Begonia Spring Villa in the Western Gardens was radiant with spring. Long used as His Majesty's elixir-refining retreat, it was a place of snow-white fragrance and luxuriant cloudlike bloom, with spring waters murmuring and bees and butterflies fluttering about, brimming with the ethereal spirit of the turning season between spring and summer. In the koi pond, fish darted to and fro, shimmering through the light and shadow, the very picture of springtime splendor.
In a few days, His Majesty would make a trip to the Western Gardens, and the Palace of Heavenly Purity and the Imperial Household Department were busily preparing.
Beside the tall, stately vermilion-lacquered threshold, wind chimes rang from the eaves as young eunuchs methodically polished the main three-bay hall.
Xiansi, Wang Fulu, and the others stood respectfully beneath the eaves when, suddenly, Senior Maid Jinshu signaled from afar, beckoning Xiansi over. Xiao Chun'er, standing behind Senior Maid Jinshu, was deathly pale, blinking rapidly as if to warn of some impending calamity.
Xiansi hurried over in silence.
Without a word, Senior Maid Jinshu led her to a secluded side chamber. Inside stood two court matrons from the Bureau of Imperial Bedchamber Affairs—women of the Empress Dowager, burly and strong, each holding an instrument for enforcing palace discipline. The moment she entered, they assailed her:
"You reckless little thing! How dare you violate the taboo and conceal your menstruation? When did it begin? Tell the truth, and don't pretend you can't hear us!"
Defiling the imperial presence with ritual impurity—gross irreverence.
Xiansi froze.
Unless someone had denounced her with convincing certainty, these women would never have dared come looking for trouble like this.
Their tone was so vicious—they had torn off all pretense, intending to drag Xiansi straight down to hell. For a palace maid to violate the taboo by concealing her monthly cycle was truly a sin even the immortals could not save her from.
Xiansi had lived her whole life with composure and had never faced such a perilous moment. In an instant, she felt hollowed out, drained to the last drop, her hands trembling and legs weak.
Yet she still performed a proper curtsy. The more dire the straits, the more she summoned every ounce of calm she possessed, saying evenly:
"Matrons, I fear there has been a misunderstanding. This servant is not menstruating."
The cycle dates she had registered in the ledger were not for now.
The two court matrons exchanged a glance and said harshly, "Still denying it with death at your door? Strip off your clothes and be examined on the spot."
Senior Maid Jinshu, too, took on a stern edge: "Speak the truth—have you concealed your monthly cycle or not?"
Xiansi shook her head, lightly but firmly. Though her face burned like a furnace, she remained outwardly composed, stuffing every tremor deep inside her body, hiding it completely, leaving not the slightest flaw to be found.
She cleared her throat and, drawing on the authority of a senior maid who served before the Emperor, turned the tables, subtly conveying a note of reckoning:
"Examine me you may—but if this servant truly is not menstruating and her duties are delayed as a result, I must ask you two matrons to bear the consequences."
What would be delayed was no trifling matter, but business before the Emperor. To call a deer a horse and stir up trouble from nothing—she was not one to be trifled with either.
The two matrons wavered. Xiansi seemed far too certain, too much at ease—she did not look like someone with a guilty conscience. But they knew all too well the cunning of the little hussies in the palace, and they remained obstinate.
"Examine her."
In her seven years in the palace, Xiansi had faced death's proximity many times, but this was the most terrifying yet.
Though her flow was scant, it was by no means absent. These sharp-eyed matrons, cunning as old foxes, would spot it at a glance.
"Very well."
Xiansi walked calmly to the couch and undid her sash, her movements brisk. It took only a moment, yet in her heart it felt as long as a hundred years.
If discovered, she would first be caned, then forced to kneel in punishment, and finally cast into the most remote corner of the Cold Palace to endure every humiliation.
Years of painstaking struggle would collapse like a great edifice, reduced to ashes in a single morning. The truth could not stay hidden forever. If she had not lied, she would never have come to this.
Yet she did not regret it.
Xiansi removed her lower garment, leaving only a thin layer of sleeping trousers.
Seeing her so composed, one might have thought the matrons were the ones with cause for regret.
The matrons exchanged a glance—whether this palace maid was merely feigning calm like a dead pig unafraid of scalding water, or truly had not had her monthly cycle, they would know in a moment. They stepped forward, rolled up their sleeves, and reached out with rough hands to inspect her directly.
Xiansi secretly bit the inside of her lip.
But at the critical moment, "His Majesty returns to the palace—"
Outside, Chief Steward Liu Lun called out in his shrill voice, then knocked on the door:
"Miss Xiansi, His Majesty commands you to tend the immortal herbs."
Xiansi had not been among those paying respects; the sovereign had merely lifted an eyelid, yet the servants below were sharper-minded than an abacus.
"The errand comes first." Senior Maid Jinshu immediately smoothed things over. The two matrons looked at each other, not daring to make light of His Majesty's order.
Xiansi seized the chance to rise, straightened her attire, and did not forget to say with perfect courtesy: "My apologies—His Majesty's errand cannot be delayed, so this servant must go first. If you matrons wish to inspect me in the future, I will surely cooperate."
With that, she turned and left.
No one dared stop her.
The two matrons stood frozen in place. It was widely said that Xiansi of the Palace of Heavenly Purity enjoyed His Majesty's favor; seeing it today, the reputation was indeed well deserved.
They shuddered at how close they had come to trouble—if the informer had not spoken so confidently, they would never have waded into these muddy waters.
The blazing noon sun shone straight down, yet the palace hall was as cold as moonlight, dim and silent. A Boshan incense burner slowly breathed out wisps of green smoke, drifting amid the hollow echoes of the clepsydra.
Xiansi knelt on the blue-gray bricks polished with tung oil, dark and mirror-like, her upper body hunched, silent and still. The shadow in the corner completely concealed her; from afar, she looked like a sinner who could not bear the light.
Facing His Majesty, her certainty and composure dissolved entirely—like looking into a mirror that reflected her most primal, helpless self.
"What are you kneeling for?" the one on the Dragon Throne said flatly, his attention on the scrolls, his true stance unreadable.
"Rise."
Xiansi dared not. In a hoarse voice she said, "This servant has committed a crime."
Hanzheng raised his head and studied her, solemn and austere.
Everything went without saying. He did not spell out the answer, but the answer could not have been clearer.
"What crime? Unwell in body yet still devoted to duty—that is a loyal servant."
His tone was flat, yet it gave her a quiet sense of dignity.
Xiansi had never imagined that in this treacherous harem, the only one willing to speak for her, to shelter her, would be the unreachable Son of Heaven himself.
He was different. She had known that long ago.
She choked up, hesitating. "Your Majesty…"
The half-swallowed words held a genuine devotion that transcended master and servant.
With no way to repay him, she could only kowtow deeply.
"I grant you three days' leave."
Hanzheng said, "Afterward, come serve at the Western Gardens."
At dusk, dark clouds covered the sky, the tree branches swayed violently, and the night was sliced into strips by silvery threads of rain. The air was damp, the ground wet; the hazy glow of palace lanterns fell in mottled, blurred patches.
The willows carried a light chill. On such a night, made for lying awake listening to the rain, the two matrons of the Bureau of Imperial Bedchamber Affairs were taken away—and taken away with them was the eunuch of the imperial presence, Chen Bingzhong.
Insolence of tongue—that was the crime fixed upon the two matrons. The disciplinary slats struck their bodies, far more painful than the raindrops outside, and they had to kneel bolt upright to receive the blows, unable to dodge in the slightest.
Say what you will—they were wronged, and yet not wronged. Everything had been done by the rules; and yet after so many years in the palace, failing to learn how to read the room, they deserved their deaths. His Majesty had grown accustomed to Miss Xiansi's service, and they had dared lay a hand on her—a whipping was the lightest punishment; even beheading would not have been excessive!
Xiansi had her menses and yet continued attending at the Emperor's side—a true violation of palace rules. But it didn't matter. His Majesty didn't care; any rule that proved inconvenient crumbled beneath the monarch's iron hammer.
Consider: Xiansi was someone permitted to keep night watch in the inner bedchamber, granted a special exemption from leaving the palace upon coming of age, given imperial meals, admitted to His Majesty's study, and entrusted with tending his immortal herbs.
These old-fashioned servants still clung to the old precedents from when the Empress Dowager ruled the six palaces, believing their faction still held power, reaching their tendrils even into the Palace of Heavenly Purity. So what if they were the Empress Dowager's people? Execution all the same.
The servant least able to escape was Chen Bingzhong. To advance himself, he had informed against Xiansi.
As a servant of the Palace of Heavenly Purity, Chen Bingzhong had spread rumors, meddled, schemed and connived—he was secretly dragged away, both legs broken, and dumped in the Cold Palace to "recuperate." Before long, he died a wretched, hasty death.
With these three as examples, the undercurrents stirring through the palace were thoroughly quelled.
By imperial grace, Xiansi spent three anxious days recuperating in the eastern wing, until her menstrual bleeding had completely stopped. In truth, she could have managed without the rest.
Those three days of rest purged the accumulated strain and weariness from her body.
"May this servant return early to attend at the Imperial Presence?"
"Are you defying an edict, Miss? Even though you're resting, His Majesty has set a fixed number of days."
Wang Fulu said sternly, "You're still frail and ailing. You're in no condition to attend His Majesty."
Xiansi had been a servant for seven years and had never once known the taste of sleeping in broad daylight—she was deeply uneasy about it.
It was Wang Fulu who should have been more uneasy. Chen Bingzhong was dead, and all because of Xiansi. Just as he had privately suspected, His Majesty's regard for Xiansi seemed to go beyond mere master and servant. An edict of warm consolation granting her rest—ask throughout the entire palace, which servant had ever been granted the privilege of resting when ill?
Today's servant girl might well be tomorrow's consort.
And his godfather had once harbored feelings for Xiansi… that could bring death by a thousand cuts.
Fortunately, apart from him, not even Xiansi herself knew of those feelings. He would bury that secret deep, deep inside himself.
On the fourth day, Xiansi was reinstated to her former post, proceeding by imperial decree to the Western Gardens.
Her spirits were high, her mind clear—her condition better than before.
"This servant pays her respects to His Majesty. Ten thousand years, ten thousand years, ten thousand times ten thousand years!"
The Western Gardens were the most scenic grounds in the palace. Since His Majesty had come to the throne, every vista and every tree had been arranged with hidden meaning. The octagonal pavilion rising over the lake's heart bore a plaque inscribed in silver-hook, iron-etched strokes: "Heaven, through One, gives birth to water." The palace hall's brackets were austere, unadorned with dragons or phoenixes, carved only with cloud-and-water motifs and the Eight Trigrams, enshrining Doumu Yuanjun and the Patriarch of Quanzhen, wreathed year-round in purple incense smoke. Taihu rocks rose and fell in staggered heights, curved and hollowed, winding and twisting, evoking the Daoist notion of grotto-heavens and blessed lands—a place of profound fortune.
Above the jade lake, a vast expanse of rippling water stretched as far as the eye could see.
"Go pick two willow branches and put them in the jade vase when you return."
The wind stirred his robes as Hanzheng stood towering and still, giving the order offhandedly. Two cranes adorned his robes, quietly bathing in the yellowing sunlight of early summer, their shadows faint. At his side stood two princes, chatting and laughing, both radiating noble bearing.
"Yes." Xiansi went to the willow trees, a lush expanse of green.
Before long, the princes bowed and took their leave. In the gentle, warm breeze, Hanzheng dismissed the excess servants and strolled slowly along the water's edge.
Xiansi presented the green willow and followed at his side.
"Listening to Orioles amidst the Willow Waves," Hanzheng recited, reading the inscription on the stone.
"The garden imitates the waterside scenery of the Suzhou–Hangzhou region and West Lake, with Daoist elements woven in," Xiansi remarked in a gentle voice.
He had ascended from a vassal state to the throne only two years ago, while she had already lived in the palace for seven years. In terms of familiarity, she knew it better than he did, the master of the palace himself.
"Refined," Hanzheng said leisurely.
She seemed to adapt effortlessly to his rhythm of interaction—present but not intrusive, mostly fading into the background, matching his detached manner, unlike the cloying flattery of a Chen Bingzhong.
Master and servant walked along, one before the other.
No railings bordered the lakeside; the water flowed murmuring along, and the slender willows inevitably bent and drooped, evoking the Daoist ideal of governing through non-action. The sun's golden net lay locked upon the lake's surface; one or two red-beaked gulls wheeled overhead, crying out, while white clouds drifted idly. Winding paths led into quiet depths along the way, planted with ink-dark bamboo, white pines, and ancient cypresses—few flowers, many leaves.
At the shallow cove, koi of every color—red, white, black, yellow—gathered in a cluster, bobbing and swimming, and the faint, almost imperceptible scent of damp earth made the cool breeze along the bank all the more pleasant.
"Your servant brought fish food," Xiansi said. To add to the amusement, she drew a neat little packet from her sleeve, crouched down, and scattered it into the lake. At once the fish surged and scrambled for it, swarming like ants.
Hanzheng watched the fish—and also caught sight of the stretch of her fair, graceful neck, a corner of her soft gauze garment dampened by the lake water, and her fingertips dipped in the river, white and shimmering, swaying gently.
The faint silver light reflected off the water fell upon her strikingly lovely cheek, and without warning it reminded him of that day in the study, when he had held her hand at the water basin.
After a moment, he looked away. A breeze swept across the still surface of the water.
"Let's go."
…
That night, the Imperial Presence did not return to the Inner Palace, but lodged at the Daoist temple in the Western Gardens.
Willow, white peach blossoms, and cypress had been placed inside the hall, their scent clean and bitter, mingling with the medicinal smell from the alchemy furnace. The light was soft and dim; even the window paper was azure. Layer upon layer of gauze curtains, simple ornamentation—the hall lacked several degrees of the splendor of the Palace of Heavenly Purity.
With Chen Bingzhong gone, one of the five night-watch posts was vacant, and Liu Lun had to appoint someone he trusted to fill it. No matter how the personnel shifted, the duty of attending His Majesty closely in the inner bedchamber remained forever clutched tight in his own hands.
While he was busy, Xiao Shengzi came scurrying over with a grin. "Your son pays respects to his godfather. The vacant position—who does Father wish to fill it with?"
Xiao Shengzi was merely a lackey of the Western Gardens, one who normally could not even enter the Palace of Heavenly Purity. It was only thanks to his fine handwriting, copying Daoist petitions for His Majesty, that he had any standing—and now here he was, overstepping his bounds by asking about his arrangements.
"You must be tired of living—" Liu Lun began, then caught himself, sensing something was off. "Why do you ask?"
Xiao Shengzi remained obsequious, but there was a note of confidence beneath the flattery. "It's not your son's place to question Father's arrangements. Your son only wishes to remind you: whoever takes the post, Senior Maid Xiansi has only just recovered from her illness—sleeping on that cold felt mat won't do. You must arrange things properly for Senior Maid Xiansi."
That was how people in the palace were—hints dropped, nothing said outright, no one speaking plainly, no one saying more. The dim-witted who couldn't understand the coded language were not far from death.
Liu Lun's brow knitted tightly. He waved a hand. "Enough. What business is it of yours, you wretched monkey?"
"Yes, sir." Xiao Shengzi darted off like smoke.
An inferior offering pointers to a superior—that was strange indeed. But if that inferior was acting at the behest of an even higher superior, then it was no longer strange. Liu Lun quietly kept an eye out, and saw Xiao Shengzi heading toward the Son of Heaven's quarters.
Liu Lun understood—and shuddered.
He blinked rapidly, his mind turning.
Though his heart was shrouded in inexplicable emotion, reason prevailed in the end. He immediately summoned Wang Fulu and said, "Tonight I shall temporarily take Chen Bingzhong's place. Have Xiansi take on the more demanding duty of attending His Majesty in the inner bedchamber."
Wang Fulu was dumbfounded. The inner bedchamber.
"Godfather, is that truly so?"
Everyone knew Miss Xiansi was rising quickly, but this was almost too fast.
Liu Lun wiped the cold sweat from his brow and urged him on, anxious and stern: "Do you think I have time to joke with you? Do it at once."