As dusk approached, Wei Zhao disguised himself as a eunuch delivering charcoal and quietly slipped into Yong Lane.
Dressed in coarse eunuch attire, he carried half a basket of charcoal on his shoulder, walking quickly with his head down into the courtyard. He placed the charcoal basket in a corner.
"Princess, tonight is your wedding. This subordinate…" Wei Zhao knelt on one knee, his voice low.
Murong Zhao raised her hand to stop him. "You need not guard this place tonight."
Wei Zhao was taken aback. "Princess?"
"Your injuries have not fully healed, and you have been running about these past few days. You need proper rest." Murong Zhao looked at his pale face, her tone calm yet leaving no room for argument. "Go and rest, recover from your wounds. The days ahead are long; there will be plenty of times when your strength is needed."
Wei Zhao wanted to say more but was silenced by a look from Murong Zhao.
"I am fine. Go."
Wei Zhao remained silent for a moment, then finally kowtowed heavily, accepted the order, and withdrew, disappearing into the night.
Su Yue, watching from the side, murmured softly, "Princess, you are so good to Brother Wei…"
Murong Zhao turned to her, her tone calm yet serious. "Su Yue, there is something you must remember."
Su Yue was startled. "What is it?"
"From now on, in this inner palace of Dayin, you must no longer call me 'Princess.'" Murong Zhao spoke each word clearly. "You must call me 'Your Ladyship.'"
Su Yue blinked, somewhat confused. "But Princess… you are a princess…"
Murong Zhao shook her head gently. "That was the Princess of Beishuo. Now that I have married into Dayin, I am a consort of the Emperor. To continue calling me 'Princess' would, in the ears of those with ill intentions, suggest that I still cling to Beishuo, still put on airs as a Beishuo princess, and refuse to submit to Dayin's authority."
She paused, her tone growing even more detached. "In this palace, nothing is more dangerous than giving others grounds for accusation. A single misstep in words could cost a life."
Su Yue listened, her heart pounding with fear, and quickly nodded. "This servant remembers! From now on, I will definitely change how I address you—Your Ladyship!"
Seeing Su Yue's nervous expression, the corners of Murong Zhao's lips curved slightly, but she said no more.
At the exact hour of You, footsteps suddenly sounded outside Yong Lane.
Su Yue peeked out and saw that it was an official from the Ministry of Rites leading several young eunuchs, carrying several chests as they entered.
The leading Ministry of Rites official was in his forties, with a stern face and a rigid, by-the-book manner. Though he saw that Yong Lane was dilapidated and devoid of any festive atmosphere, not a trace of surprise showed on his face. He merely performed a formal bow as part of his duty. "This humble official, Zhou Yan of the Ministry of Rites, by imperial decree, has come to conduct the wedding and investiture ceremony for Your Ladyship."
A flicker of emotion passed through Murong Zhao's eyes, but she quickly composed herself, straightening her sleeves and standing properly.
Zhou Yan unrolled the imperial edict in his hands and read aloud: "By the Mandate of Heaven, the Emperor decrees: Murong, the Seventh Princess of Beishuo, virtuous, gentle, and of commendable character, is hereby invested as Empress, and granted residence in Yong Lane. So it is decreed."
The edict was brief, consisting of only a few sentences.
There were no words of praise, no grand ceremonial procession, and even the words "Yong Lane" were clearly written in the edict—something unheard of among princesses sent for marriage alliances throughout history.
Su Yue, kneeling behind, trembled with anger, her fingertips shaking, but she bit her lip hard and dared not utter a sound.
Murong Zhao's expression remained calm as she bowed and kowtowed. "This consort receives the decree and thanks His Majesty for his great grace."
Zhou Yan presented the edict with both hands, then gestured for the young eunuchs behind him to open the chests. "Your Ladyship, these are the ceremonial robes and headdress allocated to you according to regulations. Although… although the residence is humble, ritual must not be neglected. Please keep them safe."
Inside the chest was a brand new set of Empress regalia—golden threads embroidered with phoenixes, adorned with pearls and jade. Though not the formal wedding attire, it was a symbol of the Empress's status.
Murong Zhao lowered her gaze to look at those items, her heart stirring slightly.
Allotted according to regulations.
Propriety must not be neglected.
The meaning was—even if she had been thrown into Yong Lane, even if the Emperor did not visit on their wedding night, even if the whole world knew that she, this Empress, was a joke, the superficial courtesies were still fully extended to her by Dayin.
Murong Zhao slowly raised her hand, accepted the set of regalia, and her fingertips traced over the exquisite embroidery.
"I thank His Majesty for his grace."
Zhou Yan finished the ritual and withdrew with his attendants.
Yong Lane returned to silence.
Su Yue looked at the magnificent regalia, then at the dilapidated courtyard, her eyes reddening: "My… my lady, what do they mean by this? Giving you the Empress's regalia, yet making you live in such a place…"
Murong Zhao gently smoothed the wrinkles on the regalia, her tone calm: "It means they have given what should be given. If I cannot survive from now on, it is because I lack ability, and cannot blame Dayin for mistreating a princess sent for marriage alliance."
Su Yue felt a chill in her heart upon hearing this.
Murong Zhao, however, merely gave a faint smile, carefully stored away the set of regalia, and turned to look out the window at the gradually darkening sky.
On the wedding night, the rituals that should have been performed were already completed.
What remained was to wait.
When the sky had completely darkened, a young eunuch hurried over with his head bowed.
He stood outside the courtyard gate, not even bothering to perform a salute, and announced the decree in a shrill voice, his tone unmistakably perfunctory: "Empress, His Majesty has instructed that affairs of state are busy today, and he will not be coming tonight. You should retire early."
With a single, flippant sentence, she, this Empress sent for marriage alliance, was utterly abandoned in a corner.
Su Yue trembled with anger, her eyes red, clenching her fists: "This is too much! How can they do this? You were properly wedded and brought here as Empress for marriage alliance. How can they treat you with such contempt even on your wedding night!"
The young eunuch glanced at her sideways, impatiently flicked his horsetail whisk, turned, and left without even bothering to add a polite word.
In the courtyard, only an awkward silence remained.
Yet Murong Zhao remained calm, her face showing no trace of humiliation or grievance from being neglected.
Silently, she raised her hand, took out the brand new set of Empress regalia from the chest, and, facing the blurred bronze mirror, put it on piece by piece, neatly.
The golden phoenix-embroidered fabric shimmered under the candlelight, the pearl and jade hair ornaments gently swaying.
She looked at the unfamiliar reflection in the mirror, slowly covered her head with the red veil, and sat quietly by the bed, not uttering a word.
Waiting.
From nightfall until deep into the night.
From the flickering candlelight until the oil was exhausted.
From the bright moonlight until the sky began to lighten.
Throughout the entire night, the figure of the Emperor, said to be stern and imposing, never appeared.
When the first light of dawn entered the room, Murong Zhao slowly lifted the veil, stood up, her face showing no trace of weariness, only a deep calm like still water.
She glanced down at the Empress regalia she had worn all night, raised her hand, gently untied the fastenings, carefully folded it, and placed it back into the chest.
"Su Yue, help me change," she said softly. "We will go to the Empress Dowager's palace to offer tea."
Su Yue was taken aback, both angry and heartbroken: "My lady! Aren't you going to wait for His Majesty? How… how can he treat you like this—"
"I will not wait."
Murong Zhao interrupted her, her voice light but exceptionally firm.
"What cannot be waited for need not be waited for."
What cannot be begged for, waited for, or hoped for will not come.
Rather than wasting energy on someone who has no heart, it is better to stand firm on one's own ground.
Su Yue looked at her calm profile, swallowing back the tears that had reached the brink of her eyes.
Murong Zhao walked to the blurry bronze mirror, changed into a plain palace gown, raised her hands, and meticulously straightened her collar and hair.
The woman in the mirror was slender and slightly pale, yet her back was straight, her brows and eyes serene. In those dark pupils, there was not a trace of resigned defeat, only the resilience tempered by wind and snow.
She gazed at her reflection in the mirror, her lips parting slightly as she whispered softly yet clearly to herself, "Murong Zhao."
"This is only the beginning."
At the very moment her words fell.
Deep within the palace, in the imperial study.
The dark-robed emperor, Xiao Yan, held a memorial between his fingertips, his gaze deep and shadowed. Suddenly, he looked up toward the direction of Yong Lane outside the window.
A shadow guard reported in a low voice, "Your Majesty, regarding Yong Lane… last night, the Ministry of Rites performed the investiture ceremony. That consort accepted the crown, robes, and seals, dressed properly, and sat through the entire night. At dawn, she rose to prepare to offer tea at Cining Palace."
Xiao Yan's thin lips curved slightly, a flicker of amusement flashing in his eyes.
"Dressed properly, sat through the entire night?"
He repeated softly, his voice tinged with interest. "Meticulous in etiquette, neither crying nor making a fuss… How intriguing."
A shadow guard nearby whispered, "Your Majesty, the Empress Dowager is already waiting to see the consort make a fool of herself."
Xiao Yan set down the memorial, a cold glint flashing in his eyes.
"Then… let's see."
"Let's see if she can carve a path of survival in this dead-end game."
Meanwhile, in Yong Lane.
Murong Zhao stood by the window, gazing at the brightly lit palace in the distance, her dark eyes as calm as still water.
"The Emperor not coming is a good thing."
She murmured softly to herself, the corners of her lips curling slightly.
"If he came, that would be trouble."
That night, two people, separated by the entire palace, were thinking of the same thing.