Xiao Jue turned to look at her.
“The annotations in the book—you’ve seen them, haven’t you? ‘The imperial star is unclear, the empress’s position is vacant.’ She wrote that one month before she died.”
He walked back to the stone table and looked down at Shen Zhiyi.
“Do you know what that line means?”
Shen Zhiyi took a deep breath. “This concubine will venture a guess.”
“Speak.”
“The Imperial Consort Jing was warning someone. ‘The imperial star is unclear’ suggests the late emperor’s health was failing.”
“And ‘the empress’s position is vacant’ suggests that the position of empress… was being coveted by someone else.”
Xiao Jue looked at her with a complex expression.
“You’ve only guessed half of it,” he said.
“The other half is that she was warning me.”
Shen Zhiyi froze.
A faint, bitter smile appeared on Xiao Jue’s face.
“Back then, I wasn’t the crown prince. I was just an unfavored imperial son. She was the only person in this palace I could trust.”
Shen Zhiyi opened her mouth but couldn’t find words.
Xiao Jue looked toward the sinking sun.
“The night she died, I was stopped outside Fangcao Hall. I watched the lights inside go out. The next day, the Empress Dowager told me she had died of illness.”
He turned back to her.
“Do you know how old I was then?”
Shen Zhiyi shook her head.
“Fourteen.”
“From that day on, I understood—there are no deaths from illness in this palace. Only people who are killed.”
A chill autumn wind blew into the pavilion.
Shen Zhiyi looked at the man before her and suddenly felt a crack in the cold shell around his eyes.
Not pity.
Understanding.
Why did he wear the mask of a tyrant?
Because without it, he would have died just like Consort Jing—silently, unnoticed.
“Your Majesty,” she said softly.
Xiao Jue looked at her.
Shen Zhiyi took out the Celestial Phenomena Record of the Imperial Observatory from her robes and placed it on the stone table.
“I am returning the book.”
Xiao Jue looked down at it but did not move.
“This concubine has memorized its contents. I can recite them at any time if needed.”
Xiao Jue raised his eyes to hers.
“You’ve always been trying to hide your abilities,” he said.
“And now you’re revealing them. Aren’t you afraid I’ll kill you?”
Shen Zhiyi smiled.
“If Your Majesty intended to kill me, you would have done so in the Imperial Garden yesterday.”
Xiao Jue stared at her for a long moment, then suddenly laughed.
This laugh was different from the others. It carried resignation, appreciation, and a sense of “as expected.”
He picked up the book and flipped through it.
“Do you know why I kept this book?”
Shen Zhiyi shook her head.
He turned to the last page and handed it to her.
She looked down—and froze.
There was a newly written line in dark ink:
“The imperial star is already clear; the empress’s position awaits its return.”
Signed with a single character: “Jue.”
Shen Zhiyi lifted her head and met his eyes.
Those eyes were still deep and cold—but now there was light within them.
“After I wrote that line,” he said, “I have been waiting for one person.”
“Waiting for someone willing to take up this chess game.”
He paused, looking at her.
“And now, I’ve found her.”
Shen Zhiyi’s heartbeat skipped.
In the distance, the evening drum sounded. The hour of (5-7 PM) was nearly over.
Xiao Jue stood up and straightened his robes.
“Go back. It’s dark. Be careful on the way.”
He walked toward the exit of the pavilion. Just before stepping down, he stopped without turning around.
“Also—about the note. Zhou Cun wants to see you. I’ve already blocked him for you.”
“But he won’t give up. Think about how you’ll handle him yourself.”
With that, he strode away.
Shen Zhiyi remained seated in the pavilion for a long time.
The last light of dusk fell across the stone table and onto the Celestial Phenomena Record.
She flipped to the last page again, staring at the line:
“The imperial star is already clear; the empress’s position awaits its return.”
She suddenly smiled.
So he hadn’t been testing her.
He had been waiting for her.
Waiting for someone willing to play this game.
Shen Zhiyi put the book away and stood up, walking down from Yujing Pavilion.
On the way back to Fangcao Hall, she walked slowly.
She reviewed everything in her mind.
Consort Jing—died mysteriously ten years ago, connected to Xiao Jue, and the owner of that celestial record.
The Empress Dowager—possibly involved in Jing Consort’s death, since she was the one who declared it an illness.
Zhou Cun—trying to use her to investigate something. What is his connection to Jing Consort?
Consort De—her orchid was used as a tool. Did she know?
And Xiao Jue.
What did he mean by “the imperial star is already clear”? The late emperor was already dead—was he referring to himself, or something else entirely?
She reached Fangcao Hall and looked up at the night sky.
Darkness had fallen. The first star had appeared.
She pushed open the door. Qingtang was waiting anxiously in the courtyard.
“Miss! You’re finally back! I was so worried!”
“I’m fine,” Shen Zhiyi said, patting her shoulder.
She walked to the radish bed and crouched down.
In the night light, the sprouts looked even greener, more alive than during the day.
“Qingtang.”
“Yes?”
“Starting tomorrow, we’re going to be busy.”
“What are we doing?”
Shen Zhiyi stood up, brushing off her hands.
“Playing chess.”
Inside the room, she lit a candle and placed the Celestial Phenomena Record on the desk.
She stared at the last line for a long time:
“The imperial star is already clear; the empress’s position awaits its return.”
Then she picked up a brush and wrote a small line beside it:
“The game has begun; the outcome is yet undecided.”
She set down the brush and blew out the candle.
Outside the window, moonlight spilled in, falling over the rows of radish seedlings.
The young sprouts swayed gently in the wind, as if nodding in response.