Twilight thickened, the haze of dusk setting off the retired emperor’s dark robe like a splash of heavy ink. He wore a black-gold dragon robe patterned with longevity characters, seated cross-legged upon a cushion as though beneath heaven itself. Beside him, a pool of steaming spring water sent up curling mist, scattering the five-colored glow of the palace lanterns.
“Everyone saw them today. Was there anyone you favored?”
The tone was playful, yet carried a serious weight.
His words fell into silence. From the eastern side of the pool, beyond the white jade terrace, no reply came for a long while.
The emperor waited, growing faintly impatient, and lifted his gaze.
Around the hot spring, flowers and grasses had been planted in a ring. Though spring had not yet fully arrived, here the scene was lush and flourishing—delicate blossoms carpeting the ground, rising to meet the drifting vapor like the rosy clouds of a summer sunset.
Amid this profusion of color stood a tall, straight figure: the young sovereign, dressed simply in a moon-white robe. In his hand he held a white jade bodhi bead, its surface mellowed with age, gleaming softly against his long, jointed fingers.
The lake breeze stirred, lifting the hem of his robe. His face was half-shadowed, half-veiled by the steam, indistinct—yet every movement carried an effortless nobility, as though the mountains and moonlit night around him existed only as his backdrop.
“I’ve been away these years, Father, and you’ve grown indolent. Affairs of state all tossed to Li Zhe—ministers speak of Prime Minister Li, not of their emperor. I pacify the Tatars at the frontier, return, and must clean up your mess again. And now you still have leisure to ask me whom I’ll choose as empress?”
Behind him, the retired emperor gave a soft sigh, as if to defend himself. But before he could speak, Pei Yue turned, revealing a face that could eclipse rivers and mountains. His eyes were dark as a cold pond beneath the moon, and his voice cut in, cool and measured: “There’s no need for you to say anything. As for the empress, I’ll decide myself. You must not interfere.”
Pei Yue left those words behind, hands clasped behind his back, striding along the verdant riverbank.
The retired emperor watched his son’s departing figure for a while, then suddenly chuckled. Shaking his head, he brushed the dust from his palms and rose. From the flower thicket, the old eunuch hurried forward to support him. Far from angered by his son’s sharp tongue, the retired emperor smiled and asked lightly: “Is it done?”
The eunuch lifted his eyes, trembling, still shaken. “As you commanded, a little stimulating wine was mixed into His Majesty’s cup. At supper, the one you pressed upon him… that was it.” He wiped the sweat from his brow, fearing that if the emperor turned back to demand accountability, his own head would be the first to fall.
The retired emperor stroked his beard with amusement, seeing through the old servant’s worry. He patted his shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t be afraid. He’s not one to vent his anger without cause. He’ll know it was my idea and won’t trouble you.”
His concerns differed from the retired emperor’s. This realm had been built alongside his old brothers-in-arms, and he had promised to share wealth and honor with them—he could not go back on his word. More urgently, the Grand Empress Dowager was aged and had fallen ill before the New Year. Should she pass away, Pei Yue would be bound to mourning. The pressing matter was to marry off the seventh prince quickly and with heirs.
The empire could not be left without succession.
The retired emperor, once a ruthless warlord, now colluded openly with senior ministers of the Secretariat to ply Pei Yue with wine. So long as Pei Yue yielded to female company, tonight would mark success.
The retired emperor’s scheme was brazen, leaving Pei Yue no room to refuse. He drank the wine, then seized the chance to slip away. The early spring night wind was sharp and cold, brushing his refined features. At a glance, no trace of change could be seen.
Pei Yue was reserved by nature, never flaunting himself. Even as restlessness stirred within him, his expression remained utterly composed. Leaving Wenquan Palace, he walked into a broad waterside corridor. From the shadows, the Grand Chamberlain of the Directorate of Ceremonies stepped forth, bowing with a troubled face.
“Your Majesty, the retired emperor has ordered that the candidates remain, and has even revealed your whereabouts. Now the garden is full of people. I beg your instruction—how should we proceed?”
In truth, the Grand Chamberlain himself longed for his master to take concubines into the palace. His Majesty was no longer young, and matters could not be delayed further.
Pei Yue cast him a glance, and the Grand Chamberlain immediately bent lower, not daring to utter a sound.
After a brief silence, Pei Yue gave his instructions, terse and clear: “Do not follow me. Create diversions, draw people away. And the retired emperor has drugged me—go find the antidote.” With that, he walked on at an unhurried pace.
The Chamberlain hastily answered, then hurried after him to ask, “Master, where will you go?”
At this, Pei Yue halted. Standing by the lake, he looked out. Lanterns flickered everywhere, crowds milling about. Most brilliant of all was the Zhaixing Pavilion on the island at the lake’s heart—the site of tonight’s revelry. It was no surprise that people gathered there. The young ladies hoping to enter the palace would never imagine he would go to such a place.
Pei Yue, choosing the unexpected, pointed to the pavilion’s rooftop. “When you find the antidote, bring it to the pavilion’s loft. I’ll be waiting there.”
The Chamberlain followed his gaze and bowed. “As you command.”
He then dispersed with eunuchs and guards to create cover. Pei Yue, cloaked by night, leaped onto a small skiff and, channeling his inner strength, sped toward the island. In the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, he reached the base of the pavilion. Finding a secluded spot, he vaulted up to the rooftop.
As he had guessed, the revelers were thinning out. Only a few young lords lingered in the open hall below. The rooftop lay in darkness, save for a string of ram’s-horn palace lanterns glowing along the loft’s railing.
The dim light pushed back the night. Pei Yue walked beneath the eaves. Overhead, the stars spilled across the vast sky. A lone, slender figure sat at the railing. His gaze sharpened, and he was about to turn away—when he heard the faint, broken sound of a woman’s sobbing.
Pei Yue studied her closely, his brow furrowing.
She was perched against a pillar inside the railing, feet dangling over empty air, shoulders trembling, her sobs unceasing. Though there was a terrace beyond, it was perilous: a sudden gust could sweep her down.
So—was she intent on ending her life?
Pei Yue was the Son of Heaven, master of all under heaven. He could not allow anyone to come to harm before his eyes—least of all on this night of the imperial flower banquet, when no mishap could be tolerated.
After a moment’s thought, he resolved himself. His martial skill was profound; his steps were nearly soundless. Seizing upon the girl’s unguarded state, he meant to draw close and rescue her quietly. Yet when he was within five paces, the young woman suddenly turned her gaze.
Their eyes met—and Shu Yun froze.
In the hazy glow, it was as if a figure had materialized from the ether: a man who seemed to stride the Milky Way above and tread the dust below, his bearing lofty as though he were a celestial immortal painted on silk. Could such beauty truly exist in this world? Was she dreaming?
The cold wind had blown upon Shu Yun for some time, cooling the flush in her cheeks. Her mind drifted between clarity and confusion, her apricot eyes blurred with tears. She clutched the railing pillar and turned half her body toward him.
Pei Yue’s glance fell upon her footing. Seeing her perched precariously against the pillar, he withdrew the half-raised arm and folded his hands behind his back, meeting her face with calm composure.
The girl was, without doubt, exquisitely beautiful. Yet her cheeks still bore tear-stains, her eyes rimmed red—surely she had suffered some grave blow.
“The night wind is chill. Why sit here, young lady?”
Even his voice was melodious.
Shu Yun looked into his steady eyes, and her grievance spilled forth unbidden. Though Pei Jiangcheng was unreliable, that betrothal had been her family’s shield. Without it, her future would be precarious, her chances of marriage slim.
“I… I just broke off my engagement…” she whispered, shame coloring her words.
No wonder. In this world, the lot of women was unfair. Once a betrothal was dissolved, a girl was marked, her prospects dimmed, her name subject to gossip.
Pei Yue had many nieces of similar age. Instinctively, his tone carried the weight of an elder’s counsel. “Then let it be broken. It only shows he was not your destined match. Perhaps you will meet a man who cherishes you more. Do not…” He had meant to say, *do not despair, do not throw away your young life*—but the girl’s eyes suddenly lit like stars, her voice bright and fragile as she said: “I’ve been telling myself the same thing…”
This man of her dream was so considerate—astonishingly, he thought the same as she did. Had she really “consoled herself” all the way up to the pavilion railing?
Pei Yue was momentarily speechless, yet he could not refute her. He inclined his head and said, “Indeed. It is best that you understand. Come down quickly, lest you fall…” Seeing there was no footing beneath the pillar, fearing Shu Yun might slip, he hesitated, then extended his arm. “Take hold of me and climb down.”
The breeze stirred, lifting her pale-yellow skirt patterned with tiny blossoms, fluttering like butterflies. She looked like a wandering fairy, and shook her head prettily. “I won’t come down…” She hadn’t had her fill of the wind yet. She was waiting for her friend to return so they could enjoy it together.
Pei Yue narrowed his eyes slightly, falling silent.
Shu Yun simply sat upon the crossbeam of the pillar, hands braced against the outer railing, legs dangling as though treading waves. Smiling, she asked, “Sir, what is your name? How many people are in your family…”
If she could not marry out, then she would recruit a husband into her household. This man was handsome, gentle, and considerate—why not make him her bridegroom? Shu Yun thought dreamily.
Pei Yue, of course, did not answer. Instead, he pondered how to bring her down safely. He could already smell the wine on her; the girl was clearly tipsy, speaking nonsense.
“Come down, and I’ll tell you in detail…” he coaxed patiently. He stood with hands clasped behind his back, like a snow pine weathered by storms, his brilliance contained.
Shu Yun’s long lashes trembled faintly. Pei Jiangcheng had once loved to coax her too. At the time, she believed her fiancé truly cared. But now she realized—his coaxing had been perfunctory. Whereas this man before her carried a strange, genuine sense of forbearance.
Perhaps it was the shock of recent events, the uncertainty of what lay ahead, and the wine she had drunk—her spirit was fragile to the extreme. Her eyes reddened, and a blush spread across her cheeks like the glow of sunset. Slowly, she turned her gaze, aggrieved, and whispered: “Don’t lie to me…”
Pei Yue, keenly aware of her hesitation and vulnerability, let his voice settle into a grave tone. “I will not lie to you.”
The words shattered the fragile strength Shu Yun had tried to feign. Her tears broke free again, sliding down her nose and soaking into her skirt until a dark patch spread across the fabric.
She had been deceived too many times—by Pei Jiangcheng, by Shu Zhi. What had once been a joyous betrothal had turned into a cruel joke.
Pei Yue looked at the girl, fragile as a silken cocoon battered by the wind, and pity stirred in his heart. He waited quietly, giving her space to release her grief.
After a while, Shu Yun felt ashamed of her weakness. She brushed away her tears and looked at him with plaintive eyes. “Forgive me… I must look ridiculous to you.”
Pei Yue shook his head, showing he did not mind. Then, with measured restraint, he stepped closer and extended his hand. “Now… will you come down?”
Her eyes still glistened with tears, but her smile curved shyly as she nodded. “Yes…”
Relieved, Pei Yue moved nearer, his broad, steady hand reaching toward her. Shu Yun’s mind was muddled, thick as paste. She stared for a moment, then placed her hand upon his arm. At once, his wrist dipped, gripping her firmly, pulling her with strength. Shu Yun jumped down with his support but her skirt snagged on the pillar behind her. The sudden tug pulled her backward. She cried out instinctively, “Ah!”
Pei Yue reacted with lightning speed, sweeping her fully into his arms. Shu Yun, by reflex, wrapped her arms around his neck. The sudden closeness unsettled him. The delicate fragrance of a young maiden filled his senses, and the drug coursing through his body surged. He steadied himself. Her tear-bright eyes were inches away, gazing at him as though he were prey.
Shu Yun was entranced. Up close, she saw his features—each line as if carefully drawn, flawless. This must be a dream. And in dreams, one could be bold. Compelled by impulse, she leaned in, her rosy lips pressing against his. Catching him in a moment of stunned stillness, she sealed his cool lips with her own.