“Today, what lessons did the academy assign?” After supper, Pei Yue took the initiative to ask about her studies.
Shu Yun, her mouth still shiny with oil from the meal, looked at him with a pout, feeling rather wronged. She had just eaten her fill. “I was called back early today, so I don’t know what assignments the teacher gave.”
Pei Yue refused to let her off. “Then I’ll find a book for you to read.”
She leaned her chin on her hand, edging closer, her little eyes darting playfully. Her cheeks, pink like peaches, were temptingly near. “Seventh Master, the doctor said that after eating, one grows sleepy. I’ve just eaten, so even if I read, I’ll be distracted.”
Pei Yue nearly laughed in exasperation. “And when are you *not* distracted?”
Shu Yun, guilty, buried her face in her palms, rubbing them nervously. Seeing that he no longer teased her, she began to toy with the polished bodhi beads he had left on the desk, their surface gleaming with age.
“If His Majesty truly cared for his subjects’ daughters, he would dismiss the academy and let me go home…” she tilted her head, murmuring like a nightingale.
Pei Yue almost thought she had recognized him. The orange glow of palace lanterns lit her eyes, rippling like water. “You want to leave the palace?”
His voice softened, carried by the night, tinged with something different.
Shu Yun’s heart stirred. She stole a glance at him—always so composed and steady. His face was handsome and refined, not aggressive in itself, but his aura was sharp and austere, lending his features a certain edge.
She did want to leave the palace. And she understood what his words implied.
This man was willing to take risks for her. Compared to Pei Jiangcheng, Pei Yue had always been patient and protective. Perhaps it was because of their age difference.
Pei Yue seemed to wait for her answer. The air was charged with a subtle intimacy. Shu Yun’s ears grew warm, and she muttered, “Weren’t you going to teach me to read?”
Pei Yue brought out two books he had prepared: Zuo Zhuan and Shishuo Xinyu. He asked which she preferred. Shu Yun chose Shishuo Xinyu, and he began to teach her.
Time passed quickly. By the first quarter of the Xu hour, she should have left, but he was reluctant. One story after another, until the girl lay slumped on the desk, fast asleep. Her cheeks were flushed, her small face resting on her hand, her arm sliding down. In another moment, she would fall.
Pei Yue slowly set the book aside and moved to her side. Sleeping like this, she would catch a cold and be uncomfortable. He hesitated between waking her and carrying her inside. Thinking of the fright she had endured that day, he decided to move her.
He lifted her arm, slid his long arm under her shoulder, half holding her against him. Just as he bent to lift her, the familiar scene repeated itself.
Her head drooped, landing against his lips. Her face tilted against his cheek, her breath brushing him. Her tongue seemed to graze something soft, then gently sucked, flicking upward to part his upper lip, slipping past his teeth with ease.
To call her clumsy—yet she was astonishingly deft, wandering everywhere, stirring tingling shivers wherever she touched. To call her skillful—yet she fumbled awkwardly, probing back and forth as if searching for something, seeking that one place to join in a dance.
The tip of her tongue swept across his lips and teeth, as though brushing through Pei Yue’s heart, teasing out the thoughts he had deliberately suppressed. His gaze darkened as he looked at her. She clung to his embrace, her soft body like waves dissolving bone, stealing his soul.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” He could not easily endure it a second time.
She fluttered her eyelids, her consciousness drifting, her eyes veiled in mist. “Do you… want to?”
Pei Yue did not quite understand her meaning, his voice low. “Shouldn’t I be asking if *you* are willing?”
Her cheeks flushed crimson, her gaze wandering as she shook her head. Her nose tinged with sorrow. “I broke off a betrothal once… will you despise me for it?”
Pei Yue’s heart tightened. Her watery eyes were like autumn pools, brimming with grief she tried to hold back. The delicate lines of her eyes seemed brushed with rouge, vivid and tender. “It wasn’t your fault. Don’t blame yourself.”
Tears shimmered in Shu Yun’s eyes. “I don’t blame myself… I just hate that I couldn’t bring honor to my parents…”
The carefree girl, in the shadows where sunlight could not reach, quietly revealed her wound.
Pei Yue stared at her for a long time. He disliked empty promises and preferred action. Yet faced with this sorrowful, self-reproaching girl, he was at a loss. He gently drew her into his arms and soothed her. “Don’t be afraid. You still have me. I will protect you.”
The words echoed in her mind like a spell. Shu Yun’s heart jolted. She sat upright, suddenly clear-headed. She sat dazed for a long while, then slowly came back to herself, patting her flushed cheeks. Looking out the window, the sky was dark—night had fallen.
It must have been another dream.
Her legs tingled slightly. She braced herself on the desk to stand, smiling awkwardly. “Seventh Master, it’s late. I should go back.”
Pei Yue, stirred by her entanglement, stepped back, watching her. The girl before him, drowsy-eyed, sly as a little fox, alluring without knowing it. He pressed his lips together, studied her a moment, then regained clarity.
“Very well. I’ll have someone escort you back.”
When Shu Yun reached Chuxiu Palace, she realized she was not the only one living there.
These young women had not entered the palace by relying on princesses, nor were they mistresses of the palace. They lived in the side chambers behind the main hall. There were three rooms in total: Li Ying occupied the easternmost, Xie Yun the westernmost, and the largest middle room was given to Miss Cui Fenglin, the eldest daughter of the Cui family. Shu Yun was assigned to share with her.
After several days, Shu Yun learned that these three were among the most renowned women in the capital, all seemingly intent on entering the palace. Xie Yun and Li Ying aimed directly at the position of Empress, their rivalry sharp and unrelenting. Cui Fenglin, as the Cui family’s legitimate eldest daughter, possessed both beauty and talent, qualifying her as well, though she did not flaunt herself as the other two did.
Li Ying was arrogant and domineering, Xie Yun proud and dazzling, while Cui Fenglin was gentle and composed, easier to get along with.
Rumors spread quickly in the palace. Everyone knew something had happened at Xian’an Palace, but since they were not familiar with one another, no one deliberately inquired. Cui Fenglin was not the gossiping type. She greeted Shu Yun politely and kindly explained: “I’ve always taken the east kang bed, so you’ll have to take the west. The palace gates open at the hour of Mao and lock at Hai. Hot water is supplied twice nightly—once at the beginning of Xu, once at the beginning of Hai. After that, none. You’ll need to wash during those times. We must rise at Mao. After Chen, breakfast is no longer served. Lunch is delivered to Yinghua Hall. Since this place is far from Yinghua, I don’t return for a midday rest. If you walk quickly, you might manage.” She smiled, finished her instructions, and Shu Yun thanked her, keeping it in mind.
Shu Yun looked around, placed her belongings on the west kang bed, and set her few pieces of jewelry on the dressing table. Compared to Cui Fenglin’s boxes overflowing with ornaments, Shu Yun’s side looked pitiful. Her family was not wealthy; she rarely had new clothes each year. The outfit she wore now had been bought when the Su family pawned a gold hairpin for silver to support her engagement. Fortunately, the family shop had been reclaimed—things would be better from now on.
Shu Yun sat hugging her knees on the kang, watching Cui Fenglin remove her hairpins, waiting for the next hot water delivery. It was already the fourth quarter of Xu; in two more quarters she could bathe.
The room was quiet. Cui Fenglin’s long hair cascaded down. She turned and smiled gently at Shu Yun. “Sister, I’ll sleep first.” With that, she climbed into bed.
Just then, the door creaked open. Two palace maids carried in a bucket of water. The one in front bowed to Shu Yun. “Lady, the water is ready. You may bathe and change.”
Shu Yun blinked, glancing at Cui Fenglin. Cui Fenglin was clearly startled, but quickly composed herself, forcing a smile. “I’m going to sleep.”
Shu Yun said apologetically, “I’ll try to be quiet.” She took her clothes and went into the washroom, the two maids following to attend her. Once Shu Yun left, Cui Fenglin’s face showed her puzzlement again.
By rights, water should not have been delivered at this hour.
Since Pei Yue’s accession, staff had been reduced, expenses cut, and each palace had a fixed number of attendants. Chuxiu Palace had long stood empty, with few servants. Now, three women had been placed together in one row of chambers. Xie Yun and Li Ying had thrown tantrums over it; Xie Yun even appealed to the Grand Princess, hoping to move to a side hall. But the eunuch overseer ignored her. This was likely the first exception ever made for Chuxiu Palace.
Just then, a palace maid came out of the washroom. Cui Fenglin was about to ask something, but the maid left. Shortly after, she returned carrying a thick quilt, which she laid neatly on Shu Yun’s bed.
Cui Fenglin glanced at her own bedding, then at Shu Yun’s. The difference in treatment was rather obvious.
Away from Xian’an Palace, Shu Yun slept more soundly—an unbroken night’s rest.
The next morning, a few emerald birds chirped in the rear courtyard, adding tranquility to Chuxiu Palace. At dawn, Cui Fenglin awoke as usual. She was a woman of strict routine, precise in every task. As she rose, she glanced toward Shu Yun’s side.
Shu Yun slept like a log.
Cui Fenglin went to wash, returned, and sat at her dressing table. Looking again, she saw Shu Yun had shifted position but was still asleep. She hesitated whether to wake her, but since they were not close, she dared not intrude. Quietly, she left.
Still, she had a thought. As she closed the door, she pressed it so it made a dull thud. If Shu Yun did not wake at that, there was nothing more she could do. Sure enough, Shu Yun did not disappoint—at the sound, she sat up suddenly, stretched with a long, lazy yawn, and let out a soft, catlike murmur. Cui Fenglin smiled faintly, finding her amusing, and went on to the dining hall.
Shu Yun arrived last. She entered yawning, while Li Ying, Xie Yun, and Cui Fenglin were already dining with attendants serving them. Shu Yun greeted the three. Cui Fenglin returned the greeting with a smile; Xie Yun nodded slightly, but Li Ying never lifted her head.
The commotion Shu Yun had caused last night had not gone unnoticed by Li Ying and Xie Yun. Shu Yun’s background was not high, hardly worth attention. Yet Chuxiu Palace was not a place just anyone could enter. Throughout dynasties, it had always been the site where emperors chose consorts. Dowager Consort Shu had been punished, yet Shu Yun was placed here—there was meaning behind it.
Shu Yun was always cheerful. If others ignored her, she did not force herself on them. She chose a seat far from Li Ying, opposite Cui Fenglin. She glanced discreetly. The three women’s meals were standard: four pastries, four appetizers, and a bowl of porridge—more lavish than Xian’an Palace. Soon, two palace maids entered carrying a red sandalwood lacquer tray, setting Shu Yun’s breakfast before her.
There was a plate of Dongting mugwort dumplings, a small bowl of bamboo shoot and fern wontons, purple sweet potato cakes, osmanthus radish cakes, and finally a bowl of pigeon-and-yam soup. The wonton skins were thin, the fillings clearly visible—crisp bamboo shoots, perch, and shrimp. Shu Yun ate with relish, savoring the delicacies.
Cui Fenglin finished first. After she set down her chopsticks, Xie Yun tossed hers aside irritably. Palace food was fine, but not equal to the delicacies of her family. She had little appetite, and in order to maintain her slender figure, she deliberately restrained her diet.
Palace maids served tea for the two to rinse their mouths. Xie Yun sipped, then noticed Shu Yun eating with great enthusiasm. Perhaps she had seen too many girls restraining themselves. Shu Yun’s carefree enjoyment was rare. She could not help but watch, and seeing Shu Yun eat so happily stirred her own appetite. Then, faintly, she seemed to smell the fragrance of ancient ginseng.
Xie Yun was in truth very fond of food, though she usually carried herself with the airs of a noble daughter and dared not indulge openly. Since childhood, her diet had been refined, and as the youngest daughter of the Xie family, she was spoiled beyond measure, tasting delicacies from all corners of the land. She could tell at once—this was the fragrance of aged ginseng. The finer the ginseng, the stronger and richer its medicinal aroma. But that was strange. The soup clearly contained no ginseng. Where had the scent come from?
All four women’s breakfasts were supplied by the Imperial Kitchen and should not differ. She suspected Li Ying had secretly bribed the chefs for an extra dish.
“Elder Sister Li, today you’ve added old ginseng. Judging by the scent, it must be many years old.”
Li Ying usually followed the rule of “eat without speaking,” rarely responding. But today she answered expressionlessly: “Little Sister Xie, are you a dog with such a keen nose?”
Seeing Xie Yun’s brows knit in anger, she added lazily, “It wasn’t me. His Majesty practices frugality—why would I risk displeasing him?”
Xie Yun’s words caught in her throat. Her gaze shot toward Shu Yun in disbelief.
Shu Yun had just finished five small wontons and a plate of cakes. Her mouth dry, she scooped a spoonful of pigeon-and-yam soup. The broth was milky white, fragrant with medicine. Even Xie Yun, with her picky palate, swallowed involuntarily. How could there be such favoritism?
Shu Yun’s clothing hardly suggested wealth. She could not possibly afford to bribe the chefs. More importantly, the Imperial Kitchen could not be swayed by silver alone. Xie Yun, full of doubts, turned abruptly to Cui Fenglin. “What’s her background?”
Cui Fenglin shrugged, showing she knew nothing.
But Li Ying quickly thought more deeply. Wiping her hands with a silk kerchief, she lifted her eyes toward Shu Yun and spoke with aristocratic poise: “Miss Shu, do you know His Majesty?”
Xie Yun instantly understood her meaning. Her gaze toward Shu Yun grew sharper.
Li Ying’s question was sudden. Shu Yun was momentarily stunned, then shook her head. “I have never seen the Heavenly Face.”
Her thoughts were written plainly on her face, not seeming false. Li Ying could not press further. She simply nodded and left first.
Xie Yun, dissatisfied, caught up with Li Ying. Rarely did she speak calmly. “Li Ying, we must investigate this Shu Yun. She’s too strange. A mere daughter of a sixth-rank academic officer, yet living with us here—isn’t that odd?”
Li Ying was more composed. Her gaze indifferent, she looked ahead, her tone mocking. “What’s there to investigate? At most she’s beautiful, destined to become a concubine. So what?”
She glanced sideways, her phoenix eyes long and sharp. “You don’t expect His Majesty to keep only you, do you?”
Li Ying was clearer in her goals than Xie Yun, and saw the situation more plainly. What she wanted was the position of Empress. As for how many concubines Pei Yue might take, she could neither stop it nor would she try.
Leaving those words behind, Li Ying was the first to walk out of Chuxiu Palace.
Xie Yun, unable to stand her proud peacock-like manner, rolled her eyes and turned to Cui Fenglin to inquire about Shu Yun. But Cui Fenglin disliked gossiping behind people’s backs, and excused herself: “I went to bed early last night; I didn’t chat with her.”
Shu Yun finished the medicinal soup before heading to the academy. She did not know that it was no ordinary pigeon—it was a wild pigeon shot down by the shadow guards at dawn. Only one was sent to the Imperial Kitchen, where they added a thousand-year-old ginseng root and made three bowls of soup: one offered to the Grand Empress Dowager, one sent to Fengtian Hall, and the last given to Shu Yun. Even the Retired Emperor did not receive any.
In Pei Yue’s own words: “This girl suffered yesterday. Give her something to calm her nerves.”