The day Zhao Donglin arrived was a blazing, sunny day. Having received the news early, Meng Guqing led the noblewomen and palace maids to wait before the grand gates of the summer palace. From afar, the glint of bright yellow banners appeared on the official road. Nearly half an hour later, the imperial carriage came into view.
Zhao Donglin couldn’t wait. Before the Empress could even complete her formal greeting, he leapt down from the carriage and took her hand. “It’s too hot for you to be out here waiting. You could’ve stayed inside, you see, your face is all red from the sun.”
In truth, she hadn’t been standing in the sun at all, sitting under a shaded canopy with attendants fanning her. Yet with so many eyes watching, his open affection made her uneasy. She squeezed his hand lightly. “I’m fine. Your Majesty has had a long journey, let’s go inside. The Empress Dowager is waiting.”
The procession arrived at Songhe Hall. Most of the noblewomen present were of the Emperor’s grandmother’s generation, so there was no need for strict propriety. The younger girls, however, all retreated shyly behind screens, their perfume filling the room. Hearing the whispers from behind, Zhao Donglin glanced at Meng Guqing who ignored him, for she knew exactly what was going on.
The Emperor had been on the throne eleven years now, and since he’d postponed the beauty selection this year to favor the imperial examinations, the harem remained small. Many families had been eager to seize an opening. For this summer retreat, seven or eight young noble ladies had come with their elders. When word spread that the Emperor would be joining them for Mid-Autumn, even more letters were sent, summoning new hopefuls.
Now there were over twenty young women in the palace; wherever one went, it was a flutter of silks and soft laughter. The Empress Dowager, clearly pleased, especially favored Huang Xian and two other high-born ladies: Second Miss Shi, daughter of Zhongyi Marquis who had fought beside the founding emperor, and Miss Fan, daughter of General Fan, a veteran hero now holding the title of Grand General Weiyuan.
Between them, there was a perfect balance: one from a northern noble house, one from a military family, and one from a scholarly lineage; every aspect covered. Yet that was merely the Empress Dowager’s plan. Her son’s own preferences could not be ignored. Thus, besides these three, she had a few others in mind as well; whichever one caught the Emperor’s eye would be swiftly promoted to consort.
From the Empress Dowager’s perspective as matriarch of the imperial clan, there was nothing wrong with arranging suitable matches for her son. Meng Guqing, always a clear-sighted observer, understood her reasoning. Though a flicker of unease stirred within her, she could only sigh, such was life in the royal household.
The Empress Dowager, mindful of her niece’s feelings, refrained from openly pushing introductions. After chatting a while, she gently excused Meng Guqing, asking her to go inspect the banquet preparations for the evening’s welcome feast.
As Meng Guqing left Songhe Hall for the great pavilion on Mingyue Lake, she knew well what was happening behind her, that under the pretext of family acquaintance, the Empress Dowager would be summoning the young ladies to meet her son. Zhao Donglin, she thought, was probably caught off guard, coming all this way only to find himself at a mass matchmaking banquet! She almost wanted to laugh, though an unbidden heaviness tugged at her heart. She dared not look too deeply into that feeling and spent the rest of the afternoon wandering outside, not returning.
And indeed, she had guessed right. The introductions at Songhe Hall were only the beginning. That night’s welcome feast became a true showcase, the great flower hall filled with all the young women of the summer palace, more than twenty in total. Luckily, the space was vast, or there would’ve been no room at all.
The elder ladies, shrewd and observant, soon picked up the cue. The Emperor, raised on many schools of learning, was known for his literary gifts. So they took the opportunity to encourage the girls to display their talents for the Empress Dowager’s enjoyment.
“Enjoyment,” of course, was only a pretext, everyone knew who the real audience was.
The young ladies, blushing and shy, glanced up from beneath lowered lashes at the handsome young ruler seated beside the Empress Dowager. Some even stole looks at the Empress, their eyes full of sympathy and fear.
For outside the palace, people spoke endlessly of Noble Consort Xu’s unrivaled beauty, yet none had ever mentioned the Empress’s appearance. Those who had seen her were mostly elder noblewomen, discreet and restrained, and after all, the beauty of a sovereign’s wife was hardly a topic for gossip.
Only upon arriving at the summer palace and formally paying respects did they realize that the luminous woman beside the Empress Dowager, bright as moonlight, poised and serene, was the Empress herself.
Those who had once prided themselves on their beauty now wilted like frost-struck flowers. Even after dressing with all their might that night, once they stepped into the radiant glow of the flower hall, surrounded by every kind of youthful grace, the most dazzling presence still remained the one seated by the Emperor’s side, someone impossible to overlook.
It was said that beauties came from the southern lands, so how was it that a place like Gaochang could produce someone even fairer than them? Standing side by side, the woman from Gaochang looked a shade paler, her complexion clearer and more luminous. The flower hall was crowded that day, and though the occasional river breeze drifted in, it could not dispel the gathered warmth of so many people. Everyone was a little flushed from the heat but for the Empress, that warmth only seemed to intensify, as though wings had been added to the flame. Beads of sweat dotted the tip of her nose, and every pore seemed to emit a soft glow of heat; her skin, steamed rosy and pale, made her lightly powdered face resemble a lotus bud just beginning to bloom in the spring sunlight.
With such an Empress present, who else could possibly hope to outshine her by beauty alone? Those who had dreamed of standing out by their looks realized there was no chance. All eyes turned to the Emperor seated beside her, who occasionally bent down to speak softly to her, his expression brimming with affection, so much that it nearly overflowed. Everyone sighed inwardly at the sight. The only one who remained calm and composed was Huang Xian.
She was beautiful too, but when surrounded by so many fair faces, beauty alone ceased to be an advantage. Fortunately, she had talent, true, undeniable talent that outshone the rest. And that, by coincidence, was precisely what both the Empress Dowager and the Emperor valued most.
While everyone’s attention remained fixed on the two true masters of the gathering, Huang Xian’s painting drew high praise from the Empress Dowager. Alongside her were Miss Shi, who performed on the zither, and Miss Fan, who gave a sword dance. The Empress Dowager found merit in all three, each distinct, each admirable, and could not decide on a winner. So, she passed the decision to the Emperor.
Zhao Donglin was already impatient. To his mind, he had only come for the sake of his mother and the Empress, wishing for nothing more than a quiet meal in their company. He hadn’t expected to be caught up in such formalities.
But as emperor, he could not do as he pleased, nor could he disregard the Empress Dowager’s wishes. With a light smile, he said, “If Royal Mother says all are good, then they must all be good. Your son can’t say otherwise. But if I must choose, it would only reflect my own bias. Why not let everyone here vote? Whomever receives the most votes shall be the winner.”
He was smoothing things over, clearly unwilling to reveal his own preference. At once, the attendants, ever quick on the uptake, brought out three trays, each bearing a slip of paper with one of the young ladies’ names. Every guest was given a flower; whoever they favored, they would place their flower in her tray.
To everyone’s surprise, the winner turned out to be Miss Fan, the sword dancer, her tray held eleven more flowers than the others. Meng Guqing recalled the dance: proper, nothing extraordinary, yet somehow it had captured the crowd’s favor.
When the three young women came forward to offer thanks, Miss Fan stood first in the middle. Compared to the others, her wheat-toned skin and upright, athletic bearing so unlike the fragile delicacy prized by southern aesthetics made Meng Guqing suddenly understand. Rather than crown someone truly outstanding and threaten one’s own standing, it was safer to choose one who posed no danger.
The prizes had already been set before the voting began. The first place received a ruyi scepter; Miss Fan accepted the reward gracefully and withdrew. The second place was a jade pendant, awarded to Huang Xian. Her cheeks flushed lightly, but her demeanor remained composed. Her curtsey was as fluid and elegant as water, refined, poised, befitting the daughter of a scholarly family. Zhao Donglin gave her a few extra glances. Feeling the weight of his gaze linger on her, Huang Xian’s face grew warmer still. Amid the many watching eyes, she lifted her head and retreated with dignity.
“This Miss Huang and her father truly share that same air of self-important scholarly pride,” a soft voice murmured beside Meng Guqing’s ear, his tone carrying a faint trace of irony that made his attitude plain.
She had thought… well, she hadn’t expected him to still bear a grudge. Meng Guqing was momentarily unsure how to respond. Huang Gusheng had indeed offended the emperor deeply, and she had thought the matter forgotten, yet here he was, still remembering. How had he stomached his distaste long enough to bring Huang Xian into the palace and grant her the title of Consort Xian? Then again, marriages in the imperial family were never about affection, they were about necessity. Likely, Huang Xian’s days in the palace had not been easy either; she didn’t even have a child to her name.
Thinking of the harm caused by her father’s writings and of how Huang Xian’s own life had withered like a flower, Meng Guqing’s feelings toward her grew unexpectedly complicated.
When the banquet ended, the Emperor accompanied the Empress back to her residence, Maple Leaf Hall. The name suited it well, several acres of maple forest surrounded the building. The leaves were still green now, lush and vibrant. Meng Guqing thought to herself that if only she could stay until autumn, when the mountains turned crimson, the sight would be magnificent.
As soon as they entered, Zhao Donglin shed his formal composure. Limp as if boneless, he wrapped his arms around her. The maids, startled, quickly retreated, leaving Meng Guqing alone, her face burning as his light kisses fell across her cheek. She patted his back, murmuring, “Your Majesty, sit for a bit. I had some cooling teas brewed, white peach, sour plum, honeydew, and pu’er black tea. Which would you like?”
He wanted none of them. His gaze lifted to hers, burning with a tangible hunger that all but leapt across the space between them. The mix of that intensity with his clean, youthful aura enveloped her completely. Meng Guqing blinked rapidly, feeling her heart tremble and her body weaken. “Sit for a bit,” she whispered. “You haven’t told me what’s happening in the capital yet.”
The situation in the capital, in truth, was not complicated. Southern Yan had secured reinforcements, greatly strengthening their forces. Han Quan and Zhao Zhang, wary of their newfound power, dared not act rashly. Both sides hesitated, speaking vaguely of peace talks. But Jing Wang, inheriting the late Regent’s ambitions, was determined to eradicate the Southern Yan court once and for all, he would not let such a rare opportunity slip away. Even under the pretext of peace, he wanted the glory of resolving a long-standing national wound. Zhao Donglin, seeing this, simply let him go.
But Zhao Donglin had no desire to discuss politics. He wanted only to hold her close, to fill the void of all the days they’d been apart. With that thought, he sat by the window in a pearwood armchair, pulling the Empress onto his lap. Summer garments were thin; she could feel the hard, heated strength of his thigh beneath her, tense as iron, and she squirmed in discomfort. Sensing her unease, he only pressed her down more firmly, settling her in place before murmuring against her ear, “I missed you so much.”
Meng Guqing didn’t answer, merely stroked his hair gently, enough of a reply in itself. Calmed, Zhao Donglin suddenly asked, “You weren’t happy today?”
“How could I not be? You came all this way to spend Mid-Autumn with us. With the situation unsettled, how could I not be glad?” she said softly, though she did feel a vague weariness.
He gazed at her intently. “You’ve had so many people around you these days, Royal Mother’s attendants and her chosen girls, always clinging to you, isn’t that right? You understand what Royal Mother means by that. That’s why you’re upset, isn’t it?”
His eyes searched hers, filled with the cautious brightness of someone afraid to hope too much. Seeing his expression, Meng Guqing didn’t know whether to hide her feelings or admit them. Imperial “family affection” was always tangled in power and advantage. The Empress Dowager’s fondness for her was not as deep as it once seemed.
“The Empress Dowager likes Miss Huang, Miss Shi, and Miss Fan very much,” she admitted. “She intends to have them enter the palace and she didn’t bother to conceal it from me.” That was the true cause of her frustration. She knew she was being inconsistent; she did like him, but not so deeply as to demand his exclusive devotion. So where did this irritation come from?
“But I don’t like them,” Zhao Donglin said coldly. Then, looking back at her, his expression softened into deep affection that nearly drowned her in its warmth. “Empress, what I promised you, I will keep.”
Once again, his sincerity moved her. She believed him but she also knew that the Empress Dowager’s desire to see the royal bloodline flourish was no lie either.
The next day, she ordered the Emperor and Empress to take the young ladies on an outing. North of the palace was Xiang Mountain, where an enormous cliff bore the poems of famous scholars from past dynasties. It was a celebrated site, not far, and though the climb was tiring, it was bearable. Zhao Donglin reluctantly obeyed his mother’s wishes.
There was another event scheduled for the third day, but Zhao Donglin, feeling he had already given his mother enough face, refused to indulge further. Early in the morning, he led a large hunting party deep into the mountains and did not return for five or six days.
The Shanglin Palace stood several hundred li north of the capital; beyond it lay Pingyu Pass, a section of the Great Wall built by the First Emperor to repel the Xiongnu. Zhao Donglin’s hunts took him farther north each day. Though he had come to “spend Mid-Autumn with the Empress Dowager,” in truth he only shared one reunion meal that night. Thereafter, he was gone from dawn to dusk. Even the Empress could barely catch a glimpse of him.
One cool evening, Meng Guqing knew he would not be returning and was about to sleep when someone knocked on her door. She opened it to find Zhao Donglin standing there in full armor, his face alight with fierce purpose like a predator scenting its chance.
“What’s happened?” she asked.
“The opportunity has come,” he said. “News just arrived from the north, Prince Tatuo has gathered his forces. He’s preparing to march south again.”
That word—again—was bitten out with barely restrained fury. Meng Guqing understood. This prince was as maddening as a fly, impossible to kill, always coming back.
For years, the Tatars had plagued the northern frontier. Ever since the founding of the Wu dynasty, Prince Tatuo had led repeated raids. In the fifth year of Jingtai, he invaded Shengjin with fifty thousand men, routing the border army; in the tenth month, he attacked Tianshui with sixty thousand, seizing over ten thousand captives and livestock; in the eleventh, he stormed Zhangye, killing its commander Cheng Ji and the chief officer Zhao Ji. In the seventh year of Jingtai, he struck Dunhuang; in the ninth, he led fifty thousand men against Pengcheng, breaking through Zhenyuan Pass and massacring countless innocents.
Each time, he came swiftly and left faster, raiding, then vanishing into the desert. The Regent had hated him bitterly, but with troubles at home, could never spare troops to strike back.
In the ten years since Zhao Donglin’s ascension, Prince Tatuo had invaded twenty-four times. Each time, he plundered and slaughtered before disappearing like smoke, a chronic affliction of the northern frontier.
He was both a formidable enemy and a convenient target. Zhao Donglin had set his sights on him early that year, keeping watch for his next move. Just as Jing Wang refused to let go of his southern campaign, Zhao Donglin would not waste this perfect chance; Jing Wang far from the capital, the field clear. He had spent months preparing, waiting for this moment.
Now, the young emperor, once cornered like a leopard with nowhere to turn, finally unsheathed his claws.
He had come now to leave instructions, she knew, and so she said nothing, simply waiting. When he finished laying out the situation, Zhao Donglin suddenly drew her into a fierce embrace.
“Empress,” he murmured, “you must wait for me to return.”
“Of course I’ll wait for you,” she said. “It’s only that Tatar prince again, always robbing and fleeing, never daring to march far south. His courage isn’t much. You’ll surely deal with him easily.”
At that moment, all she could do was lend him her strength.
Of course he could handle it, the problem was, his available troops were…
Zhao Donglin gazed deeply at the Empress, tracing her brows and eyes with lingering affection, as if trying to carve her into his heart. A thousand words condensed into one sentence — wait for my return.
If he returned victorious, everything would be easy to speak of. But if not… then his time on the throne would have come to an end.
After sending Zhao Donglin off, Fusang and Caiwei entered the Empress’s bedchamber, worry written all over their faces. Meng Guqing, however, had no energy to explain anything to them. Sitting in her chair, she sighed softly, from this day forward began a long wait.
Before the news of the emperor’s impulsive departure spread too widely, Meng Guqing went to the Empress Dowager the next morning to request leave, saying that with the latter half of the year approaching, matters were piling up and the year’s end drawing near, she wished to return early to make arrangements.
The Empress Dowager’s expression was calm; she too already knew the news and understood that the Empress, uneasy about the capital, wanted to return to oversee matters personally. Smiling, she took the Empress’s hand and said, “Then you go ahead. Tomorrow Yang’a, Jing Wangfei, and Madam He will be here; I’ll stay for a while longer myself. When the weather cools, I’ll return, I won’t see you off then.”
Meng Guqing thought for a moment and understood the Empress Dowager’s meaning. First, since they had only arrived a month ago, if both mother- and daughter-in-law hurried back at once, it would invite suspicion. Second, keeping Jing Wangfei and Madam He at Shanglin Palace meant key hostages were in hand if things turned critical.
Ah… she used to never think of such things, but now her political sensitivity had grown sharp indeed. Adversity truly honed a person’s will.
On the third day after returning to the capital, the news broke, the emperor had taken five thousand men from the inner guard and gone beyond the frontier. Public uproar followed. Everyone had something to say. The newly appointed senior ministers at court were furious and anxious, they all felt the emperor had played them.
Didn’t he realize his life was tied to the survival of their families, hundreds of lives in total? Before leaving, he could have at least said something, let them discuss it. Of course, the discussion would have ended in unanimous opposition, absolutely not allowed to go, even over our dead bodies but still… now they had to clean up the mess.
Jing Wang’s network of informants in the capital was vast; he would inevitably hear the news. Fortunately, he was thousands of li away in the south, too far to interfere. Even if he wanted to rush back, Han Quan and Zhao Zhang were no pushovers. Without Jing Wang, the rest were of little concern. The priority now was to stabilize the situation.
Then came word that the Empress Dowager was keeping many of Jing Wang’s relatives confined at Shanglin Palace, while the Empress had returned to the capital and brought the emperor’s messages to the senior ministers… clearly, everything had been prepared in advance.
This young emperor, small in years, great in daring. Following him, there was at least hope of dying of old age instead of at the execution block.
The situation in the capital was murky; under a calm surface, hidden currents churned. Yet outwardly, the sun still rose as always, and daily life went on as before.
After returning, Meng Guqing delivered several letters Zhao Donglin had left her to key ministers of power, those he clearly trusted. These old ministers, in turn, had no choice but to rely on the emperor who favored the southerners. If anything happened to him, any Donghu noble who took the throne afterward would bring them ruin. When the former regent entered the capital, he had ruled with both kindness and terror and killed over two hundred thousand people. Those who survived were all hardened and ruthless.
Their fates were now intertwined. Even for their own survival, the old ministers had to help the emperor defend his throne and his realm.
The women of the harem also needed reassurance. Fortunately, the Empress Dowager’s chief attendants were all veterans of storms and crises; they held firm, keeping daily routines strict and palace rules tight. Though the mood was uneasy, no one dared act rashly now.
When Noble Consort Xu heard the news, she came crying to Fengyi Palace. Seeing her red eyes and frightened face, Meng Guqing could tell that Zhao Donglin had told her nothing. The Empress could only do her best to comfort her.
Noble Consort Xu was a perceptive woman. At this point, she and the Empress were in the same boat; if the boat capsized, neither would survive. Thus, she had no hidden agenda left.
“Please, Your Majesty, tell me the truth,” she pleaded. “How many men did His Majesty take? What exactly is he trying to do? How confident is he? What arrangements are in place in the capital? If anything were to happen…” She caught herself, realizing the inauspicious phrasing, and quickly amended, “Of course, I only mean, may nothing happen, and may he return safely. But if something unforeseen does occur, then Xian’er is His Majesty’s only heir. You are deeply trusted by the emperor, I know Your Majesty will surely do everything to protect his only bloodline.”
Under the Empress’s cool, clear gaze, Noble Consort Xu felt utterly laid bare. Even if her words carried self-interest, they were all truths. Her family had sent several letters over the past few days, urging her to ensure the safety of the eldest prince above all else, nothing else mattered.
But of course she couldn’t truly stop worrying. Even if the emperor no longer treated her as tenderly as before, she still had the eldest prince; her position was flexible, her hopes many. She didn’t want the emperor to die. She didn’t want to become a widow. But just as she said, anything can happen. However painful the thought, she still had to prepare.
Meng Guqing was no fool, she understood perfectly what the consort was implying. The woman’s composure amid the chaos, her ability to suppress resentment and show vulnerability instead, that was impressive.
Yet amidst all this turmoil, Meng Guqing herself didn’t know how to ease her own anxiety. According to her memory, Zhao Donglin should emerge unscathed from this ordeal. But with everyone around her panicking, their fear inevitably infected her too.
The worst of it was that some changes had already proven history was not unchangeable. She had personally witnessed the greatest shift, the man before her, once a steadfast lover whose affection never waned, now seemed to have changed with time.
The thought chilled her.
Then could she still rely on the history she knew?
No, she told herself, don’t frighten yourself. Zhao Donglin was no reckless fool. He had never done anything without certainty.
Steeling herself, she said gently, “You’ve known him for over ten years. You should trust him.”
Noble Consort Xu abruptly looked up. The emotions she’d buried for so long broke through her defenses at those words. She had never truly wanted to hate the Empress, hatred was useless. Nor had she wanted to hate the emperor. They had known each other since childhood; she loved him deeply, too deeply to hate him. She still felt they were the ones who understood each other best, she simply couldn’t comprehend why his attitude toward her had changed so drastically.
Yet with one sentence, the Empress had struck the truth: the understanding she thought she had was fragile. Her trust in him didn’t even measure up to that of a woman who’d only known him for a year.
For the first time, resentment flashed openly in Noble Consort Xu’s eyes.
“Yes,” she said bitterly, “ever since the Empress appeared, he’s paid me less and less heed. Whatever he wants to say, he says to the Empress. Whatever he wants to decide, he consults only the Empress. How am I supposed to understand him now? How can I possibly trust him completely?”
