From the moment she entered the palace, Meng Guqing had resolved that, unless absolutely necessary, she would never come into open conflict with Noble Consort Xu and, within her power, would maintain peace between them. Thus, she always treated every matter concerning Jianjia Palace with leniency, and even when courtiers from the young emperor’s harem tried to sow discord, she would always smooth things over. So when Madam Yang requested permission to visit her pregnant daughter, Meng Guqing easily consented. A few days later, Madam Yang returned, bringing with her a young girl, Xu Qiang, Noble Consort Xu’s cousin and asked that she be allowed to remain in the palace to accompany Noble Consort Xu for a time. Meng Guqing saw no reason to refuse immediately.
Most of the rules of the Great Wu harem were inherited from the former Yan dynasty, and there was no strict prohibition on guests entering without imperial summons. The Empress Dowager often had her sisters-in-law over for casual conversation. Madam Yang, knowing she was not favored by the Empress Dowager, had rarely entered the palace since her honorable retirement, lest she incur displeasure. But with her daughter now pregnant, she could no longer care about such scruples.
As long as the Empress did not object, leaving the niece behind was but a matter of a single imperial word and given how much the emperor doted on her daughter, this was hardly a difficult thing. Madam Yang quickly brought Xu Qiang to her daughter’s side. She was not an unfeeling mother; after all, the girl was her own flesh and blood. However good outsiders might be, they could not compare. Though her words had been hard the last time, that had not been her only intent. After letting mother and niece chat for a while, she had Guyu escort the niece out to play, and then spoke to her daughter privately.
“You’re my only child, how could I not understand your heart toward the emperor? The question is, does the emperor truly feel the same toward you? Rather than wait to have your favor taken by another, wouldn’t it be better if that other were your own sister? Do you think I don’t ache for you? If you truly cannot bear it, I won’t force you. Just introduce Qiang’er to the emperor. If he truly loves you and refuses to accept your cousin, then I’ll never send another girl to your side. But if he does accept her, Wan’er, then you must wake up and understand that a man’s affection cannot be relied upon.”
At first, Xu Wan felt resistance rising at her mother’s words, but as she listened further, she found some truth in them. She and the emperor had grown up together, their relationship steady and gentle; it was only during those two years when the Regent and the Empress Dowager forced him to take a wife that he had shown any sign of desperation, as if he could not do without her. Whether that sprang from love or defiance, even she sometimes could not tell. She was certain of her own feelings and longed for his to match. Now that she was with child, it was the perfect chance to test it. She swore it would be only this once. If the emperor proved steadfast and chose her alone, she would give her heart completely and never doubt again.
Meng Guqing had no idea of the true plan between mother and daughter; she had only granted them a small favor, unaware that she herself would soon be drawn into its consequences.
***
It was mid-autumn. The sun had sunk westward, the moonlight flooded the sky, shining bright as day. In the increasingly industrialized modern world she had once lived in, with its unregulated waste and pollution, such clear, bright moons were a rare luxury. After bathing, Meng Guqing sat by the window under the flickering candlelight, casually turning a scroll while gazing at the moon. Outside, Fusang was simmering autumn-pear syrup, and through the window Meng Guqing called, “Don’t forget to add licorice, fritillaria, and loquat leaves. We still have some fine hawthorn and dried tangerine peel in the storehouse, no need to be stingy.”
No matter how busy she was, she always exercised for an hour a day: jump-roping in her bedchamber or jogging in the back courtyard. The original body she’d inherited had been rather frail, but after years of persistent training, she’d grown much stronger. Her once-slender legs were now firm, smooth, and shapely. She rarely fell ill, and whenever she did feel unwell, she would quickly dispel it with her own remedies, pear syrup for coughs being one of them.
Seeing her sitting by the open window, Cawei came back from the storehouse with supplies, fetched a soft blanket, and draped it over her mistress’s legs, muttering discontentedly. These two maids had been with Meng Guqing since childhood, servants in name, but closer to family in truth. Since entering the capital, they’d endured countless slights at her side. To them, Meng Guqing showed her gentlest temper and truest smile. “I’m really not cold,” she said with a laugh. “You don’t believe me anyway. You’re the one who’s ill, go lie down. When the pear syrup’s done, have a cup with hot water, and you’ll feel better tomorrow.”
Cawei glanced toward the dark slice of sky between the red walls and eaves, coughed lightly, and, as often happens with the sick, began to feel homesick. Thinking of how their mistress had been wronged since arriving in the capital, the dignified Empress, reduced to a housekeeper tending to everyone and how even Noble Consort Xu’s mother dared put on airs before her, she grumbled indignantly: “This city’s cursed for us! Back home, you were never treated like this, and I never so much as caught a cold but here, even the Empress is made to suffer!”
“Is that so? Does the Empress truly feel neglected?”
The clear, cool voice of a young man came from the doorway. All three women jumped in fright. The young emperor had entered unnoticed, standing on the steps like a statue, a cluster of attendants behind him silent as shadows.
The air turned tense. Meng Guqing rose quickly, straightened her robes, and walked forward to salute. The two gate-eunuchs behind the emperor looked uneasy, apologetic. She didn’t blame them, if the emperor chose to come unannounced, no one could stop him. She smiled lightly. “Why has Your Majesty come at this hour? The Fengyi Palace usually closes its doors early. There being nothing of importance, I didn’t keep anyone up to wait.”
The emperor rarely visited Fengyi Palace, and since the Empress disliked being surrounded by crowds, few servants were present. No one had expected him tonight and after hearing Cawei’s reckless words, Meng Guqing only wanted to smooth things over. But he would not let it go.
“So, Zhen has been neglecting the Empress, to the point even her servants complain on her behalf?”
“No, this maid was brought from my family home. I’ve spoiled her, and she’s been ill these few days, so her tongue ran loose. I’ll punish her tomorrow.”
“Does the Empress also feel wronged? If you have grievances, you may speak them. There’s no need for hidden complaints behind my back.”
Meng Guqing froze for a moment, then felt a wave of weariness.
How meaningless. She’d done her best to be careful and thorough in every respect, fearing even the slightest offense yet still he found cause for fault. Lifting her eyes slightly, her dark irises gleamed coolly under the lamplight, her expression detached. She bent her knees in a curtsey.
“Your Majesty, I feel no grievance. Fengyi Palace is humble and plain; perhaps Your Majesty will find it uncomfortable. Forgive me for being bold, but I will not ask Your Majesty to come in. Wherever you wish to go, I’ll have lights lit and a palanquin prepared at once.”
She had, in essence, asked him to leave. As emperor, he had seldom been treated so. Zhao Donglin was stunned and a bit lost. The anger he had been nursing deflated at once. He stood there silently, and when the Empress truly ignored him and turned to climb the steps, after a pause he followed.
When he’d first assigned her to Fengyi Palace, it had been for its distance. This was his first time really observing it. The furnishings were simple, comfortable rather than opulent; tall beauty-lamps turned quietly in the corners; a cushioned couch stood by the window, books and ink scattered across the table, clearly a place she often sat.
After a slow circuit, he sat down by the window where she had been watching the moon. From this angle, the full moon hung beneath the glass eaves, autumn wind stirring withered willow branches. The sweet scent of pear syrup drifted through the cracks. Only then did embarrassment creep in. He hadn’t come to quarrel, he’d merely been in poor spirits, unsure whom to confide in. Having just stormed out of Jianjia Palace in anger, he had nowhere else to go. He remembered that last time, when he’d escorted her back here, she hadn’t tried to make him stay; when he turned back at the corner, she was already gone.
He had thought then that perhaps this marriage was not only his burden, this Empress, at least, wasn’t like the others who fawned and chattered endlessly. Though a knot still lingered in his heart, as he wandered through the imperial garden, he’d found himself unwilling to return to the main hall and somehow his steps had led him here.
Lost in thought, Zhao Donglin noticed the room brighten. A dark cloak had been draped over his shoulders, the Empress’s, judging by its size and the chill had already eased. The palace maids quietly served tea, snacks, and fresh garments. Feng Tianbao stood by with the unfinished memorials. But the Empress herself was nowhere to be seen until a slender shadow appeared at the doorway, the curtain lifted, and she entered carrying a tray, her presence lighting the whole room.
She walked up to him, her scent warm and subtle.
“This is freshly brewed autumn-pear syrup,” she said. “Your Majesty’s throat seemed uncomfortable, please, have a bowl to soothe it.”
He had suffered from seasonal throat dryness for years, she had noticed after only two light coughs. This Empress, he thought, is not as disagreeable as I imagined.
He drank the syrup in one gulp, then absently flipped open the scroll she had been reading, a history of the former Yan dynasty, and was mildly surprised. The Donghu nobility despised the culture of the southern peoples; even his own mother, open-minded as she was, held their teachings in contempt. Yet he, raised among southern tutors and attendants, had come to see little difference between them. He even favored the Confucian ideals cherished by the southerners, and in court treated Donghu and southern officials alike.
That thought, however, led his mind back to what had just happened in Jianjia Palace.
At first, he hadn’t understood why Wan’er had so earnestly introduced her cousin. He’d assumed she merely wanted him to look after her kin. But when Xu Qiang shyly volunteered to perform a dance and Wan’er and Madam Yang excused themselves to “change clothes”, the sorrowful, pleading look Wan’er gave him as she left made him faintly grasp the truth.
Or perhaps not even faintly; for what he grasped, he could hardly believe. Xu Wan had grown up with him; they had both seen the bitter rivalries of the harem and had been dragged into them more than once as children. She knew well his hopes regarding love; they had once pledged themselves sincerely to each other. So why would she now push another woman toward him? In her eyes, was he merely a tool for the Xu family’s advancement?
Was it really so hard to find just one person, someone who wouldn’t weigh gains or losses, wouldn’t be tainted by worldly vanity, and would simply, wholeheartedly, place him at the center of their world?
Zhao Donglin felt so stifled he could almost cough up blood. He sat, dazed and motionless, in Meng Guqing’s small chamber; his face, as cold and stiff as when he’d entered, concealed a loneliness and silence beyond words. The heavy air around him was so oppressive that even Feng Tianbao didn’t dare approach, he could only cast pleading glances at the empress for help.
Meng Guqing, however, still hadn’t figured out what was going on. Who had offended this “god of slaughter” now? She’d been inexplicably snapped at earlier and still felt wronged.
With no other choice, Feng Tianbao invited the empress outside and, after much stammering, explained what had happened. Meng Guqing suddenly understood, but this was something she couldn’t interfere in, any misstep would look like she was trying to sow discord. So she had no choice but to disappoint Feng Tianbao and smile gently. “His Majesty is only troubled for the moment. He’ll come around soon enough. Feng Gonggong, just do your duties properly, no one can fault you for that.”
When the master was in a foul mood, everyone below lived in fear. Feng Tianbao naturally wanted the emperor to calm down as soon as possible that was why he’d hinted to the empress, hoping she might smooth things over and coax him a little. If the emperor was pleased again, favor would follow. Why couldn’t the empress understand such a simple thing or was she pretending not to?
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