Meng Guqing hadn’t planned to go to the royal library, Wenyuan Pavilion. After all, it had been the late emperor’s private archive, filled with records of state affairs and the late emperor’s meticulous daily journals. It was understandable for the Empress Dowager, still mourning her husband, to look back now and then, but why should she intrude?
The main reason was that the young emperor had been visiting her too often lately, almost daily, full of enthusiasm. Whenever she chatted idly about palace matters, he never grew bored; he even offered advice with great interest. Her real aim was to subtly nudge him toward certain realizations without making it obvious, and since he didn’t seem to notice, she no longer bothered to spar with him. Instead, he began asking her questions especially about her Donghu homeland. Though he himself was of Donghu descent, he had been born during the fierce wars between the late emperor and Yan, and had followed his parents south as a child, never returning.
Learning that Meng Guqing had an elder brother, he grew curious about her family. Impulsively, he even suggested that perhaps next autumn’s grand sacrificial tour could be held in beijiang, he’d meet the princes and nobles stationed there. Truly a young man’s heart: whatever came to mind, he said.
Wenyuan Pavilion stood by the entrance to the imperial garden, not far from Fengyi Palace, a short walk after dinner. Meng Guqing dismissed her maids, took out the key Gu Taifei had given her, and unlocked the door. Inside was spotless, clearly well tended. Shelves towered from floor to vaulted ceiling, ladders leaning neatly against the walls. She passed rows of rare books and scrolls, walking unhurriedly deeper in.
Tall circular windows let in the light, chasing shadows from the corners. Dust motes floated in the air. Her gaze paused on the shelves labeled Year Four of Jingtai, the current emperor’s reign title, chosen by the Regent himself when the boy was twelve, newly moved to the Eastern Palace. That same year, the Grand Empress Dowager had passed away, and the Regent’s ambition to seize the throne became unmistakable.
In Meng Guqing’s view, though the late emperor had been the first to rise against Great Yan and build the new dynasty through sheer military merit, after his death it was the Regent who held the realm steady, unyielding in war, the anchor of the nation. His contributions were equally indelible. He could have been emperor himself. Like Emperor Jianwen and Yan Wang in Ming history, one could understand each side’s motives. Both had their reasons; victory would decide right and wrong.
But the Regent’s circumstances were far better. His nephew, though nominally emperor, was confined in the Eastern Palace, a puppet without soldiers or power. If the Regent had taken the throne outright, he’d only have borne infamy while reaping all real advantage. Yet human greed knows no bounds, he wanted both the throne and a spotless name. He hoped the twelve-year-old boy would conveniently disappear on his own.
Perhaps Heaven truly favored its “true dragon.” Against all odds, the young emperor survived, never once ill even with a common cold, strong and lively as ever.
His tutors were all scholars whose entire families’ fates rested in the Regent’s hands. They taught diligently, but never dared to speak beyond the curriculum. Records described the boy as “of mediocre aptitude” again and again, no words of encouragement, only rote instruction. Sometimes the Regent himself examined his nephew’s progress, rarely satisfied. There were notes of all-night punishments, of kneeling before the late emperor’s portrait until fainting, of studying through sickness without rest. Reading those words, one could feel the seething, murderous hostility behind them.
Yet that same cruel Regent was the Zhao clan’s indispensable hero, a man who, even in his final illness, had wanted to personally lead the army north to crush the remnant Yan court and secure peace for the realm. No wonder the Empress Dowager forbade her son to purge the Regent’s faction; even he himself must feel conflicted.
Such tangled debts of loyalty and hatred, impossible to cleanly unravel.
The original empress was only on the throne for three years before being deposed. Of course, part of it was that she and the young emperor never truly connected emotionally, and there was also the lingering influence of the regent prince. Thinking about the few Donghu nobles still arrogantly holding power in court, the regent’s faction including herself, an empress born of Donghu aristocracy, the future looked rather uncertain.
She felt like a minor boss the male lead has to defeat on his path to leveling up… Meng Guqing put down her book and found a reasonably clean spot to sit. The gentle winter sunlight brought no warmth at all. Fortunately, she had already decided the path she wanted to take. Now she only awaited the right moment. When that time came, she would leave the palace and return to her own place. The current Dongchang Wang was her father, and her brother would succeed him. From now on, she would have all the influence she wanted. With these conditions, seeking a new, healthy relationship shouldn’t be too difficult, right?
The life of a fairy-like existence would come a few years later, just thinking about it made her yearn. Meng Guqing stretched lazily and rubbed her stiff neck. Her eyes casually scanned outside, and she was surprised. Smiling, she asked, “Who are you? When did you arrive?”
Staring at the suddenly appearing young girl, the shock was minor; more surprising was that someone like her had been hiding in the palace unnoticed. The main wonder was: how had no one discovered such a figure? No other reason—she was simply too beautiful. At first glance, Meng Guqing almost thought she’d stepped into a story from Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio, a peerless beauty stepping into the world, meeting a wealthy scholar for a romantic encounter… Suppressing her wild imagination, Meng Guqing finally recalled that she herself had been the unexpected visitor the first time she came to the Wenyuan Pavilion. She then realized, “Are you one of the sweeping palace maids of Wenyuan Pavilion? When I arrived, the door was locked, I didn’t expect anyone to be here.”
The beauty wore palace robes, a bit ill-fitting, and seemed stunned by the sudden situation, but her appearance was still flawless. Meng Guqing had always heard compliments on her own looks, though she’d thought beauty was subjective and a matter of personal taste. But seeing this girl, she believed no one could honestly say she was unattractive. Even in the palace, where flowers competed in bloom, no one could compare to her. No wonder people said true beauty is indistinguishable as male or female. The girl’s figure was tall and slender, her skin pale and flawless, features exquisitely perfect. Her thick black eyebrows and fan-like long eyelashes might not fit the current beauty standards, but Meng Guqing, accustomed to modern diverse aesthetics, found her very pleasing.
Especially her eyes: deep as ink, yet rippling like a gentle wave, encompassing everything yet seeming to see nothing, crystal clear. Her full crimson lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. Meng Guqing saw she seemed unable to speak and immediately thought of a certain attendant in the Empress Dowager’s palace like Fanchun Gugu, also a silent attendant since childhood, a mute, living quietly behind the scenes. Could this girl before her be the same? Her expression softened further. She caught sight of a few small palace maids peeking through the door outside, something must be happening at Fengyi Palace.
She raised her hand to reassure her: “Don’t be afraid. I’m leaving now. You go about your business, I won’t call them in.”
Seeing the pretty little palace maid visibly relax, Meng Guqing put the book away and said, “Don’t tell anyone I came. You can get up now.”
The girl, who had been half-kneeling with her head lowered, heard the door creak shut and slowly turned to look in the direction Meng Guqing had left. She stood up gradually. If Meng Guqing had still been there, she would have noticed that this girl was even taller than herself, with a flat chest. The previously timid demeanor on that beautiful face had vanished, replaced by a deep, inscrutable melancholy. Her half-closed eyes no longer held any of the small frightened rabbit look.
The case of shoddy workmanship at Shouhuang Hall was dealt with swiftly, some were pardoned, some imprisoned, some executed and the matter passed. The idea that Heaven was sending a warning was damaging to the royal prestige. Fortunately, the Empress’s suggestion was made public, dispelling some malicious gossip. It was declared a human error. Even the Empress Dowager paid attention, coming up with a practical solution. Anyone still foolish enough to speak of “Heaven’s punishment” was clearly opposing the current regime, did they want their heads on the chopping block?
For the women of the harem, it was merely a minor episode. Meng Guqing didn’t dwell on it. What concerned her was another matter, Noble Consort Xu’s younger sister, Xu Qiang, had been living in the palace for a while. The young emperor’s attitude was clear. One couldn’t just let a young woman of marriageable age languish in the harem. The Xu family finally sought a compromise. If they couldn’t marry her to the emperor, could he at least arrange a marriage? Surely there was still some dignity in that?
So the Xu family petitioned Noble Consort Xu, who then asked the emperor for favor. The young emperor, whether intentionally or not, passed this responsibility to Meng Guqing. Did he not realize the subtle tension between the Empress and the Xu family? After all, she was the one who had snatched away the Xu family’s “fruit of victory”, the Empress’s seat.
Meng Guqing had intended to refuse politely, with plenty of reasons ready. She had only been in the capital a short time, barely knew any of the prominent families, and had little understanding of who had suitable sons. Besides, the southern nobles in the capital might not even accept a marriage she arranged. But the young emperor insisted, taking her hand and saying, “Noble Consort Xu cannot manage these affairs now. Royal Mother is ill. I have no time to deal with this. Empress, just help me.”
—He was becoming more natural holding her hand, skilled at softening her resolve. He lowered himself slightly, meeting her gaze, the trust in his eyes deeply moving. Both were beautiful; their silent exchange had a strangely tender atmosphere. Meng Guqing awkwardly looked away. “I’ll meet with Miss Xu first. After all, this is a lifelong matter, she must be satisfied.”
“Everyone says marriage is about parents’ arrangement and matchmakers’ words. The Empress’s kind heart surely notices these details.”
At that time, they had just finished dinner. The young emperor occasionally managed the day’s affairs and extra studies. The Six Arts for gentlemen were part of his education, Donghu valued horsemanship and archery, while the southern culture emphasized ritual and music. His goal was always unity between the two peoples.
Previously, Noble Consort Xu had been the emperor’s constant companion, but due to her family’s overreach, there had been some resentment. Now she was growing heavy with child. The emperor only visited her at midday, spending the evenings always around the Empress’s palace. Gradually, it became a habit. But every time he went to the Empress, she would ask if there was something to discuss, as if he had no right to go otherwise. So when the marriage of Xu Qiang arose as an excuse, he immediately shared it with the Empress.
He had also specially instructed Feng Tianbao to keep an eye on suitable families in the capital and recommend one or two every day so they could discuss them regularly.
