He commanded her in a soft, cold voice: "Kneel."
Because of the Mid-Autumn Festival, the palaces of the Forbidden City, for once, were not locked up. Every door and gate stood open, lit with lanterns and candles, a glow of orange brightness like stars flowing down to the mortal world in the black of night.
The palace customs for celebrating the Mid-Autumn Festival were, first, to allow palace servants to exchange letters with their families, and second, to give mooncakes to every living creature—palace maids, eunuchs, guards, cats and dogs, birds, the mules and horses in the stables—everything was provided, to show the boundless grace of the Emperor shining upon all things.
Xiansi received jujube-paste mooncakes, exactly the kind she loved. The Imperial Food Bureau's peerless skill was no empty boast—one bite melted in her mouth, and her soul floated up, almost transcendent.
But mooncakes couldn't be gorged on, or they'd sit heavy in the stomach and ruin their delicate charm. One or two pieces per person was just right—what one ate was the mooncake, and also the warmth of human feeling in the palace. Fortunately, the mooncakes were made with generous fillings, so two pieces filled one up.
The cold moon hung round and hazy. The palaces of the Forbidden City held their satin-luxurious solemnity, while the night held its breath, lying in wait.
Wine had risen to Hanzheng's head. With sleeves full of clear wind, he walked toward the heavens, his retinue trailing far behind—only Xiansi attended at his side.
He stood tall and upright, austere and profound, in a robe of deep blue imperial everyday attire, darkened further by the thick, cold evening mist. Xiansi caught the clean scent of soap-pod on him, the incense of a monk's lamp and ancient Buddha, and the fragrance of clear wine.
"His Majesty drank too much just now, and has come out into the wind—this servant hasn't even had time to massage your temples."
Xiansi fussed with worry. "Your Majesty, be careful of catching a chill."
Hanzheng gave a faint murmur, paying it no mind. He tilted his head back, gazing at the fireworks now blooming across the ink-black sky, his figure lit snow-white, silent and still, aloof and detached from the world.
Amid such beauty, he was a man incapable of feeling. Indifference ran in his bones; no matter how brilliant the spectacle, he watched it with cold eyes.
Xiansi stood at his side, gazing along with him.
He watched the fireworks; she watched him.
The brilliant fireworks lit both their faces at once.
After a while, Hanzheng walked on, saying with perfect composure, "My tolerance for wine is excellent."
"The Imperial Food Bureau's mooncakes—did you all receive yours?"
Xiansi nodded, with gratitude. "We all received them, Your Majesty. They taste wonderful."
Hanzheng said, "I have a few more plates of crab roe and sesame ones. Take them for yourselves in a while."
"We are deeply mindful of the Emperor's grace." Xiansi's eyes shone bright; her steps slowed slightly, as if moved.
Whenever he bestowed something on her, she wore this same reverent expression. He said "you all," but in truth, every time, he rewarded only her.
Hanzheng abruptly stopped. Some feeling flowed silently into his heart. He raised his hand and brushed back a strand of her hair, tousled by the night wind—quietly, slowly, feeling the fineness of her skin, her warmth, and the unspoken thing flowing beneath the surface.
"Fool," he said.
Xiansi neither dodged nor panicked. Like a fawn, she stood dazed, letting him do as he pleased—the two of them sharing a tacit, hidden tenderness.
"Before me, you needn't always be so careful."
Hanzheng slowly cupped her face, reddened by the cold wind. Xiansi flushed even deeper, her eyes nearly brimming with moisture.
He was, without words, permitting her to overstep—even luring her to overstep.
Xiansi's breathing and heartbeat fell into disorder together.
She stepped back, instinctively digging in her nails, blood rushing up, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest.
Hanzheng suddenly released her, abruptly withdrawing all tenderness, his eyes faintly hazy, as if nothing had happened.
"……" Xiansi drew in a sharp breath, feeling an odd emptiness she couldn't name. When he touched her, she had been deeply afraid; now that he had withdrawn, she felt a faint sense of loss.
Master and servant continued walking. The ink-dark blue bricks gleamed faintly and blurred under the moonlight. The servants trailing behind were kept in order by Liu Lun and would not come forward to disturb them. After the fireworks ended, the night sky was so quiet that not even a single crow flew silently past.
"Tonight, someone sent you a message."
Hanzheng spoke unhurriedly, his tone not a question. "Didn't you sever ties with your family?"
Since Liu Sheng was involved, Xiansi feared answering wrongly. She stared at the seams between the ink-dark bricks, keeping firmly in mind the law against deceiving the Emperor, and said in a steady voice, "To His Majesty—it was the Liu family, our neighbors. When this servant was to leave the palace, the plan was to stay at their home. Later, by your imperial grace, I was permitted to remain in the palace forever, so that arrangement was canceled."
Hanzheng showed understanding and tacit acceptance. After a long moment, he said, "Then why send a message tonight? What did the message say?"
His words were as gentle as the night wind, yet they hit the nail on the head, carrying a lethal edge, digging deep into her heart.
"The content of the message……"
Xiansi chose her words carefully, her throat dry, fearing the Emperor would punish her, and fearing even more that he would be displeased. "Your Majesty, please do not abandon this servant."
"Who is abandoning you?"
Hanzheng's voice was certain, conveying dependable warmth. "Answer me truthfully."
Only then did Xiansi dare to speak Liu Sheng's message: "I'll be waiting for you."
She had been too afraid.
Hanzheng cared far less than she had imagined.
He was the master; she was the servant. Their relationship was that shallow. He had no interest in her private life—he only needed to confirm she had not violated palace rules.
"Then how did you reply?"
"This servant did not reply again."
After a pause, Xiansi added, as if with longing, "Your Majesty once said you would grant this servant a good future."
"Mm—" Hanzheng reached out and wrapped an arm around her waist. The two walked side by side, the moonlight bright, their shadows merging into one.
"That was a good answer."
Xiansi was suddenly thrown into a posture of extreme shock and panic. She forced herself to be alert for a moment, but it was futile; she could only half-yield, half-resist as she leaned against his shoulder.
"This servant obeys His Majesty."
The physical contact came abruptly, yet she went along with it.
In the days past, the two had faced each other many times without sentiment, their lives intertwined in lingering threads—embraces without embrace that surpassed embrace.
So when the embrace truly came, neither found it strange. It was so natural, a natural progression, as if it should have happened long ago.
The waters of the Imperial River flowed silently in the dark night.
Hanzheng asked no more about the Liu family. A tranquil, warm air lingered between the two, nourishing, seeping into each other's bodies but not their hearts. Intimate, yet without love. He felt only familial affection, friendship, and the bond of master and servant toward her—no possessiveness.
Whoever she married mattered little to him; he had only promised her a good future, and he had to keep his word. As his own household servant, when she married, he would bestow a generous dowry.
Xiansi's posture was stiff, like a bird forcibly pulled into the water. Only after a long while did she find a comfortable position in his arms, lying docile as a little rabbit, listening to his heartbeat.
Her whole body was numb, trembling.
The moment the Emperor took her into his arms, her mind went blank, unable to focus. She sank for a long time into reverie, unable to stop herself from imagining what rank he would grant her, how much glory and wealth—something worthy of those words, "a good future."
Flowers do not stay in bloom a hundred days—how long could her favor last? When the bloody turmoil of the harem came in the future, would she be able to withstand it? How would the new Empress view her—would she tolerate her? If he gave her a low rank, could she rise through favor all the way to Consort, or even Noble Consort?
Tears of fear and pain slid silently down her cheeks, tinged now with a bit of happiness. She could hardly believe this had happened to her—that she could actually be with the Emperor.
Hanzheng excelled at striking precisely at the softest parts of the human heart, and with the great officials of the court, he did exactly the same.
Though he possessed force and violence, he considered those the boastful tools of the incompetent; more often, he used psychological offensives, quietly seeping in until the other party yielded willingly.
His tone drew out lazily. "Walk with me a while longer."
Xiansi was completely disordered.
Across the bridge lay the Imperial Garden, bright with the glow of palace lanterns, a night scene all its own.
Both of their bodies were warm; a slight chill was nothing worth mentioning.
Hanzheng's overstepping gestures seemed tinged with drunkenness, but his mind was clear and sharp, without the slightest shadow of intoxication.
Night mist climbed onto her lashes. Xiansi leaned in his arms, without even the strength to lift her eyelids. The more afraid she was, the more his tenderness intensified in response.
They walked and stopped, finally standing where the moonlight over the Imperial River was at its fullest.
The moon was an enormous round disc, so perfect that not a single flaw could be found—only a faint dark bruise of blue.
They raised their heads toward the bright moon; beside their shadows, two people stood.
Xiansi kept her head buried stubbornly. The branches swaying in the night wind creaked and scraped, trembling like a fluttering heart.
Hanzheng was surprisingly patient, quietly and circuitously drawing near her, all the while soothing her panic and wariness.
"Your Majesty."
She lifted her mournful, dewy eyes—beautiful beyond measure.
Some small, scattered things glittered in the darkness: fireflies. The night wind grew colder and colder, steeped in chill. The stars above, the palace lanterns below, two lips drawing near.
Hanzheng's heart skipped. He cupped her cheek, kissed her hair bun, which carried a faint scent of jasmine.
Taller than her by more than a head, he could effortlessly gather her into his arms; their sleeves brushed, utterly blurring the boundary between them, in a state of complete intoxication.
"I am here."
His movements, though gentle, carried the strength of one trained in martial arts—cold, angular edges, like a weapon without warmth, making one shiver all over.
The cold moon hung high, as if he were the chilly moon itself.
Xiansi's scalp tingled. It was the first time she had known the taste of being kissed by a man—and that man was the Son of Heaven.
In this transgression beneath the moonlit night, with consummate skill he left her a sweet and unforgettable flavor; all the wind, the night, the memory were damp.
"This servant is afraid…"
She resisted with strength so slight it was nearly imperceptible, not daring to openly defy him—a final attempt to pull back from the brink.
Hanzheng slowly brushed aside the tear-dampened hair at her temples, seeing her tears of joy, tears of pain, tears of panic, tears of reluctance… every flavor mingled into one.
He quietly leaned close, his soft, husky voice nearly merging with the darkness. "Hold onto me."
He had no intention of letting her go.
There was no pulling back from the brink at all.
Xiansi was less cherished than imprisoned. His gifts and tenderness required her to repay them at equal cost.
Within his cage, she lost her clarity as a person, reduced to an object, able only to obey his commands in a daze.
"Mm."
She answered in a daze, her slender, willow-branch-like arms reaching out with the utmost tentativeness and care, and wrapped around his waist as he had asked.
Hanzheng responded at once, holding her with just the right weight.
Beneath the vast starry sky, time itself seemed to stop flowing.
Two people who had long stood on opposite shores gazing at each other had finally come together.
Blooming flowers, a full moon.
Mid-Autumn moon-gazing—the two lingered over the moonlight to their hearts' content before slowly making their way back, wandering through the night and a sea of fireflies.
Xiansi accompanied the Imperial Presence back to the palace.
He was still himself, she was still herself, yet between them now ran a thousand tangled threads of feeling—something that could only be sensed, never spoken.
If one had to put it into words: the way they looked at each other had changed, laced with sweetness.
Liu Lun bowed low, burying himself among the servants, not daring to look directly at Xiansi again. Xiansi had become something untouchable, as if gilded with a rim of gold—touch her and you'd be pricked.
Upon reaching the Palace of Heavenly Purity, Liu Lun was still dazed and stunned. Wang Fulu and Xiao Shengzi exchanged a swift glance, then hurried off to heat water and prepare the contraceptive decoction—tonight, judging by the look of things, it would surely be needed.
This was momentous news that would shake the entire Palace of Heavenly Purity. Wang Fulu had long seen that Miss Xiansi had a good future—a great stroke of divine fortune—and indeed it had come true. Most crucial of all, the Empress had not yet entered the palace; she was His Majesty's first woman.
The palace banquet had dragged on half the night, and His Majesty's stroll had lasted so long that it was well past the hour of the Tiger. In the dressing annex of the second western bay, the flickering flowering wick burned bright, with not a trace of drowsy weariness—instead there was a slow, lingering romance, tender and beguiling.
Snap. A flowering wick burst on the candle.
They say a bursting flowering wick is an excellent omen. The bedchamber was locked fast; inside there were only Xiansi and His Majesty. The heat was enough to make one panic and grow dizzy. Xiansi's nails had dug deep into her palms; her heart beat with slow, heavy, dull thuds, wound to the point of hysteria.
Hanzheng sat upon the bright yellow couch. At the summit of the forbidden palace, ants could only win his favor through absolute submission.
In the darkness cast by the candle shadows, his silhouette held a strange, irresistible force—not light, but darkness, a terrifying darkness, black in its utter purity.
He gave his command, soft and cold: "Kneel."
Xiansi's pale cheeks held not a trace of color as her knees sank, dazed, to the floor.
He idly caressed her lovely jawline, admiring it, and then his hand reached her sash.
"Do not be afraid."