The Empress Dowager beckoned to Chun Feng: “Child, come here.”
Seeing Li Xuan nod, Chun Feng took small steps forward to stand before the Empress Dowager. Her eyes, clouded with the weight of years yet still sharp, seemed able to pierce straight through her.
Chun Feng met that gaze. She was no paragon of virtue, but her conscience was clear—nothing to fear from being seen through.
The Empress Dowager’s brows softened a little. She raised a hand to gently stroke Chun Feng’s cheek and asked, “How have you lived these years?”
Chun Feng answered honestly.
The palace masters already knew her story. Only the Emperor, hearing her plain recounting, felt a pang of guilt, as though he had grown accustomed to her absence.
Unable to wait for the Empress Dowager’s next question, he called her over: “Yuning, come to me.”
The Emperor studied her features carefully, as though searching for someone within her face. After a moment, his eyes trembled, and he murmured, “She does resemble Miao’er… a little.”
Chun Feng: “…” Could resemblance really be seen that easily?
What she did not know was that the Emperor was determined to believe—shooting the arrow first, then drawing the target. Even the least alike could be made to seem similar. Besides, Chun Feng was beautiful; no flaws could be found in her looks.
After the “deeply moving” reunion scene, the Empress turned to the Empress Dowager: “Mother, palace affairs are many. I must select a tutor for the princess, so I shall take my leave.”
The Empress Dowager understood she had endured to the limit. “Go then,” she said, and to Li Xuan, “You’ve only just returned to the palace—go rest as well.”
Li Xuan assented. He left Shouyang Palace with the Empress, while the Emperor also departed with Chun Feng, intending to visit an old consort’s chambers.
The bustle of Shouyang Palace faded, leaving only the faint scent of aloeswood. Ming Yuan helped the Empress Dowager to sit upon the peach-carved couch, carefully setting aside her cane.
The Empress Dowager asked, “What do you think of this girl?”
Ming Yuan smiled: “Since His Highness the Crown Prince found her and brought her back, there was no tutor on the road. She has yet to learn proper rules—yet to show no fear at all is already remarkable.”
The Empress Dowager said, “This girl is indeed poised and gracious. Look at her—does she resemble Yuning?”
Ming Yuan knelt beside her, massaging her calf, and replied, “The princess’s beauty is flawless. She was far too young when she was lost, and with the chaos of war, forgetting childhood matters is only natural. Besides, the jade amulet of the Bodhisattva is hers…”
The Empress Dowager finally let out a soft laugh. “You sly one—you know that’s not what I meant.” She spoke plainly: “Is it possible that child is someone Li Xuan found just to placate me?”
Ming Yuan answered, “How could that be? Royal blood cannot be confused at will. The Crown Prince would never act so.”
Yet doubt lingered in the Empress Dowager’s heart, though she had no other recourse. She sighed heavily. “Only Consort Lin could tell if this is truly her daughter.”
At the mention of Consort Lin, Ming Yuan pressed her leg lightly, not daring to respond. The Empress Dowager herself sank into memory.
The white silk with which Consort Lin hanged herself had been bestowed by the Empress Dowager. In those days, the woman, haggard and worn, bowed again and again before her, saying: “I am willing to give my life to quell the generals’ fury—only hoping to exchange it for my daughter’s survival. Your word, Empress Dowager, is worth a thousand in gold. I trust you will not fail me.”
Yet Princess Yuning was lost all the same.
The Empress Dowager fixed her gaze on a point in the air, then closed her eyes, drained of strength.
Li Xuan and the Empress left Shouyang Palace—the former heading to the Eastern Palace, the latter to Xingning Palace.
The Empress Dowager had told Li Xuan to rest, but after half a year on tour, urgent matters could be handled by letter; yet the accumulated affairs of state were many. Lowering his gaze, one hand clasped behind his back, the other slowly turning a string of prayer beads, he pondered the reassignment of officials.
At his side, the Empress’s voice carried a chill: “Did you not receive my letter?”
Li Xuan’s fingers did not pause. He only said, “No.”
The Empress frowned.
Mother and son exchanged no further words. When she returned to Xingning Palace, she rubbed her forehead, thinking of that so‑called princess from the common folk. Unlike the Emperor, blinded by sentiment, she thought: if one claimed Lin Chun Feng resembled Consort Lin, then she also bore a trace of resemblance to herself—after all, everyone has two eyes, one nose, one mouth. But the moment the Emperor saw her, his eyes brimmed with regret, unable to hide his tender affection. As though she were his only child in this life.
The Empress sneered. Back then, Consort Lin’s overwhelming favor had left her living in constant fear, each step precarious. Even now, the memory made her heart tremble. Had it not been for the war at the end of the Qingsheng reign, she feared she would already have been deposed.
That summer, the Emperor and Empress Dowager took Consort Lin to Xishan Palace to escape the heat, while the Grand Chancellor assisted the Crown Prince in guarding Changjing.
No one foresaw that Consort Lin’s brother, General Huwei, stationed at Longyou, would launch a rebellion, leading a hundred thousand troops straight toward the capital. The Emperor personally led the campaign, but suffered defeat after defeat. The soldiers’ morale collapsed, and so the Emperor, the Empress Dowager, and Consort Lin fled north in disarray—abandoning her and the Crown Prince in Changjing.
To defend Xishan Palace, the capital was left nearly empty, with only five thousand soldiers remaining.
That year, the Crown Prince was only ten. A young boy shouldering heavy burdens, he braved the rain of arrows, clad in armor, and climbed the city walls himself to rally morale and repel the besieging enemy. If not for him, the dynasty would already bear another surname.
How could the Empress not hate Consort Lin? Even though that woman had long since become a wandering ghost, the Empress still feared her deeply. So when she learned of Consort Lin’s daughter’s whereabouts, she wrote to the Crown Prince, urging him not to bring the girl back and stir up trouble.
But Lin Chun Feng returned nonetheless.
The Empress clenched her hands, saying to her attendant Yao Zhi: “How could Xuan’er ignore my letter? Does he truly harbor no hatred in his heart?”
Yao Zhi offered tea and whispered: “Your Majesty, this was the Empress Dowager’s wish. The Crown Prince, being filial, could not bear to worsen her illness.”
The Empress sighed: “Indeed. Raised at the Empress Dowager’s knee since childhood, he has never been close to me.”
Yao Zhi gently urged: “Since His Highness has just returned to the palace, why not ask if he is weary? If you only reproach him for ignoring your letter, you may never know his true thoughts.”
The Empress faltered: “I…” Regret stirred in her. She raised a hand to cover her brow, falling silent.
Seeing her waver, Yao Zhi pressed on: “In this servant’s eyes, the Crown Prince shows no dislike toward Lin Chun Feng. He even personally brought her to meet Your Majesty. Besides, she is the one he retrieved. If Your Majesty makes things difficult for her, would that not embarrass the Crown Prince?”
The Empress disliked hearing this, but “honest words offend the ear”—and Yao Zhi was not wrong. She held back and said: “I understand.”
No matter what, appearances must be kept.
…
Consort Lin’s palace lay in the southeast of the imperial city, aligned with the element of wood. Its plaque read Yuhua Palace. Bright and orderly, its gardens well-tended, though uninhabited for more than a decade, it showed no sign of decay.
The Emperor pointed to a small swing beneath a maple tree and said to Chun Feng: “When you were little, you loved to play there.”
Chun Feng stared intently, committing it all to memory for Lin Qingxiao.
The Emperor misunderstood her gaze, chuckled, and said, “If you like it, we’ll add another swing for you to play on.”
Chun Feng only murmured, “Mm.”
He lingered with her, reminiscing about the past for a full hour, until his unfinished lessons in cultivation forced him to depart.
Before leaving, the Emperor ordered Chun Feng to reside in the Furong Pavilion on the eastern side of Yuhua Palace—the very place she had “lived in as a child.”
Within the harem, the two elder princesses had already left the palace to establish their own households, while the rest remained in their mothers’ quarters. Thus, Chun Feng’s residence here was perfectly proper.
Yet seeing that Chun Feng had only Xiang Rui at her side, the Emperor assigned eight young maids and four little eunuchs to Furong Pavilion.
At once, the once‑silent Yuhua Palace filled with voices, the sounds of moving belongings, splashing water—signs of life returning.
The pavilion’s floors were spread with thick, soft crimson carpets, so plush that footsteps made no sound.
“Slow down, Princess!”
“Careful, Princess!”
“…”
Barefoot, Chun Feng ran about, peering here, touching there, until she came upon a rosewood treasure cabinet inlaid with mother‑of‑pearl. It brimmed with rare curios—jade carvings, porcelain, incense burners. She wiped each piece with her hand, her eyes growing brighter with every touch.
Xiang Rui emerged from the side chamber and said, “Princess, the water is ready.”
Inside, a small bath had been built. At the spout stood a carved jade rabbit pounding medicine, from whose bowl hot water gushed, scattering petals across the surface.
Chun Feng drew a deep breath, then jumped into the pool.
Xiang Rui followed her in, only to see Chun Feng scoop up a handful of petals and bury her face in them. With her cheeks covered in blossoms, she asked, “Do you want to bathe too?”
Xiang Rui couldn’t help but laugh. “This servant will not bathe—only attend to Your Highness.”
Chun Feng drifted to the edge of the pool and lay against it, while Xiang Rui wiped her back with a cloth.
Wrapped in steam and fragrance, the chamber fell into a hush. Chun Feng’s toes curled, her whole body light as air. If Xiang Rui hadn’t tapped her shoulder, she would have dozed off.
“Princess, you mustn’t sleep in the bath,” Xiang Rui said, steadying her.
At her movement, Furong Pavilion stirred to life. Maid Hui’er draped a robe of cloud‑silk over Chun Feng’s shoulders, while another maid, Fen’er, held a bronze censer shaped like a goose clutching a fish, perfuming her dark hair.
The goose’s eyes were set with fine South Sea purple pearls, lustrous and full of spirit. Chun Feng mischievously tried to pry one loose, but it held fast.
Soon Xiang Rui brought a jar of hundred‑flower skin oil, smoothing a touch over Chun Feng’s supple skin with her fingertips. The airy scent made Chun Feng yawn again and again. At last she lay down. Xiang Rui tucked her in carefully, drawing the pale‑yellow gauze canopy.
Half‑dreaming, Chun Feng thought: Being a princess is rather fun.
Before sleep claimed her, she recalled Xiang Rui’s words that Consort Lin had passed away. Folding her hands, she prayed silently: Consort Lin, your daughter and I get along wonderfully. Please, if you can, bless me a little.
Then she reconsidered: No, better bless your daughter instead —who knows where she’s wandered, or whether she even has hot water to bathe in?
…
Perhaps the bedding was too soft. One moment Chun Feng was chatting with the late Consort Lin; the next Xiang Rui was waking her.
Dawn lightened the sky, chill seeping into the morning air, while the palace was already bustling.
Chun Feng sat before the dressing table as Hui’er combed her hair. She was deft‑handed by nature, yet the princess’s hair was so thick and sleek as satin that each strand slipped away as soon as she gathered it.
After two or three failed attempts, Chun Feng brushed her own hair back behind her ear and asked softly, “Is it easier this way?”
Hui’er was startled, dropping to her knees at once. “This servant deserves death!”
Chun Feng: “…”
Just then, Xiang Rui entered, having finished arranging the day’s affairs in the Furong Pavilion. She saw the scene, quickly bade Hui’er rise, and herself styled Chun Feng’s hair into a *Startled Swan* bun, adorning it with golden filigree blossoms and jeweled leaves. By then, breakfast had been set out.
In a thin‑walled porcelain bowl steamed a red‑date snow‑swallow soup. On the table lay, in order, candied longan, two‑tone sesame cakes, five‑spice rolls, goose‑fat rolls, and tiny crab dumplings…
Chun Feng picked up the carved silver chopsticks and slipped a piece of candied longan into her mouth.
Xiang Rui signaled Fen’er to move the sweet dishes closer.
Soon the meal was finished. Chun Feng cradled a cup of jasmine tea, sighing contentedly. But as she sighed, her back instinctively straightened—waiting for Yu Xiujun to scold her not to sigh. No rebuke came. She blinked, then quietly drew the breath back in.
Xiang Rui said, “Princess, we must go to Xingqing Palace to meet the Empress. She will assign a teaching matron to instruct Your Highness.”
At the mention of instruction, Chun Feng’s spirits lifted. This was the second most important matter since entering the palace. Yet before they could leave Furong Pavilion, visitors arrived.
At their head, a grand eunuch with a whisk in the crook of his arm intoned in a pinched voice: “By imperial decree: Nanny Hong is appointed to instruct Princess Yuning in palace rules and etiquette.”
From behind him stepped Nanny Hong, who bowed deeply: “This servant Hong pays respects to Princess Yuning.”
Chun Feng, bewildered, whispered to Xiang Rui, “Wasn’t it supposed to be the Empress’s charge?”
Xiang Rui replied, “It was, but most likely His Majesty feared the Empress might make things difficult for you, and took it upon himself to appoint a matron directly.”
Chun Feng thought it over. At home, it was Yu Xiujun who managed affairs. Every time Lin Datian acted first and reported later, bypassing Yu Xiujun, it never ended well. For instance, this time Lin Datian had secretly stood surety for a neighbor without telling her.
So Chun Feng said, “Let’s go to the Empress.”
…
Xingqing Palace.
“Crash!” A celadon vessel shattered against the floor, fragments scattering everywhere. The prepared red‑bean rice cakes on the table were swept to the ground as well.
The Empress had hurled the porcelain, her face pale as paper.
Yao Zhi dared not try to soothe her this time. She too felt wronged on her mistress’s behalf, tears brimming in her eyes. “Your Majesty, please quell your anger…”
Whatever resentment her mistress bore was toward the Emperor and Consort Lin. Toward Lin Chun Feng, though she disliked her, she had not intended to act against her.
But the Emperor, by appointing a teaching matron to Chun Feng without her consent, had all but announced to the Six Palaces that the Empress was a petty, scheming woman certain to make things difficult for the princess.
After so many years as husband and wife, the Emperor knew best how to humiliate her.
No one in Xingqing Palace dared breathe too loudly.
Only after a long while did the Empress calm herself somewhat. She looked at the wreckage and waved her hand. “Clean it up.”
No sooner had she spoken than a young eunuch hurried in to report: “Your Majesty, Princess Yuning requests an audience.”