The curtains hung low, the candle shadows flickering.
Xiansi knelt on both knees on the thick bright yellow dragon-embroidered carpet of the western chamber, her spine rigidly straight, pale and silent, drawing deep breath after deep breath, her chin slightly raised, utterly motionless.
She looked like a criminal—and like a sacrifice.
The Emperor's gaze burned bright, leaving no room for retreat.
After a long standoff, Xiansi finally yielded, slowly raising her hands to undo the frog fasteners at her collar.
The grey-blue beizi coat embroidered with small sunflower sprays, the narrow-sleeved short jacket washed to a faded white, the plain blue pleated skirt, the lapel ornament and dangling jinbu pendants, the red cord binding her hair… one after another they fell to the floor, wilting into a heap.
The faint rustle of fabric, the crackle of the flowering wick in the candles, the shallow, quickened breathing—these were the only sounds in the silence.
The process was very, very slow.
Hanzheng reclined at an angle against the round cushion embroidered with waves and rocky cliffs, his gaze following her movements, examining her layer by layer.
The oppressive pressure before a storm, the dark clouds stealing in without a sound—every glance he cast carried a cold judgment, chilling and menacing, making one feel not in the bright warmth of the imperial palace, but in a bleak, cold temple in the wilderness.
He did not hurry her.
He gave no orders, cold and silent, yet this was more unnerving than any command could have been.
Xiansi's pupils went unfocused, her gaze dazed and lost like that of someone in a fever. Her consciousness was dragged into a thick, murky haze; the air around her grew thin, and her throat felt stuffed with wisps of cotton.
The moonlight in the western chamber on this night in the eighth month was frost-cold. Stripped of the protection of her clothing, the chill surged over her like waves, seeping into skin thin as paper, and she began to tremble visibly.
At last, she removed everything.
Nothing left.
Hanzheng pressed down heavily on her shoulder.
He knew this was her first time, so he had been comforting her, indulging her, saying quietly, though not from his heart:
"If you are unwilling, withdraw now."
Xiansi gave a choked sob, her pupils as dull and unmoving as a corpse's, tiny beads of sweat surfacing one after another.
"Your servant has sinned."
Wrapped in panic, all she could do was shrink back.
Yet he deliberately, cruelly encouraged her.
Stripped of the shelter of her clothes, Xiansi felt that the last thread of dignity between her and the Emperor had been severed.
She was no longer the chief palace maid who always knew how to advance and retreat, who always kept proper measure; her sense of dignity as a respectable servant vanished in an instant.
She went from having a choice to having none.
Once this step was taken, there was no turning back.
"Are you very cold?" Hanzheng asked.
Her bones had been rattling like a sieve.
Xiansi lowered her eyelids, thought for a moment, and said, "Not cold."
"Then you are nervous."
Hanzheng guided her to rise, steering her will with a cool gentleness. "Come, come to my side."
Xiansi moved stiffly along with him and sat down on the bright yellow couch. Though she had swept this room countless times, actually sitting upon it felt like her soul leaving her body, a sensation piercing straight through the crown of her head.
Hanzheng coldly lifted her chin.
Controlled by his hand, Xiansi raised her gaze accordingly.
His eyes were like a point of sunlight in cold water, glinting so brightly they burned.
In that instant, a sudden, intuitive connection passed between them.
They leaned together against the round cushion, and in an indescribable stillness, it was almost as if they had merely changed places to admire the moon.
The romance ordinary women longed for—under the moon and amidst the flowers, tender words of love—he had it all, and did it even better.
The green gauze canopy hung half-drawn; the thick screen, like a wall, was no longer visible. Having shed his imperial robes, Hanzheng in his soft deep black sleeping robes nearly melted into the dim candlelight, layer by layer loosening one's vigilance.
Once Xiansi sat in his embrace, they were nearly eye to eye. Slowly, the immense psychological pressure of looking up at him from below dissolved, and it almost seemed as if he were not the Emperor, but the only person in the treacherous palace she could trust.
The dusk was an excellent cover.
Her face, red as a boiled crab, hid in the darkness.
His collar brushed against her cheek as she nestled in his arms, and all that flowed around her was tenderness.
Hanzheng was relaxed and unhurried, easing back inch by inch, subtly teaching her to relax by example. Without realizing it, Xiansi's curled fingertips unfurled, and her shallow, quick breaths slowly grew long and even.
"Your Majesty, this servant is unworthy." Xiansi wanted to say this, to withdraw. In her heart, he was the sovereign and father, a god, a benefactor, the master she would serve all her life—how could she defile him?
But the words never left her mouth; he blocked them preemptively.
"Tonight, there is no sovereign and subject between us."
That was all Hanzheng told her.
The calm and warmth were like a dream, a soothing, comfortable, beautiful dream, filled with tenderness, happiness, and relief.
If tonight brings joy, why worry about what comes after?
A few hot tears from Xiansi fell on the front of his robe. A long-cherished wish she had never dared to imagine had come true in a single moment, yet what she felt was not happiness, but a dazed disbelief, and fear.
Before she could retreat, the Emperor had already quietly closed in on her.
Their positions shifted—now she lay beneath him, and he covered her.
Even at this moment, Hanzheng showed not the slightest frenzy. Every word he spoke reached her ears clearly, neither rushed nor slow, giving her a deep sense of safety, of control, and of profound pleasure.
Hanzheng was exceedingly attentive to her feelings.
That attentiveness was gentle, and at the same time cold, coercive, brooking no resistance.
She clenched her teeth and could only accept.
Hanzheng appreciated her—not only her beauty, but her inner self as well.
He carefully surveyed every fragment of her soul, like caressing a precious treasure, then mercifully sent her down to hell:
"Close your eyes."
Xiansi was like a poor mouse lured by the scent of cheese.
Things had gone this far; she was mired too deep to escape. She reached out her arms and held him—held the man she had revered deep in her heart for so many years.
He was her heaven, and he was her hell.
Her eyelids closed completely.
She… even loved him.
For good or for ill, until the day of final reckoning.
Xiansi sniffled, then forced out a smile and staked all the courage she possessed.
She gave herself to him completely.
Until they fit together perfectly.
It felt too unreal.
In the palace with its strict laws and rules, Xiansi had presumptuously enjoyed her master's bed, been improper and unruly before her master, willful and weeping—and what she received was not harsh punishment, but generosity and indulgence.
The beliefs rooted in her for seven years were utterly rewritten. He had redeemed her, lonely and full of self-doubt.
Her body and soul bowed in total submission to him.
"Your Majesty—"
Hanzheng did not disappoint her.
At that instant, Xiansi's eyes suddenly flew open again.
Her eyes were wide, large and glossy black, reflecting the moon, reflecting terror, pain, and strangeness.
She was frightened; she wanted to flee.
Hanzheng did not relent because of it. For someone as untouched as a blank page, he knew what would be best. If he could not bring her to the utmost heights, she would regret it later.
"Close them," he reminded her again, his expression detached, faintly smiling.
Truthfully, it would be better with her eyes open, but she was afraid.
Xiansi did not listen, defying the Imperial decree. "This servant wants to keep them open."
"Why?"
"To remember what you look like." Her smile brimmed with innocence and stubbornness.
A bright, cold gleam flashed suddenly through Hanzheng's eyes.
Then, without warning, he turned ruthless, granting her even more of his pity. In this moment, he was a weapon without warmth.
From their first meeting, he had felt pity and admiration for her—feelings that logic could not suppress.
Now, at last, he had her.
In the height of frenzy, both were drenched in sweat.
Xiansi lay half-dead with exhaustion. Hanzheng gathered his breath, smiling, cradling her dazed face, letting the moment linger.
"Good—"
He answered her earlier words. Remember his face. Remember. Kissing her, he promised over and over:
"I will not take you for nothing. I will grant you a stroke of divine fortune."
……
His Majesty's grace was beyond words.
When Xiansi awoke, the sky was bright and the sun had already climbed high.
She had never dared sleep so late—and on the imperial bed, no less. By old custom, a consort who had served the Emperor's bed performed a formal kneeling salutation and departed; at most she might stay until the third watch, never permitted to sleep at the Emperor's side.
She was merely a palace maid—in an ordinary great household she would rank below even a maid who shared her master's bed—yet she had slept soundly through the whole night on the imperial bed. By this favor alone, it was clear His Majesty's regard for her was extraordinary.
Her vision was hazy, taking a long while to slowly focus. Two faint trails of silver still clung to Xiansi's cheeks, a faint hoarseness lingered in her throat, and her whole body felt as if it had come apart at the joints.
Memories of last night's distortion still crashed over her like waves. She covered her head in mortification, her temples throbbing, without even the strength to lift her eyelids.
What a strange feeling—as if she had been wounded, pierced through by a great cold axe, split in two.
Not quite pain, yet with a residue of pleasure…
Xiansi lay staring blankly upward on the bed, stiff for a long while, her breath barely there, motionless, as if all signs of life had left her.
A long, long time passed before she drifted back from her daze to reality.
Palace servants entered the hall soundlessly, lifted the layered curtains, helped her up, dressed her, put on her shoes. Then they escorted her out of His Majesty's third western bay to her own quarters.
Xiansi's consciousness was still drifting; she could not care for herself, nor clearly grasp what had happened.
It was not until she was half-led, half-carried elsewhere, and a cold comb scraped across her scalp, that Xiansi suddenly came to her senses. Dizzy, she rasped, "…Chun'er?"
The one combing her hair was indeed little Chun'er, who had taken Xiansi's shift the night before.
Chun'er was overjoyed, leaning down to say softly, "Senior Maid, you were so muddled, like someone sleepwalking. Have you finally woken?"
Xiansi rubbed her temples, still floating.
Chun'er's eyes shimmered with reverence, practically worshipping her as a goddess. Everyone in the Emperor's service knew Senior Maid Xiansi had met with great fortune—she had served His Majesty, ascending from the dust to become a phoenix.
As she combed, Chun'er said, "Just now Eunuch Liu sent word that His Majesty permits you a few days of rest to recuperate. You needn't trouble yourself with duties in the Emperor's service for the time being."
Xiansi gave a low murmur, her cheeks pale, drained of all color.
Once her simple coiffure was done, Chun'er signaled to the old women outside, who immediately came in bearing a bowl of murky, sour, bitter, fishy-smelling medicinal broth. "Please, Senior Maid—"
The contraceptive decoction.
One glance, and Xiansi understood with tacit comprehension.
The old woman watched her drink it down to the last drop before approaching with a fawning smile. "We servants are clumsy and don't know how to serve you properly, Senior Maid, so we've prepared some hot water for you to relax your body."
As they spoke, a large bathing tub was carried in, filled with milk and delicate flower petals, steam rising, lavish and extravagant, brimming with fragrance.
Xiansi had never received such treatment. Wary and resistant, she lowered herself into the tub. The warm water surrounded her, her aching bones gradually melting loose, her blood flowing as if relieved of a burden, suffused with refreshment.
She slid down, drained of strength, as thick steam enveloped her.
Since she was not yet permitted to attend His Majesty, Xiansi obediently rested for five days, living in comfort and idleness—calling her half a mistress would not be an exaggeration.
During these five days, she basked in the envious, reverent gazes of her colleagues. Countless servants tried to curry favor with her; Xiao Shengzi even washed her clothes and scrubbed her shoes with his own hands, obsequious to the utmost, as if he were her personal lackey.
Amid the tide of flattery and glory from the outside world, Xiansi only grew more anxious inside.
Since that night, His Majesty had never summoned her again, and because of her leave, she could not approach the imperial presence for the time being. The two of them were almost entirely cut off from each other.
The leave, the care, the gifts His Majesty had given her—each one represented his special regard for her.
Yet he would not see her, nor allow her to see him, which always made him feel as distant as the horizon—unseeable, untouchable.
That day, Wang Fulu personally delivered His Majesty's gifts.
A white Hetian jade safety pendant with a pale tassel, embroidered sachets, small gold ingots, pastries and mare's milk wine from the Imperial Kitchen… such gifts arrived every few days, never the same twice.
Precisely because of this, the servants of the Palace of Heavenly Purity were green with envy, convinced that Xiansi was a rare commodity worth cultivating, and fawned over her desperately.
Xiansi had long since recovered, but day after day she was confined to the eastern wing, idle in mind and restless in hand. When she wished to be reinstated to her former post, Wang Fulu always said His Majesty had issued no decree yet, telling her to patiently recuperate and await his command.
Xiansi's heart burned as if scorched by fire.
"Your godfather worries about you greatly, but as Chief Steward, too many eyes are on him—it wouldn't be proper for him to visit you alone. Every time I return from here, he asks after you."
Wang Fulu sighed with emotion. "You and your godfather have known each other for years—kindred spirits who supported one another. It hasn't been easy getting to where you are now."
Xiansi nodded blankly, her heart heavy with worry.
Seeing her absent-minded, Wang Fulu hesitated to speak, afraid she might overthink. "Rest well now. You're frail and thin—your godfather told me to make sure you eat more."
Xiansi indeed had no spare thought for Liu Lun; her mind was wholly occupied by His Majesty—His Majesty by day, His Majesty in her dreams.
After that night with His Majesty, she had expected earth-shattering changes, but instead the days were calm as still water, calmer even than before.
His Majesty treated her well, without a flaw to be found, yet a transparent membrane lay between them—like gazing at the sun through a block of ice: warm to look at, but cold to the touch.
Yes, His Majesty gave off an air of coldness; even his supposed warmth bore traces of calculation, something manufactured through technique. However gentle he was, the dark clouds of that coldness always hung over her.
She and His Majesty were, after all, master and servant—an uncrossable gulf, not as intimate as she had imagined.
That night had changed nothing.
All Xiansi could do was wait. If His Majesty would not see her, she might never see him again in this lifetime.
Now, nominally a pampered senior palace maid, in reality she could not approach the imperial presence, her authority hollowed out—no different from a marginalized old maid, her situation akin to that of the lonely Senior Maid Jinshu.
This feeling of loneliness and helplessness was like sharp swords thrusting again and again into her heart, leaving her gazing anxiously toward the palace, restless, yearning ever more desperately for His Majesty's decision.
At this moment, her muddled mind ignored the rest of Wang Fulu's words, latching onto only one question:
"Is His Majesty in good health? Is he eating well? Does he sleep soundly at night?"
She paid no heed to anyone else, hoping only to glean some news of His Majesty from a few scattered words.
Wang Fulu replied, "His Majesty's health is perfectly fine."
The Emperor's whereabouts were a closely guarded secret, but for Xiansi, some leniency could be allowed.
He paused, then added, "During the Mid-Autumn Festival some days ago, Lady Jiang was staying at the Empress Dowager's Shoukang Palace, and His Majesty toured the grounds with her."
Miss Jiang. So all this time, His Majesty had been keeping company with the future Empress.
Shame seeped into Xiansi's bewildered expression at once.
In front of Wang Fulu, she pretended nothing was amiss.
What status did she have to be concerned about His Majesty? Did she really think she had ascended to the heights of power? His Majesty had his future Empress Consort—she wasn't even worth a shadow in the corner.
She gave a low murmur and asked nothing more.
……
Deep within the palace walls.
Xiansi rested a full fifteen days before being reinstated to her former post. For someone bored out of her wits with idleness, the chance to return to her routine was nothing short of a lifeline.
Over those fifteen long days, the dazed tenderness of that night, the lingering marks and strange aches on her body… all of it had faded away.
In the early morning, Xiansi carefully arranged her hair before the bronze mirror, applied a light dusting of powder, and strained the corners of her tightly closed lips upward into a crescent-moon curve.
She, who never wore hairpins or ornaments, put on a pair of ear pendants for once—unassuming and plain, the size of rice grains, catching the light in the sun.
Only after checking her appearance again and again did Xiansi set off toward the main hall of the Palace of Heavenly Purity, her heart pounding like a war drum.
The dawn light spilled from the resplendent double-eaved hip roof into the air along the corridor. The sunlight was so beautiful, like a golden waterfall, while swallows darted now and then across the azure sky.
"Senior Maid Xiansi."
The palace maids and eunuchs who passed her all bowed deferentially, their respect bordering on the exaggerated.
Everyone's gaze toward her had changed.
Xiansi avoided their eyes and quickened her pace.
Seeing her again after so many days apart, Liu Lun's crow's-feet revealed a complexity of feeling, a thousand emotions mingled into one.
"His Majesty has approved your return."
"Yes." Xiansi felt slightly ashamed—she had drawn her pay all these days for nothing.
"Go on," Liu Lun said.
With the utmost deference, Xiansi stepped over the thick white marble threshold of the third western bay and entered that solemn, august forbidden domain of the Emperor. She drew in a cool breath; with the Imperial countenance so near, her heart and courage alike shrank.
In the inner chamber, Hanzheng stood polishing a sword. The blade was three chi long, quiet and piercing, its cold light restrained, its surface polished like a mirror.
His austere, inscrutable figure in the light of dawn was cold and ethereal, lofty and clear, gathering in the yang energy of the eighth month.
Xiansi steadied herself and curtseyed with modest grace: "Your Majesty—"
Hanzheng's back shifted slightly, an ordinary movement. He returned the sword to its sheath and went back to the Imperial throne. "Are you recovered?"
Meeting again, there was not much of a racing heart between them.
"Your servant thanks Your Majesty for the care shown these many days." Xiansi's eyes stayed fixed on the dark, mirrorlike floor bricks, not daring to lift them even slightly.
Even hearing his voice brought back the sweet ache of his hand gripping her waist that night.
She was afraid—truly afraid.
Hanzheng's gaze was gentle yet sharp. "That is good."
Nothing more.
Thanks to His Majesty's special consideration, Xiansi's duties were lighter and fewer than before.
Still without any formal title, she remained a senior palace maid in attendance before the Emperor. Those improper touches of the imperial lips, the service on the imperial bed—all those unspeakable things… faded little by little like passing clouds.
"Your Majesty, please have your tea."
Xiansi served tea as usual, the tea pleasantly hot, her kneeling posture exceptionally proper. Hanzheng raised a hand to receive it, gently blowing at the foam on the surface, their breaths intertwining, glances flowing, his expression faint beyond faint.
At his side, Xiansi felt up close that misty chill of his—distant, restrained, ascetic. He showed her no particular intimacy; the occasional brush of contact could be dismissed as nothing.
She had returned as she wished—grinding the ink, serving tea, arranging flowers, making the bed, changing his attire… A maid was still a maid. He allowed her to attend him closely, the distance could be very, very near, yet he never let her truly come close.
He looked after her, but did not open his heart to her.
Before him, she would always be a useful object—in other words, a dead thing, not a person.
That night, she had merely happened to relieve him, that was all.
When collecting her stipend that afternoon, Xiansi received an extra box of water chestnut cakes and three zhang of Suzhou silk in exceptionally fine colors.
The head of the Imperial Food Bureau said cheerfully, "Miss Xiansi, this is a reward from His Majesty—yours alone. No one else has any."
His Majesty often fed Xiansi treats, even remembering such trivial details as whether she preferred salty or sweet. For a servant, this was supreme honor.
But from another angle, His Majesty treated all obedient servants this way, with perfect impartiality. The rewards were what a servant deserved—compensation, a gratuity—not favoritism.
The foremost palace maid of the imperial presence: she had status, she had power, she was envied by ordinary servants, yet she was no different from them.
What Xiansi gained was merely power that matched her duties precisely. Her master granted it to her to hone her into a more convenient tool.
Her achievements were, in truth, insignificant.
Likewise, His Majesty repeatedly making exceptions for her meant nothing. His Majesty did not act by convention; he was full of surprises—such was his nature, ghostlike and uncanny. He broke with ancestral precedent because he himself regarded ancestral precedent as waste paper, not because of her.
Night. The western chamber, the deep halls, the painted ceiling above, the square and solemn hall.
Dark clouds veiled the moon.
Once again, Xiansi, in her role as chambermaid of the imperial bedchamber, undressed the emperor, feeling almost out of practice.
They had passed the point of no return; they had done things far more intimate than changing attire. She had already climbed out of the deep well, glimpsed the light of day, was about to ascend to the heights of power… and then slid back down into the well.
She undid the clasps of his robe one by one, her fingertips gliding over them. The emperor's gaze hung above her head, and she could feel the weight of it.
Lately she had indeed been anxious, caught between hope and fear.
And yet, standing at a crossroads in life, who could truly keep their heart as still as water?
His Majesty clearly saw it all, yet said nothing—not even a single false word to set her at ease.
He still drew clear lines with her: master was master, servant was servant. He sat high upon the altar, upholding order, unmoved, without pity, and even… without feeling.
He had always been like this—still waters running deep, every step precise; faint, cold, natural, luring people into his trap. Masterful tactical manipulation, an inner sense of order, crushing people through their psychological defenses—yet never intending to let his opponent one inch into his own heart.
On the thick cashmere blanket, Xiansi's legs lay sprawled, her head pillowed on his knee, as if harboring some unspoken trouble, hesitating to speak.
Hanzheng scraped her chin, pressing it down imperceptibly, like snow, like mist, and raised a finger to her in a soft "Shh—"
She was not to think, not to question, not to hesitate. She need only remain in her most obedient, most useful state, and he would be satisfied.
Xiansi no longer needed to give anything—the more she gave, the further she pushed His Majesty away.
Between them lay a thin veil of mist: when she drew near, he drifted away; when she pulled back, he came closer. True hearts would always remain hidden behind that mist, forever beyond reach.
He and she could never truly draw close.
……
"Why have you come to see me?"
Beneath the covered gallery, Liu Lun pulled her aside to a secluded spot, his face anxious. It was rare for Xiansi to seek him out so furtively, and it set his heart racing—he thought something terrible had happened.
"It's about little Chun'er, that's all," Xiansi said with a decorous smile, nonchalant. "The girl is clever, and she begged me yesterday. Didn't you tell me to make use of her, godfather? I'd like you to arrange a good post for her."
Liu Lun let out a breath of relief, wiping away a bead of cold sweat in secret. So it was only such a trivial matter—and yet he felt a subtle, strange sense of loss. He pondered for a moment, then put on the air of an old-timer with seniority: "Chun'er is still green, though her heart is honest. If you want to use her, go ahead."
"Thank you, godfather," she said with an ingratiating smile. "I'll thank you on Chun'er's behalf."
Liu Lun kept a straight face. "Don't thank me. The one she should thank is you—having such a thoughtful, devoted Senior Maid looking out for her."
"That's only because you grant me this favor."
Xiansi's smile was like moonlight shimmering on spring waters, her teeth white, and Liu Lun's heart skipped a beat.
So lovely. So young.
He quickly looked away—her brightness nearly scorched his eyes.
He knew Xiansi. She was never like this before His Majesty; only in front of him and Wang Fulu would she show such an innocent, radiant side.
"You've said all the pretty words, but in the end you just want to plant your own person."
Liu Lun feigned reproach. "Very well. Let her follow you for now—sweeping and blending incense in the third western bay. If she does well, we'll discuss further posts later."
"Done!"
Xiansi added hastily, "It's not about forming factions. We're all loyal servants of the throne—we only want to serve our master better."
Liu Lun waved his hand in assent. Matters as trivial as who to use and who not to use were not his concern.
What truly worried him was that nearly a month had passed now, and His Majesty…
She worried over others so freely, without any burden—did she not worry about herself at all?
In this whole month, not a trace of wallowing in self-pity could be caught on her face.
"Give me an honest answer—how are things, truly?"
Liu Lun flicked his fly-whisk and asked solemnly.
Xiansi's smile froze, her expression dimming for an instant.
His Majesty treated her neither warmly nor coldly.
That afternoon in the study, as she attended to his brushes and ink, His Majesty merely told her to rest, that she need not stand for long—his tone perfectly calm.
But he never once looked at her.
His Majesty never wasted emotion on her.
Xiansi smiled to cover it and changed the subject: "Director, I still have duties. I'll take my leave."
"Stop."
Liu Lun gazed after her, his brow knotted. As the cold wind blew, he clutched his chest and coughed twice, a few strands of graying hair falling loose. "You will stop for me."
Xiansi's steps faltered, and she had no choice but to return, her face full of plaintive reproach. "Director, please take care of your health."
She supported him and gently stroked his back until his breathing eased.
She knew well that during the days she had been neglected while recovering from her illness, Liu Lun had shown her care many times.
Liu Lun let out something like a sigh, his throat unable to form words. Whatever he wanted to say, it seemed he could not speak it. The Palace of Heavenly Purity was forbidden ground; servants were merely their master's possessions, bound tight by the rules. What schemes could they possibly make?
"Go on—" Liu Lun waved his hand helplessly.
When would she understand that in this treacherous inner palace, the only one who cared for her wholeheartedly was him…
Xiansi gazed at him for a long while before hurrying off to her duties.
Though Liu Lun was old, the Directorate of Ceremonies remained firmly in his grasp. When it came to proximity to the inner bedchamber of power and acting on imperial authority, even the illustrious Embroidered Uniform Guard could hardly rival him.
After all, eunuchs were the people closest to the Emperor.
In previous reigns, eunuchs had been formidable figures capable of overturning the entire court.
Liu Lun had countless adopted sons and daughters beneath him, and the most accomplished of them was Xiansi, who had risen to become a senior imperial maid.
Xiansi was also the most beautiful among the crowd of drab, stone-like palace maids—understated and plain, yet pleasing to the eye. Standing in a crowd she seemed ordinary, but on closer inspection she possessed a structural elegance that grew more stunning the longer one looked, like jade buried beneath wood ash: sweep away the dust, and it gleams brilliantly.
For years, Liu Lun's support and protection of Xiansi had been plain for all to see. Without Liu Lun, the young Xiansi would long ago have been ground to dust in the brutal palace struggles—how could she have attained today's unprecedented fortune, the finest of its kind?
Liu Lun and Xiansi were senior and junior, but also friends bound by mutual understanding. Were it not for what Liu Lun lacked, the two might truly have stood together as the foremost servants at the peak of the Forbidden City.
Though Xiansi's rise was swift, she had fought alone all along, without the formidable backing of the Directorate of Ceremonies behind her.
Liu Lun's waning influence was more like a voluntary withdrawal from the limelight to make way for Xiansi. Servants though they were, together they governed the entire Palace of Heavenly Purity, one in the open and one in the shadows, each fulfilling the other.
Liu Lun dared not acknowledge his feelings for Xiansi. He despised his own mutilated body, feared he would ruin her. Yet in the depths of midnight dreams, he had more than once dreamed of the moon falling into his arms.
Autumn had come to the Western Gardens, the sky high and the clouds thin. The summer's scorching heat had eased; wild geese flew high in V-formation, and the air was clear, crisp, and cool.
Miss Jiang and her elder brother entered the palace.
Miss Jiang was prudent, gentle, and gracious, with no small measure of skill.
As the prospective Empress, she had always received only lukewarm treatment from His Majesty. Caught in the middle of the merciless, hair-splitting power struggle between the Empress Dowager and the Emperor, she had been doomed to become collateral damage from the very start.
Yet from such a dead-end position, Miss Jiang had, through sheer force of character, gradually changed the Emperor's impression of her—truly making the best of a losing hand. When she one day presided over the Six Palaces, she would surely be a mistress with sharp eyes and a clear mind.
Today, His Majesty was accompanying Miss Jiang alone on horseback.
Miss Jiang knew the Emperor's horsemanship was superb and that he was brimming with youthful vigor, while she, being a woman, could not conveniently join the competition herself. So she gave up the precious opportunity to attend upon the Emperor alone, and instead brought along her brother, who had guarded the frontier with their father, to accompany His Majesty in a gallop unrestrained.
Whatever else, the Emperor's pleasure came first.
Hanzheng reined in his horse. His sharply defined knuckles exuded a compelling sense of strength, his sleeves brushed with crisp chill. He had already raced a full lap against Miss Jiang's brother, and beneath the sunlight in the cool breeze, he was still hungry for more.
Seeing Miss Jiang's brother heaving like a bellows, red-faced and panting, lagging far behind, while the Emperor's expression remained clear and his breathing even and steady, one knew at once whose martial prowess was superior. One was dark-skinned and muscular, sinewy and rugged; the other coldly pale and upright, with lean, taut muscle.
Compared to Miss Jiang's brother, who had long been stationed at the frontier, the Emperor possessed a colder, more formidable strength—effortless, a hidden edge beneath a calm exterior.
"I had the palace servants prepare a gentle-tempered pony for you in advance," Hanzheng said.
Miss Jiang smiled graciously. She had been watching the race for some time and felt slightly embarrassed; she sank into a curtsy: "Your subject's daughter fears she might disturb Your Majesty's refined mood."
Xiansi led out a small white pony at just the right moment and placed the reins in Miss Jiang's hand, head bowed and shoulders lowered, her expression deferential: "Lady Jiang, His Majesty prepared this especially for you. Please mount carefully."
Miss Jiang tentatively climbed into the saddle. Though her movements were restrained, she was not entirely unfamiliar with riding. Soon she found her rhythm and trotted to the Emperor's side. Hanzheng too urged his horse into a slow ride, and the Emperor and his empress-to-be became a pair of silhouettes riding side by side.
"Is it steady?"
"A little wobbly." Miss Jiang's cheeks flushed. "I've exposed my clumsiness."
"Slow down."
Hanzheng smiled faintly. "I can wait for you."
"How unworthy am I of such favor."
The Emperor and his future Empress exchanged a few pleasantries, and the formal atmosphere gradually melted away. The autumn breeze was cool but not harsh; their sleeves billowed as they galloped on horseback, growing more at ease with every stride.
They smiled at each other. His Majesty had a natural, cool elegance, his edge quietly sheathed, while Miss Jiang was understanding, gentle and gracious. A perfect match riding across the boundless emerald grasslands, brimming with mutual affection, their bearing utterly noble.
Emperors and Empresses had always been joined in arranged marriages of strangers—never before had a sovereign and his consort gotten to know each other slowly like this, their relationship so harmonious.
The silhouettes of the imperial pair receded into the distance; the remaining escort duties were handed over to the Imperial Carriage Guard and the Embroidered Uniform Guard.
Xiansi took advantage of the lull to instruct little Chun'er and the others to prepare plum drinks, with a thin layer of ice shavings floating on top. Though uncertain whether their masters would drink any, they had to be prepared all the same. Towels and hot water needed readying as well.
His Majesty and Miss Jiang rode for roughly an hour, returning relaxed and thoroughly enjoying themselves.
Miss Jiang's face was all smiles, and she wished to linger with His Majesty a while longer, but she caught a barely perceptible weariness in Hanzheng's expression—a hint that enough was enough.
So Miss Jiang quit while she was ahead. After the farewells, she returned home with her elder brother.
"Your Majesty, may your subject's daughter enter the palace for an audience again?"
Before leaving, Miss Jiang gazed at him with tender affection.
Hanzheng stood bathed in the yellowing sunlight of early autumn, serene. "When I have time, I will summon you."
She would not have to wait long—the grand wedding was set for the coming spring. Then Emperor and Empress would be together day and night, for all eternity.
Miss Jiang blushed demurely, her affection lingering.
Hanzheng stood where he was, the west wind stirring his robes.
Once Miss Jiang departed, only the Palace of Heavenly Purity's own servants remained, each attending to their duties, standing around His Majesty like stars encircling the moon.
Xiansi seized the moment to offer the iced plum drink. Hanzheng took a small sip, then bestowed the rest upon her.
Xiao Shengzi and Liu Lun were both present. Liu Lun's eyes crinkled into a deliberately fawning smile as he complained, "Your Majesty only ever dotes on the young ones. This old servant, old as he is, also hoped for a sip of the imperial drink!"
Hanzheng laughed and scolded him in a tone of feigned impatience: "Insolent servant, now you're demanding rewards from me?"
Liu Lun's skill at being utterly subservient and playing the flatterer was the finest in the palace—not a single smile line on his face ever grated on anyone.
The key was that he could "lean on his seniority." He was old, alone and childless, and often showed a pitiful, desolate air that stirred compassion. A wretched creature, castrated, a poor ailing old dog who had served his master's house his whole life.
Many palace maids and eunuchs formed domestic partnerships, an open secret everyone tacitly acknowledged. But Liu Lun served daily under His Majesty's very eyes, and fearing the Emperor would find it unseemly, he had lived alone for years on end.
As Emperor, Hanzheng had always wielded both kindness and severity, using servants to control servants—lavishly rewarding those who served well, ruthlessly destroying those who erred.
Liu Lun knew the Emperor's private habits and secrets. For an old dog who had run himself ragged all his life to end up under the blade—how chilling that would be.
Xiansi was in an even more precarious position than Liu Lun, having transmitted secret reports for the Embroidered Uniform Guard on multiple occasions. Others still had the hope of one day leaving the palace; for these two servants, there was no such hope.
In the end, Hanzheng also bestowed a cup of plum drink on Liu Lun, granting him treatment equal to Xiansi's.
The two servants kowtowed in delight, thanking His Majesty for his grace.
Compared in fine detail, Xiansi was ultimately the more fortunate one—even the Emperor himself still owed her a promise, and that was priceless.
…
Pressed by the joint petition from the ministers of the Grand Secretariat, written in blood and urgently imploring him to cease his Daoist cultivation, His Majesty did not stay the night at the Daoist temple in the Western Gardens.
Inside the well-ventilated imperial litter, Hanzheng rested his chin on one hand, his long eyes half-closed, as the imperial litter returned to the inner palace.
Xiansi knelt quietly on the cashmere blanket at His Majesty's feet, massaging his calves stroke by stroke, her breathing kept extremely shallow.
The Emperor's muscles were angular, strength and leanness combined. Her massage was barely better than nothing; his expression was alert, showing no fatigue.
Though merely a servant, Xiansi had nonetheless been permitted aboard the imperial litter. The Western Gardens were far from the Palace of Heavenly Purity—a journey that would blister the feet on foot, but riding the imperial litter was like riding the wind. An honor other servants would never dare dream of in this lifetime came effortlessly to Xiansi.
The wind chimes at the corner of the litter tinkled. Hanzheng cracked one eye open a slit and glimpsed the maidservant's bowed head, silent and dutiful, kneading his legs with a touch light as a dragonfly skimming water, so quiet she seemed almost invisible. The muscles of his legs could feel the flutter of her ten soft fingers.
He knew perfectly well that he favored her; long use had made her a habit. She knew her place, spoke little, understood his intentions, was sharp of eye and ear—handy and reliable to employ—and her looks pleased him too.
When they were alone, he often allowed her to remain at his side.
The litter rumbled along, the scenery shifting with each step. A gentle breeze drifted in, and Hanzheng let out a long breath, adjusting his posture slightly.
Xiansi adjusted with him, keeping a distance neither too near nor too far, her movements docile yet firm.
Hanzheng felt her touch had a magical effect.
On closer reflection, it was not her technique—it was that she herself was clean and pure white: no background, no schemes, no maneuvering. She had nothing and wanted nothing, like the crispness of autumn rain.
Before her, he could briefly shed the Emperor's hard shell, without having to weigh and calculate. That was what made her magical.
But he felt only the bond of master and servant for her.
Palace maids being exceptionally elevated to consort status had happened since ancient times. His fondness for her was a passing fancy; there was no need to make a grand affair of it.
He did not consider himself her best destination. With three thousand beauties in the rear palace, all open strife and covert struggle, her humble, lowly status would soon be torn to shreds. To long for favor until one longed with desperate yearning was the sorrow of all women; becoming an imperial consort was no blessing.
In all the days they had spent together, she had remained blameless and pure. He had promised her a bright future—one that should not be buried in the cold, lonely rear palace.
Once a person gains rank, they grow complicated: position, stipend, palaces, favors, vanity—such calculations never end. The more one obtains, the more one wants. She would be swept along helplessly, used and exploited, perhaps even rising through her son's glory. Time would wear away the loveliest version of her original self. He and she, even sharing a bed, would dream different dreams.
"Your Majesty, please alight."
The Palace of Heavenly Purity had been reached; the servants bowed low at the waist.
Xiansi ceased her massaging and attended behind him. When His Majesty entered the bathing chamber, she stood respectfully outside, and only at the changing of attire did she tiptoe around the screen to tie the cords of the loose wide-sleeved Daoist robe for His Majesty. Throughout, he did not speak a single word to her, nor cast her a single glance.
Xiansi felt a slight heaviness in her heart, thinking she must have been foolish in some way and displeased her master.
His Majesty strode into the study. She paused a moment in silence, then followed behind him like a little shadow. Seeing that the saber-bearing guards at the door showed no intention of stopping her, she slipped in after him.
The study's latticed windows were closed and still; a pin drop could be heard. Xiansi was the only servant present. Fortunately, His Majesty did not reproach her; everything proceeded as usual—Xiansi ground the ink when ink needed grinding, served the tea when tea needed serving.
When His Majesty was gentle, she could scarcely bear it. When he was cold, she became like a frog sitting at the bottom of a dry well, longing with desperate yearning.
She was like a fallen leaf beyond the latticed window, her fate without a fixed dwelling…
Very late, His Majesty finally retired for the night.
Xiansi drew the curtains closed and, as usual, blew out the lamps and candles. She crouched down with her feet together, folding herself into a small square, curled up in a corner beside the imperial bed. Her back rested against the sandalwood bed frame, exceptionally cold, and the night was terrifyingly silent.
That night on the imperial bed felt like an increasingly false dream, so twisted and distorted it was beyond belief.
Xiansi had once been full of hope, only for it to end in ashes—she even suspected she had merely dreamed a delirium.
The string within her that had been taut all along, the mask she wore pretending all was well, was finally about to crack. On the surface she appeared calm and indifferent, but inside she cared more than anyone, more anxious over gains and losses than anyone.
Deep in the night. She curled up beside the imperial bed, a small patch of shadow.
Keeping vigil.
Faint gray moonlight, night mist thick and heavy, without end.
On ordinary nights she would inevitably grow drowsy in the latter half of her vigil, but tonight she was clear-headed as a pool of water, sleepless through the night, tormented by some hope that refused to settle.