After Xie Xianqing had recovered somewhat, he prepared to complete the purpose of this visit: to pray for his mother’s blessings. The late Empress had been a devout follower of Buddhism, and Daming Temple had maintained a perpetual lamp in her honor for years.
The Crown Prince went alone to the side hall where the lamp was kept. Time passed, but he did not emerge. As dusk fell, the guards waiting outside grew anxious.
Previously, when His Highness visited Daming Temple, the prayers would last barely an hour, but now three hours had passed—far exceeding everyone’s expectations. Concern rippled among them.
The Crown Prince had only recently recovered from illness; his body was still weak. If he were to be overcome by grief for his late mother and something happened, everyone around him would be in serious trouble.
Eunuch Zhang quietly approached Chen Jiao, whispering, “Chen Jiao, it’s getting late. His Highness hasn’t eaten today. This can’t go on…”
Chen Jiao had been standing outside with everyone for as long as the Crown Prince had been inside. Under everyone’s gaze, she dared not let her mind wander. She stood straight and proper, fearing even a hint of disrespect toward the late Empress.
Hearing Zhang’s words, she sighed softly, “Yes, this isn’t right…”
Zhang had intended for her to go in and gently advise the Crown Prince. Seeing her pretend ignorance, he could only shake his head and turn away, rolling his eyes.
This Chen Jiao was impossible. In daily life, she dazzled the Crown Prince with her devotion, yet when it truly mattered, she showed the most caution of anyone. Young as she was, she had no lack of cunning.
Chen Jiao understood Zhang’s meaning, but she had her own principles.
Her master prayed for his biological mother. If she rushed in to admonish him, what would that even mean? Zhang might look down and preach loyalty, but he himself dared not intervene—he only thought to manipulate her youthful obedience.
Half an hour passed. By now, seven hours had elapsed since the Crown Prince had entered the hall. The candlelight flickered, and Chen Jiao could no longer stand still.
Under the unblinking gazes around her, she drew a deep breath and stepped forward, lightly knocking on the wooden door. “Your Highness?”
Being a favored courtier was like this: the rewards were shared, but the risks fell first on you. Everyone knew she had the Crown Prince’s favor; all eyes were on her.
After a moment, a faint voice called from inside, “What is it?”
Bowing her head, Chen Jiao replied, “Your servant, Chen Jiao…”
Before she could finish, the voice softened, “Come in.”
She was not in a hurry. After a quick glance at herself to ensure her attire was in order, she lifted her hem and stepped through the door.
The door closed behind her, and Chen Jiao realized the Crown Prince was not in the small hall. Following the path, she passed several curtains and finally entered the main hall of the Daming Temple. There, the Crown Prince stood alone.
No wonder his voice had sounded distant and unclear earlier.
In the center of the hall, a golden Buddha statue towered. The Crown Prince knelt on a mat beneath it, a low wooden desk before him. One hand held a brush, fingers moving lightly as he wrote.
Hearing footsteps behind him, Xie Xianqing did not lift his head. “Chen Jiao?”
“Yes, Your Highness, it is I,” she replied.
“No need for formality. Come here.”
Chen Jiao approached and knelt beside him, noticing a scroll of the Kṣitigarbha Sutra in front of him, which he was carefully copying.
No wonder the Crown Prince had lingered in the hall for so long—he had been occupied with this sutra. Yet Chen Jiao knew he did not seem particularly devout.
She kept her doubts to herself, quietly sitting and observing him.
The Crown Prince wore a teal brocade robe and a jade crown. Kneeling before the desk, he lowered his gaze, writing with an air of calm refinement. Black strands of hair fell from his temples, giving him an ethereal presence.
Chen Jiao thought of his name: Xie Xianqing.
“Xianqing”—a high-ranking immortal in the celestial realms. In ancient times, a name like this implied nobility beyond words. Others might seem unworthy of it, but the Crown Prince’s demeanor, talent, and appearance perfectly matched his name.
As Chen Jiao pondered, Xie Xianqing continued copying the sutra, casually remarking, “I was only five when my mother passed. I remember little. But that apricot cake today reminded me of her.”
Chen Jiao understood. That was why he had suddenly thought to copy the sutra for his mother.
Hours passed. With the final stroke complete, he looked at the scroll and said, “I do not believe in spirits or gods. This sutra is likely useless.”
In the hall, such words were bold, yet no one dared to challenge him.
Xie Xianqing lowered his gaze. The Kṣitigarbha Sutra was meant to pray for deceased loved ones. He was not a believer, not sincere, and if divine powers existed, perhaps they would not grant his wish.
Chen Jiao frowned slightly. “How could it be useless?”
She took the scroll from his hands, respectfully rose, and placed it among the other scriptures beneath the Buddha statue.
Incense burned in the censer beneath the statue, smoke curling in the dimming light. Candles flickered as evening deepened.
Chen Jiao turned and said firmly, “Your Highness does not believe in gods, yet you still pray for your mother every year. Your sincerity is witnessed by Heaven and Earth. If there are gods, why would they not bless you?”
Chen Jiao herself did not believe in divine powers, despite her transmigrated life. She valued true sincerity; it mattered more than any vague deity or future reincarnation.
Her gaze was clear, her tone earnest. “I have not met the late Empress, but I am sure that if her spirit watches Your Highness so devoted, she would be moved and comforted.”
The Crown Prince remained kneeling, looking up at the steadfast young figure before the Buddha, expression unreadable.
Being the legitimate son, the heir, his mother’s child, and having lost her early, he dared not falter even for a day.
For the first time, as he hesitated and doubted himself, someone stood up and told him clearly that he was doing well and had done nothing wrong.
The candlelight flickered. The boy stood tall, solemn, as if merging with the compassionate Buddha behind him.
Xie Xianqing’s gaze fell upon the boy, stunned.
After a pause, he shifted his eyes from Chen Jiao to the Buddha above, then asked an unrelated question, “Chen Jiao, what kind of person was your mother?”
Though she did not fully understand, she answered honestly, “My mother was gentle but strong-willed. She always protected me.”
Indeed, Princess Yihe had done more than protect Chen Jiao; she doted on her endlessly. Any slight against Chen Jiao would provoke immediate wrath.
Once, Chen Jiao’s aunt mocked her poor studies and uncertain future, suggesting Yihe have another child. The princess had been furious, overturning a table and scolding the aunt for days, forcing her to apologize publicly.
Everyone in Chang’an knew Chen Jiao was the cherished gem of Princess Yihe and Marquis Yong’an.
Xie Xianqing recalled the rumors of the marquis’s family protecting Chen Jiao and could not help but smile. At the same time, he thought of his own father, the emperor.
Unlike the unwavering care the marquis and princess had given Chen Jiao, his father had feared and resented him, plotting repeatedly to remove him.
Long ago, the Crown Prince had enjoyed a father-son bond with the emperor, being the favored heir, the son of great expectation.
The Crown Prince remembered his duties, disciplined himself, studied diligently, never failing his father’s expectations or his late mother’s wishes, becoming the model heir.
Yet at some point, he had become a thorn in the emperor’s side.
He understood the emperor’s aging. He could sympathize, yet he could not hide his disappointment. The emperor would be alone in the end; there was no familial trust between ruler and heir.
The Crown Prince looked at Chen Jiao. “Do you think an emperor is lonely?”
Even Xie Xianqing felt the absurdity and laughed. Chen Jiao did not dare. Her heart jolted; countless thoughts flashed through her mind, yet her face remained calm. She stepped forward, eyes earnest. “No. I will always be by Your Highness’s side!”
Her words expressed loyalty and also affirmed her belief that the Crown Prince would prevail in succession, becoming the future emperor.
Xie Xianqing stared at her, silent for a moment.
Many had professed loyalty before, yet he usually dismissed it with a smile, unmoved.
Perhaps it was the boy standing up to the Fifth Prince a month ago, his daily attentiveness, the careful wine he brought under moonlight at the poetry gathering, the paper umbrella swaying in the rain yesterday…
Or perhaps it was the clarity in the boy’s eyes now, the calm expression, with no trace of hesitation or evasion.
These images and words of unwavering companionship stirred a flicker of hope in the Crown Prince.
He raised an eyebrow. “Truly?”
Chen Jiao’s gaze did not waver. Bowing, she knelt on one knee. “Even unto death, I would not regret it!”
The Crown Prince smiled, personally lifting her. “Chen Jiao, remember your words today.”
Candlelight flickered in the hall. Xie Xianqing recalled their first meeting. The boy’s eyes were full of ambition.
Even then, he knew this child was not ordinary. Given the chance, she would seize every opportunity to rise.
And indeed, she had. Chen Jiao never hid her ambition. She carried a lively vigor, unconcerned with others’ opinions, her goals far beyond her peers.
Fate does not forsake the determined.
Since joining the Crown Prince’s faction, Chen Jiao had grasped every opportunity.
…
After the Daming Temple visit, she became his confidante. Wherever he went, she followed. Even the long-serving ministers had less influence than she did.
Chang’an had no secrets. The once aimless and idle Chen Jiao had transformed into a celebrated figure.
Everyone said the Yong’an Marquis quietly played a great hand: not only pledging support to the Crown Prince, but their heir becoming his closest aide. If he ascended the throne, the family’s future would be limitless.