In truth, Meng Guqing was somewhat worried. The things Zhao Donglin was doing would eventually come to light. It wasn’t that he wasn’t wary of Jing Wang, his concerns ran deeper, though neither of them spoke of them openly. He had buried himself in the Imperial Park, enduring both physical and mental strain, forcing himself to “play” under watchful, suspicious eyes.
The Empress Dowager had never approved of his reforms. She always believed that slow and steady wins the race, often delaying decisions under the pretext of prudence and, of course, out of consideration for the powerful Donghu faction.
As for Noble Consort Xu, she was perceptive and had witnessed firsthand how he had clawed his way through thorns and brambles to reach the throne. In their best days, they could still share meaningful political discussions. But after she bore his child, too many new concerns had entered both their hearts. They had already begun to drift apart.
He had long since planned for her and their son’s future security. His growing preference for the Empress was partly genuine affection but also because the Xu family’s influence had spread deep into the harem. Through Noble Consort Xu, they spied upon his every move. Keeping his distance had become a necessity.
When all was said and done, the only person he could speak sincerely to, the only one he wanted to speak sincerely to, was the Empress. And that, of course, pleased him.
Thus, he had never hidden any of his arrangements in the Imperial Park from her. Just thinking of returning home each day, weary and dusty, to find the person he liked waiting for him, just a small lamp lighting up the dark of his heart, was enough to keep him going.
So when he suddenly heard that she intended to leave him and “run away,” he was filled with a deep, wordless sorrow beneath his reluctance to let her go.
Having learned the news from the Empress Dowager’s palace, he stormed into Fengyi Palace and sat moodily in the rocking chair where the Empress often sat. The Empress, however, didn’t try to coax him. Instead, she calmly directed her maids to pack for the trip, a journey that would last a month or two at least, practically like moving house.
It wasn’t her home she was packing up—it was his heart.
The sulking emperor’s presence was so overpowering that even the palace maids couldn’t act as if nothing was wrong. Once everything was mostly ready and dinnertime approached, they all quietly slipped away, leaving the battlefield clear.
Meng Guqing could feel his gaze on her all evening—haunting, ghost-like, unrelenting. Few people could withstand it for long. Knowing that her superior needed some appeasement and that he alone decided whether she could leave or not, she approached with a soft, bright smile. Her face, luminous as jade, came close to that of the young emperor, breaking through the invisible walls he’d built around himself.
“Your Majesty, please eat. The game you sent me yesterday, I had it cooked up. All in your favorite flavors,” she said, listing off a few spicy, savory dishes that were bound to stir the appetite.
Zhao Donglin, after all, could never resist good food. He could polish off twenty plates of small dishes in one sitting. But today, after a full day’s work and a visit to the Empress Dowager, only to hear this upsetting news, he had lost his appetite. His handsome face remained cold, long lashes flickering in agitation, betraying his unrest.
“The Empress is about to go off on a long trip,” he said. “You don’t care whether I live or die anymore, so why should you care whether I eat?”
How unreasonable! Yet, it was true she was leaving him behind. Still, she had her reasons.
“I’ve been in the palace for a year now,” she said. “The Empress Dowager often visits her old companions, and Noble Consort Xu sometimes goes out to visit her family—but me? I haven’t stepped outside in so long. The only time I left was for Jing Wang’s manor, and that hardly counts as an outing. Can’t Your Majesty sympathize?”
She saw guilt flicker in his eyes and pressed her advantage. “Besides, it’s not as if I’m abandoning you. The Shanglin Palace isn’t far, just a day’s travel. If Your Majesty wishes to visit, I’ll always welcome you. And while the Empress Dowager is away, the princesses and noble ladies who usually meddle in court affairs will all be gone too. With fewer of them around, won’t it be easier for you to handle things your way?”
Of course, those women had little real influence beyond gossip but it was still a pleasant thing to hear, a statement of loyalty.
Zhao Donglin knew perfectly well that he was far too easily swayed by her, yet the boundaries he set around himself had long since eroded. He’d fallen, and there was no helping it.
All his outer sharpness and authority melted before her. He sighed inwardly, resigned, but then hesitated, suddenly awkward, his voice softening like a shy young man’s.
“But I really can’t bear to part with you,” he murmured. “I want you by my side. I want to see you, touch you, every day. Every night when I come back to Fengyi Palace to dine and talk with you, that’s the calmest part of my day.”
For someone who rarely spoke sweet words, his sudden confession struck home. Even knowing it was partly a tactic, Meng Guqing’s heart still wavered.
Zhao Donglin, keen-eyed as ever, caught the faintest flicker of emotion on her face. He had traced every curve of that face a hundred times, even in the dark of night, his fingertips knowing it by heart.
So he pressed the advantage—pleading, coaxing, even resorting to teasing—but she remained unmoved. If she stayed in the palace any longer, she really might suffocate. No matter how he tried, she would not yield.
Finally, Zhao Donglin, who always knew when to retreat, sighed. He wouldn’t force her and risk making her truly unhappy. “I still need Tan Ying here,” he said. “I can’t spare him to go with you. I’ll send a few skilled and reliable guards instead. Listen to them if anything happens and take care of yourself.”
Meng Guqing quickly replied, “Naturally Tan Ying shouldn’t leave. Lady Xu is due any day now, it wouldn’t be right to send her husband away, would it?” She said it playfully, trying to dispel the heavy, sentimental air.
She truly didn’t understand why this farewell, just a summer retreat of two or three months, had turned so solemn, almost like parting for life and death.
But to Zhao Donglin, power struggles were always built on corpses and blood. He’d grown up watching the Regent purge his enemies; he himself had survived several close brushes with death. No matter how calm he appeared, he was still only twenty and pretending he felt no unease would be a lie.
Yet he refused to let her see that unguarded side of him. He wanted to remain the strong, unshakable figure in her eyes. Normally he hid it well but now, on the verge of separation, he could no longer keep the attachment from spilling over.
The departure came swiftly.
That day, the sky was a brilliant blue. Before the Tianyi Gate, the Empress Dowager’s and Empress’s processions stretched out like a great wall. The guards who carried the “No Entry for Commoners” placards were tall and imposing; after the grand music came two carriages drawn by sixteen horses each, flanked and followed by armed escorts. Outside the palace gates waited the noble ladies designated to accompany the journey.
Zhao Donglin escorted the Empress Dowager and Empress to their carriages. Watching the final column of three hundred elite cavalry vanish through the gate, a faint desolation flashed in his deep eyes. Then he turned, stretched lazily, and said to his attendants, “Let’s go. The game’s about to start, I need to warm up.”
Jing Wang, watching his nephew grow more unrestrained by the day, couldn’t tell if the young emperor was truly self-destructive or simply plotting something beyond anyone’s guess. But with his own faction strong and secure, he didn’t much care. Adjusting his golden belt, he strode off grandly.
The south had grown unstable of late; he had no time for palace intrigue. Han Quan and Zhao Zhang were still locked in a standoff with the remnant Southern Yan court. Now, Southern Yan had sought aid from Qi, a desperate gamble that would only hasten their end, but for Wu, it was a troubling complication. Should war break out, Jing Wang saw in it his great opportunity.
***
The Shanglin Palace had been built during the Regent’s reign to host northern envoys. It spanned thousands of acres, divided into palace, lake, plain, and mountain sections. Most of its buildings were built beside water, connected by a network of lakes and streams, an ideal retreat from the summer heat.
Rumor had it the Regent once planned to move Zhao Donglin there permanently, while he himself stayed in the capital to declare himself emperor. Fortunately, fate intervened, and the plan failed, sparing Zhao Donglin a life of captivity.
To Meng Guqing, however, Shanglin Palace was a paradise. She’d seen many gardens and estates in her previous life, most overly manicured and commercial. None could compare to the natural beauty here.
Best of all, it was far from the intrigues of the palace, she was truly free.
The Empress Dowager’s residence, Songhe Hall, was some distance away. She preferred spending time with her old friends, women her own age with shared memories rather than chatting with the younger Empress.
Meng Guqing’s only duties were to pay respects each morning and accompany the Empress Dowager for lunch. The rest of the time, she and the others played cards, strolled the gardens, or listened to Buddhist lectures from nuns invited from nearby temples.
At first, Meng Guqing joined in out of politeness, but soon grew bored. Among the Empress Dowager’s companions was the venerable Old Cheng Wangfei, who had no daughters of her own and whose three granddaughters were all married. Curiously, she had brought along a young girl this time, a girl she introduced to the Empress Dowager as Huang Xian.
Meng Guqing immediately perked up when she heard that name, so this was the daughter of Huang Gusheng.
Ever since Huang Gusheng made a fool of himself instead of earning renown last time, he had become much more cautious, devoting himself wholeheartedly to his work at the Chongwen Hall compiling books. Zhao Donglin had issued him an edict, saying that there were many lost manuscripts and orphaned classics among the common people, and ordered him to go seek them out, especially in the picturesque southern regions, where perhaps many hidden scholars and masters might dwell. Whatever the true meaning behind the Emperor’s words, even if this was a disguised banishment, disobedience to an imperial command was out of the question.
So Huang Gusheng could only comply and set off. It turned out he hadn’t brought his family with him. Later, Meng Guqing learned that one of Huang Xian’s elder sisters had married a grandnephew of Old Cheng Wangfei, and it was through this connection that the old lady came to know Huang Xian.
As for Huang Xian, she was sixteen, in the full bloom of youth, and indeed possessed some talent. Her demeanor was gentle and refined. Knowing that the Empress Dowager favored accomplished young women, Old Cheng Wangfei had deliberately brought the girl along.
And Huang Xian did not disappoint her patroness. She behaved toward the Empress Dowager with both the intimacy and care of a granddaughter and the reverent deference due a superior. Like a flower that could speak, she accompanied the Empress Dowager everywhere; even during card games, the old lady liked to keep her close at hand. Compared to Meng Guqing, who was not only the Empress but also the Empress Dowager’s niece, Huang Xian was clearly the more favored one.
Most importantly, she was extremely adept at managing appearances. Each time the Empress arrived, Huang Xian would immediately and nervously make way beside the Empress Dowager, as if she were terribly frightened of the Empress.
Meng Guqing touched her own face, was she really that terrifying? Or had she perhaps shown too openly her indifference toward the Huang family?
That day, when they crossed paths before the Empress Dowager’s hall, Huang Xian quickly dropped into a curtsey from afar. Meng Guqing, all gracious composure, bid her rise. Huang Xian lifted her delicate face like a soft, pale blossom and thanked her. She said that the moon had been especially bright of late, the osmanthus trees in the palace blooming in fragrant clusters, and that she and a few young ladies were planning a small moon-viewing gathering, and humbly invited the Empress to join them.
Meng Guqing knew all too well what those noble ladies’ gatherings entailed: poetry composition, matching couplets, reciting verses… all things she was least skilled at. Usually she did her utmost to avoid such palace events; why would she voluntarily walk into one? So she declined gently, telling them to enjoy themselves.
But Huang Xian looked all timid and flustered again. “My father behaved improperly before,” she said, “and offended both His Majesty and Your Majesty. I only wish to borrow this opportunity to offer an apology on his behalf. And too, Your Majesty, as the model for all women under heaven, we would all be honored to receive your instruction. If you do not grace us with your presence, it will surely be my fault.”
The Huang family clearly knew they had angered the Emperor badly. Even if no punishment was decreed, resentment certainly lingered. So now even the daughter was sent to smooth things over, especially with the one who had recommended Huang Gusheng to the Empress Dowager in the first place, how did Huang Xian know that? Truly, there were no secrets in the palace.
Still, while Meng Guqing held little regard for the works Huang Xian had written, she could hardly embarrass such a meek young girl upon first meeting. She truly didn’t want to go; she knew too well her shortcomings compared to these cultivated young ladies. Women of Donghu descent were not known for literary grace, and if they really started composing poems, she’d only serve as the foil. When she refused, Huang Xian’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears, but she did not insist and withdrew looking dejected.
Caiwei and Fusang were both puzzled afterward; Fusang was more outspoken: “That Miss Huang seems full of little tricks. I bet she’s thinking like her father, using Your Majesty to gain fame! That would be so devious. It’s good you didn’t go. These southern folks are so sly, it’s like they can’t help themselves.”
Indeed, the times greatly favored scholars and writers; any good poem or essay would be eagerly copied and circulated, sometimes making paper in Luoyang worth its weight in gold. Even the nobility could feel humiliated when outshone by talent, and if anyone were to retaliate out of jealousy, they’d only invite public scorn. That was why Zhao Donglin had endured insults so silently back then.
Meng Guqing didn’t bother debating Huang Xian’s true intentions but the next day, somehow, the poems from those ladies’ gathering found their way before the Empress Dowager. She asked to see them, and sure enough, Huang Xian’s was deemed the best. Though the Empress Dowager favored Donghu nobles in her heart, she was fair and clear-headed when judging the works, praising Huang Xian’s poem highly.
Huang Xian stood shyly beside her, saying, “It’s just some nonsense we girls composed, not worthy of true appreciation. I heard that the Empress possesses great literary talent. Unfortunately, I’ve not had the fortune to meet her, nor to admire Her Majesty’s calligraphy, since Her Majesty does not indulge in such frivolities with us.”
Watching Huang Xian performing so flawlessly before the Empress Dowager, Meng Guqing was truly speechless. Could it be that Fusang’s words had come true? Fortunately, the Empress Dowager knew her niece well. Her wise, discerning eyes remained clear as she smiled and said, “We Donghu women are not so patient with these poems and essays. We may lack the quiet grace of southern ladies, but we are skilled in archery and horsemanship. We admire heroines like Eldest Princess Jincheng from the late emperor’s time. The late emperor himself often said that our homeland’s women are no less capable than men, able to take the field, defend the realm, and govern the state. There’s no need to confine them to the inner chambers.”
That remark ran directly counter to the path Huang Xian was trying to carve for herself. The other noblewomen nodded approvingly, while Huang Xian, too young to mask her reaction, let her expression falter before quickly recovering and echoing the Empress Dowager’s words.
Meng Guqing silently gave the Empress Dowager a huge thumbs-up in her heart. With this speech, Huang Xian would hardly dare bring up her family’s scholarly ideals again and perhaps, out of caution, she might even stop writing those fame-seeking pieces altogether. That, Meng Guqing thought, was a true service to the realm.
As for Huang Xian herself, she wasn’t capable of stirring up any real trouble for now. Meng Guqing was never one to deny her own shortcomings; if she went along and was again invited to compose verses, it would only look like deliberate provocation. So Huang Xian could only focus on serving the Empress Dowager attentively.
When August came and the Mid-Autumn Festival approached, the Empress Dowager still had no plans to return to the capital. Upon hearing this, the Emperor decided to come to the summer palace himself to celebrate with her. Along with that message, he sent Meng Guqing a secret note through her guards: Jing Wang had been dispatched out of the capital, and the plan he had been preparing all along was now ready to begin.
