After Xiansi became bedchamber attendant, the atmosphere in the Western Gardens turned subtle and turbulent.
First, after that night, His Majesty rarely summoned her in private; everything proceeded by the book, with no special treatment. What happened that day seemed to have been merely an accident—the distance that had once been drawn close was pulled apart again.
Moreover, the Emperor himself was a man with an extremely strong sense of propriety. Once a layer of aloofness settled over it, that propriety became almost like a frost that ignored one's very existence—now cold, now warm. Only he could seek her out; she could never seek him.
The volatility of the Emperor's whims was like shifting rain clouds, without constancy or pattern.
That night, the one that had left Xiansi so deeply bewildered, faded like pigment on a canvas, evaporating without a trace—so thoroughly that it left one dazed, doubting her own memory, wondering whether she and His Majesty had ever truly had anything at all.
And indeed, they had not.
The Emperor did not ignore her entirely. "Xiansi, go close the window."… Occasionally he would speak to her like this, giving orders when orders were due, explaining their illogical situation with a posture of perfect logic. Even his expression and voice were gentle—not a hint of anger to be found.
A single ambiguous remark from him could leave Xiansi trembling with trepidation as she pondered it for a long while; a flash of coldness in his eyes, and she would keenly sense some ominous undertone that lingered in her heart, leaving her unable to rest.
Thus she was tormented by a drifting, unanchored anxiety.
She almost wished the Emperor would punish her—at least then she would know what she had done wrong. But left out in the cold like this, she was like a cat abandoned by its master, able only to wait passively for her doom.
The gap in rank and standing between them was far too great. If he wanted to toy with her, it would be effortlessly easy. Besides, he never made an overt show of killing or punishment; what he excelled at was psychological warfare—killing without spilling blood.
To Xiansi, the Emperor was like a "tyrannical god"—not that his temperament was cruel, but that his choices were capricious, now cold, now warm, without any pattern.
Whether she struggled with all her might or simply idled away her days, the outcome would be much the same. The Emperor chose when he wished to choose, and when he chose not to, there would be no reason given. He was the all-powerful sovereign and father—mysterious and boundless, deep as an abyss, vast as the sea. For him there was no such thing as the divine reward for diligence, nor any mercy or justice.
And yet, at times, he would show her tenderness.
What she feared most was losing her sense of agency—yet at the Emperor's side, that was precisely what she lost, unable to decide her own fate. And the closer she drew to him, the stronger that feeling became.
Crushed by profound helplessness and confusion, she found that in facing the Emperor, she had gradually transformed from a living, calculating and shrewd woman who knew how to scheme against others and seize position, into a corpse that merely followed the rules, trembling, capable of nothing but obedience.
Beneath the covered gallery, little Chun'er and several other palace maids were braiding cords. Seeing Xiansi, they bowed respectfully: "Senior Maid—"
Xiansi held the storeroom keys. "Carry on, everyone. I've just come to fetch something."
They all assented, but little Chun'er lingered, as if with something on her mind. Xiansi called Chun'er aside privately; ever since Chun'er had passed her that warning, an unspoken closeness had grown between them.
Chun'er said in a low voice, "Your meteoric rise in status, Senior Maid—this servant congratulates you."
Xiansi dared not accept such honors with an easy conscience, much less boast of them. The higher one climbed, the heavier the burden one bore. Since arriving at the Emperor's side, many of her long-held beliefs had been stripped to the bone and rebuilt.
Chun'er was clumsy with her hands, but she was kind and loyal, and Xiansi intended to bring her under her wing. To establish a lasting foothold in the Palace of Heavenly Purity the way Liu Lun had, one needed a few trusted people.
"We're all servants serving our masters—there's no such thing as a meteoric rise in status." Xiansi patted Chun'er's shoulder. "Do your work well, and if you run into trouble, come to me."
Chun'er nodded again and again in agreement. Having a senior maid as a backer in the palace gave her a great sense of security.
"Thank you, Senior Maid!"
Just as she was heading off to her duties in the afternoon, the eunuch Xiao Shengzi came scurrying over with a bowl of cardamom water for Xiansi, his face all smiles. "You've worked hard, Senior Maid. Have some water and rest a while." His fawning intent was obvious.
Xiao Shengzi had worked in the Western Gardens for years, but as a political weathercock, he had never been favored by the Chief Steward Liu Lun. So he pinned his hopes on Xiansi, who had lately become highly sought-after, convinced that she was destined to ascend to the heights of power. For days now he had been clinging to her, currying favor.
Chen Bingzhong was dead, leaving a vacancy in the night watch rotation. Xiao Shengzi was green with envy and wanted to fill it, to follow along and serve in the spacious, bright Palace of Heavenly Purity instead of sweeping cold stove ashes in the Western Gardens.
On this matter, even Liu Lun's word didn't count—Xiansi, as the foremost maid in the Emperor's service, was the one who decided. If Xiansi brought Xiao Shengzi along, he would surely get his wish.
"Senior Maid, I've already done the storeroom work for you in advance. You just rest," Xiao Shengzi said obsequiously.
It wasn't only Chun'er and Xiao Shengzi—Xiansi had been rising step by step lately, and too many people were green-eyed and eager to fawn on her.
"I'd advise you not to use Xiao Shengzi. That little monkey has a devious nature—shallow and flashy. One day he might turn around and stab you in the back. I may have taken him in as a godson, but I've kept him sidelined in the Western Gardens all along. To climb upward, he would even lick an arse to get ahead."
In a secluded, dark chamber, Liu Lun sat down and chatted idly. "little Chun'er is somewhat usable, but don't count on too much from her either. There's only one iron rule for survival in the palace: serve your master. If the master is pleased, your days are easy. If the master no longer wants you, then no number of godsons will help."
His tone at the end carried a trace of desolation. He himself had worked diligently for many years, and now, old and worn, a lowly eunuch whom His Majesty could discard at will, a lifetime of toil had come to nothing.
Fortunately, Xiansi had taken up his mantle.
Xiansi sat at the faded wooden table, arms resting on it, her expression dim. "I know. I haven't dared to count on anyone. No one in the palace dares to offer their true heart. No matter how good the relationship, it's all honeyed words and a hidden dagger."
"That's right." Especially with His Majesty's attitude toward her still ambiguous at present—rushing to form cliques would only invite the master's displeasure.
Liu Lun paused, pressing his lips together.
In truth, he wanted to ask what had happened that night when Xiansi entered the inner bedchamber to attend His Majesty, and why afterward the Emperor treated her neither warmly nor coldly. But gossiping in the palace was a grave taboo—walls have ears.
By a tacit understanding, Xiansi also avoided the subject.
She knew Liu Lun treated her well. As her mentor and godfather, he had always wholeheartedly managed her future. First he arranged for her to leave the palace, then he found Liu Sheng, and now he was helping her climb, step by step, to attend the Son of Heaven himself.
Though the plans had changed again and again along the way, that was more the push of fate than any fault of Liu Lun's.
In the dim yellow lamplight, the two exchanged a glance and understood each other in silence.
……
His Majesty stayed in the Western Gardens for half a month before setting out to return to the Palace of Heavenly Purity.
The Western Gardens was a place of cultivation wreathed in spiritual energy. His Majesty preferred to reside there long-term rather than in the Inner Palace, but the ministers of the Grand Secretariat had submitted memorials day after day, falling like snowflakes, remonstrating to the death about all the Western Gardens's faults.
Xiansi now served in the Emperor's presence and paid particular attention to her appearance. Trembling with care, meticulous to the last detail, she had perfumed her whole body and changed into a stone-blue patchwork robe. Only after checking her reflection in the bronze mirror and confirming her colors were appropriate did she set off for the study in the three eastern chambers.
Whether she would be kept on depended entirely on her master's will. Since that night, His Majesty had granted her no further special favor. On the surface she enjoyed boundless glory, but in truth she was a hollow shell of prestige.
The Palace of Heavenly Purity—its brownish-red glazed tiles edged with a border of emerald green—bathed in direct sunlight that overflowed with abundant yang energy. Nowhere in the entire palace was brighter than the Palace of Heavenly Purity. Outwardly solemn and beautiful, inwardly refined and tranquil, it bore both the golden dragons of "the auspicious purple haze from the east" on its outer eaves and lintels, and the pines, cypresses, and chrysanthemums that represented Daoist serenity.
Sunlight sifted through the latticed windows, scorching her back. Inside the hall, four pots of quiet, deep-blue orchids were arranged in perfect order. The four characters "Devotion to Learning and Diligence in Governance" on the plaque, written in rich black, upright regular script, were serene and solemn—like a paperweight pressing down upon the whole palace, holding fast an atmosphere so heavy it could drip.
Xiansi entered the hall to serve tea.
Her upper body was bowed, eyelids half-lowered, arms extended forward, holding the teacup before her at the level of her head as she walked quickly in small steps.
When serving tea while His Majesty was reading, one did not speak. She rounded the long huanghuali desk and knelt to the side.
Hanzheng was leafing through memorials to the throne.
Xiansi's arms stayed rigidly raised, going numb within moments. Her training since childhood was extensive, letting her hold out longer than most. The heavy air of the hall turned into ponderous stones, pressing down on her arms.
After a long while, Hanzheng cast her a faint glance.
"What tea?"
"Xueding Maojian," she answered briefly and respectfully, moving to set the tea on the desk at the proper moment.
But he raised his hand to receive it first.
The instant their skin touched, a ripple of faint, cool trembling.
Xiansi's breath caught—the chill went straight to her heart. His hand had landed squarely on the back of her hand—on the tea saucer.
Time stopped abruptly. A terrifying silence.
Hanzheng felt it too. He lifted his eyelids, regarding her with a look of deep contemplation, slow as flowing water.
He did not withdraw. He asked:
"Why won't you give it to me?"
Those slanting brows and eyes were like a sharp blade doused in water, in the midst of dreadful darkness.
Xiansi's hand was caught between the teacup and his hand, unable to pull free. This position meant she could not offer the tea, nor could he take it—they remained locked in midair.
Her scalp tingled. She tried to withdraw her hand, but the curve of the cup's base and the curve of his hand wedged against each other in opposite directions. Unless one side yielded its force, forcing the matter would only send the cup falling and the tea spilling—a breach of decorum before the Emperor.
"Your servant wishes to serve His Majesty."
She squeezed out a practiced, seamless smile, her path of retreat already sealed.
He raised an eyebrow: "Oh?"
"The tea is too hot. Your servant wishes to pour it into a shallow cup so it will be more comfortable for you." She measured her words carefully.
The tea was not hot at all.
Hanzheng's grip tightened gently, its force carrying a hardness, a sensitive yet cold tenderness, as he asked: "Why was it not prepared beforehand?"
Xiansi swallowed past her dry throat. Arguing now was pointless. All she could say was: "Your servant deserves punishment—" accompanied by the same prostration as always.
Fortunately, he finally released his hand.
"You have committed no offense."
He said to her.
His tone was like the cold moon at deep night.
Xiansi was at times enveloped in tenderness, and at times frightened by the unpredictable imperial majesty. It was as if His Majesty had done nothing at all, and it was her own heart that was too sensitive—every time she was left trembling with trepidation, nervous beyond measure.
She had simply served at the imperial side for too few days, with too little experience.
Given time to acclimate to His Majesty's rhythm, she was certain she could do better.
She breathed a sigh of relief, forgetting the numbness in her arm.
The back of the hand he had touched felt cool, while her palm, which had long held the teacup, burned hot—a case of ice and fire at once.
She set down the tea, her expression like one concealing some lie.
Hanzheng's intent was not the tea, and he did not expose her.
The tea presentation was a complete disaster.
Xiansi became a shadow standing in the corner, shoulder to shoulder with the enormous crane vase, as if she herself were a lifeless vase. In the vast study, only she, a shadow, was on duty.
He gave no orders, exchanged no extra words, yet he did not drive her away either. The two of them each kept their eyes lowered, each attending to their own affairs, a silent, quiet companionship.
That cup of fresh tea sat in silence for a long while before he picked it up, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly, his fingertips as white as the porcelain.
……
Even though Xiansi was cautious and attentive to everything, the duties at the imperial side were a thousand tangled threads. Newly arrived as she was, her work had its gaps—if someone truly wanted to find fault, they could pick her to death.
Eunuch Liu Lun had served at the imperial side for a long time and did the work better than Xiansi. By comparison, Xiansi was far from perfect.
If not for His Majesty's deliberate or inadvertent protection, Xiansi would long since have been devoured by those below who scrambled desperately to climb upward.
His Majesty treated her well. If she occasionally placed a vase slightly askew, or was late in closing a window, he would neither scold her nor punish her. In his mild tone there was rarely the condescending contempt of a master for a servant; great matters and small were lightly brushed aside.
During the days of her monthly menses, she was granted leave—a special privilege for an imperial chambermaid, an extreme kindness, a symbol of honor.
On the day the future Empress, Miss Jiang, entered the palace for the second time, the Empress Dowager sent word. Having kept Miss Jiang waiting the last time, His Majesty had no choice but to attend this time—the Empress Dowager had given an absolute command.
"It's raining."
Hanzheng stood beneath the covered gallery, his robes fluttering, a faint sliver of daylight beneath the sky.
"Does Your Majesty still wish to go to Shoukang Palace? This servant will prepare the imperial litter."
Xiansi stood behind him, her clothing likewise lifted at a corner by the wind and rain.
"No need."
His handsome, upright figure stood beneath the dark clouds, in a black Daoist robe—like a bolt of ink-dark lightning, lacking an emperor's open righteousness, instead carrying an innate, shadowy power.
Xiansi followed behind him, holding an umbrella over him.
The rest—a tail of eunuchs carrying the regalia—followed in silence, holding their breath.
Shoukang Palace.
The sky had grown as dark as night.
His Majesty entered, while the rest waited in attendance beneath the covered gallery. Because the future Empress was present, the rigid, somber Shoukang Palace, heavy with the smell of medicine jars, gained an extra layer of significance. Who would not wish for the fortune of glimpsing the future Empress's grace ahead of others?
After His Majesty's wedding, the triennial consort selection would proceed as usual, and the harem would gradually grow lively.
Liu Lun and Xiansi, the two most favored servants of the imperial side, stood side by side with bowed heads beneath the eaves. They were so properly decorous that the servants below fell silent as cicadas in winter; the loudest sound in all of Shoukang Palace was the patter of falling rain.
Xiansi glimpsed the fine, glittering threads of rain beneath the eaves, a thousand glistening strands splashing against the vermilion pillars of the gallery. Her lashes hung low over her eyes, forever half-lowered—the subservient posture of a bondservant, as if she would never know to lift them.
Come to think of it, she was content with and cherished her present life. Even with the subservient posture of a bondservant, she was the most presentable among the servants, the one who lived best and climbed highest—something beyond the reach of many.
Even though she was but an ant in the Forbidden City, she had once stood at the very pinnacle, serving the master who held the highest position.