Consort Jing Chapter 42

Zhao Donglin refused to let her go. Meng Guqing refused to waste her life rotting away in the palace. In desperate times, desperate measures.

Her assets were nearly all liquidated; the estates and shops were being sold off. Once the accounts were settled and she sent Caiwei and Fusang’s families ahead to Gaochang, only the three of them would remain.

With Zhao Donglin soon to leave the capital, whether to fight or negotiate, he would be thousands of miles away for a long time. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

She only needed a safe plan.

When he was gone and the forbidden court grew quiet, she would create an “accident.”

The best way was a fire. Her small compound had two courtyards, front and back, surrounded by dense trees. It wouldn’t spread to other residences or harm others.

After her “death,” she wouldn’t return to Gaochang immediately. She’d disappear for three or four years, wait until the dust settled, until everyone forgot the former Empress existed—

Then, at last, she would truly be free.

This plan hinged on two critical points: the timing and cause of the fire had to be flawless; so seamless that even a tracking hound wouldn’t sniff out a single trace of foul play. And second, she needed to find three corpses similar enough in stature and build to herself and her two maids, ideally, even of comparable age. After all, coroners these days could already estimate a person’s age from their bones.

For this, Meng Guqing had Fusang’s elder brother acquire a pile of books like The Records for Washing Away Wrongs and the like. She read them every day with keen interest, to the point that her two maids were wracked with worry. They suspected their mistress had gone half-mad, perhaps too heartbroken that Wangye had gone home without her.

Just think: a lovely young woman, tender and fresh as a water reed, ignoring romantic storybooks about talented scholars and beautiful ladies, and instead poring over manuals about murder, arson, and corpse disposal, even eating pastries while reading them. It was downright terrifying. The two maids prayed someone would come and talk sense into her. But they couldn’t count on the Emperor, and Princess Yang’a, over thirty and belatedly pregnant with her second child, hadn’t stepped foot into the Forbidden Courtyard for over a month. It wasn’t proper to summon her without reason. Just as they were fretting over this, the young Xiao Shizi appeared again.

Caiwei didn’t dare approach him, and though Fusang was braver, she’d barely exchanged a few words with the marquis before. He was even stranger than the Emperor, at least the Emperor used to enjoy spending time alone with their mistress, so even Feng Gonggong and the two of them could occasionally serve nearby. But the Shizi? He even found their presence bothersome, his cold, disdainful gaze making Fusang half-sure that one day, when the lady wasn’t watching, the Shizi would simply “dispose” of her. Still, determined to stand her ground, Fusang forced herself to explain under immense mental pressure: “When the Miss reads, she gets very absorbed. Someone needs to stay close to refill her tea, watch the candles. Sometimes she remembers she needs to write something, that’s when I grind the ink for her. I’ve been grinding ink for the Miss since I was seven or eight. She’s most accustomed to my service.”

As she spoke, a quiet pride welled in her chest. She and Caiwei had been with the Miss for many years, no one knew her habits and preferences better than they did. Both had already told their mistress that when they turned twenty-five, they’d each find a husband nearby, perhaps a loyal guard or a capable steward so that even after marriage, they could remain close to her side. The Miss had already agreed.

Even someone as close as the Emperor or a future husband, for that matter could not replace them in the Miss heart. Thinking this, Fusang’s resolve to stay by Meng Guqing’s side only strengthened so she failed to notice the subtle gloom in the Shizi’s pale eyes, the cold darkness that flickered beneath his calm expression.

“Is that so?” he said lightly.

The next moment, her hands were empty, the carved tea tray gone. The black-clad Shizi, whose attire clashed utterly with the delicate furniture, lifted the curtain with composed ease and walked to the Miss side. Slowly, he spooned in a few measures of honey, added a slice of dried citron, and mixed a liquid of uncertain nature before handing it to Meng Guqing.

Fusang’s face went long. Her lips parted, but the door closed in her face. She could only pray silently — Heaven help us, the Miss has always been healthy; may she not be poisoned by that man!

Meng Guqing had been flipping through books for days when she finally came across something of interest, a detailed chapter on how to identify corpses burned by fire. She was completely absorbed when a teacup appeared at the edge of her vision. Without thinking, she took a sip, paused, swallowed, and thought absently that Fusang must be distracted, the tea tasted strange. She set it aside, deciding to brew a new cup later.

She didn’t notice the moment she released the cup, another pale, long-fingered hand picked it up. He took a sip.

“Why aren’t you drinking?” he asked.

“It’s not quite the same as usual.”

Too much honey, a bit too sweet, the water had cooled, dulling the citron’s fragrance.

“Then how should it be made to taste the same as usual?”

He took another sip, still not finding any difference.

Meng Guqing finally lifted her head, her gaze moving between the cup in his hand and the motion of his lips, realization dawning slowly. She couldn’t quite believe it. Tentatively, she said, “What’s Fusang doing that she let a guest serve tea? How improper. I’ll have to ask her about this.”

The Shizi’s faint smile held something artificial. “No need. Just tell me how to make it. You won’t be needing her anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Meng Guqing’s face paled. “She, she’s fine, isn’t she? What do you mean I won’t be needing her?”

“I made you tea. Are you happy?” he said with a perfectly cheerful grin, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

But Meng Guqing couldn’t feel the slightest joy. What on earth was wrong with this madman today, suddenly taking an interest in tea-making? She was half terrified. Still, since it wasn’t Fusang who’d met with misfortune, she relaxed a little. She decided not to bother questioning his whims, with someone like Xiao Shuo, reason was useless. Just as his feelings toward her made no sense, somehow, one forced kiss had turned into “we’re together now.”

She had protested, but to no avail. He, it seemed, truly believed they were “together.” It was a secret, unacknowledged kind of bond, intense when he was near, then vanishing for months, only for him to return and behave as if nothing had changed, forbidding her resistance.

What kind of person behaves like this? she thought bitterly. A complete pervert and scoundrel.

She rarely thought ill of anyone, not even Noble Consort Xu, who had framed her, nor Consort Huang Xian, whose temperament clashed with hers, nor even Zhao Donglin, the emperor who had dethroned her and yet refused to let her go. She bore them no real hatred, only the resolve to stay far, far away. Why waste emotion on people who didn’t matter?

Only this one had forced his way into her life, intent on taking root. And the worst part, though she feared him deeply, she couldn’t bring herself to truly hate him. For all his madness, he had protected her, helped her more than once. She didn’t have the heart or the strength to completely sever ties.

In truth, if she needed three corpses for her plan, there was no one more capable than Xiao Shuo to find them. His work was killing, he lived and breathed it. But a fake-death escape was a last resort. She couldn’t risk him knowing. Besides, apart from planning the fire, she also needed to figure out how to evade his surveillance. Avoiding him was already hard enough, why would she go asking for his help?

She was thinking all this while flipping through the pages. Xiao Shuo leaned over, glanced at her book, then idly picked up another and flipped through it.

“Is there someone you need… taken care of?” he asked casually — as if he’d said, ‘What would you like for dinner?’

Meng Guqing didn’t even bother scolding his callous attitude toward human life. She quickly shut the book and rubbed her eyes.

“Just reading. I’m bored.”

He stared at her from across the low table, those bright, predatory eyes fixed on her. She could almost feel the animal-like awareness behind them. Trying to stay calm, she said weakly, “What is it?”

“Let me tell you a story,” he said.

“I once had a master. Out of all his disciples, he picked me, said I was a rare martial prodigy and wanted to pass everything he knew to me. And he did. For years, he watched over my training himself. At first, I couldn’t last three moves against him. But when I grew strong enough, I challenged all my teachers, one by one. He was the last. That time, I won. I killed him, twisted off his head and placed it on the lampstand by my bed, as a candle holder. That way, I could see his face every night before I slept.”

Meng Guqing’s scalp prickled. What kind of deranged creature have I gotten involved with? Will I ever escape him alive?

“He was your master,” she forced herself to ask, voice trembling. “Why… why did you take off his head?”

“Oh, that’s what he wanted,” Xiao Shuo said mildly. “He hadn’t lost a fight in thirty years. Said he’d rest easy only when a worthy successor could defeat him. That was our relationship: every six months, I’d challenge him. Each time I’d end up with a broken limb, bruised and bloody. He never let anyone treat me; I had to heal myself. That’s how I learned bone-setting. Once my skill surpassed his, I stopped getting hurt. Before he died, he said he wanted to keep watching me, to make sure I never slacked off. So I let him.”

Of course, the skull had been left in his quarters back in the assassin organization, not here. If she knew that, she’d faint on the spot, he thought. She couldn’t even kill a chicken, imagine sleeping beside a skull! When they lived together in the future, he wouldn’t really do that to her. Still, picturing her trembling in fear and throwing herself into his arms was… strangely tempting.

If Meng Guqing had known what was going through his mind, she would’ve called him a bloody lunatic.

Now she finally understood why he was so warped and erratic in his feelings, bad teacher, bad student. Her plan now had a third priority: to make absolutely sure he never discovered it. Heaven only knew what he’d do if he found out she meant to run away.

She stopped reading the gruesome cases, but Xiao Shuo wasn’t done talking. He went on enthusiastically about all the ways he’d killed people, hundreds, maybe thousands, and the countless methods of destroying corpses. The best, he claimed, was a kind of miraculous “corpse-dissolving potion”: just a single drop could melt an entire body into a puddle of blood, even one’s parents wouldn’t recognize it.

Then he teased her, saying she ought to read more of these books, they might come in handy someday. “Next time I kill someone,” he said, “you can help me clean up the scene.”

Meng Guqing’s hair practically stood on end. She slammed the book shut and covered her ears.

“Enough! I’m not listening anymore!”

Common folk often said, a wife must follow her husband, whether he’s a chicken, a dog, or even a pole she must carry on her back. But when she reacted this way, he looked genuinely hurt, his face darkening.

“Why won’t you listen? You don’t want to work with me?”

She pushed the book away, reminding herself not to anger the little psychopath. She couldn’t even answer his question, love and hate came equally extreme with this man. Desperate to change the subject, she said, “Look at me. Do I look like someone who can ‘help’ you? It’d be a miracle if I don’t get in your way. And dinner’s almost ready, if you keep talking about these things, I’ll lose my appetite. Let’s not talk about it anymore.”

Xiao Shuo’s brow creased slightly. He stood up, walked to Meng Guqing, and pulled her into his arms. He squeezed her arm, then her leg, she did feel thinner than before. This was the first person in his life he’d ever planned to pamper properly; how could she be going hungry? Resting his chin on her shoulder, he breathed in the faint scent that was uniquely hers. The restless heat in his chest subsided a little, and he gave a muffled hum of acknowledgment.

To avoid Xiao Shuo’s sudden whims, Meng Guqing put her books aside for two days. But once she set them down, she never picked them up again, not that she couldn’t, but that there was no longer a need. Because under the influence of the previous court ministers, Zhao Donglin had changed the planned southern campaign into a southern inspection. Just one word’s difference, yet the meaning was worlds apart. What was originally a military expedition to subdue enemies had turned into a pleasure tour.

An imperial tour, after all, was just the official term for traveling and sightseeing. And when the emperor went out to tour the realm, could he do without the company of his consorts? It was said that apart from Noble Consort Xu, who had to care for the young eldest prince, and the pregnant Consort Shu, all four other principal consorts would accompany him. Worst of all—even the deposed Empress, who’d been confined to the “Cold Palace,” was included in the entourage.

Zhao Donglin was taking her along on the southern tour!

When Meng Guqing heard the news, any trace of good mood vanished. Closing her book gloomily, she muttered, “Why has His Majesty suddenly given up the campaign against Yan? Wasn’t reclaiming all of Yan’s lost territory the shared ambition of the late emperor and the regent? And taking me along on the southern tour is hardly appropriate, given my current status…”

“Your Ladyship’s position remains as noble as ever!” said Feng Tianbao quickly. “If you wish to enter the palace and request an audience with His Majesty, no one would dare stop you.” He sighed inwardly. Such a perfect pair, golden boy and jade girl, and yet things had turned out like this—who could say why? He added, “The remnant Yan forces are only stubbornly resisting because they think Qi will support them. Even if we don’t attack, their fate is sealed. His Majesty simply wishes to inspect the southern regions, to comfort the garrisons and the people. There’s no need to worry, it’s not the front lines.”

That wasn’t what she was worried about. Meng Guqing could only swallow her frustration, there was no point confiding in someone like Feng Tianbao who had no say in such matters. She merely said that she wished to see the emperor. Feng Tianbao lowered his head, speaking with quiet significance: “His Majesty said, if Your Ladyship wishes to come forward, you may do so anytime.”

Meng Guqing’s spirits lifted a little. She deliberately chose to go half an hour before supper. At that time, Zhao Donglin would have finished his state affairs and would be preparing to rest. Once dinner came, other consorts would be summoned, giving her a convenient excuse to leave.

When she stepped once again into Huangji Hall, the faces were all familiar, yet the warmth was gone. She didn’t mind much, but still felt a pang of things once dear, now changed. He had once promised they could go back to how things were but was he lying to her, or lying to himself?

Zhao Donglin was waiting for her in the side hall. When he saw her enter, he restrained the urge to rise until she knelt five paces away from the desk. Only after she completed the formal bow did he personally lift her up and lead her to a pair of armchairs.

It was the first time she had truly felt the weight and distance of imperial authority in his domain. He had never required her to kneel before; the sense of being looked down upon from such a height made her heart sink. Suddenly, she felt she had come here for nothing, she couldn’t even find the words to begin.

Zhao Donglin only stared at her. He hadn’t seen her in so long, and now she treated him colder than she had when first entering the palace; back then, he’d still been infatuated with Noble Consort Xu, yet Meng Guqing had remained gentle and tolerant. Now, when his heart was filled with only her, when the rest of the harem existed merely as political placeholders, why wouldn’t she give him even a shred of trust or patience?

Was she truly so bothered by the other women? Or, as she once said, did she simply not love him so no matter how many others surrounded him, she didn’t care at all?

Blinking away the gloom in his eyes, Zhao Donglin finally spoke. “Feng Tianbao said the Empress requested an audience. Does the Empress miss the tea here at Huangji Hall? I’ve already had two cups. If you like it that much, I’ll have some sent to you later.”

The attendants serving tea showed no reaction to him still calling her “Empress,” but Meng Guqing preferred not to create new complications. “Your Majesty should refrain from calling me that. It’s against propriety and might cause gossip. I heard the Empress Dowager instructed my father to seek out some fine Donghu maidens to be sent to the capital. No doubt the seat will soon have a new mistress.”

“If the Empress’s position is filled by someone I don’t truly favor,” Zhao Donglin replied coolly, “then it’s nothing more than an ornament.”

It was not a pleasant thing to hear. Women in this age lived with so little freedom, their joys and sorrows decided by others. Once married into the palace, they were the emperor’s women forever, with no right to remarry. Even if he no longer cared for them, he still bore responsibility for them. She understood that Zhao Donglin’s stubbornness partly came from her, from the wall between them; that was why she wanted to leave because if he continued forsaking others for her, his affection would become a burden, not a gift.

So she said quietly, “Your Majesty already has two princes, and there will be more in the future. The mothers of these children will devote all their hearts to you, and your happiness rests with them. The past has passed. Let’s call it fate without fortune. Better to cherish what you have now, to treasure the people before you.”

She thought her words were kind and restrained, but Zhao Donglin only gave a bitter laugh. “So detached, so free and easy. I, a man, seem lesser than you. Even after being pushed away and abandoned, I still can’t let go. Even now, I still want to bring you back. Tell me, how does one become as cold and heartless as you? Teach me how to erase someone who doesn’t love me, how to sleep peacefully at night without dreaming of her, even while surrounded by beauty.”

Meng Guqing hadn’t said those things to lecture him or pity the concubines, her own situation was already precarious. What she wanted was to free herself from the tangled web she was in. The emperor’s fixation on his deposed Empress only earned her the hatred of the harem women who couldn’t vent their resentment on him, so they took it out on her.

When she’d first been sent to the secluded gardens, she still received decent meals from the imperial kitchens. But as time went on, what was sent grew worse and worse, until it was practically inedible. The servants assigned to her residence, originally many, were gradually reassigned under one excuse or another. If she hadn’t had her own savings to bribe the guards for supplies, she might have starved long ago.

Of course, having fewer attendants suited her just fine especially since Xiao Shuo, that walking weapon, often came to visit. But whether she welcomed it or not didn’t stop others from scheming against her.

She’d never complained to Zhao Donglin, unwilling to be dragged further into palace intrigue. But he refused to let her go and now he was dragging her on the southern tour. And he still had the gall to speak as though he were the one wronged! Who knew her grievances?

There was no talking sense anymore. Meng Guqing stood to leave, but Zhao Donglin grabbed her wrist, his reddened eyes revealing the depth of his emotion. “You’re leaving again. You never open your heart to me. You never listen, never trust, never care. You toss my feelings away like they’re nothing. When will you finally face me?”

Meng Guqing lifted her head, meeting his gaze as he demanded. “Does Your Majesty remember what it was like living under the regent’s power? Whatever you felt then, helpless, suffocated, that’s how I feel now, as your deposed Empress. You endured humiliation and hardship to break free and become a true sovereign. But, Your Majesty, do you know what I would have done, if I were you?”

Zhao Donglin paused, quietly waiting for her to continue.

Meng Guqing finally exhaled, releasing years of pent-up frustration. “I wouldn’t have your ambition or thirst for vengeance. I’m an ordinary person, I’d rather sit than stand, lie down than sit. A life without struggle or strain, that’s all I ever wanted. That’s why, after being deposed, I never tried to reclaim anything. I’m sorry, but I, too, want to live for myself.”

In truth, she could never treat palace intrigue as a lifelong pursuit, while he wanted her to climb with him, to stand beside him at the summit of power. It wasn’t just love they disagreed on; it was life itself. Their worldviews were different, irreconcilably so.

But what he said next took her completely off guard.

“And what about Xiao Shuo? That Shizi who keeps visiting you, doesn’t he plan to return to Fulan to inherit the throne? Did you promise him you’d go with him?”

Meng Guqing’s eyes widened in shock. Seeing the jealousy practically spilling from his gaze, she stammered, “No, I wouldn’t go to Fulan with him! I’m not even… his anything…”

She wanted to ask how he knew Xiao Shuo came so often, how much he knew about their meetings but guilt froze her tongue.

Zhao Donglin searched her face, confirming there wasn’t the slightest trace of affection for another. His mood eased somewhat. Stepping forward, he drew her into his arms, brushing a kiss against her ear and speaking softly, coaxingly: “All right, I know you’ve suffered. Whoever’s behind this, I’ll find them and make them pay. Come with me on the southern tour, so no stray cats or dogs dare covet you. If I lose control and kill him, it’ll ruin everything. Mingzhu’er, guard your heart. You can take it back from me for now but you’re not allowed to give it to anyone else. That’s my bottom line.”