First Year of Jianyuan, May 19th. The day after the grand wedding.
I was awakened by the piercing morning light. The red candles in Jiaofang Hall had burned all night; piles of wax tears covered the table. The last wick flickered in the breeze and went out. Birds chirped outside the hall—I didn't know what kind, but their calls were urgent. I turned my head; Liu Che was still asleep. He lay on his side, his face pressed against the pillow, hair scattered over his shoulders. A few strands fell across his brow bone, rising and falling gently with his breath. Asleep, he did not look like the Son of Heaven. Not like the one who had carved up the Prince of Liang's fiefdom in court or knelt before the ancestral temple swearing vows. He looked like a fifteen-year-old boy. His breathing was light, his brows slightly furrowed, as if even in his dreams he was pondering matters. I reached out and gently pressed my thumb between his eyebrows. His brows relaxed for a moment, then furrowed again. He shifted but did not wake.
Qingxing called softly from the doorway, "Your Majesty, it is time to rise. Today you must pay respects to the Empress Dowager."
I rose gently. As I lifted the quilt, a cool breeze rushed in, and he shrank slightly into the covers. I glanced at him and tucked the corners of the quilt securely. During my toilette, Qingxing helped me change into formal attire—not the heavyYudi of the wedding, but daily court dress: deep cyan, withDi bird patterns embroidered on the collar. The crown was also changed; it was much lighter, yet I could still feel its weight pressing on my head.
"His Majesty stayed up very late last night reviewing memorials," Qingxing whispered, holding a copper basin with flower petals floating on the water surface. "He was still reading secret reports about the Prince of Liang at midnight (Zi hour). A hidden agent came once; His Majesty read it for a long time. The lamp oil was refilled twice."
I sat before the bronze mirror, looking at the person reflected there. Deep cyan ceremonial robes,Di patterns at the collar, embroidered with gold thread that shimmered. It didn't look like me. But the eyes were mine. I lowered my head, looking at my hands. Hands that had spent five years restoring artifacts, steady enough to handle countless fragments. These hands could repair bronze mirrors, piece together shards, and detect flaws on silk manuscripts. But whether they could hold this crown, I did not know.
Changle Palace lay to the west of Weiyang Palace. Walking from Jiaofang Hall required passing through three palace gates. With each gate I passed, my heartbeat quickened by a fraction. Not out of fear. But knowing that once these gates were crossed, there was no turning back.
Empress Dowager Wang sat at the head, wearing a deep purple robe, a jade hairpin adorning her bun. The hall was dim; the windows were closed, lit only by a few lamps. Her face was half-lit, half-shadowed by the candlelight, her expression unreadable. But I saw her hands—resting on her knees, clenched tight. Her knuckles were white.
"You have come," she said.
"This subject pays respects to the Empress Dowager," I knelt and bowed. My knees struck the stone slab; coldness seeped up from my kneecaps, crawling up my legs. She did not tell me to rise. I knelt there, listening to my own heartbeat. One beat, one beat, one beat. The hall was so quiet one could hear the sound of a candle wick cracking.
She looked at me for a long time. "You know, I do not agree with this marriage."
"I know," my voice was steady.
"Do you know what the court officials are saying? They say you are of unknown origin, incompatible with ritual propriety, and unworthy to be Empress."
"I know."
"Then why did you still marry him?"
I raised my head and looked at her. The candle flame danced behind her; her face was in shadow, but her eyes were bright. "Because he wanted to marry me."
The corner of her mouth twitched. Not a smile, but something more complex. Her fingers loosened on her knee, then clenched again.
"Do you know how many people Che'er turned against in court to make you Empress? The Grand Censor, the Chancellor, the Director of the Imperial Clan—all opposed it. He said, 'My mind is made up; there is no need for further discussion.'" Her voice was flat, but I heard what lay beneath—not anger, but heartache. A mother's heartache for her son. Her voice lowered, so low it was like talking to herself. "He is fifteen. There is too much he has to carry."
She looked at me, her gaze holding something I could not define. Not scrutiny, not approval, but something deeper, heavier. Like someone standing by deep water, watching another person step in.
"Rise," she said.
I stood up. There was a red mark on my knees, visible through the skirt. She looked at that mark, silent for a moment.
"I do not know where you come from, nor do I know who you are. But Che'er trusts you. And I trust him." She paused. "Treat him well."
"Yes."
She waved her hand. I withdrew.
The sunlight in Changle Palace was blinding. I stood under the corridor, taking a deep breath. The air carried the faint scent of osmanthus, mixing with the agarwood incense from inside the hall. Footsteps sounded behind me. Liu Che had arrived sometime, standing beside me. His hair crown was slightly askew, as if he had run.
"Did Mother make things difficult for you?"
"No."
"Liar. You knelt for so long."
I glanced at him. "How did you know?"
"I was waiting outside," his voice was flat, but I saw his hand—hanging by his side, clenching once, then releasing.
He said nothing more. Taking my hand, he walked out. His hand was hot, his palm calloused. From Changle Palace to Jiaofang Hall, we did not speak. But he held my hand tightly.
The backlash in the court was faster than I had imagined. On the third day after the wedding, the Grand Censor submitted a memorial. It stated that the Empress was "of unknown origin and incompatible with ritual propriety; please, Your Majesty, depose the Empress." Liu Che read it but did not approve it. He left it on the desk. The next day, another memorial arrived. This one was jointly signed by the Censorate, the Chancellor's Office, and the Office of the Imperial Clan—over a dozen people. Liu Che still did not approve it. He left it on the desk. On the third day, the Grand Master of Ceremonies also submitted a memorial. It claimed that the wedding ceremony announcing to the ancestral temple was "contrary to ancestral rules," that the Empress had not undergone selection or proper investiture, and that proceeding directly to the ancestral temple was "destroying the laws of the ancestors."
That day, I was in the side hall. Separated by a curtain, I could not see Liu Che's face, but I could hear his breathing. Heavy, as if suppressing something. Then I heard the sound of a memorial being thrown to the ground. Bamboo slips scattered, rolling with a clatter; one roll rolled to this side of the curtain, stopping at my feet. I looked down; four words were written on it—"Unknown Origin."
"Destroying the laws of the ancestors?" His voice was cold, cold as a blade. "I am the ancestor."
The hall fell silent. No one spoke. No one dared to speak. I stood behind the curtain, my fingers clutching my sleeve, knuckles white. My heart beat fast, so fast I could hear blood rushing in my ears. Not out of fear. But because he was blocking the blades for me. One man, standing in the court, facing a hall full of officials, saying—I am the ancestor.
"Issue an edict," he said. His voice flattened, calm as a dead pool. "The Grand Censor is aged; order him to retire. The Grand Master of Ceremonies has lost propriety; deduct three months' salary. The Chancellor—" he paused, "keep the Chancellor's memorial pending. Let him think carefully."
Outside the curtain, someone's breathing became rapid. Someone wanted to speak but was pulled back by a neighbor. No one spoke again. I stood behind the curtain, listening to my heartbeat. One beat, one beat, one beat. Slowly, it steadied.
The movements of the Prince of Liang unsettled Liu Che even more than the court memorials. On the fifth day after the wedding, a hidden agent delivered a secret report. I happened to be in the study, sitting in a corner helping him organize memorials. The agent knelt on the ground, head bowed low.
"Your Majesty, Gongsun Gui has arrived in Huainan. The King of Huainan, Liu An, met with Gongsun Gui and talked for a long time. The specific content is unknown, but when Gongsun Gui left, the King of Huainan gave him a cartload of gifts."
Liu Che's hand paused. He stood before the map, his finger pressing on the location of Huainan. He was silent for a long time. So long that sweat seeped onto the agent's forehead.
"A cartload of gifts," his voice was light, but every word carried weight. "He is buying passage. Huainan, Hengshan, Jibei—one by one, he is buying them. Once bought, it becomes a net."
He turned around and looked at me. In his gaze was fire, a blade, the loneliness of an emperor. And fear. A very deep, hidden fear accumulated over who knows how many years. But he did not retreat.
"Lu Xingye, are you afraid?"
"Afraid of what?"
"Afraid that I will kill people."
I looked at him. Candle flames danced in his eyes, illuminating his face brightly. His jaw was tense, lips pressed together, no hesitation in his eyes. But his hand—the one resting on the map—his fingertips were trembling slightly.
"Not afraid," I said. "You are not killing people. You are saving people."
He looked at me for a long time. Then he smiled. Faint, light. "You are right," he said. "It is all about saving people."
He picked up his brush and issued an order. The characters were written hard, each stroke like a knife carving: "Gongsun Gui privately colluded with the Xiongnu; the evidence is conclusive. Order the Commandant of Justice to arrest and bring him to justice. If he resists arrest, kill him without mercy."
The agent received the order and withdrew. The study grew quiet. He put down the brush, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes. I walked over, stood beside him, and gently placed my hand on his shoulder. He did not flinch.
Ajiao came to Jiaofang Hall on the last day of May. That afternoon, the sky was overcast, as if rain were imminent. I sat by the window, holding a roll of bamboo slips, but I could not read them. When Qingxing entered to announce, her voice was hushed. "Your Majesty, Lady Chen is here."
I paused. "Please invite her in."
She stood at the door, wearing plain clothes, no jewelry. Her hair was simply styled, adorned only with a silver hairpin. Sunlight shone from behind her, casting a long, thin shadow on the ground. Her face was unclear in the backlight, but I saw her eyes—red, but dry.
"May I come in?"
"Come in."
She walked in and sat down. The tea on the table had gone cold; she did not drink it. Her fingers rested on her knees, knuckles white. Silence lasted for a long time. So long I could hear the wind blowing through the leaves outside.
"My mother has been confined," she finally spoke, her voice hoarse. "An edict from His Majesty. It states that the Eldest Princess's household is involved in the Prince of Liang case; she is ordered to stay indoors for reflection and is forbidden from going out."
"I know."
"You know?" She raised her head and looked at me. Her eyes were red, but there were no tears. "Do you know what my mother is like now? She smashed everything in the mansion. She cursed His Majesty for being ungrateful, and she cursed you—" she paused, "cursed you as a demoness."
I said nothing. She lowered her head, looking at her hands.
"Lu Xingye, do you know, sometimes I hate you. I hate that you did nothing yet gained everything. I did so much, yet gained nothing."
Her words were like a needle, pricking my chest. It didn't hurt, but it went deep. I knew she was right. I had done nothing. I hadn't fought, hadn't snatched, hadn't waited for years like she did. I was just—here. But being here was enough.
"But I did not come today to hate you."
"Then why?"
"Because my mother wants me to do something." She raised her head and looked at me. Tears fell from her eyes, silently streaming down her cheeks. "She wants me to go to Empress Dowager Dou. To have Empress Dowager Dou intervene and depose you."
My heart skipped a beat.
"What did you say?"
"I said—" she paused, her lips trembling, "I said, I will not do it."
She looked at me for a long time.
"Lu Xingye, do you know, this is the first time I have ever said 'no' to my mother."
Her voice was light in the candlelight, as if about to scatter, yet it carried a stubbornness she had never possessed before. That stubbornness was not directed at me, but at herself. Her tears fell drop by drop, landing on her skirt, spreading into small dark patches.
"I will not do it. Not because I don't hate you. But because—I am tired. Since childhood, I knew I would marry His Majesty. I would be Empress. I would be the most noble woman in the world. I did everything. I learned everything I was supposed to learn. I waited for so many years. And what I got was him not even looking at me."
She wiped her tears. The movement was light, as if afraid of hurting herself.
"I am tired. I do not want to be a chess piece anymore."
I looked into her eyes. In that moment, I seemed to see a sixteen-year-old girl stepping out of the shadows of the Eldest Princess's residence, walking toward her own unknown future. She did not know what lay ahead, but she was still walking.
"Lady Chen," I said, "what do you plan to do now?"
"I don't know." She stood up. "Perhaps I will stay in Chang'an. Perhaps I will go elsewhere. I don't know. But I no longer want to fight."
She walked to the door and stopped. She did not turn back. Sunlight streamed in from outside, outlining her silhouette in a golden rim. Her shadow on the ground was thin, but straight.
"Lu Xingye."
"Mm."
"Treat him well."
She left. The sound of her footsteps grew fainter and fainter in the corridor until it could no longer be heard. I sat in my original spot, looking at the doorway. The tea on the table was still cold; she had not drunk it. I reached out and touched the spot where she had sat. The mat was still warm.
In the evening, when Liu Che came to Jiaofang Hall, his complexion was not good. He sat down without speaking. I poured him a cup of tea; he did not drink it.
"What's wrong?"
"Gongsun Gui is dead," he said, his voice flat. "He resisted arrest. He was killed by the Commandant of Justice's men."
"And the Prince of Liang?"
"The Prince of Liang submitted a memorial. He claimed he knew nothing of Gongsun Gui's affairs; it was Gongsun Gui's personal doing. He requested to have his fiefdom reduced as punishment."
"What did you say?"
"I said—" he paused, "not yet. Let him wait a little longer."
"Wait for what?"
"Wait for him to make a mistake." He looked at me. "He is afraid. When one is afraid, one makes mistakes. Only when he makes a mistake can I make my move."
He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. The candlelight danced on his face, clearly revealing his exhaustion. His brows were still furrowed, just as they had been in court during the day.
"Lu Xingye."
"Mm."
"Ajiao came to see you today?"
"Mm."
"What did she say to you?"
"She said she no longer wants to be a chess piece."
He was silent for a long time. The wind outside stopped; the leaves ceased rustling; all of Chang'an grew quiet.
"She should not have been born into that family," he said. His voice was low, like talking to himself. He opened his eyes and looked out the window. The moon was full, hanging above the palace walls, bathing the hall in white light.
"Lu Xingye."
"Mm."
"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."
He turned his head and looked at me. Moonlight fell on his face; his eyes were very bright.
"Thank you," he said.
"Thank me for what?"
"For being here."
Outside the window, the night in Chang'an was very quiet. But I knew the true storm was yet to come. The Prince of Liang's net was still being woven, the blades in the court were still being sharpened, and the hatred in the Eldest Princess's residence had not dissipated. But in this moment, his hand was hot, holding mine tightly.
[End of Chapter 28]