Flames roared, smoke billowed thick, and the fire rolling across the eaves blazed like a crimson sun, turning Fu Garden into a false daylight. Palace servants rushed with basin after basin of water, yet not a drop could quell the raging inferno.
Lian Zhi darted between the doors, her voice hoarse with tears: “Your Ladyship! Where are you? Your Ladyship!”
Suddenly, a charred pillar collapsed before her, scattering sparks at her feet.
“Lian Zhi, don’t go so close! The fire is too fierce—you’ll be killed!” A maid pulled her back just in time, narrowly saving her from the falling beam.
“But Her Ladyship is still inside! Why hasn’t a single guard gone in to save her? Why?”
The maid faltered. By palace rules, servants were bound to risk their lives for their mistress in danger. Yet Consort Jiang… everyone in Fu Garden had seen her plight these past days. Without His Majesty’s favor, shunned by the princes, and despised by the Empress Dowager, she had become a thorn in the eye of the court.
No one was willing to die for a discarded consort. Worse still… The maid cast a sidelong glance toward Consort Jin, standing outside the gates, and muttered evasively: “Today, the Empress Dowager was endangered, so the eunuchs reassigned guards to protect the Cining Palace. Only Fu Garden’s servants remain. None of us can manage it.”
Endangered? Cining Palace had plenty of guards—why strip them from this remote garden? Lian Zhi’s heart stirred with suspicion, but she was powerless to resist.
Fu Garden had become the target of all arrows. The only hope left was His Majesty. Yes—she must find the Emperor, only he could save her mistress.
“Lian Zhi, where are you going?” A maid seized her firmly, a cold gleam flashing in her eyes.
“I’m going to find His Majesty. I refuse to believe he would abandon Her Ladyship to die.”
The maid tightened her grip, dragging Lian Zhi back, her tone feigning concern: “The Imperial Study is far from here. Look—the flames aren’t so strong in that corner. Perhaps you can slip inside. I have a damp cloak here; wear it and see if you can find Her Ladyship. Don’t worry, I’ll have people pour water here at once. The fire won’t spread further.”
Lian Zhi fixed her gaze on the maid’s pointing finger, biting her lip. “Thank you. Please, stall for as long as you can. If you see me bringing Her Ladyship out, don’t worry about me—just make sure she survives.”
“Yes, yes, don’t worry.” Without a moment’s hesitation, Lian Zhi threw on the cloak, covered her nose, and dashed into the burning hall.
Watching her figure vanish into the flames, the maid snorted, tossed aside the water bucket, and sidled up to Consort Jin with a sycophantic smile.
“Your Ladyship, why trouble yourself to come in person? With me here, I’ll see to it that wretched woman never leaves alive.”
“You’ve done well. Rest assured—once Consort Jiang is dead, I’ll report to the Empress Dowager and have you transferred to my service. His Majesty will not blame you.”
With the Empress Dowager as her backing and the young prince’s special affection, Consort Jin’s position was a thousand times stronger than that of a discarded consort. The maid’s grin widened. “The smoke here is choking. If it harms Your Ladyship’s health, that would be dreadful. Please return early—I’ll keep watch. Even if that Consort Jiang has the blessing of the Bodhisattva and clings to life, I have ways to deal with her.”
The fire raged higher, black smoke stinging the eyes and dizzying even those outside the gates. Consort Jin cast a long, venomous look at Fu Garden. Just as she turned, leaning on her maid’s hand, she met a pair of piercing eyes.
In the flickering firelight, his face—sharp, commanding, carved in shadow—was framed by the golden dragon embroidery on his shoulder, the threads seeming to come alive, ready to tear a throat apart.
Consort Jin’s pupils shrank. She dropped to her knees in terror. “Th-this concubine greets Your Majesty.”
His gaze bore down on her like a thousand weights pressing into her spine, suffocating her more than the endless night, more than the choking smoke. Fortunately, in that moment, no one seemed to notice the words she had just spoken.
Xu Zhengchun had already rushed into the flames and carried out the barely breathing Lian Zhi.
Qi Yi’s gaze darkened as he looked at the raging fire. He seized a water-soaked cloak from a servant’s hands, ready to charge inside—but the ministers hurriedly blocked his path.
“Your Majesty, you must not! The fire is too fierce—if you enter, you may not come out alive!”
“Your Majesty is the Son of Heaven, guardian of the realm and protector of the people. You cannot risk your life for mere sentiment—it would be folly!”
Fearing their words might not sway him, several ministers turned to the Chancellor. Zhao Yuan had no desire to persuade—indeed, he secretly wished Qi Yi would perish in the flames. Yet with so many eyes upon him, appearances had to be kept; otherwise, history might record his negligence.
“Your Majesty, the ministers speak wisely. Consort Jiang is but a concubine. Her death is of little consequence. If guilt weighs upon you, you may grant her a posthumous title. Why risk your own life?”
Qi Yi was not known as a gentle ruler. Cold by nature, at times even cruel. Yet the ministers believed that when it came to matters of state, he was no fool. History told of emperors who lit beacon fires to amuse their consorts, but never of one who died for a concubine—not even for an empress.
Their persuasion grew bold, their worry fading. Zhao Yuan leaned lazily against the palace gate, about to withdraw—when the black dragon robe stepped forward, trampling across the spine of the foremost minister.
All froze. The minister gasped in pain, clutching his back, but when he turned, the Emperor was already at the heart of the flames.
“Your Majesty!”
Servants, guards, eunuchs, ministers—even the Empress Dowager, who had just arrived—all cried out together. Yet the fire swallowed their voices, leaving only the stark silhouette of that dark-robed figure, clear against the inferno.
The world seemed to fall silent. The flames leaped higher, as if emboldened, eager to devour him whole.
At that perilous instant, a woman’s voice cut through the night, sharper than the fire itself: “Your Majesty!”
Qi Yi halted, turning his head—only to see a familiar figure rushing toward him. The flickering firelight danced across her layered skirts. His gaze, against his will, fixed upon her face—once pale and flawless, now smudged with ash. Those eyes, which had always glared at him with venom, brimmed with tears.
Jiang Nian, who had forever been willful and spoiled before him, now threw herself into his arms without hesitation, clutching him tightly.
“Your Majesty… Your Majesty… *sob*… I miss you, I miss you so much.”
It was not fear, nor grievance—it was longing.
Qi Yi’s heart trembled. Whether from her sudden collision or something deeper, he could not say. His fingers quivered, half-raising as if to push her away.
But Jiang Nian sensed it. Like a startled bird, she clung tighter, sobbing harder. “Your Majesty, Zhao Jing bullies me, the Empress Dowager beats me, the Household Bureau torments me, and everyone in the palace wants me dead. But I only wanted to see Your Majesty—I cannot bear to die without seeing you one last time.”
“Your Majesty, I am so afraid…” Her cries rang louder than the chaos, drowning out all else. Even the Empress Dowager, usually so eloquent, was struck dumb—no explanation could outweigh that desperate voice.
She wept with such anguish, her body shaking violently.
Rong Chengguang had seen many consorts cry, but none like this. Consort Jiang’s sobs tore at the heart, as if she might break herself apart with grief.