Time waits for no one, and the seasons flow like a stream.
As Consort Shu gazed into her mirror, she discovered several white hairs at the back of her head and suddenly gasped in alarm: “I have been in the palace for over twenty years now, and in all these years I have been constantly bearing children. When I was at my mother’s home, she used to say that many children make a mother weary. And indeed it is so—my hair has turned white. But what can I do about it? As a consort, the most important duty is to bear children for the Emperor…”
The two head stewards who followed her possessed that particular quality unique to palace attendants—their hair was combed to a glossy sheen, appearing utterly immaculate, with smiles on their faces that could not be discerned as genuine or feigned.
Fortunately, both of these women had come with Consort Shu from her natal family, so they could speak with some intimacy. The elder aunt said, “Your Ladyship now has three sons and two daughters, and as a First-Rank Consort second only to the Empress, is there any consort in the entire palace who does not envy you?”
The younger steward aunt chimed in as well: “Indeed, Your Ladyship is also well-liked among the harem. Consort Xian, Zhaoyi Xu, Zhaorong Qin—do any of them not follow your lead?”
Hearing this, Consort Shu let out a derisive laugh: “You are thinking too shallowly. They are not being friendly with me—they are merely thinking that the law cannot punish the multitude. If we all join forces to bring down the Empress, then everyone will have a chance to rise. So they want me to be the protruding rafter that takes the first hit.”
The positions in the harem were like radishes in pits—one for each hole. As long as the Empress was brought down, all the other consorts could move up a rank. Even she, Consort Shu, was no exception—after all, the position of Noble Consort was sitting vacant.
Naturally, that was not the only reason. Some people simply wanted to watch others fall from great heights. When one spent a long time in the harem, it was like locking a pack of beasts in a single cage—even the gentlest of temperaments would be provoked into fighting by their wild nature.
Consort Shu finished her preparations and rose to her feet. She wore a white silk jacket on top, paired with an embroidered white gauze skirt, and over that a crimson sleeveless vest embroidered with peonies. Her head was adorned with pearls and jade. She gently smoothed her temple and said casually, “Let us go. Today is Her Majesty the Empress’s birthday celebration—we must make an appearance regardless.”
A heated palanquin had already been brought around outside. Now that Consort Guan was in such favor, her residence, the Palace of Ten Thousand Blessings, was even more lively than the Empress’s Palace of Eternal Tranquility! Naturally, the palanquin arrived quickly.
Soon they reached the Palace of Eternal Tranquility. Outside the palace gate stood a large pastel-colored screen wall, carved with the motif of dragon and phoenix bringing auspiciousness—this had been commissioned personally by His Majesty through the Bureau of Palace Construction when he first ascended the throne.
Passing around the screen wall, Consort Guan entered through the main gate, crossed through the ceremonial doorway, and finally arrived at the main entrance of the Palace of Eternal Tranquility, where she awaited summons.
Every time she reached this point, Consort Guan felt deeply resentful. Empress Pei was a full ten years older than her, her beauty long faded, and she was stubbornly set in her ways. In all these years she had only one son—and that son was none too clever, having been won over by Consort Guan’s few words and turning against his own mother. Was Empress Pei not a complete failure as a person?
But no matter how much of a failure she was, she was still the Empress. Consort Shu’s mood soured once more.
In the main hall of the Palace of Eternal Tranquility, Empress Pei sat upright upon the phoenix throne, wearing a ceremonial robe woven with golden cloud-dragon patterns, a nine-dragon four-phoenix crown upon her head, and a white jade belt carved with dragon motifs at her waist, receiving the kowtows and birthday wishes of all assembled.
The expressions on the faces of the consorts below were all visible to Empress Pei—there was Consort Guan with her hollow smile, Consort Shen waiting to watch the drama unfold…
What these people were thinking, Empress Pei knew perfectly well.
She had originally been a secondary consort when the current Emperor was Prince Jin. When Prince Jin became the Regent Prince, and because Consort Yuan had passed away, she was elevated to the position of primary consort. Later, when the Regent Prince ascended the throne, she was immediately invested as Empress, mother to all under heaven.
There were many things she might not be familiar with, but she had been Empress for twenty-five years, and she had seen consorts like Consort Guan before.
In those days, Noble Consort Liu had been favored beyond measure—she bore the Eldest Prince and the Third Prince, and her father was even a high official serving as Minister of Rites. She had even come and gone together with Emperor Jianchang, sharing his palanquin, and His Majesty had even permitted Noble Consort Liu’s attire to overstep propriety and match his own.
But what of it?
Noble Consort Liu was now nothing but bleached bones, having been brought down by her. The Eldest Prince and Third Prince had also died young.
Compared to Noble Consort Liu’s favor, Consort Guan’s was far inferior. She had been in the palace for nearly twenty years before attaining the rank of Consort Shu, and her natal family was of humble origins. What threat could she possibly pose?
Empress Pei was not overestimating herself—she simply knew the man who shared her pillow very well: Emperor Jianchang.
This man had become a master of emperorship, destined to be a sovereign for the ages, and everything around him had to measure up to his standards. Take Noble Consort Liu, for example—she had started as a secondary consort just like Empress Pei herself, and was even more favored. Yet why did the Emperor choose to elevate Empress Pei instead? Only because she came from the Eastern Branch of the Pei clan of Hedong, while Noble Consort Liu’s father, though a high-ranking official, was of humble origins.
The consorts of the palace might not know this, but the Empress was someone whose name was proclaimed to all under heaven. Hence, Emperor Jianchang needed to choose an Empress worthy of him.
So even if she truly passed away, that position would never fall to Consort Guan. It was not a question of whether Consort Shu was favored or not—it was that the Emperor loved his own prestige more.
After the consorts had offered their birthday congratulations, Empress Pei rode in her phoenix palanquin to Linde Hall to receive further felicitations. By then, many titled ladies had already gathered there—princesses, royal consorts, members of the imperial clan, nobles, and women bearing honorary titles—all kneeling in a dense, dark mass.
Seated upon the phoenix throne, Empress Pei’s phoenix eyes held quiet authority, her bearing dignified and graceful, like the rising radiance of the bright moon. She accepted the prostrations of the crowd with perfect composure.
In such cold weather, with such tedious ceremony, the noble ladies’ faces betrayed nothing. But when it was over and they emerged, every one of them was aching in back and limbs.
The Marchioness of Xin’an was helped into her carriage by her husband Xiao Tang. The couple, both past fifty, remained as devoted as ever, sitting side by side in the carriage. After they had traveled two or three li and left the imperial city well behind, the Marchioness of Xin’an finally spoke: “Seeing the Empress today, I couldn’t help but think of Sixth Sister. The Empress has been passing herself off in her place all these years, and no one has ever breathed a word of it. Now their fortunes could not be more different—one rules the realm as Empress, while the other, widowed young, still suffers the indignities of a concubine-born stepson.”
The Marchioness of Xin’an was herself Empress Pei’s elder cousin. Xiao Tang had heard his wife speak of it before: when the prince was selecting consorts, the Pei family, unwilling to be drawn into the succession struggle, had sent three sisters to take refuge in Shuiyue Nunnery. Those three sisters were his wife, the Marchioness of Xin’an; Empress Pei; and the sixth sister, wife of Zhuangyuan Shao—the present Old Madame Shao.
During their time at the nunnery, Old Madame Shao had been kind to the poor and weak, and had even saved the life of Prince Jin, who had been wounded while fleeing pursuers.
But when the three women emerged from the nunnery, somehow Prince Jin came to believe that his savior had been Empress Pei—and married her as his secondary consort.
One should know that Madame Shao was the legitimate daughter of the Pei family’s eldest branch, while Empress Pei was merely the second daughter of the sixth branch. The person whose life had been saved was Old Madame Shao, yet Empress Pei had claimed the credit for herself.
But how could the Pei family dare to say the imperial house had chosen the wrong person? They could only swallow their objections and accept it. Old Madame Pei was furious, and the eldest and sixth branches of the family were estranged from that day forward.
…
In the pitch-black night, a single palace lantern burned in the bedchamber of Kunning Palace, casting a faint yellow glow. Empress Pei, unable to sleep, leaned against a bolster, speaking with her trusted senior attendant.
This steward, named Lanruo, had grown up alongside Empress Pei since childhood. Seeing her mistress like this, she hurried to say: “The Fourth Prince, for Your Majesty’s birthday, personally copied out one hundred ‘longevity’ characters in different calligraphic styles—surely this shows his filial devotion.”
“It is not for his sake that I am troubled,” Empress Pei said, shaking her head.
Lanruo smiled: “Could it be for His Majesty? Truly, Your Majesty, today you urged the Emperor to leave, when he clearly wished to linger.”
Empress Pei gave a rueful laugh: “The Emperor’s heart has already drifted to Zhaoyi Xu. Am I so lacking in sensitivity? To be fair, the Emperor has never treated me ill. When he first married me, though I was not exactly favored, my family prospered because of it. It is only that I cannot compare to the late Empress.”
“No matter how highly the Emperor regarded the late Empress, she is gone now. Your Majesty need not worry,” Lanruo said. She knew that many people compared Empress Pei to Empress Rende, and even His Majesty himself seemed somewhat…
Empress Pei shook her head: “I am not thinking of the late Empress either. When I was invested as Empress, the favor I received was such that few could rival it. No—you would not understand. My life appears complete, yet there are always regrets.”
Lanruo asked: “Is Your Majesty grieved that the Fourth Prince is close to Consort Guan?”
Empress Pei smiled: “Why would I be? It is good that he is on good terms with them all. I am no Consort Li—I know where the line lies. Consort Guan has borne three princes. If I made the Fourth Prince hate his younger brothers, the Emperor would never feel at ease entrusting the realm to him, fearing that once he ascended the throne, he would mistreat his siblings.”
“Then is Your Majesty troubled about the position of Crown Prince?” Lanruo spoke the words “Crown Prince” very softly.
A legitimate son of the Empress had only been enfeoffed as Prince of Luling, without even being named Crown Prince—how could that not cause anxiety?
Only then did Empress Pei nod: “As the saying goes, when there is a legitimate son, he is established; when there is none, the eldest is chosen. As long as the Fourth Prince stands steadily in his place, no one can surpass him. But the Emperor is in robust health—I fear it will be difficult.”
The Emperor’s excellent health meant he grew ever more wary of his grown sons—which is to say, her true opponent was never Consort Guan, but the Emperor himself. After all, her son had the support of many ministers; he was the orthodox legitimate heir, and though somewhat indecisive in temperament, he had committed no grave error.
But as things stood now, her hope of becoming Empress Dowager seemed distant indeed.
She could only endure here in the harem, with no end in sight.
Her heart’s burden—only Lanruo understood it. Lanruo said: “Your Majesty, enduring here in the harem is truly bitter!”
It was like a golden cage, sealing one inside, cutting off family and friends. Even the servants of Kunning Palace were rotated out every three years. Were it not for herself, Her Majesty would not even have a single person to speak with.
Empress Pei sighed softly: “Yes. The harem tolerates not the slightest misstep. Though I am Empress, I am like a minister to the Emperor—serving a sovereign is like lying beside a tiger, and I walk on thin ice every day. But you know, I have never been one for scheming. It was strange back then—of the three girls hiding in the nunnery, I was the one chosen as secondary consort, and so sisters became enemies.”
She had wanted to investigate, but how could she possibly do so? If word leaked out that she had no desire to marry the emperor’s son, her situation would become even more precarious.
Lanruo, however, said disdainfully, “What sisterly rift? That Old Madame Shao uses your name to marry off her granddaughters into noble households. And your own elder sister—she always used to look down on you, often playing the fool, yet in truth every good thing fell into her lap. Now she still puts on airs everywhere, relying on your status. Who among these people doesn’t bask in your glory?”
Empress Pei said, “In my former temperament, these people would never have curried favor with me. But now that I am empress, every word and deed is watched by others. I am no longer my own mistress.”
She was someone who repaid kindness with kindness and enmity with enmity, yet she had become a figure of clay and wood—was that not a tragedy in itself?