Five days had passed in the blink of an eye since the Empress Dowager’s birthday banquet.
According to the rules of the inner palace, visits to Cining Palace to pay respects were only required on the first and fifteenth days of each month—a rule set by the Empress Dowager in her early years. She claimed it was to “avoid disturbing this palace’s peace every day,” but in truth, she simply couldn’t be bothered to deal with those gaudily dressed concubines.
Today was the fourteenth.
Tomorrow was the day for paying respects.
As Su Yue combed Murong Zhao’s hair, she murmured, “Your Highness, tomorrow you’ll be going to Cining Palace again. Do you think the Empress Dowager might…”
Before she could finish, hurried footsteps sounded outside the door.
“Your Highness—someone from Cining Palace is here!”
Murong Zhao looked up and saw a lantern moving swiftly through the darkness outside the window.
At this hour?
Her heart stirred, but her expression remained unchanged. “Invite them in.”
An abrupt summons shattered the tranquility of Changle Palace—the Empress Dowager of Cining Palace had summoned her late at night.
Su Yue paled in fright. “Your Highness, why would the Empress Dowager summon you so late? Could it be…”
Murong Zhao pressed her hand, her expression calm. “Prepare the carriage.”
Dressed in plain clothes, she stepped alone into the night and made her way to Cining Palace.
Inside the hall, the lamplight was dim and warm. The Empress Dowager had long shed the opulent makeup of the day, wearing only a simple, soft satin palace gown as she reclined on a soft couch. She seemed less imposing and more weary.
All the palace attendants had been dismissed.
In the vast space, only the two of them remained.
The air was so still that the crackling of the candle wicks could be heard.
The Empress Dowager raised her eyes, her gaze sharp as a blade, piercing straight toward her. “Do you know why this palace summoned you so late at night?”
“You don’t?” The Empress Dowager sneered, her tone cold with an air of omniscience. “In the past half month, the emperor has visited you seven times. Sometimes in the afternoon, sometimes in the evening. The longest visit lasted nearly two hours.”
She stared at Murong Zhao, her gaze burning like fire. “This palace wants to know—what have you been talking about with him?”
Murong Zhao’s heart tightened.
Seven times.
The Empress Dowager had even kept count so precisely—indeed, eyes were everywhere in this deep palace.
Her mind raced through the past five days: Xiao Yan’s first visit was a brief afternoon stop for a cup of tea before he left; his second visit was at dusk, discussing half a volume of books with her; his third visit was late at night, sharing drinks until the second watch…
To outsiders, it appeared as the emperor “frequently visiting at night.”
But she knew that each time, he was merely seeking a place in this deep palace where he could catch his breath.
Yet these words could not be spoken to the Empress Dowager.
Her expression remained as calm as ever. “In reply to the Empress Dowager, each time His Majesty visited, it was only for tea and casual conversation. Occasionally, we discussed books or history, but more often than not, he simply sat quietly for a moment. Nothing more.”
“Never discussed court affairs?” the Empress Dowager pressed, her eyes narrowing.
“Never,” Murong Zhao answered firmly.
“Then—has he ever mentioned the names of court officials in front of you?” The Empress Dowager’s voice dropped even lower. “For example… the prime minister? Or… people from the Ministry of War?”
Murong Zhao’s heart skipped a beat.
This was a test to see if the emperor had revealed the distribution of court factions in her presence.
Her expression remained unchanged. “In reply to the Empress Dowager, never. His Majesty never discusses court affairs in Changle Palace.”
The Empress Dowager stared at her intently, her gaze burning as if trying to pierce through her skin and see the deepest thoughts in her heart.
The hall was so quiet that the faint crackling of the candle wicks could be heard.
Murong Zhao knelt motionless, her back straight, breathing steady, without a trace of guilt or panic on her face.
A long, long time passed.
So long that the candle flame flickered.
The sharpness in the Empress Dowager's eyes gradually faded away, replaced by a complex, somewhat dazed expression.
Leaning on the soft couch, she gazed at the kneeling girl, and in her daze, it was as if she saw herself from many years ago—the self who had just entered the palace, treading carefully and cautiously.
She suddenly let out a soft sigh.
In that sigh, there was no hostility, no authority, but instead a touch of the desolation that comes with the passage of time.
"Child, let me tell you the truth…"
The Empress Dowager's voice softened. "The emperor was raised by my own hands and placed on the throne by my efforts. In this world, no one wishes for him to sit firmly on the throne, safe and sound, more than I do."
"But he is young, his temperament is not yet steady, and the court is fraught with treacherous storms. There are things he cannot see clearly and cannot bear—I must bear them for him, watch over him, and guard him."
She paused, her gaze heavy as it fell upon Murong Zhao. "You are a clever person. You should understand what I mean."
Murong Zhao bowed her head and kowtowed, her voice steady. "This humble girl understands. I entered the inner palace only to live quietly and serve His Majesty, never daring to harbor any improper thoughts, much less interfere in court affairs or disturb His Majesty's peace of mind."
The Empress Dowager looked at her kneeling figure, her eyes complex and inscrutable.
Quietly?
Without desire?
In this devouring inner palace, could such a person truly exist?
She suddenly spoke softly, her tone unexpectedly gentle. "When I was young, I was just like you."
Murong Zhao was startled and looked up at the Empress Dowager.
This was the first time the Empress Dowager had lowered her lofty mask in front of her, revealing a trace of vulnerability that belonged to a "human."
"I, too, thought that by not fighting or contending, by being honest and obedient, I could live a stable life."
The Empress Dowager gazed at the candle flame, her eyes distant, as if recalling her younger self from many years ago. "Only later did I understand—in this palace, those who do not fight or contend die the fastest."
"You may not harm others, but you cannot fail to guard against them. You may not vie for favor, but you cannot lack a foundation to stand upon."
These words did not sound like a warning but rather like a belated piece of advice.
Murong Zhao's heart trembled, and for a moment, she did not know how to respond.
The Empress Dowager waved her hand, closing her eyes wearily. "You may leave. Remember what I said tonight."
"Your humble servant takes her leave."
Murong Zhao slowly rose and bowed as she retreated from Cining Palace.
The cold wind on the palace path in the deep night was biting. As soon as she stepped out of the hall, Wei Zhao emerged silently from the shadows, dressed in black, his gaze vigilant as he stood protectively by her side.
Murong Zhao looked into the deep darkness ahead and spoke softly, her voice low and clear:
"Wei Zhao."
"Your subordinate is here."
"From today onward, be doubly cautious."
She paused and turned to look back at the tightly closed doors of Cining Palace, where the lamplight cast mottled shadows on the window paper.
At that moment, a wave of unprecedented complexity surged within her.
The Empress Dowager—ruthless, authoritative, and fiercely controlling.
Yet tonight, she had also revealed a soft, genuine, and even somewhat empathetic side.
She was a prisoner trapped within these palace walls for a lifetime.
Murong Zhao took a light breath, her dark eyes growing even deeper in the night.
The Empress Dowager was far more elusive than she had imagined.
And from this moment on, the path through this deep palace had truly become one where every step was fraught with peril.
Returning to Changle Palace, Murong Zhao sat beneath the lamp, her knees throbbing faintly with pain—the prolonged kneeling at Cining Palace earlier had deepened the bruises.
She lowered her head to look at the bruises and suddenly recalled that mysterious box of burn ointment.
She remembered the day of the tea ceremony, when her hand had been scalded red and swollen, and the next day, that box of ointment had been quietly left outside the courtyard gate.
No name, no message—just placed there, as if the sender did not want her to know who it was from.
She thought of that person standing beneath the corridor, watching her from dozens of yards away, saying nothing.
She smiled softly.
Su Yue entered with a cup of hot tea and happened to see it, asking curiously, "What is Your Highness smiling about?"
Murong Zhao shook her head. "I'm laughing at myself."
"Laughing at yourself about what?"
Murong Zhao did not answer.
She laughed at how she used to believe there was no such thing as unconditional kindness in this world—that when one person was good to another, there must be an ulterior motive.
But now, she was beginning to believe—that there was one person who harbored no schemes toward her.
Outside the window, the moonlight was cold and clear. She lowered her head to look at the long-faded scar from the burn on the back of her hand, and the corners of her lips curved upward.
That box of ointment, she had kept it to this day.
Suddenly, an announcement came from outside the door: "An imperial decree from His Majesty—"
A eunuch entered, bowing as he presented a small box. "His Majesty ordered this servant to deliver medicinal wine, saying it is for Your Highness… to massage daily, to reduce swelling and bruises."
Murong Zhao was taken aback as she accepted the medicine box.
Beneath the box lay a small note with only two words: "Endure it."
The handwriting was bold and forceful—Xiao Yan's own.
Murong Zhao held the note for a long time, a faint smile finally appearing at the corners of her lips.