“You’re a prince, noble beyond compare, handsome and dignified. If you were to take her as your princess consort, how could that ever be considered a delay?” The emperor, suspecting someone had spoken idle gossip before his son, flew into a rage. “Who dares to spout such nonsense to you?!”
“No one.” Prince Ruining lowered his eyes. “Your son is merely a cripple—”
“Huai’er!” Knowing what he was about to say, the emperor hastily cut him off. His anger gave way to guilt, sorrow, and a helpless panic at not knowing how to face him. “What happened back then was the fault of me and your mother. It is only natural that you bear resentment.”
But the emperor’s words did not move Prince Ruining. His expression remained unchanged, as though the emperor’s apology had nothing to do with him. “Father, I have never borne resentment.”
He did not resent anyone—only no one believed him.
The imperial hall fell silent, father and son staring at one another without words.
After a long while, the emperor sighed. It was a soft sigh, yet it carried the weight of imperial compromise and retreat.
“Huai’er, I have summoned the finest physicians from across the realm. You will recover.” The emperor turned his gaze aside, unwilling to meet his son’s still, fathomless eyes. “Since you do not wish to marry now, then you shall not. When spring comes, I will take you to the hunting grounds to ease your mind.”
A memorial slipped from the imperial desk, scattering open at Prince Ruining’s feet. He lowered his head. His eyes fell on a page filled with ornate words of censure.
The eunuch scribe bent low, intending to retrieve the memorial, but Prince Ruining had already picked it up. He was somewhat taken aback, dared not stop Prince Ruining, and could only turn his gaze toward the emperor.
The emperor raised his hand to dismiss the eunuch. He rarely saw his son show interest in anything, and the joy on his face was almost impossible to conceal. “This is a memorial from Yun Boyan, Vice Minister of Rites.”
“Minister Yun’s literary talent is remarkable.” Prince Ruining glanced at the memorial, then placed it back on the imperial desk. “Father, your son takes his leave.”
The emperor watched his son depart, then reread Yun Boyan’s memorial criticizing Hanlin Academy’s Editor Zhou Xiuzhi. He picked up the Ministry of Personnel’s evaluation of the Hanlin Academy and, beside the recommendation to promote Zhou Yuzhi to Reader-in-Waiting, drew a bold red cross.
The Reader-in-Waiting position required accompanying the emperor in study and lectures. How could an official of flawed conduct be worthy of stepping into the imperial study?
The Hanlin Academy’s promotion orders were soon issued. By long-standing custom, the top three candidates of each palace examination, after serving two years in the Academy and passing the Ministry’s review, would be advanced by one rank.
Zhou Yuzhi, gifted in poetry, had been favored by his superiors to serve alongside the top scholar as Reader-in-Waiting. Yet he had not expected his promotion order to be struck down.
Learning that his advancement was hopeless, Zhou Yuzhi muddled through until dismissal, then sought out contacts everywhere. Only then did he discover that two days earlier, Vice Minister Yun had impeached him.
“Our Zhou family and the Yun family have shared friendship for many years, yet they would cast aside that bond over a trifling matter, ruining my son’s path to success.” Father Zhou fumed. But ever since his own father had passed away, the Zhou family had lost its backing, and he was powerless against the Yun clan.
“One cannot write the character ‘Yun’ without repeating it twice. Yun Boyan has only one niece. When Yuzhi offended that young lady, did he not think that Yun Boyan was her own uncle?” Mother Zhou scolded bitterly. “I warned you long ago not to dally with women outside. You refused to listen. Now regret is useless.”
“Mother, I only pitied those women and lent them a hand. I never harbored any feelings between man and woman toward them.” Zhou Yuzhi was filled with regret. Had he known how beautiful Miss Yun was, he would never have let his father agree to dissolve the betrothal.
Mother Zhou shot back with biting sarcasm: “A stray dog passes by the dung heap every day—who would believe it never ate filth?”
“Such vulgar words!” Father Zhou was disgusted, his gaze toward his son tinged with disdain. “Tomorrow I will bring gifts to the Yun household to apologize. You had better pray that after this, Yun Boyan will no longer target you.”
How fortunate Yun Zhongsheng was—idle and unlearned since childhood, yet shielded first by his father, and now, in old age, by his elder brother.
But Yun Boyan would grow old one day, too. Father Zhou refused to believe that, when Yun Zhongsheng was aged and frail, someone would still protect him.
On the day of the Empress’s Thousand Autumn Festival, before dawn had even broken, Yun Qiya rose to wash and dress. A splendid wide-sleeved gown, a red brocade cloak trimmed with white rabbit fur, and delicate, beautiful hairpins and ornaments adorned her.
Cradling her face, Yun Qiya beamed at her reflection in the mirror. “Though the jewels weigh heavily on my head, they are truly exquisite.”
She was willing to bear such weight.
“Miss, it is time to depart,” a servant from the main courtyard called softly from outside.
“Alright.” She answered sweetly, rising to tell Wen Yuxiu, seated nearby, “Mother, I’m heading out.”
“There are many rules within the palace—you must be mindful.” Wen Yuxiu adjusted the sachet at her daughter’s waist. “If you encounter anything you cannot resolve, seek your grandmother’s help.”
Yun Qiya nodded obediently.
“Go on then.” Wen Yuxiu’s face shone with pride. In her eyes, her daughter was the most beautiful, most radiant pearl in the world.
The Eldest Madam stood at the main hall entrance. When she saw Yun Qiya emerge, dressed with exquisite care, she could not hide the astonishment in her eyes.
“Eldest Aunt.” Yun Qiya smiled sweetly and bowed in greeting.
The Eldest Madam quickly took her hand, not allowing her to complete the formal salute. The more she looked at her niece, the more fondness she felt. “There will be many ladies entering the palace today. Sit beside me later.”
How could this not be her own daughter? That idle younger brother-in-law—what virtue or ability did he have to father such a lovable girl?
The Eldest Madam was the wife of Marquis Chengping’s heir. By keeping Yun Qiya close at her side, she signaled the heir’s affection and closeness toward the younger generation of the family.
The old madam (Marchioness) came out from within. Hearing Eldest Madam Yun’s words and seeing their intimacy, she smiled silently. Eldest Madam Yun and Yun Qiya supported her from either side as they boarded the carriage.
“The emperor has few heirs—only two sons,” the Old Madam spoke softly as the carriage moved slowly, sharing royal secrets with Yun Qiya. “Both born of the empress.”
“The second prince, Prince Luo, is young and promising. He will only turn eighteen this spring. He is cheerful and unrestrained, with wide friendships and good relations among his peers in the imperial clan.”
“And the crown prince?” Yun Qiya noticed her grandmother spoke only of the second prince, not mentioning the first at all.
“The eldest, Prince Ruining, is in poor health and seldom socializes,” the Old Madam sighed. “His Majesty and the Empress dote on him, and dislike others speaking too much of him.”
Sensing her grandmother’s reluctance, Yun Qiya immediately refrained from further questions. Her grandmother was worldly and wise. If she chose not to speak, it meant Yun Qiya should not indulge her curiosity.
“Mother, I heard that for this Thousand Autumn Banquet, Her Majesty has summoned many young ladies to attend.” Eldest Madam Yun speculated aloud: “Could it be that the Empress intends to choose consorts for the two princes?”
The Old Madam shook her head. “This matter has nothing to do with our Yun family.”
The Yun family had only one young girl, Yun Qiya. Though she was the legitimate granddaughter of the Marquis’s household, her father held no rank or title, and in the capital he had neither reputation nor renown. The Empress could never choose her as a princess consort.
Besides, the imperial family was hardly a good place to be. Their little Yaya was still so young—why should she suffer the hardships of that gilded, unyielding life?
Understanding her mother-in-law’s meaning, Eldest Madam Yun felt reassured. She stroked the white rabbit fur on Yun Qiya’s cloak. Though they had only spent a few days together, she already wished Yaya were her own daughter. And since her mother-in-law was Yaya’s grandmother, she was naturally even more reluctant to part with her.
It was Yun Qiya’s first time stepping into the imperial palace. Outwardly, she appeared calm, but in truth she was secretly taking in everything with the corner of her eye. The palace walls were so high that one had to tilt one’s head back to see the top. Beautiful lanterns hung all around, though it was daytime and they were unlit, leaving her unable to admire their nighttime glow. Satin blossoms adorned the branches; unless one looked closely, they were almost indistinguishable from real flowers.
Mountains and streams encircled the grounds; white jade paved the steps—the entire palace radiated a beauty born of power and status.
By mid-morning, officials and ladies gathered at Weiyang Hall to pay formal respects to the Empress. Standing behind her eldest aunt, Yun Qiya could not see the Empress’s face beyond the lofty jade steps, but even from that distance she could make out the splendid sheen of her robes.
When the ceremony ended, at the second quarter of noon, the ceremonial officers led the assembly to Hongde Hall to take their seats for the banquet.
Yun Qiya sat beside her eldest aunt, delighting in the beauty and ornaments of the young ladies, and in the music and dance within the hall. She was thoroughly enjoying herself.
Midway through the feast, Prince Luo rose and stepped forward. “Today is my mother’s Thousand Autumn Festival. I wish to perform a sword dance in her honor, to bless her with eternal longevity and peace.”
Prince Luo was strikingly handsome, in the prime of youth. With a silver sword in hand, he seemed all the more spirited and dazzling.
Prince Luo’s sword dance was so graceful and brilliant that it delighted all who watched. If he had not been a royal prince, Yun Qiya would have been tempted to pull out her purse and toss a silver coin into the hall as a reward.
Around her, some were captivated by Prince Luo’s elegance, while others praised his filial devotion. The emperor and empress were both pleased, and they shared a cup of wine with him.
At the upper seat, one table remained empty. Yun Qiya guessed it was meant for Prince Ruining. Yet until the banquet ended, that place stayed vacant, its master never appearing.
“Today is not only my Thousand Autumn Festival, but also the Lantern Festival,” the empress announced. “The palace has prepared flower lanterns. When night falls, I shall enjoy the scenery together with all of you.”
Yun Qiya understood—this meant everyone was to remain in the palace for the evening meal.
The empress kept the noblewomen with her to talk, while the younger ladies were sent to the imperial garden to stroll and admire the sights.
Since Sister Song and Lu Mingzhu had not attended the banquet, Yun Qiya wandered outside on her own.
The imperial garden was vast. Groups of young ladies gathered to play the “Flying Blossoms” game, accompanied by the empress’s female attendants.
Yun Qiya had read mostly popular storybooks; she knew that joining such refined amusements would only disgrace Marquis Chengping’s household. After greeting a few familiar faces, she slipped away quietly, intending to find another place to linger. It was not her fault she lacked skill in poetry and learning—her father could not read well either. The crooked beam above had made the lower beam crooked.
In the chill of winter, the imperial garden held almost no blooming flowers. Those kept in the warm houses, if placed outside, would wither within half a day.
Prince Ruining stood beneath a bare tree. Not far away, in the crevice of an artificial rockery, a small yellow wildflower swayed and bloomed bravely in the cold wind. In such bitter cold, could weeds growing in the cracks truly bloom so stubbornly? He gazed at the little flower and walked toward it slowly.
Suddenly, a hand reached out from behind the rockery, swift and merciless, plucking the yellow blossom away. The movement was so quick that he had no time to react.
The weed, stripped of its flower, still swayed in the wind.
Prince Ruining halted, watching as a girl emerged from behind the rockery, a carved bronze mirror in her hand. She pinned the plucked yellow flower onto the jade clasp of her cloak. Once it was set, she lifted the mirror again and again to admire herself, finally breaking into a satisfied smile.
He looked at the girl, absorbed in her own delight, then at the slender weed now bereft of its bloom. Forget it. He was a man already half in death—why bother to quarrel with her?