The Crown Prince of the Eastern Palace had taken his own life.
When the news reached Prince Wei’s residence in Liangzhou, Prince Li Chongjun was lying in the bed of his favored concubine, Sui Sui.
From outside the curtain, the messenger reported: “…His Highness the Crown Prince passed away on the thirteenth day of the ninth month, at the hour of Hai.”
Inside the bedchamber, Sui Sui giggled: “No, Your Highness—ah! Your Highness!”
The messenger pressed on, voice stiff: “It was in the Eastern Palace, at Lizheng Hall.”
“Oh heavens, I dare not—Your Highness, spare me! Someone might hear!”
Grinding his teeth, the messenger continued: “His Majesty, grief‑stricken for his lost son, has decreed mourning, posthumously honored the Crown Prince, and bestowed upon him the title of Zhenxian.”
“Ah—no more, I cannot bear it—”
The messenger, a scholar by training, flushed purple with embarrassment. He forced out the rest of his report, unable to say more, while Sui Sui’s cries grew louder.
Night had already fallen. Only two gauze lanterns lit the room. In the eerie shadows of the hall stood a lacquered bed with gilded carvings, draped in crimson silk. Within the canopy, the woman’s pale body rose and fell, half‑hidden, half‑revealed.
No wonder the women of the northwest were famed for their boldness—her reputation was well deserved.
The messenger’s heart pounded, his eyes darted, and his nose nearly bled. “Your Highness…”
Li Chongjun ignored him, intent on his play with Sui Sui. The messenger called weakly again. Even the woman grew uneasy, clutching his shoulder: “Someone is outside, Your Highness! This is serious—better dismiss the messenger first!”
“You little minx, wait for me.” Li Chongjun laughed lazily, slapping her somewhere that drew another peal of laughter.
Only then did he call toward the curtain: “Enough. I’ve heard. Thank you for coming all this way.” He summoned the steward to see the messenger out.
Steward Gao Lang entered, unfazed by the scene, and quickly ushered the messenger away. Beneath the west corridor, he dismissed the lamp‑boy, pressed a few silver notes into the messenger’s hand, and murmured: “Thank you, sir. Our prince, well, you know his ways. Before His Majesty, I beg you to show some leniency.”
The messenger sighed, feigning reluctance. “Steward, you make things difficult for me…”
Everyone knew Prince Wei was a scandal. Even his own father despised him. To exile a son to bleak Liangzhou was itself a joke—and Li Chongjun lived up to it, continuing the farce. At twenty, he still knew no restraint, flaunting debauchery before an imperial courier, leaving the old steward to clean up after him.
After some back‑and‑forth, the messenger accepted the silver. It was not his first time. Once such dealings began, neither side could refuse. Fortunately, the prince was of little consequence. With the Crown Prince dead, the throne vacant, and the nobles of Guanzhong vying to promote their own sons, no one cared about him.
To soften ten parts of disgrace into seven was no great matter.
By October, Liangzhou was already cold. The messenger pulled on his cap, adjusted his fur sleeves, sniffled, and climbed into his carriage.
It was a lonely moonlit night.
Moonlight glazed the gray bricks of the path like a thin frost, damp and slick. The horses’ hooves clattered faintly, distant and forlorn.
The incense burner still smoldered.
Li Chongjun pushed aside the gauze canopy with a cold laugh. Bare‑chested, draped only in a thin robe patterned with clouds, his shoulders gleamed white. His long black hair fell in loose waves, veiling his lean chest, setting off his flawless face—high‑bridged nose, eyes dark and bright. But his expression was grim, utterly unlike his earlier indulgence.
Sui Sui no longer lay in his arms. She sat at the foot of the bed, dressed neatly in white silk, her pale skin blending with the fabric. Resting her chin in her hand, she smiled: “Your Highness.”
He glanced at her, brows raised.
She teased him: “Last time, when we drank with those young lords, I toppled them all, and you promised me a pearl hairpin. Tonight’s little performance—our trade calls it a ‘powder play’—deserves extra pay. Another gold hairpin will do. And don’t try to fob me off with gilt.”
He looked away, impatient, but she knew he would agree.
He despised her, and she knew that too.
“Thank you for the reward, Your Highness.” She bowed lightly, slipped on her shoes, poured him tea, and offered it with a grin. “Please, Your Highness, have some tea.”
Li Chongjun took the cup, paused, then suddenly hurled it to the floor. Porcelain shattered, tea splashed across the gilded screen, dripping like a painting of plum blossoms.
“Leave.” His voice was hoarse, and his face turned aside.
He was always contrary, his moods shifting faster than pages in a book. But he was a prince, and Sui Sui, dependent on his favor, swallowed her curses, gathered herself, and slipped quietly out, signaling the servants to clean up.