out and touched the gold crown on my head.
"Is it heavy?"
"Heavy."
"Then let's take it off when we get back."
"Mm."
He held my hand and continued walking. Moonlight paved the ground behind us, silver-white, like a river.
The Jiaofang Hall was the Empress's sleeping quarters. The hall was filled with lights, red candles burning high, the room filled with fragrance. The bed was covered with crimson quilts; on the table sat theHejin wine (nuptial cup) and theTonglao plate (shared meal). Female officials stood at the door, holding wine vessels, heads bowed. Liu Che waved his hand. "Withdraw."
The officials withdrew. The hall grew quiet. Candle flames danced, casting our shadows on the wall, overlapping each other. He looked at me, reached out, and helped me remove the gold crown. The crown was so heavy; when it was taken off, my hair cascaded over my shoulders. My scalp finally felt relieved, and I couldn't help but let out a long sigh. He looked at my hair, silent for a moment.
"Does it hurt?"
"No pain."
"Liar. Pressed for so long, how could it not hurt?"
He reached out and gently rubbed the top of my head. His fingers passed through my hair, very light, very warm. His fingertips had thin calluses, worn from approving memorials; when they brushed against my scalp, there was a slight prick, a slight warmth.
"Lu Xingye."
"Mm."
"From now on, you live here. Not in the workshop."
"I know."
"The workshop remains. If you want to restore things, you can go anytime."
"Mm."
He looked into my eyes for a long time.
"Do you regret it?" he asked. "Marrying me."
I愣了一下 (paused in surprise). "Why do you ask?"
"Because you are from two thousand years in the future. You have seen better things. You have seen cars that don't need horses, birds that fly in the sky, cities a hundred times larger than Chang'an. You have seen so many good things. Marrying me—will you regret it?"
I looked at him. A fifteen-year-old Son of Heaven, standing under red candles, asking if I would regret it. His eyes were bright, but beneath that brightness lay a very thin layer—fear. He was afraid I would regret it. He was afraid that one day I would want to go back. He was afraid that two thousand years was too long, and he was too short.
"Liu Che," I called his name.
"Mm."
"I do not regret it."
"Why?"
"Because you are here," I said. "The world two thousand years later, everything is good. But you are not there."
He said nothing. He pulled me into his arms. His hold was tight, so tight I could feel his heartbeat. Fast, too fast for a Son of Heaven.
"Lu Xingye."
"Mm."
"From now on, no matter what happens, you are not allowed to leave."
"I won't leave."
"No matter how many people ask you to leave, you are not allowed to listen."
"I won't listen."
"No matter—" he paused, "no matter what kind of person I become in the future, you are not allowed to fear me."
I raised my head and looked into his eyes. "What kind of person will you become?"
He was silent for a moment. "I don't know. But the history books wrote it. You said the history books say I acted ruthlessly. I am afraid that one day—you will fear me too."
I looked at him. Inside there was fire, there was a blade, there was the loneliness of an emperor. And there was fear. A very deep, hidden fear accumulated over who knows how many years.
"It won't happen," I said.
"Why?"
"Because I know why you are ruthless. You are ruthless because there are too many things you need to protect. The world, the people, the Han Dynasty—and me."
He said nothing. He lowered his head, his forehead resting against mine. The jade beads of the crown touched, making ading sound, very light.
"You are right," he said. "It is all because of you."
The candle flame flickered. Outside the window, the moon rose to its highest point. I reached out and embraced the jade beads on his shoulder, reflecting a vermilion arc under the candlelight. That was the fire in my heart that would never extinguish.
"Lu Xingye."
"Mm."
"From now on, you must be here every day."
"Okay."
"You must smile every day."
"Okay."
"You must call my name every day."
"Liu Che."
He laughed. Very low, very light, like wind blowing through a candle flame.
"Say it again."
"Liu Che."
He closed his eyes. The corner of his mouth curled up.
The gazes of the hundred officials had long since scattered, the drum sounds outside the hall had stopped. Only the candle flames danced, only the moonlight flowed. I knew the true tests would unfold tomorrow in the court, the harem, and with the Eldest Princess's household. But in this moment, I only wanted to call his name.
Outside the window, the night in Chang'an was very quiet. But he knew that from today on, in this palace city, there would be someone calling his name every day. Not 'Your Majesty', not 'Son of Heaven'. But Liu Che.
[End of Chapter 27]