The morning mist in Cining Palace carried a slight chill. Murong Zhao, dressed in simple palace attire, followed the guiding palace maid as she walked slowly forward.
The swelling on the back of her hand from last night had not completely subsided, the skin tinged with a faint red, yet her gait remained steady, with not a trace of disarray from head to toe.
Today was the day for the new bride to offer tea. According to etiquette, she must, as the emperor’s consort, present tea and pay respects to the Empress Dowager.
As soon as she stepped into the hall, a sense of oppression washed over her.
Empress Dowager Xiao sat upright on the phoenix throne, her eyes slightly lowered, the atmosphere around her heavy and somber. Every palace servant in the hall held their breath, even their breathing lightened.
Murong Zhao stepped forward, knelt in a curtsy, and steadily lifted the teacup handed to her by a palace maid. Just as she was about to bow and present it—
“It slipped—”
Liu Momo beside her suddenly exclaimed in a low voice, her wrist abruptly tilting!
Scalding tea splashed all over the back of Murong Zhao’s hand!
“Sizzle—”
The high temperature seared her skin, instantly causing redness and swelling, the pain piercing to the bone.
Su Yue’s face turned pale with fright, about to rush forward in alarm, but Murong Zhao’s sharp gaze pinned her firmly in place.
Everyone expected her to cry out in pain, to lose composure, to drop the teacup.
Yet Murong Zhao merely tightened her fingers slightly, actually steadying the scalding porcelain cup without a tremor.
Her expression unchanged, not even a furrow of her brow, she maintained a respectful posture, steadily presenting the teacup before the Empress Dowager.
“Your Majesty, please have some tea.”
Her voice was clear and calm, betraying no hint of pain.
A flicker of surprise passed through the Empress Dowager’s eyes. She slowly looked up and spoke meaningfully, “The princess has remarkable endurance.”
Such scalding heat would have made an ordinary woman cry out in pain long ago, yet she remained as steady as Mount Tai.
Murong Zhao lowered her gaze, her tone deferential. “This humble consort is dull-witted, only knowing that the Empress Dowager’s tea must be held steady no matter how scalding, and that propriety must not be breached.”
Enduring a moment of pain in exchange for a moment of peace.
The Empress Dowager stared at her for a long time, her gaze sharp as a blade, as if trying to see through her inside and out.
Finally, she reached out to take the teacup, took a shallow sip, and waved dismissively. “You may leave.”
“This humble consort takes her leave.”
Murong Zhao slowly bowed and withdrew, her steps still steady, as if the red, swollen, and burning hand did not belong to her.
Once outside Cining Palace, Su Yue immediately rushed up, looking at the glaring redness and swelling on the back of her hand, tears pattering down. “Your Majesty! Does it hurt? It’s all red and swollen! That Momo was clearly doing it on purpose!”
Murong Zhao glanced down at her hand, her tone indifferent. “It’s fine. We’ll go back and apply some medicine.”
Did it hurt?
Yes.
But crying out would only invite ridicule.
This was a truth she had understood eighteen years ago.
The two walked along the palace path toward Yong Lane. As they reached a corner of a corridor, Murong Zhao’s steps paused slightly.
An intense gaze fell upon her from the corridor ahead.
She looked up.
In the distance, under the corridor, stood a figure in dark robes.
The man was tall and imposing, his sleeves fluttering, his silhouette as sharp and cold as if carved by a blade. Though far away, he carried an aura of imperial dominance.
It was him.
The Emperor of Dayin—Xiao Yan.
Murong Zhao’s heart stirred slightly.
She remembered the shadowy figure in the tower that night, the quilt of unknown origin, and the shadow guard’s surveillance on her wedding night.
Was it this man who had been watching her from the shadows all along?
But now, encountering him in this narrow path, what should she do?
According to etiquette, as the Empress, she should step forward, kneel, and pay her respects upon meeting the emperor.
But—
The emperor had never summoned her, never visited her, even failing to appear on their wedding night.
Everyone in the palace knew that she, the Empress, was nothing but a joke.
If she were to eagerly step forward now to pay her respects, in the eyes of others, it would seem like she was rushing to flatter, toady, and shamelessly curry favor.
But if she pretended not to see him and walked straight past, it would be a crime of disrespect toward the sovereign, a grave offense.
Caught between a rock and a hard place.
Murong Zhao lowered her gaze, her mind racing, and within a single breath, she made her decision.
She raised her eyes, looking toward that dark figure from afar, separated by dozens of yards—neither too close nor too far, neither advancing nor retreating.
Then, she straightened her sleeves, bent her knees, and performed a proper, standard palace curtsy—not a full prostration, but the appropriate etiquette for a consort in the presence of the emperor.
Once the gesture was complete, she did not rise to wait, nor did she lift her gaze to look further. Instead, she withdrew her eyes and continued walking along the palace path.
Her slender figure, neither hurried nor slow, disappeared into the depths of the palace walls.
Neither too close nor too far, neither subservient nor arrogant.
She had fulfilled the required etiquette while maintaining her dignity.
Under the corridor, Xiao Yan stood with his hands behind his back, his gaze fixed on that small yet resilient figure for a long time, unmoving.
The chief eunuch beside him, Li Fuquan, cautiously stepped forward: "Your Majesty, that was the Empress. Should this servant summon her to pay her respects?"
Xiao Yan did not answer, still staring in the direction where she had disappeared.
After a long while, his thin lips parted, his voice low:
"No need."
Li Fuquan was taken aback.
No need?
Was His Majesty… unwilling to see her?
But Xiao Yan suddenly curved the corner of his lips, a flicker of amusement flashing in his eyes.
"She knows I am here."
Li Fuquan was even more confused. "Then why didn’t she come over…"
"Come over for what?" Xiao Yan said calmly. "To kneel and weep, or to flatter and toady?"
He paused, his voice carrying a trace of admiration he himself hadn’t noticed. "Neither too close nor too far, neither subservient nor arrogant. She performed the courtesy fully but did not come forward to be a nuisance."
"She knew I was watching her, and she knew how many eyes in the palace were watching. If she had come forward, tomorrow rumors would spread that 'Consort Zhao shamelessly intercepted His Majesty on the road.'"
"But if she pretended not to see, it would be disrespect toward the sovereign, equally wrong."
"So she chose the most appropriate path—paying her respects from afar, then leaving."
Xiao Yan’s eyes darkened as he gazed in the direction of the long-gone figure, murmuring to himself, "Murong Zhao… you truly know how to strike the perfect balance."
Li Fuquan listened in bewilderment but dared not ask further, only bowing his head and standing aside.
Xiao Yan fell silent for a moment before suddenly speaking. "Go and find out what grievances she suffered today at Cining Palace."
Li Fuquan was startled. "Your Majesty means…"
Xiao Yan did not answer, only turned and walked toward the imperial study.
After a few steps, he paused again and said calmly, "Also, have someone send a box of burn ointment to Yong Lane. Leave no name."
Li Fuquan’s heart trembled, and he quickly complied. "This servant obeys."
That night, Yong Lane received a box of high-quality burn ointment.
Like that cotton quilt, its origin was unknown, unsigned, simply left quietly outside the courtyard gate.
Su Yue held the medicine box, both surprised and suspicious. "Your Highness, who… who sent this?"
Murong Zhao took the box, opened it, and gently sniffed.
Top-grade wound medicine, specifically for burns—a fine item from the palace.
She raised her eyes, looking toward the depths of the palace city.
It was him.
The man who had stood under the corridor, watching her all along.
She did not speak, only carefully putting away the medicine box before whispering softly:
"Whoever it may be… I will remember this kindness."
Outside the window, the moonlight was cold and clear. She lowered her head to look at her swollen, reddened hand, the corner of her lips curving ever so slightly.
It was not a smile, just the faintest trace of an arc.
In this palace that devoured people, it turned out there was someone watching over her after all.