“What were you thinking? Pushing Qingping into the water right in front of His Majesty?” Consort Rou reclined on a rosewood couch draped in gold-threaded soft cushions, one hand pressed to her forehead in mild distress. Beside the couch, a Hetian jade censer shaped like a mountain burned calming incense, its thin wisps of smoke curling lazily upward.
Chu Jinglian knelt before her mother with a wounded pout. “Daughter didn’t push her in front of Father…”
“Every corner of the palace is whispering that you did. Does saying it didn’t happen make it so?” Consort Rou’s voice was gentle, carrying no rebuke—only helpless indulgence for her beloved daughter. “Did I not tell you to stay away from Qingping these past few days?”
“I just can’t accept it!” Chu Jinglian suddenly bristled like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. “I’m the one who’s Father’s real daughter! Why does he think of her at every turn? He specially held a spring banquet to evaluate the new scholars and pick a husband for her, yet he wants to marry me off to that desolate wasteland of the northern frontier?”
Chu Jinglian’s eyes truly welled with tears. “Mother, I don’t want to marry!”
Consort Rou’s slender brows knitted together, her vermilion-stained nails unconsciously digging into her soft palm. She let out a cold snort. “Is this the first day you’ve learned of his partiality toward Qingping? Qingping is the only blood left in this world from Princess Anle, your father’s most beloved elder sister—a poor girl who lost both parents. And she grows more and more like the late Princess Anle with each passing year. How could your father not cherish her?”
Feng Mian’s mother, Princess Anle, had been the late emperor’s youngest daughter. Two years older than Emperor Jiayu, she had looked after him since childhood. The emperor deeply revered and loved his elder sister—but alas, Princess Anle was cursed with beauty and an early death. She died in difficult labor giving birth to Feng Mian, while her husband, the Grand General of the Realm, was still a thousand li away in the southern frontier.
At that time, Emperor Jiayu had only just ascended the throne. Furious that Grand General Feng Cixu had neglected his sister and indirectly caused her death in childbirth, he defied the objections of the entire court and the Empress Dowager, issuing an edict to annul the marriage on Princess Anle’s behalf. He then brought Feng Mian into the palace to raise her personally, attending to every detail himself.
A cold, murky light stirred deep in Consort Rou’s eyes. The living could never outcompete the dead. Even if she reigned supreme over the harem, her Lian’er’s place in His Majesty’s heart could never rival Feng Mian’s.
But Lian’er still had her. She would scheme everything for her daughter.
“His Majesty only hinted at it before the Empress Dowager—no edict has been issued yet. There’s still room to turn things around.” Consort Rou rose from the couch, gently drawing Chu Jinglian into her arms, and stroked her head with tender affection. “Your mishap left Qingping burning with fever and unconscious—but it’s given your mother an idea.”
“For the next few days, stay obediently in your chambers and accept your punishment. Don’t let your mind wander. As long as your mother is here, you won’t suffer any injustice.”
Chu Jinglian nestled clingingly into her mother’s embrace.
Outside the window, the sun shone bright and clear.
Shuyue Hall.
Four carved vermilion lattice windows stood wide open, spilling brilliant sunlight across the room. A warm breeze swept through, carrying a few apricot petals that brushed past a pair of hurriedly moving shoes.
Liu Ying carried a bowl of medicine to the bed shrouded in layered gauze curtains, anxiously looking at Wuliu who stood watch nearby. “Has she woken?”
Wuliu’s slender brows were tightly knit. She shook her head.
“That fortune-telling nonsense must be a lie. The princess’s fever may have broken, but what good is it if she won’t wake…” Liu Ying pouted and muttered, only to be silenced by a light glare from Wuliu, clapping a hand over her mouth.
Within the embroidered curtains patterned with noble wealth motifs, Feng Mian’s dark lashes trembled. Slowly, she opened her eyes, and what met her gaze were tasseled drapes swaying gently in the sunlight.
Her head was foggy from just waking after a long illness, her limbs weak as she sank into the cloud-soft bedding piled beneath her.
She was still dazed about what day it was when a head with twin buns popped abruptly into her field of vision. Liu Ying exclaimed with delight, “She’s awake! She’s awake! The princess is awake!”
“Bring tea, quickly.” Wuliu instructed, one hand gently supporting Feng Mian’s back as she helped her sit upright, while a cup of warm tea was brought to Feng Mian’s lips.
Feng Mian drank the cup dry from Liu Ying’s hands before finally regaining her senses, her parched throat and tongue soothed at last. She cleared her throat and asked, “What time is it?”
“Just past the hour of Si.” Liu Ying was overjoyed to see Feng Mian finally awake, but afraid of being too noisy, she waited eagerly for questions before speaking.
Wuliu added, “The princess has been unconscious for five days.”
Liu Ying chimed in, “It was truly worrying!”
Feng Mian was startled. She’d been unconscious for five days?
Oh no—with that unexpected incident that day, she’d completely forgotten about the spring banquet and the top scholar. Before she’d passed out, she hadn’t even caught a glimpse of the zhuangyuan, let alone had a chance for the “marriage petition at the palace gates”!
Could even what was written in the history books fail to come true? Had she been reading unofficial records all along?
“Princess? Princess?” Liu Ying shook Feng Mian’s arm worriedly. “Why did you suddenly go quiet? Are you feeling unwell somewhere? Oh right—the medicine! Princess, please drink your medicine first?”
That flurry of calls made Feng Mian notice something else amiss. “What did you just call me?”
Feng Mian took the medicine handed to her and drank the dark, bitter liquid without changing expression, then picked up a candied fruit to rid her mouth of the bitterness. Just then, she heard Wuliu report: “His Majesty has decreed that you be elevated to Qingping Commandery Princess, and, as a special exception, be granted the same fief income as Princess Zhaoning.”
This was wrong. Even as compensation for falling into the water, this was far too generous.
Just then, Chu Fengmian noticed that Liu Ying’s expression was off. When questioned earlier, the usually chatty Liu Ying had remained silent, and now she looked utterly dejected, clearly harboring something on her mind. And Wuliu, who was always calm and composed, now had a trace of worry coloring her delicate, water-clear brows and long eyes.
“What happened?”
Liu Ying’s eyes reddened and she was about to burst into tears, but Wuliu pressed a handkerchief firmly over her eyes. An imperial betrothal was, after all, a joyous occasion—if anyone saw them wailing and crying, they would all be in trouble.
Wuliu chose her words carefully: “The day before yesterday, His Majesty saw that you were unconscious with a high fever that would not break, and he was beside himself with worry. The imperial physicians were at a loss, so Consort Rou summoned several diviners to take a look. His Majesty also called in the Imperial Observatory, and they all said that observing your fate chart, you bear the Lone Star Destiny, which brings harm to all six relations, and that the Sickness Omen Star has invaded your Palace of Affliction. That is why you have been frail and sickly since childhood, never without medicine.”
“Your current fever and unconsciousness are also obstructed by this fate—you have one foot through the gates of death, and it may be difficult to save you. His Majesty sought a solution. The Imperial Observatory said that perhaps the fate of a future husband could suppress it. Consort Rou gathered the birth charts of all the talented young men in the capital, and somehow, the birth chart of the Prince Dingbei’s heir was mixed in among them…”
Feng Mian understood immediately. “So they said that the Prince Dingbei’s heir and I have compatible charts?”
Wuliu nodded. “The Imperial Observatory and several diviners all said that the young heir happens to be the ‘Heavenly Nobleman’ and ‘Star of Deliverance’ for your fate—able to transform harm into nurture, dispel calamity and eliminate misfortune. They also said that you and the young heir share a Spousal Palace Resonance, with blessings that extend far and wide. In the long run, you would see the ‘Receding of the Disaster Star’ and the ‘Advent of the Auspicious Luminary,’ ultimately attaining peace, prosperity, and longevity.”
“Upon hearing this, His Majesty immediately elevated you to Commandery Princess and decreed your betrothal to the Prince Dingbei’s heir.”
“The moment the imperial edict was issued, your fever broke that very night. His Majesty has since become a firm believer in fate and destiny, and chose the nearest auspicious day—the sixth day of the sixth month—as the wedding date.”
“We’ll need to depart for the northern frontier by the end of the month at the latest…” Liu Ying covered her eyes and sobbed. “How could His Majesty bear to marry you off to a desolate place like the northern frontier? And to such a husband… They say the young heir is nine chi tall, with a green face and fangs, capable of tearing barbarians apart with his bare hands—a savage who eats raw meat and drinks blood. How could he possibly be worthy of you?”
Liu Ying muttered, her voice as faint as a mosquito’s buzz.
Feng Mian sat in a daze on the bed for a long while, growing increasingly certain that she must have read some unofficial history in her dream. She pushed the thought of the top scholar aside and asked instead: “How did Consort Rou come to have the Prince Dingbei heir’s birth chart?”
The Prince Dingbei’s family was far away in the northern frontier, having guarded the border for years without returning to the capital. How could such private information as the young heir’s birth chart have found its way into the hands of a consort in the Shengjing harem?
The answer to that question, Wuliu had already quietly investigated after Feng Mian’s fever broke: “This servant learned that His Majesty had once intended to betroth the young heir to Princess Zhaoning.”
Liu Ying’s eyes went wide with shock, and her lips trembled as she said: “So—so she didn’t want Princess Zhaoning to marry far away, and schemed to push you out instead? That’s simply too outrageous! Commandery Princess, please go beg His Majesty!”
Wuliu shook her head. “His Majesty now fully believes in the theory of fate, and is convinced that the young heir is your ‘Star of Calamity Relief.’ He will never easily break the engagement.”
Feng Mian had been frail since childhood, and Emperor Jiayu had never stopped worrying about her health, fearing she might die young. Having finally raised her to this age, with her constitution much stronger than in her early years, the sudden accident had naturally driven him to grasp at any straw.
Consort Rou had truly found the vital point this time.
Feng Mian sighed. Feng Mian’s head ached. Several days of high fever had only worsened her already fragile constitution. Since there was still time before the end of the month, she might as well just sleep.
After a simple bowl of congee, Feng Mian drifted back into a drowsy sleep. When she finally woke fully rested, it was already nearly the hour of you.
The bedchamber was quiet. Feng Mian stretched her limbs and yawned, most of her post-illness fatigue already gone. She was about to part the bed curtains and call for someone when she saw a small table placed beside the bed. The long-limbed Emperor Jiayu sat behind it with his legs bent, reviewing memorials.
“Uncle?” Feng Mian was momentarily bewildered and moved to get off the bed.
“Sit still and don’t move.” Emperor Jiayu set down the half-written character in his hand and came to sit on the edge of the bed, pressing Feng Mian back under the covers. He tested the warmth of her hand, then her forehead.
Feng Mian knelt obediently on the bed and saw the dark circles under Emperor Jiayu’s eyes. She knew that during the days of her fever, he hadn’t slept well either, and felt both moved and guilty.
“I’m fine now. When did you come, Uncle? Why didn’t you wake me?”
After confirming that Feng Mian showed no signs of fever again, Emperor Jiayu finally breathed a sigh of relief. “I finished my council half an hour ago and came over. Seeing you sleeping soundly, I didn’t have anyone disturb you. You’ve just recovered from a serious illness and need to build up your strength. Rest well in the bedchamber for the next few days.”
“I’ve already been lying down for five days—I’ve had more than enough rest. Do I still need to rest?” Feng Mian voiced a small complaint.
Emperor Jiayu let out a cold snort. “You have the nerve to bring that up? What did I teach you before? ‘A man of wealth does not sit beneath a hanging eave; a man of fortune does not lean against a railing.’ Do you remember what that means?”
He had a gentle, refined appearance that made him seem easygoing, but his phoenix eyes were sharp and imposing—when he grew stern, his gaze made people’s hearts flutter with unease.
Feng Mian had long guessed he would scold her. With a docile expression, she hung her head dejectedly. “It means that people of wealth and status should stay away from dangerous places to avoid disaster.”
“Since you know that, why did you treat your own life so lightly to save a servant girl? Do you realize you nearly didn’t wake up this time?” The more Emperor Jiayu spoke, the angrier he grew. If he were a tyrant, the entire Imperial Medical Academy would have been executed by now.
Feng Mian admitted her mistake smoothly. “Uncle, I was wrong.”
Her pitiful, obedient, and remorseful demeanor dispelled most of Emperor Jiayu’s anger. He couldn’t bear to scold her further and only said, “A few days ago, you were ill and needed close attendants, so I didn’t punish that servant girl. Now that you’ve recovered, have her report to the Palace Disciplinary Office to receive her punishment.”
Feng Mian nodded eagerly like a chick pecking at rice, looking like the most obedient person in the world.
After a moment, she spoke hesitantly again. “If it’s a crime of putting me in danger, then no punishment you give her, Uncle, would be too harsh. But at the time, Liu Ying jumped into the water to save me. If she’s punished with corporal punishment, I’m afraid it would dishearten others. Why not, Uncle, in consideration of her risking her life to protect me, spare her from physical suffering and only dock three months of her salary?”
Emperor Jiayu tapped her forehead and shook his head. “You—just like your mother, soft-hearted, unable to bear seeing those around you suffer. If I dock her salary, won’t you just make up the difference for her?”
“Absolutely not!” Feng Mian raised her hand as if swearing an oath, then added, “Even if I set out for the northern frontier at the end of the month, I will definitely punish her severely without leniency!”
At the mention of the northern frontier, Emperor Jiayu’s dissatisfaction instantly turned into heartache. Under Feng Mian’s earnest gaze, he acquiesced. “As you wish.”
“Thank you, Uncle!” Feng Mian affectionately took Emperor Jiayu’s arm, inwardly relieved. The tactic of retreating to advance always worked with Emperor Jiayu. Young Feng Mian had verified this truth through bloody experience, and since then, she had learned that those who adapt to circumstances are the true heroes.
Emperor Jiayu patted Feng Mian’s head with paternal affection and said thoughtfully, “I’ve heard some rumors regarding the heir of Prince Dingbei. Don’t worry—most of them are exaggerated and untrue.”
“Prince Dingbei occasionally mentions a line or two of family matters in his memorials, saying his only son is brave and skilled in battle, resourceful and courageous, most filial and obedient. The neighbors all praise him as a towering seven-foot man, a young hero.”
Feng Mian could also understand that Emperor Jiayu was not a cruel father. Since he intended to betroth Chu Jinglian to the heir of Prince Dingbei, it meant the young man must have some outstanding qualities.
“A few days ago, I ordered Prince Dingbei to have a portrait of the heir made and sent over. It happens to be a good time to look at it together with you today.” Emperor Jiayu summoned the eunuch waiting outside the hall.
A young eunuch stood before Emperor Jiayu and Feng Mian, both wearing expectant expressions, holding a scroll. He unrolled it.
Feng Mian: “…”
Emperor Jiayu: “…”
Both fell into silence upon seeing the contents of the portrait.
It was clear that the remote, war-torn northern frontier had no good painters. The creature in the portrait could only be said to vaguely resemble a human form.
Emperor Jiayu said dryly, “This child has two eyes and one mouth—indeed, not the face of a ferocious, fanged demon…”
After racking his brains to come up with that single compliment, Emperor Jiayu had nothing more to say.
Feng Mian could only nod along and echo dryly, “The painting style of northern frontier artists is vastly different from that of Shengjing. They probably only aim for a spiritual resemblance. The person himself might…”
Emperor Jiayu suddenly turned his head and asked, “Do you have someone you fancy?”
Feng Mian: ?
Emperor Jiayu: “If you do, I’ll place him in the escort procession and make him your male concubine.”
Feng Mian’s eyes gradually widened. “Uncle?”
Emperor Jiayu: “No? Never mind—you’ve been cooped up in this palace all day, so it’s true you haven’t had the chance to meet any outstanding men. How about this: I’ll stuff your escort procession full of talented young men. Once you arrive in the northern frontier, if you don’t care for the heir of Prince Dingbei, you can set up your own household and find another husband.”
“It’s just that his destiny is beneficial to you, so the marriage itself must still be maintained.”
He was practically saying outright, “We’re only after his destiny, not the man himself.”
Feng Mian found it both amusing and touching. Although this marriage was a scheme orchestrated by Consort Rou, Emperor Jiayu was genuinely thinking of her welfare.
Even if all of this was only because she resembled her mother, it was still more than good enough.
Emperor Jiayu was a man of action. After instructing Feng Mian to rest well, he hurried off to arrange the escort procession.
The idle Feng Mian lay back down and drifted once more into slumber.
This sleep lasted until the dead of night.
In the bedchamber, only a single candle lamp remained lit, its flickering glow faintly casting the shadow of Feng Mian sitting bolt upright within the bed curtains.
Wuliu, who was keeping the night watch, heard the commotion and, holding up a lamp, drew aside the bed curtains, asking with concern, “My lady, did you have a nightmare?”
Feng Mian closed her eyes, weary and shaken.
In her dream, she had once again traveled to the future, searching everywhere, only to discover that all historical records documented her betrothal to the heir of Prince Dingbei. The top scholar’s plea for her hand at the palace gates had vanished without a trace. Following that came another historical fact that filled her with shock and alarm. She had initially suspected she had read an unofficial account, but upon cross-referencing multiple sources, she found that all records were startlingly consistent—
“In the winter of the twenty-first year of the Chengping reign, in the tenth month, the heir of Prince Dingbei committed regicide in a rebellion, which failed, and he was executed. The Crown Prince quelled the uprising and exterminated his entire clan.”