Dawn broke, and the watch-drums echoed down West Second Long Street.
The moment the hour of the Dragon arrived, Xiansi woke punctually—years of habit made her more reliable than the drums. Her eyes were bleary, her body heavy with fatigue. In the past she would have risen at once to begin her work, but today she dozed lazily.
She lay on a thick felt mat beneath the imperial bed, her posture leisurely. The servants keeping vigil in the inner bedchamber were not normally permitted felt mats, but she was the exception.
Xiansi reached up and gently drew aside the curtains of the imperial bed. Bright yellow light spilled in. The Emperor lay quietly within, his jet-black eyes turning toward her—he had clearly been awake for some time, waiting for her.
Their gazes met, and both felt a tremor.
"Your Majesty."
Hanzheng said nothing. He shifted his position, resting his chin on one hand, turning fully toward her. An air of intimacy surrounded them. Today was the first of the three days—he had promised to treat her with the rites due a consort.
"Were you cold last night?"
Autumn was more than half over, but winter was still some time away, so the underfloor heating system and charcoal braziers had not been lit. In the latter half of the night, those under the covers felt nothing, but a servant keeping vigil would feel the chill.
Xiansi fared far better—she didn't have to squat directly on the floor like the other servants. At the very least she had the thick felt mat at night. One shouldn't underestimate that layer of padding; it blocked most of the cold rising from the floor.
"Not cold." She leaned back against the edge of the imperial bed, no superfluous words spilling from her lips, looking utterly docile and devoted.
Hanzheng propped himself up, cradled her head in his hands, and pressed his forehead affectionately against hers, their breaths intertwining. In those long eyes of his, bright as scattered spring stars, there was only performance—no true feeling.
She reached back and gripped his hand, hard.
Both exerted their strength, evenly matched. The veins even stood out on her wrist—her grip was stronger than his.
In that moment, sparks flew.
Hanzheng found it amusing, as if reproaching her insolence, but he truly relished the feeling. Up close, savoring her breathtaking beauty, his heart pounded just as breathtakingly.
An opponent at loggerheads with him in matters of the heart was far more captivating than a servant who was obsequious in devotion.
Before, he had only thought her beautiful. Now he also found her spirited.
Hanzheng drew a deep breath, and only after a moment did he collect himself.
To be his consort for three days—this was her request, and he had agreed to it. At this moment, Hanzheng regarded her as his own woman, and the harsh boundary between Emperor and servant temporarily dissolved.
Hanzheng lifted an arm and beckoned her up to the imperial bed.
Xiansi complied, sitting down at the edge of the bed and leaning against him, warmth slowly flowing through her whole body. The softness of the imperial bed stirred memories of that wonderful night. She closed her eyes beneath her long lashes and savored the peace, like a cat stretching out shamelessly, revealing a hint of allure.
"Your servant will help you dress," Xiansi said after a while. What should have been the routine morning duty between master and servant became a lingering, drawn-out affair.
Hanzheng's gaze grew hazy.
Her fingertips settled on his shoulders from behind—no longer quite the subservient posture of a bondservant. Hanzheng cooperated with her movements. The gentle grace with which she circled behind him to fasten his sash truly made her look like a consort of the harem.
A small patch of sunlight fell upon them. Hanzheng drew her shoulder closer in silent commendation. Xiansi looked up, dazed, and saw the bright, cold sunlight reflected in his eyes—eyes cold to the extreme, yet gentle to the extreme—and she loved them utterly.
"Dress yourself as well," Hanzheng murmured in the warm atmosphere. "…And join me for the morning meal."
Xiansi lowered her head slightly and picked up the long outer robe lying across the thick felt mat. But his hand refused to let go—even dressing had to be done hand in hand. She struggled to work one arm into a sleeve, reminding him, "Your Majesty—"
Hanzheng smiled faintly and switched to holding her other hand.
In the soft light of dawn, everything was tinged with a hazy, dreamlike glow.
She memorized his appearance, and he memorized hers. The sweet, clean scent of osmanthus and soap-pod on her body had rubbed off onto him, inside his sleeves and out. She was sweet, and so was he.
They were a match made in heaven, an immortal couple.
Three days—that was the secret promise belonging only to the two of them.
He could not give her a lifetime, but he could afford three days.
At breakfast, the table was laid with several Huaiyang dishes, fresh, mild, and true to their natural flavors. All the servants had been dismissed—no one to serve the dishes, no one to taste for poison. The hall doors were closed, and it was just him and her. A private meal in the truest sense.
"This doesn't follow the ancestors' rules." There wasn't even a single servant supervising the meal, and she was sitting beside him at the square Eight Immortals table.
Hanzheng asked in return, "Must we follow the rules?"
Xiansi thought for a moment, then shook her head.
Today she was his consort; naturally, the rules need not apply.
She sat and served him, precisely picking out the dishes he loved. With no outsiders present, even the rule of taking no more than three helpings of any dish was abolished.
Hanzheng habitually ruffled her hair. "Serve yourself. No need to serve me."
Xiansi blinked, the corners of her eyes fluttering ever so lightly, showing a rare trace of playful delight. She then picked up his favorite dish all on her own—and put it in her own mouth, chewing slowly, savoring the flavor he had enjoyed.
The dishes he loved, she loved too.
She was willing to be his shadow, standing forever behind him.
The most unforgettable dish was still the White-Robed Shrimp—the dish he had first bestowed on her in public. The tender, silky shrimp seemed to carry some symbolic meaning; whenever she ate shrimp, she would recall the happiness and glory of that moment.
"It's on the corner of your mouth. A breach of imperial etiquette."
Hanzheng picked at her fault with a calm smile, his expression soft and utterly unguarded, and wiped her clean with a paper napkin.
Xiansi stayed perfectly still as he wiped. "The shrimp you bestowed were delicious."
Stripped of all flattery and formality, it came straight from the heart.
Hanzheng smiled. "If you like them, eat more."
What were White-Robed Shrimp, after all? During these three days, she could freely make all manner of unreasonable requests.
And of course, after the three days were over, he would still do his utmost to look after her whenever he could.
"Thank you."
After the meal, Hanzheng departed for Wenyuan Pavilion to attend to state affairs. Even with their promise, he still had to tend to matters of governance.
Xiansi bowed to see him off, then remained in the Palace of Heavenly Purity, attending to light tasks. The other servants were busy with their own work, unaware of anything unusual between her and His Majesty.
The Palace of Heavenly Purity was as still as well water.
Several shichen slipped away, wasted.
"Greetings, Your Majesty."
When Hanzheng finally returned to the palace, Xiansi, unusually, reached out and tugged his hand—so quickly it was like a dragonfly skimming the water.
She said nothing, yet her expression, which could hide nothing, betrayed her regret over the lost time.
They need not have been so stingy with these hours; they could have had a lifetime. But he had no intention of taking her into his keeping—once these three days ended, her fate was to be handed to Eunuch Liu.
"Did you miss me?" Hanzheng wrapped an arm around her slender waist, pulling Xiansi closer, smiling as if to make it up to her.
He still could not keep her company entirely—there was a tall stack of memorials waiting in the imperial study. His station as emperor destined that he could never belong to her alone, even during these three days.
"Let this servant attend to your brush and ink."
Xiansi understood, and reluctantly let it go, attending to his brush and ink just as on every ordinary day she had served him before.
Her joy was fading, like the light of the setting sun at dusk, as today's hours slipped away.
Hanzheng pressed compensating kisses to her forehead, one after another, hoping to fill the emptiness in her heart.
"Come keep me company in the study—no need to attend to brush and ink."
Today's documents were extraordinary—every one of them came down to a single word: kill. No written comments were needed. He only had to stack the names of those to be executed separately and hand them over to the Directorate of Ceremonies for approval with vermilion ink.
Xiansi nodded in agreement.
In the study, likewise, all other servants were kept away, leaving the two of them alone.
She kept him company, and truly it was only company. When the Emperor reviewed state affairs, he was ascetic and restrained, so quiet it was strange—as if she did not exist. Long stretches would pass without a single word from him.
Time slipped away bit by bit like this.
Four more hours passed, and the evening was essentially spent in the study.
Worn down by paperwork, only after finishing with state affairs did Hanzheng turn his attention back to her.
"Your Majesty, you must be tired," Xiansi said.
She rose from the sandalwood chair, intending to brew him a cup of fragrant tea, but Hanzheng stopped her: "No need."
For these three days, he would try to let her do as little servant's work as possible.
"Come here to me."
As if tethered by an invisible rope, Xiansi moved closer to him.
"I am not tired, but you seem to be." Hanzheng unhurriedly brushed the stray hairs from her forehead, his palm sensing the firmness of her body, and asked her opinion, "Would you like to rest?"
To rest meant that today was over.
When one is happy, one loses all sense of time.
When one is suffering, that sense of time grows all the sharper.
Xiansi did not want to waste the day for nothing. Her delicate brows furrowed slightly as she tugged at his sleeve: "Don't."
Her tone was almost pleading.
In that moment, stripped of the dignity and caution of the senior palace maid she usually was, her true feelings showed through, stirring pity in anyone who saw her.
Hanzheng smiled, as if he had calculated it all along.
"Mm, then I shall keep you company—" His tone was ambiguous, the boundary drawn with exquisite subtlety.
Xiansi melted into his arms.
That faint, hazy sorrow was quickly diluted by the happiness of being with him.
He was an excellent lover—romantic, capable of tenderness, skilled and unhurried in his approach, deeply versed in the human heart, and, moreover, he respected her much of the time.
"This servant would like to write a character too." Xiansi could not write, nor could she read.
It was precisely because of this that she could often carry the Embroidered Uniform Guard's secret letters without any risk of leaking them.
Hanzheng took her hand and guided her hand to write zhi, the character for "paper"—neutral, without symbolic meaning, fitting the occasion, writing neither his name nor hers.
Deliberately avoiding suspicion, drawing a clear line.
Xiansi hardly looked seriously at the character, but she caught a glimpse of his brush moving fluidly and effortlessly—beautiful, the unmistakable mark of a refined upbringing.
A sudden wave of inferiority and despair surged up in her. The gulf between their stations was so vast; this one-sided longing was truly pointless. Clinging shamelessly to His Majesty like this, she was also wronging the future Empress Jiang.
"No more writing," Xiansi said with an indistinct smile. "Your Majesty, this servant really is tired now."
There was a touch of release in it—light, and clear-headed.
Somehow, the sight of her looking so resigned made him uncomfortable.
Hanzheng set down the brush and said flatly, "As you wish."
After that came rest. Xiansi helped him remove his robes, and he, in turn, took down the single plain hairpin from her hair.
On the Arhat daybed, Hanzheng idly read from a scroll while Xiansi leaned quietly against his shoulder, her eyes—dark and round as shuiyin pellets—drifting over the intricate regular-script characters, an unwitting look of confusion crossing her face.
Hanzheng's lips curved into a pitying smile, and in a fit of benevolence, he explained the pronunciation and meaning of a few of the characters.
Those characters were common in Daoist petitions. The original plan had been that once she married Eunuch Liu, the two of them would serve at the Daoist temple in the Western Gardens, where reciting Daoist petitions would be unavoidable—knowing a few common characters was a necessity.
But Eunuch Liu's aged body was frail and sickly; he likely could not remain in attendance at court much longer. As his domestic partner, Xiansi would follow her husband's lead and accompany Eunuch Liu to his residence on the outskirts of the capital to live out his retirement—so she would have no need to recite Daoist petitions after all.
"The spirit wind rustles," Xiansi managed after being taught only once, though she read with some difficulty. She favored those four characters because she felt that the sight of him standing gracefully in the wind, wide-sleeved Daoist robe billowing, was exactly what those four characters conveyed.
Hanzheng listened to her sweet, delicate voice—she seemed perfectly suited to reciting Daoist petitions.
"Your Majesty."
Having savored a single day in his company, Xiansi had engraved it deeply in her memory and no longer craved the full three days.
Three days would be a futile waste anyway.
"Perhaps the three days could just end here…"
One day was already wonderful.
"That won't do."
Hanzheng refused reflexively—for an instant, emotion had entirely overridden his will. After a pause, his clear reason reasserted itself, and he told her slowly, word by word: "A sovereign does not give his word lightly. We will continue. We agreed on three days, so it will be three days."
Xiansi made no further sound.
Hanzheng's long brows knitted slightly as he keenly sensed a new and terrifying thought surfacing faintly in his heart—one capable of overturning all his former schemes.
But the thought was so light, light as smoke, nearly transparent and invisible, and it was quickly crushed under other stray musings.
He did not wish to examine it further. Perhaps it was only momentary.
In the dead of night, as before, Hanzheng slept on the imperial bed while Xiansi slept beneath it.
He slept soundly; she kept watch.
But the night no longer seemed so tranquil—each was troubled by their own unspoken thoughts.
He was thinking: was that thought real?
She was thinking: tomorrow would be the second day.