First Year of Jianyuan, Sixth Month, Third Day.
When Ajiao arrived at the Jiaofang Palace, she brought a food box. Qingxing took it and opened it; inside were several pastries. They were misshapen, irregular in form, with edges baked slightly burnt. I sat by the window. Sunlight streamed through the lattice, falling upon those pastries. It was evident she had tried many times—some bore fingerprints on the surface, left from kneading too hard; others were charred black on the bottom, a result of poorly controlled heat.
She stood at the doorway, dressed in plain clothes, wearing no jewelry. A strip of cloth was wrapped around her finger, as if she had been scalded. Her face was indistinct in the backlight, but I saw her eyes—nervous yet expectant, like a small animal waiting for praise after doing a good deed.
"I made them myself," she said, her voice very soft. "It's my first time. I don't know if they're edible."
I picked one up and took a bite. It was hard. Too little sugar, the dough hadn't risen well; chewing it felt like gnawing on a brick. But I swallowed it. "Delicious," I said.
She looked at me, her eyes lighting up. "Really?"
"Really. Much better than the gingerbread men I made the first time."
"What are gingerbread men?"
"A type of cookie from my hometown," I said. "The first time I baked them, they were burnt like charcoal, making a crunching sound when bitten. I hid them in a box, too afraid to let anyone see."
She laughed. It was the first time I had seen her laugh. Not a cold sneer, not a bitter smile, but a genuine, relaxed laugh. The corners of her eyes crinkled, revealing a glimpse of teeth; the tension on her face melted away like ice. When she smiled, she didn't look like the daughter of the Eldest Princess or the granddaughter of Empress Dowager Dou; she looked like a sixteen-year-old girl. Her hand emerged from her sleeve, flour still dusting her knuckles.
"Lady Chen," I said, "would you like to learn how to make pastries?"
She paused. "What?"
"Making pastries. I will teach you. In the future—you could open a shop."
"Open a shop?" Her eyes widened as if she had heard something inconceivable. "I am the daughter of the Eldest Princess—"
"You are also a person," I said. The sunlight fell on her face, illuminating the fine down on her skin. "As a person, one must always have a craft. No matter what happens in the future, you will be able to support yourself."
She looked at me for a long time. Tears fell, silently, streaming down her cheeks. She did not wipe them away, letting them flow. "No one has ever told me these things," she said, her voice hoarse. "No one has ever taught me... how to live on my own."
I reached out and held her hand. Her hand was very cold, her fingertips trembling, with red marks of burns on her knuckles. "I will teach you," I said.
From that day on, Ajiao came to the Jiaofang Palace every day. We made pastries, blended incense, dyed fabrics—I taught her every skill I possessed, bit by bit. She learned slowly, but diligently. Her fingers were scalded, pricked by needles, and stained red by dyes, but she never gave up. Sometimes she would stop and look at her hands for a long time. Those hands, which had once only held jade scepters and gold hairpins, were now covered in flour and dye.
"Xingye," she suddenly asked me one day, "who were you back in your hometown?"
She called me by my name. Not "Lady Lu," not "Empress." Just Xingye. I paused, then smiled. "A person who fixes things."
"Fixes things? Fixes what?"
"Artifacts. Very, very old things. Bronze mirrors, lacquerware, jade. Broken things; I put them back together."
She looked at me, a strange light in her eyes. "Teach me," she said.
"You want to learn how to restore artifacts?"
"Mm." She lowered her head, her fingers tracing a broken bronze mirror on the table. "I want to learn to fix things. To piece broken things back together."
She did not say what "broken things" referred to. But I guessed.
Sixth Month, Seventh Day.
Empress Dowager Dou's summons came without warning.
That afternoon, I was teaching Ajiao to blend incense. She was crushing rose petals and mixing them with honey, red juice staining her wrists. Suddenly, outside the hall, it became quiet. Abnormally quiet—the birds stopped singing, the wind ceased blowing, even the sound of Qingxing pouring tea halted. The Palace Attendant stood at the door, his shadow cast long and straight upon the ground.
"Her Majesty the Empress, the Empress Dowager summons you."
Ajiao's complexion changed. She put down the bowl in her hand, the red juice on her fingers not yet wiped clean. "Aunt..." She grabbed my hand tightly. "I will go with you."
"The Empress Dowager specified only the Empress," the Palace Attendant said, his voice flat, yet every word heavy. His eyes were fixed on the ground; he did not look at us.
Ajiao's grip tightened slightly. Her fingertips were icy cold, smearing red juice onto my wrist. "Xingye..."
"It's fine," I said. "I will be back shortly."
Deep within the Changle Palace, it was darker than in Empress Wang's quarters. The windows were shut tight, lit only by a few bronze lamps. The wicks had burned for a long time; smoke coiled around the beams, carrying a stale sweetness when inhaled. The hall was cold, cold as late autumn. A chill seeping from the cracks in the stone slabs crawled up from my knees to my chest.
Empress Dowager Dou sat at the head, dressed in dark black robes, a jade hairpin adorning her bun. Her face was lined with wrinkles, but her eyes were bright—bright as knives. Her hands rested on her knees; her fingers were long, knuckles prominent, nails trimmed very short. These were hands capable of decisive killing.
"Kneel," she said.
I knelt. My knees struck the stone slab with a dull thud. Cold seeped up from my knee bones like countless fine needles. The hall was so quiet one could hear the wicks crackingcrackle, crackle.
"Do you know why I have summoned you?"
"I do not."
"You do." Her voice was cold, cold as winter well water. "Your marriage to the Emperor violates ritual propriety. I have not nodded my approval."
"Empress Dowager..."
"I have not finished." She cut me off. Her finger tapped once on her knee—once, very briefly. The sound echoed in the empty hall like a hammer striking an anvil. "Where are you from? Who are you? Who are your parents? Where is your family? You cannot answer. Because you cannot answer, Che'er [Liu Che] is being scolded in the court. The Grand Censor has retired, the Minister of Ceremonies has been fined, the Prime Minister dares not speak. But they are unconvinced. They are all waiting."
She stood up and walked before me. Her skirt dragged on the floor, rustling like a snake crawling. Her shadow enveloped me, very cold.
"I am also waiting. Waiting for you to leave on your own."
I raised my head to look at her. "Empress Dowager, I will not leave."
Her eyes narrowed. In that instant, her gaze was like a knife slicing across my face. "What did you say?"
"I will not leave," I said. My knees hurt terribly, cold air seeming to seep out from between my bones. But my voice was steady. "No matter how many people want him to depose the Empress, no matter how many impeach me. I will not leave. Because he wants me here."
She looked at me for a long time. Inside the hall, the lamp wick jumped againcrackle. Her fingers clenched tight within her sleeves, then released. Then she smiled. Not a cold smile, not an angry smile, but something colder. The smile did not reach her eyes; it lingered at the corner of her mouth for an instant, like a crack on a sheet of ice.
"Good," she said. "Then do not blame me for being ruthless."
She turned and walked back to her seat. Her skirt swept an arc on the ground, like a sheathed blade. She sat down, lifted her teacup, and took a sip. The tea was already cold; she did not frown.
"Leave."
I stood up. My knees were numb with pain; I swayed slightly upon rising. I did not hold onto anything, steadied myself, and withdrew.
Stepping out of the Changle Palace, the sunlight was so bright I could barely open my eyes. Ajiao was waiting at the door, her face pale, red juice still unwashed from her fingers. Seeing me, she ran over and grasped my hand.
"What did she say to you?"
"Nothing."
"Liar. Your hand is shaking."
I looked down at my hand. Indeed, it was trembling. My fingertips trembled finely as if electrified. I clenched my fist, suppressing the shake. "Let's go," I said. "Back to teach you incense blending."
Sixth Month, Ninth Day. Unrest at Mangdang Mountain.
The undercover agent knelt in the study, his voice kept very low. There was mud on his knees, as if he had traveled a great distance. Sweat trickled down from his temples, dripping onto the floor, spreading into small dark patches.
"Your Majesty, the King of Liang has gathered three thousand men at Mangdang Mountain. He claims it is for 'forest protection,' but all weapons from the armory have been distributed. Swords, bows and crossbows, armor—all are standard military issue. This is not forest protection. It is preparation for war."
Liu Che said nothing. He stood before the map, his finger pressing on the location of Mangdang Mountain. His back was straight, but I saw his shoulder blades tighten slightly, like a drawn bow.
"Furthermore," the agent continued, "the King of Liang has sent secret envoys to Hengshan and Jibei. The King of Hengshan accepted gifts; the King of Jibei did not. As for the King of Huainan—although Gongsun Gui is dead, Liu An has already agreed to ally with the King of Liang."
"What did the King of Hengshan accept?"
"One thousand jin of gold, ten pairs of jade discs."
Liu Che's finger tapped once on the desk. Once. Very briefly. The sound was exceptionally loud in the quiet study, like a bone snapping.
"Issue the edict." His voice was flat, flat as a frozen river. "The King of Hengshan colludes with the King of Liang, plotting rebellion. Reduce his fiefdom by three counties. The King of Jibei is loyal and brave; reward him with five hundred jin of gold."
"Your Majesty, regarding the King of Hengshan..."
"Reduce it first. Let him know that I know everything."
The agent received the order and withdrew. The study fell silent. Liu Che leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. His Adam's apple rolled, as if swallowing something difficult. I walked over, stood beside him, and gently placed my hand on his shoulder. He did not pull away. His shoulder was hard, muscles tense like stone.
"The King of Liang is about to rebel," he said. It was not a question, but a statement.
"Are you afraid?"
"No." He opened his eyes and looked at me. His eyes were bright—not with anger, but with something colder, harder. Like ice on a winter river; it looks flat, but you never know how deep it is beneath. "He has three thousand men; I have one hundred thousand. He has money; I have the world. Only when he is afraid will he make a move. Once he moves, I can close the net."
He paused, then grasped my hand. His hand was very cold, different from usual.
"But regarding Empress Dowager Dou..." He looked at me. "She summoned you?"
"Mm."
"What did she say?"
"She told me to leave."
His hand tightened. Very tight, so tight I could feel the bones of his knuckles.
"You will not leave."
"I will not."
He looked at me for a long time. Outside the window, the wind stopped, the leaves fell silent; the whole of Chang'an was quiet. His gaze moved from my eyes to my nose, then to my lips, as if confirming something.
"Xingye."
He called my name. Not Lu Xingye, not Empress. Just Xingye. My heart skipped a beat.
"Do you know, sometimes I feel you were sent to me by Heaven?"
"Why?"
"Because since you came, I realized... I am not alone."
Outside, the summer in Chang'an was hot. But his hand was cold, holding mine very tightly.
Sixth Month, Twelfth Day. Ajiao learned to restore her first bronze mirror.
It was a very small mirror, broken into three pieces. She spent three days piecing it together, fragment by fragment. Her fingers were glued, cut by shards, and blistered by tweezers. But she did not stop. Finally, on the last attempt, it was pieced together. She held the mirror, looking at it for a long time. The three fragments were joined; the seams were still there, but the mirror was round again.
"There are seams," she said.
"Mm. For a first restoration, seams are normal."
"Can it be repaired until the seams are invisible?"
"Yes. But it requires much practice."
She lowered her head, her fingers tracing the seam on the mirror's surface. The gap was very fine, but tangible to the touch. Her fingertip traced the seam from beginning to end, very slowly.
"Xingye."
"Mm."
"In the future, I want to fix things. Not bronze mirrors, but other things."
"What?"
She did not answer. But she looked out the window, her eyes very bright.
Sixth Month, Fifteenth Day. The King of Liang's secret envoy was intercepted on the road back to Suiyang.
A letter was found on the envoy—addressed to Liu An, the King of Huainan. The letter read: "After the matter is accomplished, everything north of the Huai River shall belong to Huainan."
Liu Che slapped the letter onto the desk. The sound of the bamboo slips scattering was crisp, like a bone snapping. "North of the Huai River. He uses others' land to buy others' lives."
"Your Majesty," the agent said, bowing his head very low, "the King of Liang is still waiting. Waiting for what, we do not know. But he must be waiting. He has sent three batches of envoys within a month, each more urgent than the last. He is waiting for a signal."
"Waiting for Empress Dowager Dou," Liu Che said. He stood up and walked to the window. Sunlight struck him, casting his shadow long and straight upon the ground. "He is waiting for the Empress Dowager to make a move. Only if she moves will he have a chance. If she does not move, he dares not act."
He turned to look at me. The sunlight was behind him; his face was in shadow, his expression unreadable. But I saw his eyes—very bright, bright as a blade's edge.
"Issue the edict. The King of Liang, Liu Wu, colludes with the feudal lords, plotting rebellion. Reduce his fiefdom by five counties. Order the Prime Minister of Liang to keep him under strict surveillance. Report immediately upon any unusual movement."
The agent received the order and withdrew. The study fell silent. Liu Che stood there, the sunlight stretching his shadow very long. His shoulders slumped slightly, just for an instant, then straightened again.
"Xingye."
"Mm."
"The storm is coming."
"I know."
"Are you afraid?"
I walked over and stood before him. He was half a head taller than me, looking down. Sunlight streamed through the window lattice, falling between us like a river.
"No," I said. "As long as you are here, I am not afraid."
He reached out and held my hand. His hand was very hot, calluses thin on his palm. It was no longer cold like before. It was warm.
"Me too," he said.
Outside, the summer wind in Chang'an picked up. Strong. Blowing the leaves with a rustling sound. A cloud hung on the horizon, dark gray, pressing low. The storm was coming. But his hand was warm, holding mine very tightly.
[End of Chapter 29]