In the imperial study, the fragrance of ambergris drifted in the air, and the atmosphere was solemn and heavy.
Xiao Yan, dressed in black casual attire, sat upright behind the desk, his fingertips lightly tapping the surface as he awaited the news brought back by the shadow guard.
Three days earlier, he had ordered a thorough investigation into the peace-marriage Empress who had come all the way from Beishuo and lived alone in Yong Lane—Murong Zhao.
This was the first time in his many years on the throne that he had taken the initiative to investigate a woman.
Before long, a dark figure slipped in silently, knelt on one knee, and presented a sealed secret report with both hands before retreating into the shadows without another sound.
Li Fuquan bowed and carried the secret report to Xiao Yan.
The Emperor reached out, took the thin sheet of paper, and slowly lowered his gaze.
Line by line, the characters clearly outlined the first half of that woman’s life: Murong Zhao, the seventh princess of Beishuo, was born to Consort Jing, the daughter of a border pass general. Her background was not high, and she received no imperial favor. At the age of eight, Consort Jing inexplicably “died of illness,” and Murong Zhao was immediately sent to the Cold Palace, where she was confined for a full ten years, neglected and abandoned like a discarded pawn. When Dayin and Beishuo arranged a peace marriage, Murong Yan, the legitimate princess of Beishuo, refused to marry, and Murong Zhao was casually pushed forward as a substitute, becoming a sacrificial piece in the arrangement.
The shadow guard added: To uncover this information, I infiltrated Beishuo for three days, extracting it bit by bit from former servants of the Cold Palace. Consort Jing’s death is suspected to be related to the Empress, but there is no conclusive evidence.
A few brief words painted a picture of a half-life of desolation.
Ten years in the Cold Palace, neglected and abandoned like worn-out shoes.
Xiao Yan’s fingertips tightened slightly around the secret report.
He lowered his gaze and softly repeated those words, his voice so quiet only he could hear: “Ten years in the Cold Palace…”
Though just four words, he understood their meaning better than anyone.
He had ascended the throne at the age of ten, with the Empress Dowager acting as regent. Though he bore the title of Emperor, he was nothing but a puppet. The court was filled with the Empress Dowager’s people; the inner palace was filled with her eyes. He lived under layers of surveillance, every word and action constrained, his ambitions stifled. How was this any different from confinement in the Cold Palace?
As he looked at those four words on the secret report, he suddenly recalled the year he turned ten, sitting alone on the dragon throne, surrounded by courtiers, none of whom were his own.
Both were people who had crawled out of the abyss.
Both were fates controlled by others, with no freedom of their own.
An inexplicable emotion quietly took root in his heart.
He set down the secret report and suddenly remembered another matter.
A few days earlier, the shadow guard had reported—Wei Zhao, the guard who had escorted Murong Zhao all the way from Beishuo, had escaped on the return journey, disguised himself as a eunuch, infiltrated the inner palace, and was keeping watch near Yong Lane.
At the time, he had listened but did not pursue the matter.
A loyal servant willing to risk his life to return to his master was not worth killing.
Besides… she truly needed someone by her side.
But disguising as a eunuch was not a long-term solution. Once discovered, it would be a capital offense and would implicate her as well.
Xiao Yan’s fingertips lightly tapped the desk. After a moment of silence, he suddenly spoke: “Where is that Wei Zhao now?”
The shadow guard emerged from the shadows and replied in a low voice, “Your Majesty, during the day, he hides in an abandoned side hall near Yong Lane. Only at night does he dare to approach Yong Lane to patrol. He has been cautious and has not yet been discovered.”
Xiao Yan nodded, his eyes deep and thoughtful.
He recalled the scene described by the shadow guard that day—the guard disguised as a eunuch, bowing his head as he entered Yong Lane, kneeling on one knee before her. And she had only softly said: “You’ve suffered.”
She did not drive him away, nor did she fear being implicated. She had only spoken those four words.
You’ve suffered.
When Xiao Yan heard those four words, his heart inexplicably stirred.
A discarded daughter thrown into the Cold Palace, a loyal servant who risked his life to return. In this devouring deep palace, all they could offer were these four words.
He remained silent for a long time before finally speaking, his voice low: "Transfer Wei Zhao into the Imperial Guard's Bing Squad. Starting today, he will be responsible for patrolling the outer perimeter of Yong Lane. Keep it low-key."
The shadow guard was taken aback: "Your Majesty, he is from Beishuo. Joining the Imperial Guard…"
"Handle the matter of his identity," Xiao Yan said calmly. "I only ask one thing—how are his martial skills?"
The shadow guard immediately replied: "Extremely good. This subordinate has observed him secretly. He can easily take on ten opponents alone."
Xiao Yan nodded: "That is enough."
The shadow guard accepted the order and departed.
Li Fuquan, standing nearby, listened with a pounding heart—His Majesty… was showing concern for that consort.
Meanwhile, inside Yong Lane.
Murong Zhao was sitting by the window, holding a scroll of a book in her hand, but her gaze was fixed outside.
This afternoon, she had inadvertently discovered something—
The guards patrolling the outer perimeter of Yong Lane had been replaced.
Not all of them, but there was one additional familiar face. As that person passed by Yong Lane, his gaze continuously, almost imperceptibly, swept toward her courtyard.
When she clearly saw that face, she froze completely.
It was Wei Zhao.
He was wearing the armor of the Imperial Guard, standing there openly and honorably, a long saber hanging at his waist, no different from the surrounding guards.
Murong Zhao suppressed the shock and suspicion in her heart, making no fuss, and simply carried on as usual, doing what she needed to do.
But within her, a storm of emotions raged.
Wei Zhao had previously disguised himself as a eunuch to sneak in, hiding and dodging, afraid to be seen in the light.
But now, he was wearing the armor of the Imperial Guard, standing in the open.
Who had arranged this?
To mobilize the Imperial Guard, to give him an open and legitimate identity—this was certainly not something Wei Zhao could have accomplished on his own.
That left only one person—Xiao Yan.
Murong Zhao’s fingertips tightened slightly.
He knew of Wei Zhao’s existence.
He knew Wei Zhao had impersonated a eunuch to sneak in.
He had not pursued the matter, had not punished the crime, but instead placed him in the open.
Why?
Out of pity for her situation?
To give her someone reliable by her side?
Or… was there another purpose?
She did not know.
But she knew one thing—from now on, every step she took must be even more cautious.
That night, Murong Zhao sat by the window, gazing at the solitary moon outside.
Under the moonlight, that familiar figure still stood in the shadows, motionless.
She watched for a long time, then suddenly let out a soft sigh.
She did not write a note, did not do anything unnecessary.
In this deep palace, one extra word, one extra action, could become grounds for accusations.
She simply sat quietly, watching that figure, and silently said in her heart: Fool.
Then, she rose, returned to her bedside, lay down, and closed her eyes.
Tonight, she slept more peacefully than usual.
Because she knew that outside, there was someone guarding her through the long night.
The next day, inside the imperial study.
Xiao Yan was reviewing memorials when the shadow guard appeared silently, kneeling on one knee.
"Your Majesty, last night at Yong Lane… everything was as usual."
Xiao Yan did not look up: "Mm."
The shadow guard paused, then added: "That consort… sat by the window for a long time."
Xiao Yan’s brush paused slightly.
He raised his eyes, looking in the direction of Yong Lane.
That woman knew.
But she said nothing, did nothing, only sat by the window for a long time.
Xiao Yan suddenly wanted to know—
What was she thinking when she sat by the window?
What was in her heart when she saw Wei Zhao?
This curiosity was like a tiny thorn, pricking his heart—light and shallow, yet impossible to shake off.
He put down his pen, stood up, and walked to the window.
Outside, the sky had already darkened.
The night was heavy, like a vast curtain enveloping the entire palace.
In the direction of Yong Lane, a faint flicker of light glimmered in the darkness.
He gazed at that flickering light for a long time, silent, before finally speaking in a low voice: "Tonight, I will go to Yong Lane."
Li Fuquan was startled: "Your Majesty, going there now…"
"Bring people to follow, keep watch from afar, do not disturb her," Xiao Yan said softly. "I will walk alone."
As the night deepened, Xiao Yan finished reviewing the last memorial, rose, and left the imperial study.
He walked alone along the palace path; the night wind was cold, whipping his sleeves.
He couldn’t quite explain why he had come.
But while reviewing the memorials, that image kept appearing in his mind—her sitting by the window.
He wanted to see firsthand the woman who had endured ten years in the Cold Palace, who remained quiet and uncomplaining in Yong Lane, who simply sat silently by the window in the deep night.