The vermilion window was half open, letting in the cool fragrance of osmanthus.
Autumn wind swept through, whipping the embroidered dragon robe before Shu Yun’s eyes. She could hardly imagine that the emperor—revered like a god—was the same man who had once played childish games with her. Summoning her courage, she stole another glance.
Yes. It was him. That face, impossibly handsome, could belong to no other.
Shu Yun’s despair was complete. She pressed her forehead hard to the floor. Fragmented memories surged back, scenes from the past suddenly vivid.
“Are you a horse trainer?”
“Something like that…”
“Seven brothers at home, you’re the youngest, the seventh…”
So he was the youngest son—the Retired Emperor’s youngest.
The rain had just ceased, the sky brightened, and the hall grew unnaturally still. Above, ornate palace lanterns swayed, but could not dispel the autumn chill frozen in his eyes.
Shu Yun dared a furtive glance, only to be caught by Pei Yue. His fingers pressed long upon the marriage edict, unmoving, until the Retired Emperor coughed lightly. Then, with studied indifference, he lifted the yellow silk, his gaze falling on the four characters “Shu, styled Yun.” His fingertips lingered, stroking them slowly.
“Grant marriage?”
“Yes.” Pei Yansheng nodded blankly, not daring to meet his young imperial uncle’s eyes. Pei Yue was known for his cold severity, and as the Retired Emperor’s only legitimate son, few dared approach him.
Pei Yansheng had not expected Grandfather to entrust the marriage decree to his uncle. It must be a favor from both Grandfather and his elder uncle.
Thinking of Shu Yun, Pei Yansheng’s heart felt filled with honey, sweet and bold. “Uncle, Sister Yun and I are of one heart. Please grant us this union.”
Pei Yue’s gaze was fathomless, his face betraying no emotion. He slowly lifted the edict, asking, “Of one heart?”
Pei Yansheng failed to sense the chill in his uncle’s tone. He glanced at Shu Yun, still bowed low, and nodded firmly. “Yes.”
“Oh…” Pei Yue replied evenly, his eyes drifting toward Shu Yun. “Does Miss Shu also cherish my nephew?”
The words carried a hidden edge.
Unlike his usual gentle tone, this was sharp and dangerous. Shu Yun feared that if she nodded, she might not leave the palace alive. Yet she could not expose Pei Yansheng either. Softly, she pressed her forehead to the floor, silent.
From Pei Yue’s vantage, her swanlike neck bent low, the graceful lines flowing into her slender waist. She was like a butterfly with broken wings, a stranded mermaid—fragile enough to be crushed in the palm of his hand.
Prince Huaiyang, watching, worried the two children’s clumsy words might anger Pei Yue. He stepped forward with a genial smile and bowed. He spoke earnestly: “Your Majesty, it was I who arranged this match. The two children are alike in temperament and close in age—most fitting. My brother’s judgment is trustworthy. Such a fine girl is not easily found. Her family is scholarly; her father serves as Dean at the Imperial Academy. The child is beautiful and virtuous, worthy of the royal household.”
Pei Yue cast him a cool glance. *Alike in temperament, close in age, most fitting…*
Those words echoed in his mind. Slowly, a smile touched his handsome face, though it never reached his eyes. “Indeed, she is a rare girl.” His fingertip tapped lightly on the marriage edict, then slid it toward Liu Kui.
“Eunuch Liu, take the edict.”
Pei Yansheng breathed a sigh of relief, assuming this meant consent. Kneeling again, he bowed. “Thank you, Uncle, for your heavenly grace.”
Was this agreement?
Shu Yun felt dazed, as if dreaming. Yes—perhaps that secret in the library had been nothing more than the emperor’s idle amusement. If Pei Yue chose not to pursue it, that was best.
Liu Kui gave Shu Yun a deep look, then bent to close the edict and hold it reverently. “This servant obeys.”
Prince Huaiyang led Pei Yansheng and Shu Yun to withdraw.
In that brief moment, Shu Yun felt as though her life’s strength had been drained. By the time she descended the steps, sweat beaded thickly on her brow. Returning to her seat was like surviving a calamity.
Dozens of palace attendants entered, bearing trays of food. When Shu Yun regained her senses, the table before her was laden with dishes—steamed mandarin fish, stir-fried chicken, pigeon-and-goji soup, and more. On any other day she would have eaten heartily. But now, exhausted and fearful, she could not lift her chopsticks.
Pei Yansheng, thinking she was simply nervous, leaned close to whisper encouragement. “Don’t be afraid. Uncle has agreed. Tomorrow the edict will be issued, and we’ll be officially betrothed. Eat boldly.”
Shu Yun stared blankly at him, but her heart found no peace. The emperor could condemn her with a single charge. She could only pray he would not stoop to punish her. As for marriage, she dared not hope.
What was she, after all? Even if she entered the palace, she would be lost among three thousand beauties, perhaps dying unnoticed. To marry Pei Yansheng meant at least being a proper wife, safe and steady. If only she had such fortune.
Her eyes clouded with misty sorrow, rising and falling with her breath. Choked, she sniffled, muttered a reluctant “yes,” lowered her gaze, and stirred her soup, forcing herself to sip a few mouthfuls.
The Retired Emperor loved merriment. The Bureau of Music prepared songs and dances, drums and flutes, operatic chants. The sounds of clashing cups and laughter rose and fell, slowly merging into the night.
The palace banquet lasted a long time. Since it was a family gathering, the Retired Emperor had fewer restraints. Hearing the music, the old man rose to dance, moving through the hall and joining the foreign men performing the whirling Hu dance. The princes, accustomed to such scenes, crowded around their father to accompany him. It was like the Eight Immortals crossing the sea—each showing their own talents.
The atmosphere was extraordinarily lively.
The women, however, remained reserved, at most leaning close to whisper household chatter.
Shu Yun sat for so long her body grew stiff. Her heart, still unsettled, felt heavy and sour. She thought of rising to get some air. In her daze, she lifted her eyes toward the throne—only to see the emperor had quietly departed. Her taut body relaxed. She pushed herself up, leaning against the wall as she walked out.
Chongzheng Hall was encircled by water. Mist rose in layers, mingling with lush greenery, like a celestial realm. Cold wind struck her face, easing the turmoil in her chest. Shu Yun exhaled deeply, leaning against a pillar for a moment. Soon, a sudden pang in her stomach urged her to relieve herself. Looking around, she saw a palace maid at the corner gate and approached with a smile. “Sister, where is the privy?”
The maid, seeing her beauty and gentle manner, answered kindly. “Come with me.” She led Shu Yun across a white jade bridge, turning west.
Along a narrow path stood a waterside annex. Since the royal family always held banquets at Chongzheng Hall, this annex had been built for the women to relieve themselves and change clothes. Shu Yun reached the annex just as two princesses emerged together. She had seen them before at the academy. Shu Yun curtsied; they smiled and passed. Shu Yun lifted her skirt and entered.
After about the time of a tea, she came out. The maid who had attended her was gone. Instead, a familiar figure stood beneath the bamboo shadows.
It was Lingling, the little maid. She stepped forward and bowed. “Miss, my master requests your presence.”
Shu Yun’s face turned pale. She glanced anxiously back toward Chongzheng Hall, regretting that she had left. The edict had already been accepted—why summon her now? To settle accounts?
Shu Yun felt tears welling, but followed the maid in a daze.
The place was secluded, rarely visited.
The deeper they went into the wooded path, the quieter it became. The night was clear; the round moon broke through the clouds, smoke-like light spilling down, dappling the ground. Passing through the grove, they reached a grand palace road. A row of osmanthus trees lined the wall, their blossoms glowing in the bright moonlight, mingling with lanterns at the corners. The red walls and eaves all shimmered with a halo of light.
At a palace road intersection, the little maid stopped before a heavily guarded inner gate.
The gate was solemn and massive. Beneath it, a dozen silver-armored guards stood tall and imposing. The leader glanced at the maid’s palace token, not daring even to look at Shu Yun, and quickly stepped aside with the others, bowing their heads to let the two pass.
They walked through a long corridor. The atmosphere changed at once—a vast, majestic palace loomed to the north.
The sweeping night wind rushed into Shu Yun’s nose, nearly suffocating her. One hundred and eight steps of white jade stretched up to Fengtian Hall. With each step, her knees weakened. Every detail here proclaimed the emperor’s supreme glory. She did not know how long she walked before reaching the hall’s veranda. Her hands and feet were numb with cold, yet she barely noticed. She turned her head to look forward—the grand administrative district lay below, arranged like a chessboard, stars reflected, lanterns shimmering, making humanity seem small.
The maid, worried she would freeze, whispered, “Miss, it’s cold outside. Please go in quickly.”
Shu Yun came back to herself and followed her through the rear door of Fengtian Hall. The sound of the door closing behind her made her heart tremble. She steeled herself and went with the maid to the outer corridor.
Liu Kui stood at the entrance, smiling as he lifted the yellow curtain and gestured inside. “Miss, His Majesty is waiting for you.”
Shu Yun looked at him helplessly, her eyes pained. “Sir…” Her voice broke into a sob.
Liu Kui knew she had suddenly realized the emperor’s identity and was terrified. He quickly soothed her in a low voice. “Foolish girl, don’t be afraid. His Majesty wishes to see you. Answer what he asks, but be careful not to say the wrong thing.”
Shu Yun’s heart tightened. She brushed away her tears, clenched her teeth, and stepped inside. The curtain fell, shutting out the world—and cutting off her retreat.
Before her stood a three-panel Su embroidery screen of flowers and birds. Through the gauze, she glimpsed a tall figure reclining on a couch.
Shu Yun drew a deep breath, lowered her head, and walked around the screen. She stepped forward and knelt. “Your servant… humbly greets His Majesty.” She bowed her head deeply.
Above, movement came quickly. “Rise.”
The tone was ordinary, betraying no emotion.
Shu Yun straightened her back, not daring to lift her eyes, forcing calm. “Your servant does not dare…”
From the corner of her vision, she saw him holding a book, his gaze slowly settling on her. He asked deliberately, “Why not dare?”
He was forcing her to say it. Shu Yun, frustrated, pursed her lips and lowered her face. “Your servant does not know why His Majesty summoned me. I am fearful, and so I dare not.”
“Oh…” Hearing her faint complaint, Pei Yue’s mood seemed to ease. A trace of a smile spread, his fingers tapping idly on the small desk.
Shu Yun’s eyes were drawn to his movement. She looked in that direction—and her heart nearly skipped a beat.
On the desk lay two items. A folded handkerchief embroidered with double-sided orchids. A copy of *Shishuo Xinyu*.
Shu Yun collapsed inside. So he remembered. The handkerchief still bore a faint dark-red stain—the blood from the night at Zhaixing Pavilion when she bit it. Inside the book was a slip of paper, scrawled with three words: *Big Liar.* She had written it in anger, tucked it inside to vent her frustration. Now they were all evidence against her. At best, disrespect; at worst, an offense against the sovereign. Either was enough to kill her many times over.
Shu Yun pressed low to the ground, sobbing, not daring to speak.
The emperor looked at her pitiful state and laughed softly. “Why are you still feeling wronged?”
Shu Yun cried harder, wiping her sleeves again and again, but tears poured like a spring. “Your servant was reckless, offending His Majesty. May Your Majesty be magnanimous and spare my life. I have parents above, and…”
Fear and desperation tangled—she realized she had misspoken, swallowed, and added, “I am the only daughter of my family. Please forgive me.”
She had been tense all day. Now, at the brink, her emotions burst, and she wept bitterly.
The emperor, half exasperated, half amused, said, “Did I say I would punish you?”
Shu Yun’s eyes, red and swollen, flicked toward the desk. Then why bring out these proofs?
The emperor looked at the silly girl, nearly angered to death. She was too delicate. After crying so long, her eyes were swollen like peaches, her lips pouting, red and glistening.
For half a year, the court had been beset inside and out. He had been busy. Moving to Tongzhou Palace had been his decision to leave her behind. Since he was unwilling, he would not force it.
But earlier in Chongzheng Hall, she had suddenly appeared before him, catching him off guard. He thought he could ignore it. Yet seeing her radiant features beside another, hearing her sweetly call him “Uncle,” his heart burned.
“You want to marry him?”
“Ah?”
The emperor’s question shifted too quickly. Shu Yun couldn’t catch up, staring at him blankly, her misty eyes shimmering with water—anyone who met her gaze would feel their soul stolen away.
Pei Yue’s eyes deepened.
Frightened, Shu Yun avoided his gaze, struggling to think of how to answer. At this point, so much was beyond her control. Whether she married or not was no longer her choice. Even if she wanted to marry—would he allow it? Her thoughts were written clearly in her eyes. Pei Yue’s lips pressed into a thin line. Whether she spoke or not, it was a blade either way. Better not to answer at all.
Shu Yun slumped to the floor, rubbing her stiff fingers.
Pei Yue’s gaze shifted. He looked out the window. “Rise.”
Her knees ached from kneeling. She slowly stood. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” She quietly stepped aside, deliberately putting distance between them, folding her hands before her abdomen, trying to appear proper. Perhaps from shock, her posture was delicate, her breath uneven. She stood like a flower drenched in rain.
Pei Yue’s heart softened again. He pointed to the chair behind her. “Sit.”
Shu Yun dared not, but stole a glance at him. His eyes were stern, so she didn’t dare disobey. She perched on the edge of the chair. She had barely eaten at midday, and now it was evening. Hunger gnawed at her, but she couldn’t think of food. Her mind was consumed with how to leave Fengtian Hall alive, how to beg the emperor not to hold her offenses against her.
But Shu Yun had little cunning. She didn’t know how to please him. After half a day of thought, she found no answer. She even doubted—was Seventh Master truly the emperor? She still couldn’t imagine the reigning sovereign teasing her, indulging her, playing with her. So she looked at Pei Yue again.
His face was still impossibly handsome, brows calm, not immediately severe. Only the slight droop of his eyes carried a natural authority. She recalled half a year ago, when he lowered his gaze with a gentle smile, coaxing her to read while standing silently behind her. Her vision blurred. She longed to merge the memory of Seventh Master with the man before her. But she couldn’t. They were no longer the same.
The days in the library had been nothing but a dream. That bright yellow dragon robe was an unbridgeable gulf, a natural barrier. It cut her off from him completely, severing the tender feelings hidden deep in her heart.
Realizing she had stared too long, Shu Yun timidly withdrew her gaze, sitting stiffly in the chair.
Pei Yue watched her shrink back like a little turtle, and felt a faint disappointment. He waved his hand.
Liu Kui led several palace attendants inside. Three eunuchs carried food boxes to her, and soon the square table was filled with delicacies.
Sweet-and-sour pork ribs, crispy fish, Huizhou tofu, egg custard soup—ten or so dishes in all, each in small portions, fragrant enough to make Shu Yun swallow hard. She couldn’t quite read Pei Yue’s intentions. Was this forgiveness or not?
“What are you staring at? Eat.” Pei Yue picked up his book again, his tone tinged with irritation.
Shu Yun hesitated, not daring to move. “Your servant does not dare.”
Pei Yue narrowed his eyes, half exasperated. “Defying an imperial order?”
Her little face drooped even more. “I dare not…” she whispered timidly.
Pei Yue laughed in disbelief. “You’ve skipped two meals—can you endure that?”
Shu Yun blinked. “How do you know I skipped two meals?” Then, realizing it, her cheeks flushed crimson. She wished she could sink into the floor. To cover her embarrassment, she grabbed the silver chopsticks and quickly began eating.
Pei Yue watched, the corners of his lips curving with quiet amusement.
This little girl had always been fearless. No matter how bitter or tiring, once she saw food, she couldn’t move away. Today she hadn’t touched her lunch, and he had worried for her.
The warm chamber was silent except for Shu Yun’s chewing. She was famished, eating quickly.
Pei Yue read for a while, waiting until she finished. Then attendants came to clear the dishes and brought her a bowl of ginseng soup.
“Drink it. It will calm you.”
Shu Yun met his clear gaze. Only then did her pent-up grievance overflow. Sniffling, she sipped the soup in small gulps. When finished, she didn’t dare set down the porcelain bowl. Her watery eyes darted nervously. What did the emperor mean? Couldn’t he just give her a clear answer?
Her small face was hidden behind the bowl. Pei Yue was truly exasperated. So grown, yet still playing at “nothing to see here.”
“How long do you plan to keep hiding?”
Shu Yun set the bowl down, forcing a laugh. “No, nothing.”
The emperor asked no further questions. Shu Yun dared not speak. He sat cross-legged on the couch, reading at leisure. Shu Yun stole a glance out the window. The lanterns blazed, masking the night sky. It was late already. Her cousin Youjun must have left the palace. What should she do?
Even in her dullness, Shu Yun guessed the emperor likely wouldn’t punish her—but neither did he intend to let her go. Keeping her dangling like this, what was his purpose? Surely he didn’t mean to keep her here?
She could not enter the palace. Li Ying, Xie Yun, Cui Fenglin—none were easy to deal with. With her lack of cunning, she wouldn’t survive three days. No, no—she would never enter the palace, not even if it killed her. Instinctively, she shook her head like a rattle drum.
The sight was foolish, almost comical.
Pei Yue set down his book and looked at her. “What now?”
Shu Yun wasn’t foolish enough to leap into a trap when he hadn’t yet decided. “No… nothing… perhaps my neck is a little sore.” She explained dryly.
Pei Yue’s eyes lifted slightly at the corners. “Shall I summon a palace maid to attend you?”
Shu Yun felt a sudden chill of dread and shook her head frantically. “No…” Her knees gave way, and she slid from the armchair to kneel before him.
A sharp glint flickered in Pei Yue’s gaze. “Come here.”
Her eyes swam with unease and confusion as she stumbled forward, dazed and hesitant.
He fixed his stare on her—her face too exquisite, radiant as spring blossoms, a faint blush seeming ready to spill over. He reached out, pinched her chin lightly, and tilted it upward, his voice low and probing:
“Do you wish to leave the palace?”
Her lashes trembled, shimmering with tears. Instinctively, she nodded.
“Yes…”
So delicate a girl, yet under his piercing gaze there was not a trace of hesitation.
A restless heat surged in his chest. His fingers paused, then slowly released her. With a gentler hand, he steadied her arm and helped her rise, the sternness on his face vanishing in an instant. “Very well. I will send you home.”
The taut string inside her eased at last. Lowering her eyes, she murmured, “Your servant thanks Your Majesty for such grace.”
Moments later, a young maid escorted Shu Yun to Donghua Gate. To her surprise, Wang Youjun was still waiting there. “Elder Sister Youjun…” Shu Yun’s eyes brimmed with tears at the sight.
Wang Youjun quickly gathered her into an embrace, pinching her flushed cheeks with affection. “You little mischief—how could you get lost just stepping out for air? Luckily that maid was clever enough to fetch the matron and told me to wait here for you.”
Shu Yun understood at once: Pei Yue had arranged everything to protect her. Clearly, he had never intended to detain her. The fear in her heart dissolved by half, and she apologized repeatedly to Wang Youjun. The two young women boarded the carriage together—Wang Youjun first saw Shu Yun safely back to her family home before returning to her own estate.
After Shu Yun departed from Fengtian Hall, Liu Kui entered to serve Pei Yue. “Your Majesty, the hour grows late. Best not to strain your eyes—please rest soon.”
Pei Yue remained motionless, still holding his book. His voice was calm, almost detached: “And that imperial decree—where is it?”
“Ouch!” Liu Kui slapped himself theatrically and bowed in quick apology. “All the fault of this old servant’s carelessness. While carrying the imperial edict back to Fengtian Hall, I accidentally knocked over the incense burner. The decree was scorched through—ruined, I fear. I beg Your Majesty’s forgiveness.”
Pei Yue cast him a bland glance, set aside his scroll, and rose to head toward the inner chamber. “Go confess to the Retired Emperor yourself.”
Grinning sheepishly, Liu Kui bowed to his retreating figure. “This servant will go at once.”
The Retired Emperor had drunk some wine earlier, and by nightfall felt unwell. He had not returned to Shoukang Palace but remained in Yangxin Hall to rest. When Liu Kui entered, the elder had just finished retching, his face drawn and weary.
Liu Kui hurried forward, helping him rinse his mouth, then ordered honey water to be prepared. After the Retired Emperor drank a bowl, his complexion improved slightly.
“So late—what brings you here?” The Retired Emperor, unconcerned with ceremony, patted the corner of the bed to invite Liu Kui to sit.
But Liu Kui dared not; he knelt on the footrest instead and confessed: “This servant comes to plead guilty. The marriage edict for the heir of Prince Linchuan was accidentally burned through. It must be redrafted.”
The Retired Emperor’s expression darkened. “How could you be so careless?”
Liu Kui repeated his old trick, slapping himself again and again. “Yes, yes, this servant is gravely at fault. Please mete out punishment.”
Yet Liu Kui was a veteran of the palace, chief of the Directorate of Ceremonies. The Retired Emperor would not truly condemn him. “Enough, enough. Then have it rewritten.” Though displeased, he did not consider it a grave matter.
Liu Kui answered promptly, then helped the elder lie back down, tucking the quilt around him with care. Suddenly, he spoke up: “There is one matter, though I know not if I should say it…”
The Retired Emperor cast him a cold glance. “What is it?”
Liu Kui’s face showed unease. “Your servant was wondering, should we perhaps have the Astronomical Bureau match the heir’s birth chart with Miss Shu’s?”
The Retired Emperor’s gaze faltered, then grew heavy.
Liu Kui hurried to explain: “Please don’t blame me for speaking out of turn. It’s just—at today’s banquet, I heard Miss Shu accidentally broke the bracelet the princess consort gifted her. Think about it: how could a sturdy gold bangle snap? It’s not like jade. I found it strange. And then, the imperial edict somehow got stained with lamp oil and burned through. Ah, forgive me, I worry too much, but I feel it’s safer to be cautious.”
The Retired Emperor understood the implication at once. Old men often put stock in such omens. And since Pei Yansheng was his own grandson, he could not afford carelessness. He spoke decisively: “Tomorrow morning, go to the Astronomical Bureau and have the charts compared. If the match is favorable, then we’ll issue the decree.”
Liu Kui smiled and agreed.
At dawn the next day, the rain had cleared, and the air was thick with the damp fragrance of osmanthus. Dew clung to the branches, trembling but not falling. At the hall entrance, Princess Consort Linchuan listened to the eunuch’s message, her face full of suspicion. “Match the charts?”
From last night’s events, the marriage seemed already settled. Could there still be a turn of fortune? She had fretted to the prince all night, saying the broken bracelet was ominous, her heart heavy with dread, wishing the match undone. Now, with this unexpected twist, hope stirred. Without hesitation, she handed over her son’s birth chart and sent for Shu Yun’s from the Shu household.
“Her chart?” Madam Su’s voice rose sharper than usual. Keen-eyed, she sensed something amiss. It wasn’t that she was desperate to cling to Linchuan Palace, but her daughter was delicate and beautiful—she must not be trifled with.
At first she refused. But when the eunuch said it was the Retired Emperor’s command, even her anger could not defy imperial will. With a cold face, she handed over the chart.
Liu Kui oversaw the Bureau himself. The result was predictable. Both children’s fates were excellent—destined for wealth and honor. Yet their charts did not align. Forced together, they might hinder the birth of offspring.
In these times, no family took the matter of heirs lightly. Princess Consort Linchuan seized the chance, adamantly refusing the match.
Prince Huaiyang nearly fainted from rage. He had pleaded earnestly with the Shu family to accept, only to delay their daughter yet again. Now he truly had no way to answer to Shu Lanfeng. He went straight into the palace to seek the Retired Emperor, who himself was troubled. But the old man had already resolved: “Better a short pain than a long one. This is our royal family’s fault toward the Shu household. We must find a way to make amends. As for the marriage—it must be annulled.”
Prince Huaiyang, at his wits’ end, fell ill upon returning home. Breathless with frustration, he saw the culprit, Pei Jiangcheng, brazenly heading out in broad daylight to drink and listen to music. Seizing a board, he thrashed his son soundly. Having vented his anger, the prince sat desolate in his study, tears and snot streaming, and finally drew out a brocade box he had long kept hidden. He instructed the steward, “I have no face left to meet the Shu family. This is a villa I own in the southern part of the city—give it to the young lady, as my apology.”
But Shu Lanfeng, a scholar of integrity, would never accept such compensation and insisted on returning it. Madam Su, however, gave a cold laugh and took it instead: “The royal house has humiliated our daughter time and again. How could there be no reckoning? We’ll accept this, and from now on, sever ties with the royals once and for all!”
Shu Lanfeng looked at his wife’s resolute stance, his eyes reddening. Even Madam Su, usually so composed, was overcome with fury and grief, leaning against the tall table as tears fell.
Shu Yun guessed the reason but dared not speak of it. Glancing left and right, she wrapped her arms around her mother’s shoulders, smiling brightly to comfort her: “Mother, this is a blessing. We won’t marry into the royal family—doesn’t that leave us freer?”
Yet in her heart she thought: This is no blessing. Marrying Pei Yansheng would still be better than entering the palace as a consort.
Pei Yue’s maneuver made even a fool understand: he would not let her marry. He still harbored thoughts of her, intending to draw her into the palace.
Shu Yun first soothed her parents, then deliberately spun about the room with the deed in hand, feigning delight like a child with a treasure. Even Madam Su, though bitter, was coaxed into laughter.
Her daughter was perfect in every way—save for her difficult marriage prospects. So be it. If she does not wed, she will be raised as a son, and a husband can be brought into the family. If that fails, they can return to Jiangnan, where her maternal kin will surely help her find a worthy match.
Thus the gloom gradually lifted and was set aside.
Three days passed, and Shu Yun saw that her parents no longer grieved. She began to ponder how she might deal with the Emperor.
The young girl solemnly dragged over a tall brocade stool, rested her chin in her hand, and sat beneath the window.
The sky was a clear blue, autumn light bright and pure, cool breezes carrying waves of osmanthus fragrance. On the windowsill sat an old brush washer, filled with sand and water, in which a pot of clivia grew. Shu Yun picked up a pebble and dropped it lightly, sending ripples across the tiny pool.
*What method could she devise to make the Emperor abandon his designs?*
Feign death and flee back to Jiangnan? No, impossible—too dangerous. If discovered, it would be treason, punishable by execution of the entire family. She needed a plan with minimal risk, one that was safe and secure.
After much thought, Shu Yun saw only one path: she must make the Emperor give up on her of his own accord. Though she had spent some time with Pei Yue, she did not truly understand his nature. What he liked, what he disliked—she knew almost nothing.
These past days, Shu Yun had been restless, sending people daily to watch the gate, terrified the Emperor might dispatch an edict without warning and summon her straight into the palace.
Madam Su noticed her daughter’s odd behavior. Seeing her glance often toward the window, she asked: “Why are you always so suspicious lately?”
Shu Yun turned back with a smile. “Not at all. I’m simply bored at home, hoping Sister Youjun will come play with me.”
The marriage between Shu Yun and Pei Yansheng had already become the talk of the city. Now, with this sudden twist, the Shu family was thrust into the storm’s eye. Fearing her daughter might hear idle gossip, Madam Su kept her strictly confined indoors.
Madam Su, moved with pity, said softly, “Then shall I send a note inviting her over?”
As if hearts were attuned, before the servant she dispatched had even left, Wang Youjun swept into the Shu household with her maid in tow. Shu Yun greeted her at the door, and together they went to Madam Su, then slipped away into Shu Yun’s boudoir to talk.
Wang Youjun was skilled in the art of incense. Each time she visited, she would inspect Shu Yun’s incense boxes, discarding whatever she deemed unsuitable. Shu Yun followed behind, watching her fuss about. “Elder Sister,” she asked, “how can one make someone who likes you very much… stop liking you?”
Wang Youjun did not answer directly. She looked her up and down, half-smiling. “Surely you mean Pei Yansheng?”
Shu Yun started. Indeed, Pei Yansheng was the ready-made raft to cling to. “Yes… I fear he will be hurt.”
Wang Youjun shook her head with a smile, tossed aside the incense box, and pulled her to sit together on the luohan bed. The two girls leaned against the pillows, whispering in confidence. “I’ve inquired for you. These past days he has shut himself away in his residence, scarcely eating or drinking. He is grieving deeply.”
Hearing this, Shu Yun felt a pang. Thinking of the many twists in her marriage prospects, her expression grew vacant.
Wang Youjun, seeing her spirits sink, quickly shifted the subject. “In my view, if you wish someone to stop liking you, the best way is to learn what pleases him—and then do the opposite.”
Shu Yun saw she had struck the heart of the matter. Slowly, she steered the talk toward the banquet of that day, seizing the chance to speak of Pei Yue. “Tell me, why does our Emperor not take a wife? What sort of woman would catch his eye?”
Wang Youjun leaned half her body against Shu Yun, answering idly, “My imperial uncle is a man of deep reserve. No one can fathom his heart. But I imagine, being so solemn, he must favor women who are dignified and composed, virtuous in temper, and richly talented.”
Shu Yun puffed her cheeks like fish gills. She matched none of those qualities. Perhaps she had not made it plain enough? She recalled how, in the library, Pei Yue had pressed her to read, lecturing her on the virtues of study. Clearly, he admired women steeped in books. To go against— that meant he would dislike frivolous, flighty girls.
Shu Yun had made up her mind.
Another day passed, and under a blazing sun she was in her study painting when a servant came to report: “Third Miss, the Wang household has sent a matron. Miss Youjun invites you to the flower market.”
Shu Yun recalled her plan with Wang Youjun to choose some potted plants for the villa, and without hesitation changed into travel attire, taking Shaoyao along. At the gate, she glimpsed a familiar young palace maid smiling beside the carriage. Shu Yun’s heart wavered, her steps nearly faltering.
Whatever trick the maid had used, Shaoyao fell into a dazed sleep as soon as she boarded. The carriage’s exterior was plain, but inside it was lavishly appointed: a rosewood couch covered with thick brocade, a matching desk set with brushes, ink, and paper. There lay the very copy of *Shishuo Xinyu* that Pei Yue had once pressed her to study.
Shu Yun stroked the worn spine. *How much could the Emperor truly care for her? At most, he admired her looks; his possessiveness was stirred. He would keep her for a while, then discard her when novelty faded.*
After half an hour, the carriage halted at the crimson steps below Fengtian Hall. The palace maid led Shu Yun into the imperial study.
Shu Yun took several deep breaths to steady herself, then knelt with composure: “May Your Majesty enjoy ten thousand blessings.”
Pei Yue was reviewing memorials. He lifted his gaze, warmth lingering at the corners of his eyes, and gestured to the side. “Sit first. I have urgent reports to handle. When I am finished, we will speak.”
Shu Yun rose and slowly seated herself on the luohan bed beneath the eastern window. Her eyes darted restlessly as she began to ponder how best to appear frivolous.
Frivolity must be measured. Too much would provoke his anger. Just enough to stir his distaste—so that, little by little, his interest in her would fade.
After the attendants served Shu Yun tea and pastries, they quietly withdrew. The study was bright and orderly, serene and still, broken only by the swift strokes of the Emperor’s vermilion brush.
While Pei Yue was absorbed in reviewing memorials, Shu Yun began to take in the imperial study’s arrangement.
The eastern window was wide open, flooding the room with light. To the west stood tall shelves lined with memorials, and beyond them a display case filled with exquisite porcelains and antiques.
A dignified woman would sit demurely in place, never stirring. But if she wandered about, how might she catch his eye?
So Shu Yun lifted her skirts and strolled first to the display case, feigning interest in the antiques, then returned to the eastern window to snatch up a pastry. She popped it into her mouth, chewing noisily on purpose. She stole a glance at Pei Yue.
After a while, he looked up. Shu Yun’s lips were dusted with crumbs, like a child caught sneaking food. The familiar sight made him chuckle—he delighted in watching her mischief, her laughter, her presence.
Shu Yun noticed at once: he was not angered. So she began to test his limits, little by little. She drifted toward the shelves. The antiques were far too precious to touch, so she avoided them. Instead, she spotted a feather duster on a small table in the corner. She picked it up, pretending to sweep away dust. Then, with a sudden cry of “Oh!” she let a stack of memorials slip to the floor.
“Your Majesty…” Shu Yun put on a look of panic, gazing at him with guilty eyes.
Pei Yue raised his head at the commotion.
At that moment, an accident occurred: another stack of memorials, pulled by the disturbance, tilted eastward—and suddenly toppled against the display case.
Shu Yun watched in horror as a sky‑blue tripod incense burner crashed toward the floor. Her scalp tingled; she rushed to save it, but failed. Instead, her fingernail scraped against the shelf, splitting open a cut that made her gasp in pain. She could not care about the sting—her eyes were fixed on the shards scattered across the ground, her face drained of color.
At the noise, attendants poured in. Pei Yue arrived first. Without a word, he lifted the stunned Shu Yun, grasping her injured finger. Blood welled between her nails, his expression grave.
“Bring the medicine chest,” he commanded.
Supporting her to the luohan bed opposite, Pei Yue took a handkerchief to staunch the bleeding. Looking at the pale little girl, he asked gently, “Does it hurt much?”
“No, no…” Shu Yun realized she had made a terrible mistake. Her throat tightened as she pointed tremblingly at the shattered porcelain. “Your Majesty… is that incense burner very precious?”
Tears the size of beans rolled down her cheeks, her guilt and regret plain.
Pei Yue gazed at her tear‑streaked face, his thumb brushing her cheek to wipe the drops away. “Is a lifeless object worth such panic?”
Shu Yun, too flustered to blush, shook her head like a child caught in mischief. “It was improper conduct before Your Majesty.”
The attendants hurried in with the medicine chest. Pei Yue bent to clean her wound, too intent on tending his little muddle‑headed girl to offer further comfort.
When Liu Kui heard Shu Yun was hurt, he rushed to the study, assuming the attendants had been negligent and ready to scold. But before he could, Shu Yun looked up at him with wide eyes and asked, “Eunuch Liu… how much was that incense burner worth?”
Unaware of the situation, Liu Kui glanced at the fragments being gathered and replied, “That burner was crafted in the Song dynasty’s Jun kilns. Of all Jun‑ware incense burners, only this one survives.”
Shu Yun nearly fainted. Pei Yue had just finished bandaging her when he lifted his gaze and shot Liu Kui a sharp look, his voice stern: “Why frighten her?”
Only then did Liu Kui realize his blunder. He dropped to his knees at once, begging forgiveness.
Pei Yue carefully wiped the blood from her finger, gazing at the thick bandage wrapped around her middle finger. He sighed softly.
Shu Yun dared not meet his eyes. In a low murmur, she asked, “Your Majesty, was I too frivolous?”
Her voice was sticky‑sweet, delicate and tender.
Pei Yue gave a barely audible laugh, reached out to ruffle her hair, and spoke with indulgent warmth: “Frivolous? No—you were simply a little clumsy.”
Shu Yun: “……”
This was not how things were supposed to unfold. She had shattered a unique treasure, and regret gnawed at her. Yet alongside her remorse, she felt the Emperor’s tolerance—even his indulgence. His eyes had never once strayed to the broken incense burner; all his attention was on binding her wound. That boundless affection pressed heavily on her heart. Her plan had failed.
As Shu Yun sat in dejection, the study had already returned to silence. At some point, her hand was enveloped in Pei Yue’s palm. His hand was so broad that hers seemed tiny within it, ill‑matched in size. He seemed deeply concerned about the wound, staring at it for a long while before gently kneading the back of her hand. Her hand was soft and plump, pleasing to the touch. His rough fingertips circled again and again over the base of her finger.
Shu Yun felt her ears burn. She suddenly pulled her hand away.
Pei Yue instinctively reached to catch it, but missed. He did not mind. Watching her deliberately put distance between them, he thought: on her very first visit to the palace, she had been frightened and hurt—proof of how uneasy she was. She must be coaxed slowly, like porridge simmered over a gentle flame. He dared not keep her longer, and ordered that she be escorted back to her household.
Shu Yun lay listlessly at home for two days, unable to summon energy for anything. In the end, she could only pass the time with painting. Then Wang Youjun arrived, mysteriously, peering half her head through the study window.
“I may have spoken wrongly last time.”
Shu Yun frowned in suspicion. “What do you mean?”
Wang Youjun’s expression grew grave. “Did you follow my advice and neglect Pei Yansheng?”
Shu Yun’s throat tightened; she didn’t know how to answer. “What has happened?”
Wang Youjun stepped in from the veranda, seated herself opposite at the desk, worry clouding her face. “Pei Yansheng says he wants to go to a monastery and become a monk.”
Shu Yun: “……”
She hadn’t done anything at all.
If only Pei Yue would become a monk and leave her be—that would be perfect. But such words she dared not utter.
“Actually,” she said instead, “I’ve thought it over. What you said last time wasn’t entirely right.”
“Indeed.” Wang Youjun corrected herself as well. “Take my imperial uncle, the Emperor. He has lived in the harem for years, surrounded by dignified and virtuous women. It’s not impossible that he might prefer someone with a different kind of charm.”
Shu Yun scowled, her voice stiff. “Isn’t it just so?”
That he should fancy someone as ignorant and clumsy as her.
“But,” Wang Youjun leaned in with a mischievous smile, resting her chin on her hand, “I can’t say for certain what kind of girl he will like. But I can say with certainty—there is one kind of girl no man will ever like.”
Shu Yun’s eyes lit up. She leaned forward eagerly. “What kind of girl?”
Wang Youjun enunciated each word: “One who never smiles, dull and lifeless.”
Shu Yun repeated the phrase under her breath, chewing over it until it seemed perfectly true. She felt as though she had found a treasure. “Mm. If Pei Yansheng comes seeking me again, I’ll treat him that way. In time, he’ll surely give up.”
“Exactly so.” Wang Youjun patted her shoulder and looked at her encouragingly. “I’ll be waiting for your good news.”
But Shu Yun’s heart was heavy.
Since Shu Yun’s injury, Pei Yue had kept her in mind, reluctant to summon her to the palace lest it hinder her recovery. Instead, he went out incognito to a teahouse near the Shu residence, finding a pretext to invite her there.
Shu Yun clung to Wang Youjun’s eight‑character strategy. No matter what Pei Yue asked, her replies were either “This servant knows” or “This servant was at fault.” Even when he inquired after her wound, she was like a gourd with its mouth sealed, unable to utter a single pleasant word. Even Pei Yue’s good temper was worn thin, his heart weighed down.
Shu Yun looked at the young emperor across from her, seeing his helpless expression, and secretly steeled herself. *Just a few more times, and surely he will lose interest.*
Pei Yue, however, felt a pang of displeasure. He had already gone to great lengths to set aside imperial airs before her, even allowing her to dispense with formal courtesies. Yet she behaved as though transformed—never lifting her eyes, never speaking, as if he were some fearsome beast. Where had that lively, playful girl gone?
The two continued their silent contest of wills.
On the third occasion, Pei Yue sent for Shu Yun to be brought to Zhaixing Pavilion.
Shu Yun, thin‑skinned as she was, could not sit with an easy conscience as though nothing had happened. She gloomily drank a cup of cold tea, forced herself to calm down, and clung to the eight‑character stratagem.
Pei Yue looked at the girl before him. Today she wore a bright blue silk jacket patterned with entwined blossoms, her hair in a lily knot. The style was old‑fashioned, her whole figure unadorned—like a child sneaking into her elders’ clothes. If he had not yet seen through Shu Yun’s little act, he would hardly be worthy of the throne.
Where magic rises a foot, the Way rises a yard higher.
Pei Yue lifted his hand. At once, some twenty attendants filed in, each placing a dish upon the long table before Shu Yun.
Stir‑fried river snails, spicy crayfish, crisp pickled radish, Seven‑Treasure Soup, candied cherries, taro‑steamed ribs, and her favorites—crystal sashimi, emerald jelly. Finally, right before her eyes, they set down a platter of hairy crabs, each split open to reveal golden roe glistening, ready to spill.
It was the perfect season for crabs. Just yesterday she had begged her father to send for some, but the steward returned empty‑handed: the markets along Tongluo Street and the canal had been swept clean by noble households. At last he bought two from an old man, but they were small, yielding barely a spoonful of roe—hardly satisfying. Now, before her, lay five crabs each weighing half a catty.
The other delicacies were countless, all exquisitely prepared.
Shu Yun clenched her fists tight. Her bright eyes shimmered, but she forced her gaze toward the window. She could avert her eyes, but not her nose—the fragrance of the dishes tangled and clashed, striking her taste buds until she was nearly in tears with longing.
Pei Yue watched the little girl, on the verge of weeping, and his lips curved silently. Good‑tempered, he did not quarrel with her. Instead, he moved closer, scooped a spoonful of crab roe, and held it to her lips.
“Be good. Open your mouth.”