The Empress found it difficult to speak. She unconsciously pulled out a silk handkerchief, gripping it tightly in her hands. “As you know, Her Majesty and I have only one child, Tang’er. Although there are several consorts in the harem, none have conceived since the Emperor and I wed. This is not by chance; it is because Her Majesty drugged their tea to ensure they could never carry a child.”
“She did this because of a knot in her heart that has never come undone. Qianqian, have you heard of the ‘Revolt of the Eight Princes’ during the previous reign?” the Empress asked.
Song Qingqian searched her memory. “I heard my father speak of it. It was a catastrophe that left the Imperial clan decimated. Her Majesty ascended the throne in the wake of that bloodshed.”
The Empress let out a long, weary sigh. “The late Emperor had many children, more than a dozen of whom manifested as Qianyuan. He valued his Qianyuan offspring above all others, even to the point of encouraging them to fight amongst themselves to select the ‘fittest’ successor. Consequently, factional infighting was rampant, and the status of the Qianyuan reached a fever pitch.”
Song Qingqian was not well-versed in this era of history. “I heard that many of the late Emperor’s children were exceptionally talented and held key positions in court.”
A look of profound sorrow clouded the Empress’s eyes. “Indeed. Under the late Emperor’s influence, the Imperial family and indeed the world worshiped the supremacy of the Qianyuan and the absolute nature of power. His children were all fiercely competitive.” Her grip on the handkerchief tightened. “Unfortunately, they were too competitive. It reached a point where they began to slaughter one another. The palace became a charnel house.”
“But Her Majesty was not among those eight princes,” the Empress continued. “She was different. Back then, she was merely an idle princess, overlooked by the late Emperor and with no ambition for the throne. Her younger sister,
Princess Chang’er, was also a Qianyuan and threw herself into the struggle for power. It was only later, to ensure her own survival, that Her Majesty began to cultivate her own forces.”
“In the end, the eight princes were evenly matched, and the situation spiraled beyond the late Emperor’s control. A wave of carnage swept through the capital. Princess Chang’er died on the day Prince Zhao stormed the palace. Many other princes and princesses died that day as well. Even the Zhongyong (Betas) who had taken sides were not spared. By nightfall, the Imperial bloodline was nearly extinguished.”
“Her Majesty was the only adult Qianyuan left alive. After issuing a decree of self-reproach, the late Emperor abdicated in her favor and passed away shortly thereafter.”
The Empress’s voice trembled. “That trauma left a permanent mark on Her Majesty. She made a silent vow: in this life, she would only allow herself to have children with one person.”
Song Qingqian was stunned. “The world believes the Emperor limits her harem out of pure devotion to you, and that your health was simply too fragile to conceive again after Her Highness was born.”
The Empress gave a short, bitter sigh. “That is also true, in a way. I did find it difficult to conceive again but before she met me, she already had side-consorts. During the height of the factional wars, she was forced to marry Consort Shu and Consort Li for political stability. But she secretly used methods to ensure they never fell pregnant.”
Song Qingqian listened in silence, her internal shock masked by a calm exterior.
The Empress hesitated, her eyes reddening with unshed tears. “Qianqian, Tang’er was supposed to have a younger sister.”
Seeing the tears shimmering in the Empress’s eyes, Song Qingqian felt a pang of sympathy.
“I became pregnant again the year after Tang’er was born,” the Empress whispered. “However, when the child was four months old, she was murdered in the womb. I nearly died as well, and my body was so badly damaged that I could never carry another child.”
“Who would dare harm an Imperial heir?” Song Qingqian asked, horrified.
“Consort Shu,” the Empress replied, her voice laced with old hatred. “At first, no one in the harem had children, so the playing field was level. But once I had Tang’er and Her Majesty showed such overwhelming favoritism, guarding me day and night, they began to realize the truth. When I fell pregnant a second time, Consort Shu’s jealousy consumed her. The court had stabilized by then, and Her Majesty wasn’t as vigilant as she had been during the first pregnancy. I certainly never imagined someone would be so bold.”
The Empress looked down in regret. “Though Her Majesty was furious, she took pity on Consort Shu’s years of service and her brother’s contributions during the revolt. She allowed her to move to Jingci Convent to preserve her family’s dignity, but she chose to hang herself a few days later.”
Song Qingqian nodded. This secret history was something she could never have discovered on her own. “But if the Emperor only has Her Highness, did she not worry she might manifest as a Zhongyong or a Kunze? Our ancestral laws forbid them from taking the throne.”
The Empress sighed. “That is precisely where the knot between mother and daughter lies. Though Her Majesty appears cold and harsh toward Tang’er, she loves and prizes her above all. No other child could have replaced her in her heart. But when it became clear I could no longer bear heirs, she sought out the State Preceptor and that was the beginning of Tang’er’s agony.”
Song Qingqian’s brow furrowed in thought. A realization dawned on her. “Manifestation is usually determined by birth, but external interference can force a specific outcome. Did Her Majesty have the State Preceptor interfere with Her Highness’s manifestation?”
“You are indeed brilliant, Qianqian,” the Empress said, her voice turning raspy as the tears finally fell. “Tang’er began taking ‘medicine’ at the age of seven. After she turned nine, the Emperor would take her to a secret chamber and leave her there alone. She never told me what happened inside, and Tang’er never spoke of it either.”
“But later, when I helped her bathe, I saw the bruises,” the Empress sobbed into her handkerchief. “Purple and blue marks all over her body. At first, the child would cry and beg not to go, but the Emperor refused to soften. She personally dragged her there every time and told me I must not be weak. Eventually, her heart turned to ice. She stopped crying. She stopped fighting. She would walk into that room on her own, but the bond between mother and daughter was shattered. They became strangers under the same roof.”
The Empress couldn’t stop sighing. “My heart bled for her, but I was powerless.”
“Mother Empress, please do not grieve so. You must think of your own health,” Song Qingqian comforted her gently.
“Others say I spoil her too much, but who knows the suffering she endured! The reason the Emperor allows me to indulge her now is because she feels she owes her a debt that can never be repaid. It was only when she manifested as a Qianyuan at age twelve and was named Crown Princess that the calls for the Emperor to take more consorts finally ceased. Only I know the immense pressure she faced and so I am always caught between them, torn in two.”
Song Qingqian nodded slowly. “Her Highness does indeed harbor a profound resentment toward Her Majesty.”
“But Her Majesty had no other choice,” the Empress murmured. “They are both suffering.”