The Qianqing Palace was warm and comfortable. Dressed in her nightclothes, Jiang Nian bit into the fine fruit that had been brought to her, her expression cool. Were it not for her reddened eyes, no one would have guessed she had been crying not long ago.
“Is Lian Zhi all right?” she asked.
Xiao Tao answered softly: “Eunuch Rong already had the imperial physician examine her. There’s no serious harm.”
“That’s good.”
Xiao Tao had told her earlier that she’d seen Zhao Jing on the way to the small kitchen. Feeling uneasy, she had returned to the inner chamber—only to find flames breaking out. Fortunately, she had come back in time, and the fire was not yet large.
As they tried to leave, Jiang Nian glanced at the blaze. A sudden thought struck her. Qi Yi did not wish to see her, and she had no way out. Zhao Jing wanted her dead and had set the fire—why not turn it to her advantage? So she pulled Xiao Tao into hiding in the back courtyard, letting the flames spread, letting the chaos grow.
And indeed, it drew Qi Yi to her. She had thought that after all the pain she had caused him, he would not care. Yet he had nearly rushed into the fire without hesitation to save her. At that moment, recalling her past reckless deeds, the tears she had planned to feign turned real. When she cried out, “Your Majesty,” all her grievances surged forth, and she could not stop herself.
At least she had achieved her wish—she had seen him again.
But the suddenness of it all meant she had not warned Lian Zhi, who had suffered for it. Now, hearing she was safe, Jiang Nian’s heart finally eased.
Xiao Tao set down the calming soup, kneading her mistress’s shoulders. After a long silence, she could not hold back her question: “Your Ladyship, do you truly mean to give up the young prince?”
Long ago, Jiang Nian had told them they need not indulge the boy anymore—that she would not keep him.
At first, Xiao Tao and Lian Zhi thought she was only angry at Zhao Jing’s tantrums and spoke in a fit of pique.
But tonight, before His Majesty and so many others, she had spoken ill of the young prince. In the past, Xiao Tao would never have imagined such a thing. Jiang Nian had always praised him to the skies, never criticized him.
Though part of her was glad—after all, the boy had wronged her many times, and it was only right that His Majesty punish him—still, worry gnawed at her. Before so many witnesses, Jiang Nian had accused the Empress Dowager and Consort Jin of mistreating her. With their temperaments, her mistress’s path ahead would surely be difficult.
And Xiao Tao feared: would Jiang Nian once again change, as she had years ago, turning against the Emperor with hatred so deep it became a struggle of life and death? Back then, at least she had the young prince as a shield and the Empress Dowager’s favor. Now, having offended them both, if she quarreled with His Majesty again, there would be no escape.
Jiang Nian had once truly cherished Zhao Jing, even scheming for him in court affairs. Yet the son she had raised with such care only plotted against her, seeking her death. To cling to him now would make her awakening meaningless—it would have been better to perish in the fire.
“Xiao Tao,” Jiang Nian said quietly, “I loved Zhao Jing, but he only thinks of ways to harm me. I treated Consort Jin sincerely, yet she only seeks to ruin my name. I wronged His Majesty in countless ways, yet when my life was at stake, only he came to save me. From now on, I will think only of His Majesty, remember only His Majesty. I will not err again, nor provoke his anger.”
The snow fell heavier.
The glazed red tiles lay buried, the palace colder still. Rong Chengguang extinguished the lantern and bowed outside Qianqing Palace. “Your Majesty.”
“Enter.”
The doors closed softly, shutting out the chill. The incense smoke rose, warm and fragrant. At the imperial desk, Qi Yi had shed his heavy robes, wearing only pale sleeping garments embroidered faintly with silver clouds. The simplicity did not diminish his imperial aura—if anything, it sharpened it, cold and forbidding.
A white jade chess piece rolled idly between his fingers. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes held no warmth. Rong Chengguang, long at his side, knew well that his mood was dark.
The servant who had carried Consort Jin’s message knelt trembling, begging for mercy. “Spare me, Your Majesty! It was Consort Jin who ordered me. She said that once the young prince set the fire, no one was to report it to Your Majesty. I only obeyed to survive!” Terrified, he kowtowed until blood stained the tiles.
Qi Yi waved his hand. “Go.”
Overjoyed, the servant cried: “Thank you, Your Majesty, thank you!”
But as his foot crossed the threshold, a cold blade flashed. Blood splattered the floor. Xu Zhengchun, unfazed, sheathed his sword and dragged the body away.
The hall was deathly silent. Rong Chengguang, skirting the unpleasantness, offered softer news: “The maids attending Consort Jiang said that while bathing, she kept calling for Your Majesty. She vowed she would think only of Your Majesty, remember only Your Majesty, and never anger you again.”
Qi Yi’s fingers stilled. Rong Chengguang caught it, quickly adding: “The Empress Dowager recently struck her with ten heavy blows. The maids say her back is covered in frightening wounds. Tonight, after nearly drowning, she was badly shaken—she woke crying twice in her sleep. Your Majesty… will you go see her?” He watched the Emperor anxiously.
After a long silence, Qi Yi lifted his eyes, a trace of mockery glinting there. “Her tears—what have they to do with me?”
And yet, who had stepped over ministers to rush into the fire? Who had ordered the execution of Consort Jin’s maid? Say he did not care—who would believe it?
Rong Chengguang raised his brows but dared not speak. He turned to other matters: “Passing Cining Palace, I heard the young prince quarreling with the Empress Dowager. He said he no longer wants Consort Jiang as his mother, but wishes Consort Jin instead. The Empress Dowager seemed to agree. Likely in a few days, the prince will move to Cuiwei Palace.”
Cuiwei Palace now housed only Consort Jin. To conceal her death for a time was possible—but once the young prince went there, the truth could not be hidden. Rong Chengguang thought of the palace’s grim state and shivered. Even a child might be driven mad with fear.
At last, Qi Yi reacted. He placed a white stone on the board and smiled faintly. “If he loves Consort Jin so much, let him visit his mother often. Otherwise, how lonely she must be.”