Meng Guqing choked with rage, fists clenched in her skirt. She turned her head away, only for him to catch her chin and make her face him.
When Xiao Shuo saw her eyes glistening with tears, he froze. They had bickered, teased, even quarreled before, but she had never cried because of him. A strange ache spread through his chest, as if his heart were soaking in that saltwater. The ferocity faded from his expression. Awkwardly, he kissed away her tears and muttered stiffly, “Don’t cry. I was joking. I won’t kill them.”
“What do you actually want from me?” she demanded. She’d had enough being treated like a secret possession, a toy he could steal touches from. Though he had only kissed and caressed her so far, she feared the day he would take it further was not far away.
Right now, sitting in his arms, she could clearly feel the hard, burning presence beneath her. He was eighteen, at the peak of his curiosity about women, and he came to her every single day. How could she not understand what that meant? Yet he didn’t respect her at all.
He was no better than Zhao Donglin, perhaps even worse.
Xiao Shuo stared at her through the mist of her tear-filled eyes. Of course, he harbored great desire toward her. His original plan had been to approach her slowly, to let her get used to his presence, everything would happen naturally, without forcing it. He didn’t even intend to touch her every time they met.
But this time, his body disobeyed his conscious will for the first time in eighteen years. The moment he saw her, he instinctively leaned closer. For a man trained in martial arts, losing control like this was a deadly taboo. If he’d been like this during a mission, he’d have died countless times over. Luckily, he hadn’t met her back then. With a weakness like this… he wasn’t sure he could’ve allowed her to live and keep existing as such a fatal flaw in his armor.
Her appearance had come at just the “right” moment… but there was no need to tell her that. The things she feared, he could sense them too, but still, he couldn’t say anything.
After a long silence, Meng Guqing gathered her emotions. She didn’t want to appear tragic or resentful anymore, like some wronged woman demanding status before anything even began. She hadn’t planned to follow him back to Fulan, nor did she seek his love. There was no point in spelling things out. Especially since the man before her was cunning and evasive, he would never say more than he wanted to.
Fine, let him keep silent. She hadn’t revealed her own plans either. The decree abolishing the Empress had been out for more than half a month, it should have already reached Gaochang. Her father, Gaochang Wang, would surely enter the capital to “plead guilty,” and perhaps at that time, he’d request to take his daughter home. She wasn’t sure what the historical records said of the Empress Dowager and the Emperor’s attitudes back then, but since it had been truthfully documented, they must have agreed.
Even just speaking as family, the deposed Empress was the Empress Dowager’s niece and the Emperor’s cousin. They all knew perfectly well why she’d been deposed; surely they wouldn’t make things too difficult for her.
Yet, when she thought of Zhao Donglin’s stance on the matter of her deposition, her head began to ache. Her worry wasn’t unfounded. On the morning of her birthday in early October, the palace had unexpectedly sent numerous gifts. Along with them came Feng Tianbao, announcing that the Emperor would come in the evening and asking that “Niang Niang” prepare properly.
Meng Guqing dismissed him according to custom, face expressionless. Her two maids looked equally uneasy. Caiwei asked softly, “The Emperor is coming to celebrate Your Ladyship’s birthday?”
“You heard him,” said Fusan quickly. “Good thing it’s still early. I’ll go to the Imperial Kitchen right away and slip them some silver, have them prepare the finest feast.”
“Then I’ll call people to clean and tidy up the courtyard, to welcome the Emperor properly.”
The two maids busied themselves, leaving Meng Guqing with nothing to do but sit by the window, listlessly flipping through a book. When the time drew near, Fusan and Caiwei brought fresh perfumed water for her to wash up. Without lifting her gaze, she said, “No need. Leave it. Go finish your work.”
Ever since she’d moved into the forbidden courtyard, all the grand ceremonial robes of the Empress had been packed away. She was not yet twenty, still at an age of bright youth. In a pale robe, she was like a camellia blooming in the morning mist, slender and luminous on the bamboo steps. Her snow-white robe was cinched with a crimson sash, her long hair left loose, tied at the ends with a red ribbon. She was pure, breathtakingly beautiful, her unpowdered skin smooth and luminous under the lantern light, like peeled lychee flesh glistening faintly.
Zhao Donglin’s first sight upon entering the small courtyard was exactly this, his former Empress.
He opened his mouth to call her, then suddenly remembered, she was no longer Empress. The one who had deposed her… was he himself. His eyes fell, dimming. He wanted to tell her she didn’t need to bow, but before he could speak, she had already knelt. With that kneel, their positions were set once and for all. He could no longer behave toward her as he once had, with intimate ease.
Meng Guqing invited him into the inner chamber, all the while taking his measure. His transformation was astonishing. In barely half a month, the imperial authority radiating from him had grown thicker, his tall figure commanding, his ceremonial robes dazzling, no one could look directly at him. No wonder emperors of every dynasty had sought to centralize power, to strengthen their rule. He must now feel that long-held wish fulfilled.
Though she had been one of the sacrifices on that path, it had also been her own choice, so she felt no resentment toward Zhao Donglin. She simply recognized clearly: she was no longer his Empress. His glory, his power, had nothing to do with her now. In truth, it would be best if their lives never crossed again. She couldn’t fathom why he had suddenly come to celebrate her birthday. If the harem heard of it, it would cause another storm.
Meng Guqing kept her gaze lowered, staring at the delicacies on the table, appetite gone.
The meal was doomed to taste of ash. She had little heart to entertain him, and Zhao Donglin’s purpose in coming was unreadable. At first, he must have hated her but now, holding absolute power, he should understand that her choices had served his interests best. Surely any resentment should have long dissolved.
These thoughts weren’t wishful on her part, she could tell from his manner. The two sat facing each other, as though separated by an invisible wall. Neither dared touch the silence between them. Zhao Donglin finally pushed a plate of delicate pastries toward her. “I remember you liked these before. I had them specially made today, try some.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she murmured, eyes still lowered, never once lifting them.
Zhao Donglin’s hand hung in the air, fingers flexing lightly, catching nothing then curling slowly back. The silence was unbearable, suffocatingly awkward. They had never sat together in such cold stiffness before. Meng Guqing sat on pins and needles; Zhao Donglin seemed just as unsettled. After the meal, he didn’t linger, asked her to see him out to the courtyard.
She was relieved to see him ready to leave, only for him, a moment later, to suddenly turn back and pull her into his arms. His breath brushed her ear as he whispered, “Empress… Mingzhu’er, wait for me. Wait, I will return to you everything you’ve lost.”
The vow rang like iron on stone. Meng Guqing, however, froze. Because in the direction she was facing, under the shadow of the dark trees, she saw someone. A familiar figure, a faint cold smile on his lips, watching her intently.
Because of that, Zhao Donglin’s moment of sincerity, this break in their awkwardness, passed without response from her. He didn’t seem to mind; after holding her briefly, he left without hesitation.
When she came to her senses and looked again, the figure beneath the trees had vanished. Xiao Shuo was gone too. He hadn’t come to “settle accounts” with her. But her heart would not settle. Knowing Xiao Shuo’s nature, if he hadn’t come for her, it meant someone else was in danger. Surely he wasn’t planning… to assassinate Zhao Donglin?
That fear gnawed at her for days. By the fifth day, with no bad news, she finally began to relax. During that time, Princess Yang’a came to visit, clearly worried but unsure what to say, sighing often.
Meng Guqing pitied her awkwardness. Recently she’d discovered some aloe plants growing in the forbidden courtyard and had developed a new face mask. Knowing the princess was past thirty and anxious about maintaining her looks, having even spent a hundred gold on a beauty formula recently, Meng Guqing offered her own creation to try, paired with a delicate moisturizing balm. It spread easily on the skin, leaving it bright, soft, and smooth.
Princess Yang’a, who had tried countless fine products, immediately recognized its quality and eagerly examined all of Meng Guqing’s bottles and jars. That gave Meng Guqing a chance to ask about the Emperor, how he was lately, whether he planned to travel, if he was still often in the Imperial Hall.
At this, the princess finally sighed out the words she’d been holding back, looking at her former sister-in-law with pity. To fall from the clouds into dust, it wasn’t something everyone could endure. “Royal Mother still cares for you deeply,” she said. “It’s just that, after what happened with the previous court, she no longer has much say. When she heard I was visiting, she told me to comfort you. Don’t worry, I’ll speak well of you before His Majesty. Even if you’re no longer… still, you’re his consort. Leaving you alone in this forbidden courtyard is unreasonable. It’s those old ministers pressing too hard. The affairs between you and the Emperor are the royal family’s concern, how dare outsiders meddle? When things settle, I’m sure His Majesty will restore your place. I’ll remind him.”
Brother and sister truly thought alike. But this was not what Meng Guqing wanted. She quickly said, “No, Princess, you misunderstand. I ask about the Emperor not because I wish to return to the past. Even if I’m no longer his Empress, I’m still his cousin, that’s all. Please, don’t trouble yourself on my account. I’m living quite well now. To be honest, I was never well suited to palace life. Back then, I was stretched tight every day. These quiet days are exactly what I longed for.”
What she truly wanted was simply to know Zhao Donglin’s whereabouts, to make sure he didn’t leave the palace easily. She still couldn’t stop worrying about Xiao Shuo.
To fully dispel the princess’s idea of interceding for her, Meng Guqing added, “The Princess and I are cousins, and in matters of the heart, perhaps alike. You and the Princess Consort have loved only each other for over ten years, no one could come between you. That kind of bond is what I’ve always wanted. The Emperor and I were never well matched in that regard. This separation is better for both of us. I mean it sincerely, you understand, don’t you, Princess?”
The princess nodded, suddenly enlightened. “No wonder the Emperor favored only you for that time, it was because you held him alone. But that was your mistake, Consort Jing. The Emperor is master of the world, three palaces and six courts are the custom of every dynasty. And now he has others by his side… Such thoughts don’t suit a man like him.”
But hadn’t she herself once said she didn’t envy her brothers’ harems? Now she was lecturing her? Meng Guqing, unwilling to argue and hoping for her support, simply nodded obediently. “You’re right. So please, don’t speak for me again. I have no wish to return to the harem.”
Besides, her love for making cosmetics and beauty balms hardly fit the refined pursuits of the palace women: poetry, calligraphy, painting, and music. Among all of them, only Princess Yang’a showed genuine interest. All things considered, Meng Guqing truly wasn’t suited to palace life anymore.
The princess, though making solemn promises, actually felt relieved. If the former Empress herself didn’t wish to return, there was no need for her to intervene. To repay Meng Guqing’s kindness in sharing her beauty products, she did, however, reveal some inside news about the Emperor and the court, an unexpected boon for Meng Guqing.
Two pieces of news particularly caught her attention. The first was that her father’s letter of apology had already reached the capital, it was said he himself would arrive in the spring or summer of the coming year. The second was that the state of Former Yan had surrendered to Qi, turning fully against Great Wu. Fulan had already dispatched troops twice to resist, but now submitted a petition to request the return of their shizi, Xiao Shuo. At the same time, Zhao Donglin had decided to personally lead an expedition.
Upon hearing the second piece of news, Meng Guqing’s eyelid twitched. Her intuition told her that whether it was Qi clashing with Great Wu, or Zhao Donglin’s decision to go to war, Xiao Shuo’s hand would be deeply involved in both.
That man, the one who had come looking for her every night some time ago, had vanished without a trace ever since Zhao Donglin’s last visit. This made her suspect bitterly that he’d never intended to take her seriously at all. He came when he wanted, left when he pleased, she told herself she wouldn’t bother with him next time.
But the man being cursed by Meng Guqing had long since left Great Wu, and was now in Fulan. Fulan, however, wasn’t his final destination. Xiao Shuo’s true goal was Zhou, the state separated from Great Wu by the surging Yellow River.
The Zhou dynasty was about as powerful as Great Wu. When Yan fell, Zhou had originally intended to seize a share of the spoils. They even sent troops and helped hasten Yan’s downfall. But with their own internal affairs in disorder and their government overrun by corrupt favorites, their efforts went nowhere. Though they gained some minor benefit, they could not match Great Wu’s swiftly rising regent. After being soundly rebuffed, Zhou quickly pulled back its greedy hand.
Now, Zhou’s emperor was named Yuwen Tai. In his youth, he had been an utterly mediocre ruler, indulgent in pleasure, disinterested in governance. When the Empress Dowager was alive, power lay with her natal family; after her death, it passed to the current Empress Wang Da’s uncle, Wang Xiao. The emperor himself hid behind the scenes, wallowing daily among beautiful women. The court was full of resentment, but none of that concerned him, save one thing he could neither ignore nor remedy: he was nearly fifty and still had no heir.
Not that he had no sons, but of the two he had, one was sickly and bedridden, the other nearly twenty yet possessed the mind of a four- or five-year-old, both unfit to inherit.
In his younger years, he’d had more sons. Even the late Empress Xiao had borne him two. But misfortune plagued him. The elder son was born premature and frail, now twenty-five and still weak; though he had a princess and several concubines, only a single sickly daughter had been born to him. The younger son, a prodigy at three, disappeared at age five, vanished without a trace within the imperial palace itself. They searched for two or three years but never found a single clue.
As for Empress Xiao, she had never been favored. The blow of losing her son broke her completely. She wept day and night, and when accused of drugging the favored Consort Wang Da, causing her to miscarry, she was deposed.
Yuwen Tai’s sons, lost, ill, or dead, hadn’t troubled him much before. But as he grew old and weary, ministers began beseeching and nagging him daily about the succession, and he could no longer ignore it. Yet what could he do? You can’t conjure a son out of thin air. And everyone whispered that if Yuwen Tai were truly left without an heir, it must be the doing of Empress Wang Da and her sister, Noble Consort Wang Xu.
Since those two entered the palace, they had ensnared Yuwen Tai together, while other consorts suffered endlessly. One by one, his sons perished.
The Wang sisters’ influence grew; their family’s power expanded. Venomous and ruthless, they brought misery not only to the women of the harem but to officials in court as well. The emperor’s health worsened year by year, and recently, under the Consort’s instigation, he began taking forbidden aphrodisiacs. Just days ago, he collapsed in her bedchamber. When the imperial physicians arrived, the air behind the perfumed curtains was thick with musk, the pair still half-dressed. The scene was both disgraceful and despair-inducing. Even Grand Preceptor Liu Yuan, who had long opposed the Grand Marshal Wang Xiao, was at his wit’s end.
The Wang clan’s ambition was well known. If Wang Xiao truly seized the throne, every minister, Liu Yuan included, could expect to lose his head.
Just then, word came that a merchant caravan from Fulan had arrived, bringing something on someone’s behalf. Liu Yuan, in no mood to receive traders, told his servants to leave the goods and send them away. Only later, while pondering in his study about whether to support the Second Prince, frail though he was, he was still the legitimate son of the deposed Empress Xiao and even had a daughter, did he glance at the bundle in the corner of his desk.
Wrapped in coarse grey cloth, hardly the sort of gift a savvy merchant would send, it piqued his curiosity. He unwrapped it absently, revealing first a child’s robe of deep purple, a color reserved for nobility. Frowning, he unwrapped further, and his eyes widened.
Inside lay a jade pendant, a pair piece, the type that could be joined with its twin. He clearly remembered seeing the matching half on the Second Prince. And beneath the jade, there was a portrait, one he knew all too well.
Liu Yuan immediately summoned his household, ordering them to bring back the ones who’d delivered it. His servants hesitated. “Master, they already left after delivering it. They didn’t say where they were staying, only told this servant to relay that when the time comes, the person you wish to see will appear; no need to search, for you wouldn’t find him even if you tried.”
That very night, the same day the package reached the Grand Preceptor’s mansion, the man Liu Yuan wished to see arrived in Zhou’s capital, Wangjing.
This wasn’t Xiao Shuo’s first visit. Since gaining power at fifteen, he had been back and forth several times. Yet he’d never felt attachment to any place or person. His teacher, the man who trained him as an assassin, had once said he was born for killing: cold-blooded, ruthless, skilled at hiding in the dark. Xiao Shuo himself had never found fault in that until he met her.
They’d become involved but she’d had the nerve to entangle herself with another man. He’d thought keeping her in the Imperial Park was fine: it was quiet, peaceful, and he could visit whenever he pleased.
He’d overlooked one thing, that place ultimately belonged to Zhao Donglin. And Zhao Donglin still hadn’t given up on her. As the emperor of Wu, Zhao Donglin could always find her again unless Xiao Shuo hid her somewhere beyond his reach, a place Zhao couldn’t easily touch. And so, Zhou drew his attention.
He had never particularly longed to reclaim his title as Zhou’s prince. He was used to the life of a wanderer: freer, wilder. But the jianghu couldn’t guarantee her safety. If he wanted to keep her securely, he needed an unassailable place.
So he began to look around Wangjing. The climate was mild, rivers and lakes plentiful, perhaps she’d like it, perhaps she could grow used to it.
With an unusually critical eye, Xiao Shuo spent several days exploring the city. To his subordinates’ confusion, he bought multiple residences: some luxurious, some elegant, some surrounded by mountains and water, all lush and refined. Strangely, each seemed to resemble places in the capital of Wu. His men couldn’t help thinking the shizi was simply used to living there, and unconsciously sought similar surroundings. But wasn’t this a bit excessive? Even if he changed homes yearly, he wouldn’t use them all in a decade.
Luckily, he didn’t have much time to waste on extravagance. Half a month later, word spread that Grand Preceptor Liu Yuan who had seemed to avoid confronting the Wang family suddenly impeached several of their kinsmen for lawless misconduct in the capital. The court erupted in factional strife. Having gotten the news he wanted, Xiao Shuo left Wangjing and headed back to Wu.
It was near year’s end. The journey would take at least a month, riding hard all the way, clearly, he had something urgent that couldn’t wait until after the new year.
Another who didn’t spend a peaceful new year was Meng Guqing. Ever since hearing that her father had submitted his letter of guilt, she had been wracked with guilt herself. As Empress, she’d brought her family no honor, only disgrace. Her father’s reputation at home was tarnished because of her, and fearing she’d soon be deposed, he rushed to the capital with vast tributes as soon as the new year passed, ostensibly as offerings to the Empress Dowager.
The siblings hadn’t seen each other in over three years, not since Gaochang Wang had sent his daughter to the capital. When they finally met, both were uneasy, especially the Empress Dowager. Others didn’t know why her niece had been deposed, but she did. She couldn’t speak too plainly before her own kin, yet pushing all blame outward seemed equally unbecoming.
Gaochang Wang was a straightforward man. He’d spent his life managing logistics; though his troops were strong, without capable leadership they were nothing but a scattered force. Supporting his brother-in-law’s rebellion had been the wisest thing he’d ever done. He’d thought marrying off his daughter to the capital was also a good path until things turned out this way.
Among the Xiongnu nobles in the capital, he still had allies and heard fragments of news. He couldn’t make sense of the politics nor judge whether Jing Wang or the Emperor was in the right, but seeing his daughter deposed along with Jing Wang’s faction left him both resentful and anxious. It wasn’t until the Empress Dowager personally soothed him that he relaxed.
When she admitted that the girl had indeed monopolized the emperor’s affection and refused to let other concubines near, he had nothing more to say. The question now was what to do next.
According to his temperament, Gaochang’s women were never so tightly bound by propriety. Divorce and remarriage were common. His daughter wasn’t even twenty, she couldn’t possibly spend her whole life trapped in the capital.
He sighed and said, “Your Majesty, forgive my bluntness. This niece of yours has been spoiled by me. She grew up in Gaochang, ignorant of courtly rules, it’s no surprise she’s caused trouble for you and His Majesty. For my sake, please don’t hold it against her. What’s done is done. I won’t presume to ask you to take her back. His Majesty will surely have better women to choose from. But Mingzhu’er is still young; I can’t bear to leave her here alone. Please, grant your mercy and let your brother take her home.”
