That face was too striking—Shu Yun recognized him at once. Wasn’t this the very man from that night at Zhaixing Pavilion? Now he stood before her in the flesh, living proof that what happened that night had indeed been real.
Shu Yun stared at Pei Yue for several breaths, her fingers twisting together, her whole body faintly poised to flee. Just then, the man’s voice reached her—rich, magnetic, and calm: “Where are you going?”
She froze, caught off guard by the question—or rather, by his utterly unruffled expression. Did he truly not recognize her? Or had he simply forgotten that night? The certainty she had just gained wavered, replaced by fresh doubt.
His gaze remained steady, patient, waiting for her reply.
Though panic churned inside, Shu Yun forced herself to appear composed. “I’m heading to Yinghua Hall. I’m new here and don’t know the way. Might I trouble you, sir, to guide me…?”
One moment she called him *big brother*, the next *sir*…
Commander Lin Xun of the Imperial Guards nearly lost his temper at her flippant address, ready to scold her outright. But Liu Kui, the Grand Chamberlain of the Directorate of Ceremonies, restrained him with a glance. Though Liu Kui hadn’t seen Shu Yun’s face that night, he recognized her voice. This was fortune dropping into his lap—what he had sought so long now appeared effortlessly before him. And what a vision she was: skin like snow, features ethereal, eyes misty yet dazzling, beauty so breathtaking it made his heart surge with delight. Yet Liu Kui mastered himself, betraying not the slightest hint of his excitement.
The air stilled for a moment. Pei Yue’s expression did not change. He turned his head toward Yinghua Hall, paused briefly, and said: “Come with me.”
He strode ahead first. Shu Yun hesitated for a moment, then quickly trotted to catch up. While trying to match his pace, she stole glances at him from the corner of her eye. He wore a pair of brown trousers tucked into black deerskin boots, with a plain indigo *yesa* robe over them. His attire bore no ornament, save for the riding whip in his hand. A smear of mud clung to his trouser leg, making it impossible at first glance to guess his station.
Behind him walked two men. One was burly, rough-featured, and dressed in the same style as Pei Yue—though his clothes were cleaner. The other was pale-faced, beardless, and round-bellied; when he noticed her looking, he even offered a kindly smile.
Throughout the walk, Pei Yue neither spoke nor spared her a glance, as though she were nothing more than a passing stranger. Since he kept silent, Shu Yun dared not utter a word either, trailing him step for step.
Liu Kui grew anxious. Surely His Majesty wasn’t about to drop her off at Yinghua Hall and leave it at that? That would never do.
The emperor might not be in a hurry, but the eunuch was.
So Liu Kui sidled up to Shu Yun with a genial grin and asked, “Out so late, young lady—what brings you here alone?”
Shu Yun answered shyly, “I got separated from my companions…”
That was exactly what he’d been waiting for. Without betraying his eagerness, Liu Kui pressed further: “So you’re saying you came as a companion reader for one of the princesses? May I ask from which palace?”
It was a question best neither answered nor ignored. Shu Yun kept her wits about her and replied demurely, “I’m not truly a proper companion reader. My family merely pulled some strings to send me in, hoping to share a little of the honor…”
If this man later recalled the incident and came looking for her, it would be troublesome if he found his way to Xian’an Palace. She had no wish to cause trouble for others, nor to give Consort Shu a handle against her. Better to tread carefully.
Liu Kui understood. Ordinarily, serving as a companion reader in the palace was a mark of distinction, useful for arranging marriages later. Many official families schemed tirelessly to send their daughters in for that very reason.
“Which family do you belong to, young lady?”
Shu Yun swallowed quietly, her expression steady. “My surname is Su.”
“Oh, so you’re Miss Su…” Liu Kui scratched his cheek, already turning over in his mind which official households in the capital bore that name.
Shu Yun’s dark, liquid eyes flicked toward Pei Yue. In a lowered voice, she asked Liu Kui, “Is this gentleman serving in the palace?”
His attire was neither that of a master nor a guard, and Shu Yun could not discern his station.
The old eunuch knew well when to chatter and when to hold his tongue. At once he became a silent gourd, retreating behind them.
Pei Yue, however, had heard her words. He halted and looked at her. The sky was dimming, the lamps along the palace road not yet lit. In that half-light, Shu Yun’s fair face seemed all the more translucent, the blush creeping toward her ears almost visible.
“Do I look like someone in service?”
At last he spoke. Shu Yun’s eyes curved with a smile, her tone easing with relief. “I can’t quite tell…”
Her gaze drifted to the reins in his hand. Pei Yue followed her glance downward and explained, “I’ve just come back from training horses at Shanglin Park…” A new batch of Ferghana steeds had arrived there, one of them so wild that ordinary trainers could not manage it, so he had taken matters into his own hands.
Before he could finish, Shu Yun’s eyes lit up. “Are you a horse trainer?”
She looked genuinely astonished, even faintly admiring.
Pei Yue paused, tasting the words “horse trainer” on his tongue. Under her innocent gaze, his expression faltered. “You could say that…”
Wasn’t the Son of Heaven himself the one who reined in the empire?
Shu Yun beamed. “You stride like a dragon, carry yourself with such majesty—you hardly resemble an ordinary horse trainer at all…”
She had some discernment, after all. Pei Yue inclined his head. “I handle the horses for the Son of Heaven.”
“No wonder…” That explained why he had appeared by Swallow Lake during the imperial flower banquet—he must be someone of importance close to the emperor.
Pei Yue continued forward, and Shu Yun had no choice but to follow. Once she opened her mouth to speak, the atmosphere eased considerably.
Behind them, Liu Kui exchanged meaningful glances with Lin Xun, who finally began to grasp the situation.
Yinghua Hall lay in the northwest corner of the palace. Entering through the Xuanwu Gate, one passed through a secluded grove, then turned south along the palace road. When they reached the side gate of Yinghua Hall, Pei Yue gestured inward. “We’ve arrived.”
Without another word, he turned down the palace road toward Yangxin Hall, leaving Shu Yun no chance to thank him.
The long, shadowed corridor stretched ahead in deep brown, vanishing into the distance. Watching his retreating figure, Shu Yun bowed silently, feeling as though she had forgotten something.
At Yinghua Hall, she knew her way. Borrowing a lamp from the mute old matron at the gate, she set off unhurriedly toward Xian’an Palace. Halfway there, she suddenly remembered what she had forgotten and stamped her foot in vexation. Her embroidered handkerchief was still in his possession. What was she to do? Asking for it back would be tantamount to confessing, yet abandoning it entirely would leave a hidden danger.
The memory of that night churned silently in her mind. Blushing furiously, Shu Yun wavered between choices.
Enough. Judging by his calm, unruffled demeanor, either he had forgotten the matter altogether or had never taken it to heart. If that were so, then he was truly a man of clear skies and bright moonlight. Better to offer an apology, reclaim the handkerchief, and put the affair to rest. With that resolution, the weight in her heart finally eased.
Shu Yun deliberately dawdled a little on the way back. By the time she returned to Xian’an Palace, the place was in an uproar. At first, Princess Shuyue had only meant to frighten her, but when Shu Yun could not be found, panic set in—and naturally, Dowager Consort Shu was alarmed.
Dowager Consort Shu, furious, sprang up from her couch and seized the princess by the arm. “Have you no sense? If you wish to bully her, do it behind closed doors. To abandon her outside—are you trying to make life in this palace unbearable for me?”
When not angered, Dowager Consort Shu was a serene beauty; but once provoked, she was like a lioness with a bristling mane. She ordered her attendants to search quietly in all directions. One of them had barely stepped beyond Xian’an Palace when she ran straight into Shu Yun, returning alone. Overjoyed, she nearly wept as she hurried the girl back before Dowager Consort Shu.
By then, Princess Shuyue had already been scolded soundly. Her hair was in disarray, and she knelt to one side, sniffling pitifully, looking thoroughly aggrieved.
Shu Yun cast her a blank glance, then bent her knees before Dowager Consort Shu.
“Greetings to Aunt…” she murmured, eyes lowered, saying no more.
Dowager Consort Shu’s temper shifted at once to gentle warmth. “Shuyue is still young, careless in her ways. Pay her no mind. Tell me, how did you find your way back?”
Shu Yun considered. Mother and daughter held little favor in the palace; they dared bully only a weak girl like herself. Better, then, to borrow the tiger’s skin and frighten them a little.
“Your niece lost her way on the road, but later met a noble gentleman. It was he who guided me back.”
Dowager Consort Shu started at this. “Who was he?”
Shu Yun shook her head. “I do not know…”
Dowager Consort fixed Shu Yun with a suspicious stare, her unease growing. Her position in the palace was already precarious—if word spread that she had mistreated her own niece, and it reached the Emperor Emeritus’s ears, she would be in serious trouble.
“What did that man look like? How was he dressed?”
Shu Yun blinked and deliberately gave a vague reply. “His bearing was extraordinary. I dared not look closely. I only saw him heading south…”
South? That would mean either Yangxin Hall or Cining Palace. Dowager Consort Shu’s face paled further. Her heart churned with anxiety. She waved for the attendants to escort Shu Yun to dine and rest, then turned a sharp gaze on Princess Shuyue. The princess, seeing her mother’s reddened eyes, grew uneasy, darting glances around as she searched for a way out.
“Mother Consort, I won’t dare again…” she began, but then suddenly spotted the palace maid and hastily shifted the blame. “I sent her to lead Cousin Yun to the Imperial Kitchen. Who knew she misunderstood my instructions? It’s her fault—she deserves punishment…”
The maid looked up in disbelief, then collapsed to her knees, cheeks trembling. “Your Ladyship, spare me! I did not mean it…” She was dragged away and beaten with ten strokes of the rod.
From within the green gauze screen, Shu Yun listened to the proceedings, her lips curving faintly. When a maid brought in a food box, Shu Yun quickly rose and, under the cover of her wide sleeves, slipped a silver ingot into the maid’s hand. The girl’s eyes widened in shock and she shook her head silently, but Shu Yun insisted, tucking it firmly into her sleeve. The maid froze for a moment, then accepted it. Afterward, she opened the box and laid out the dishes for Shu Yun—her gestures and demeanor now markedly different, though she spoke not a word.
That night, everyone who attended to Shu Yun ended up with some benefit. The palace maids weren’t fools—those who sided with the princess in bullying Shu Yun were left to shoulder the blame, while those who lent her a hand reaped rewards. Outwardly, they obeyed their mistress’s orders, but in secret, none dared mistreat Shu Yun.
After this ordeal, Shu Yun saw things more clearly: Dowager Consort Shu was all bluster and little substance. Loud and overbearing, she lacked true depth of strategy—otherwise she would never have punished that maid tonight, chilling the hearts of her servants.
In this unfamiliar place, Shu Yun slept poorly, tossing and turning through the night.
Imperial Study.
Pei Yue, freshly bathed and dressed in a bright yellow dragon robe, sat behind the imperial desk reviewing memorials. That afternoon he had gone out incognito, and later spent time at Shanglin Park taming horses, so now the table was piled high with petitions.
Liu Kui had gone in and out several times, watching the emperor’s meticulous work. He dared not interrupt, though his heart felt stuck like a date lodged in his throat. Had His Majesty recognized Shu Yun or not? If he had, surely he wouldn’t be acting like this.
At last, Pei Yue noticed Liu Kui hovering about and couldn’t hold back. Pen poised, he asked dryly: “Have you been bitten by an insect, itching all over?”
Grateful that his master finally spoke, Liu Kui hurried forward. “No, Your Majesty, it isn’t insects—it’s that girl who’s driven me half mad.” He pointed indignantly toward Yinghua Hall.
“I just reviewed Yinghua Hall’s expense records and glanced at the roster. There isn’t a single girl surnamed Su. She was clearly lying.”
Pei Yue was momentarily taken aback, then let out a wry laugh. “That little girl is fooling Me again…”
That single word—*again*—spoke volumes. It meant he had recognized her.
Liu Kui’s heart settled, and he put on a show of righteous indignation. “That girl is utterly reckless, daring to deceive the Son of Heaven! In this old slave’s view, she ought to be seized and punished severely.”
As if punishment required dragging her into the Imperial Study.
Pei Yue watched him carry on, then said coolly, “Go on…”
But when Liu Kui met the emperor’s icy gaze, he quickly grinned and backpedaled. “How could this old slave dare neglect Your Majesty’s beloved?”
Pei Yue lowered his eyes to the memorial in hand. “Beloved? What nonsense. Do you take Me for someone so shallow?”
“Yes, yes, of course not shallow. Yet Your Majesty still played house with the young lady, pretending to be a horse trainer,” Liu Kui muttered under his breath.
Pei Yue closed the memorial and raised his eyes, voice edged with irony. “So I should declare my identity, press her into submission, and remind her that she and I have shared flesh and blood; therefore, she must take responsibility—yes?”
Liu Kui understood. That night had been a matter of timing and circumstance. Now, half a month later, things were no longer the same. Besides, he knew the emperor’s temperament well enough: feelings must be mutual, ripening naturally like water flowing into a channel.
“Shall I investigate who she really is?”
Pei Yue remained absorbed in the memorials, silent for a long time. At last he recalled the question, shook his head, and said faintly, “No need…” His tone had already cooled, as though the matter were set aside.
Liu Kui left the Imperial Study with regret. It seemed the iron tree had no intention of blooming. The emperor never liked his subordinates playing clever, and Liu Kui dared not harbor any schemes of his own. That night he slept poorly, dreaming that Shu Yun clung desperately to the emperor. He woke with a start, only to find it was nothing but empty joy, and his mood sank further.
When the old man was downcast, the junior eunuchs under the Directorate of Ceremonies grew all the more cautious, terrified of provoking their venerable ancestor. His gloom lingered until evening. The weather was poor, clouds gathering at the horizon, and Fengtian Hall felt stifling. Age had weakened his body, and the dragon incense of the Imperial Study left him dizzy. Leaning on a young eunuch’s arm, he stepped outside.
At the doorway, a shadow fell across him. A tall, imposing figure strode in from outside—Lin Xun, sweat beading his brow, as though he had just come from Shanglin Park.
“What’s this rushing about? Mind you don’t choke His Majesty with incense. Go change your clothes at once!” Liu Kui scolded.
“Not at all…” Lin Xun bowed, wiping his sweat. “This humble official entered the palace through Xuanwu Gate just now. I saw that girl from yesterday beneath a tree, as if waiting for someone. Could she be waiting for His Majesty? I hurried here to report!”
At these words, Liu Kui’s gloom vanished. He clapped his hands in delight, spirits soaring. So the dream was true after all!