Upon the gilded throne, under the wavering candlelight, Emperor Zhaoning had half-risen, both hands braced on the table, brows drawn tight, his gaze locked upon the Third Prince.
His expression was one of sheer disbelief— so much so that even the silver basin for washing hands overturned and clattered to the floor, water spilling everywhere, cups tumbling after.
The attendants on either side were terrified, dropping to their knees in a panic. “Your Majesty, please calm yourself!”
Both Consort Xian and the Consort Shu were equally shocked. When their eyes followed the Emperor’s gaze and landed on the man in the dark green robe— their faces changed dramatically.
That low-ranking official— why did he look so much like the late Yan Wang?
No— not just Yan Wang, he even resembled that man.
Consort Shu’s brows knit tight.
Realizing that this man served under her own son’s command, her heart lurched in alarm. What was Ze’er thinking, bringing such a man into the palace? Was he trying to provoke His Majesty on purpose?
Consort Xian’s face was also pale, her eyes fixed on that young official’s face, her heart pounding wildly against her ribs.
Could it be… that child?
If that child had survived back then— he would indeed be about this age now. And his face… bore the likeness of both those people…
The thought sent a chill down her spine. She looked stealthily at Emperor Zhaoning’s darkening expression, feeling the cold spread across her back.
The Emperor had always been suspicious by nature— and with age, that suspicion had only deepened.
She couldn’t help but silently curse the Third Prince. What was Sima Ze thinking? A perfectly fine Mid-Autumn banquet— and he had to bring an extra person into the palace!
“Your Majesty,”
Consort Xian clutched her handkerchief tightly, forcing a faint smile and steady tone.
“It’s only a clumsy servant who accidentally overturned a basin of water. Today is a day of celebration across the land. You, of all people, are known for your benevolence and magnanimity— why not show mercy and forgive this servant just this once?”
Seeing Emperor Zhaoning’s expression still dark and wordless, Consort Xian gathered her courage to step forward and softly urged, “Your Majesty, the court officials are all present.”
As she spoke, she subtly signaled to Consort Shu.
Though Consort Shu didn’t understand why Consort Xian was helping her own third son out of the situation, she quickly followed her lead, stepping forward with gentle grace: “Your Majesty, shall this consort accompany you to the side hall to change your robes?”
At her words, Emperor Zhaoning turned his head toward Consort Shu, a shadowy, sinister look flashing through his eyes.
Consort Shu caught that look and felt a jolt of terror in her chest.
Every year, on the late Empress’s death anniversary, when he came to her palace drunk and throttled her by the neck, he had worn this exact same expression.
“Your Majesty?” she called out anxiously.
Emperor Zhaoning glimpsed the fear in her beautiful eyes — and suddenly came to his senses.
The woman before him was not Madam Fang.
Madam Fang would never have such a timid, cringing gaze. When she looked at him, her eyes were always proud, cold, filled with disdain.
But he was the Son of Heaven — her husband — how could she dare?
“It’s only a bit of spilled water. No need to change.”
His gaze gradually cleared. He brushed the sleeve of his robe and looked toward the third prince and the tall figure still kneeling on the ground. “Rise. You only overturned a basin. No need for such a fuss.”
Though many had seen that it was the emperor’s own shock that had caused the basin to fall, once he’d spoken, no one dared to contradict him.
“Xie Wuling, is it? Come closer.”
Emperor Zhaoning brushed off the hands of Consorts Xian and Shu, seated himself again with calm composure. Once the attendants had cleaned up the overturned basin and the messy table, it was as if nothing at all had happened.
Xie Wuling had no idea what madness had seized the emperor just now — he hadn’t done anything out of turn.
Earlier, the Third Prince had raised a cup in toast, spoken a few courteous words, then introduced him: “Royal Father, this is Xie Wuling, the Changshi who, guided by celestial fortune, discovered the gold mine on Little Peach Mountain.”
So he followed the plan they’d rehearsed before entering the palace — stepping forward, bowing toward the throne, and saying, “Your servant Xie Wuling greets Your Majesty, wishing Your Majesty eternal prosperity and peace for ten thousand years.”
The emperor chuckled amiably and said, “Good. You may rise and speak.”
So he straightened and lifted his head.
The Third Prince had told him: in court, those with fine bearing and appearance always rise faster than the plain-looking. He’d even said that Xie Wuling had a face one could never forget — if the emperor noticed him today, even if he forgot his name, he’d still remember the handsome young man at the Mid-Autumn banquet.
As long as those in power remembered him, his path upward would not be hard.
He never expected that upon seeing his face, the emperor’s reaction wouldn’t be delight — but fury.
Like an old lion whose tail had been severed, suddenly losing all composure.
Xie Wuling didn’t understand.
While lying prostrate on the floor, countless thoughts had flashed through his mind, and the last was — If I die here today, so inexplicably… would Jiaojiao shed a single tear for me?
“Xie Wuling, come. Royal Father is calling you.”
He lifted his gaze, meeting the Third Prince’s urging look.
Soldiers block soldiers, water blocks water — whatever comes, he’d meet it head-on.
Taking a slow breath, Xie Wuling rose from the floor, strode to the center of the hall, and bowed. “Your Majesty, your servant is here.”
The emperor’s scrutinizing eyes lingered on his brows and eyes for a while before he asked, “From your accent, you don’t sound like a native of Chang’an.”
Xie Wuling replied, “In answer to Your Majesty, this servant’s home is in Jinling.”
The emperor narrowed his eyes slightly. “Then how did you come to Chang’an — and enter the Shenwu Army?”
“Your servant enlisted in the Ningzhou army last year and gained the favor of Marquis Zhennan. I was assigned to escort his young shizi back to Chang’an. Later, by fortune, I came to the attention of His Highness the Third Prince, who recommended me to the Shenwu Army.”
“Ningzhou Army?”
The emperor fell silent in thought. Jinling wasn’t far from Ningzhou — enlisting there was plausible. He also recalled the matter of Marquis Huo’s young shizi returning to the capital — after all, that child was the Marquis family’s only treasured descendant. When he came back last year, the emperor had rewarded the household generously to show imperial favor.
“You were born and raised in Jinling?”
“Yes.”
“Any family left?”
“In answer to Your Majesty — both my parents passed away early. In my household…” He paused briefly. “I had a wife, but due to an accident, we were separated. Now there is only a one year-old son at home.”
The emperor showed little interest in his wife or child. He only asked, “Your parents were also from Jinling? How did they die so young?”
Xie Wuling thought the emperor’s questions were a bit excessive, but he still replied: “In answer to Your Majesty — both were from Jinling. My mother died of illness, and as for my father… the neighbors said he went abroad on business and was killed by bandits. I was still a child then, unable to investigate further. He never returned.”
He knew his birth mother was Xie Xiangniang, a Jinling courtesan — as for his father, the old madam of the flower boat told him it was most likely a tea merchant.
Courtesans had many patrons, but that tea merchant had been the most frequent during that period — chances were high he was the one.
Xie Wuling never cared whether his birth father was a tea trader, silk merchant, or common peddler. He’d raised himself. Anyone daring to call himself his “father” now — he’d punch them until they called him grandfather.
He thought that after saying all this, the emperor’s “small talk” would be over.
Unexpectedly, Emperor Zhaoning asked one more question: “What year were you born?”
Xie Wuling frowned slightly but kept his tone calm. “In answer to Your Majesty, this servant was born in the twentieth year of Tiansheng.”
The emperor’s expression eased somewhat. He looked at Xie Wuling again. “Then you and the Third Prince are truly fated — if I remember right, he too was born in the twentieth year of Tiansheng.”
Xie Wuling quickly said, “For a lowly subject like me to share the same birth year as Your Majesty’s royal heir—it is my greatest honor.”
Although Emperor Zhaoning disliked those eyes of Xie Wuling’s, he was quite fond of that mouth—
Or rather, he liked that obsequious, flattering manner of his.
It was something he could never find in Fang Shujing or Sima Yi.
“Today is the Mid-Autumn Festival, a day of celebration for all under heaven. You discovered a gold mine and have rendered merit; I grant you a fine pot of wine.”
“Your Majesty is most gracious. This humble subject thanks you.”
Xie Wuling kowtowed, and seeing that Emperor Zhaoning had no further instructions, he withdrew to his place.
When a young eunuch carried the pot of wine toward Xie Wuling, Shen Yujiao’s palms tightened involuntarily.
That wine… could there be something wrong with it?
Her eyes stayed fixed on the high seat, watching every move. When she saw Xie Wuling pour a cup and raise it to his lips, her heart jumped violently—she nearly rose to her feet—
“Yuniang.”
Her hand was suddenly pressed down. The man’s cool voice poured over her like a basin of cold water, shocking her back to her senses.
She turned her head and met Pei Xia’s dark, narrow gaze. His face was expressionless as his thin lips moved slightly: “He’ll be fine.”
“At least, nothing will happen to him at the palace banquet.”
Under Pei Xia’s calm, steady look, Shen Yujiao’s chaotic thoughts slowly stilled.
Right—this was a palace banquet, with so many eyes watching. How could the Emperor possibly grant poisoned wine in front of everyone?
She’d been jumpy, seeing ghosts where there were none.
Her taut heartstrings loosened—though only for an instant. When she realized how she’d just reacted, a wave of guilt swept through her.
“Langjun, I…” Shen Yujiao didn’t dare meet Pei Xia’s eyes—and only then did she realize how tightly he’d been holding her hand.
She tried to pull away, but he still held fast.
“…It hurts,” Shen Yujiao whispered, biting her lip.
Pei Xia’s gaze flickered; his long fingers finally relaxed.
Her soft, pale hand was marked with faint red imprints.
He lowered his eyes, gently rubbing the spot. “My apologies.”
“You don’t need to apologize,” Shen Yujiao murmured. “It was I who lost my composure first.”
Because she cared, she’d panicked.
Had Pei Xia not restrained her, she might’ve acted rashly.
Pei Xia continued to rub the red marks from her hand without speaking.
His silence only deepened Shen Yujiao’s guilt. She pressed her lips together, trying to explain, “His Majesty’s behavior was really strange. He asked Xie Wuling so many unrelated questions…”
She couldn’t believe the Emperor would show such concern for an obscure minor official.
“In the twentieth year of Tiansheng, did anything happen?” she asked, puzzled.
“In the twentieth year of Tiansheng, Consort Shu gave birth to the third prince.”
Pei Xia paused briefly. “In the twenty-first year, the Empress gave birth to the fourth prince…”
“But wasn’t the fourth prince born of Concubine Li?” Shen Yujiao frowned.
Pei Xia said, “The fourth prince the Empress bore was stillborn and not included in the official order of succession.”
“There was such a thing…”
Shen Yujiao was taken aback. “But, Langjun, how do you know about this?”
Pei Xia replied, “During the recent inspection of the river, the Crown Prince mentioned it in passing.”
Because the second prince had risked his life to save him, the Crown Prince had been deeply moved, sighing repeatedly that even one’s own blood brother might not go so far—how virtuous the second prince was.
Pei Xia had remembered those words. Later, he asked the second prince and learned that the former Empress had indeed given birth to one more child.
Children dying young was not uncommon in those days—especially in the inner palace, where such deaths were frequent. So he hadn’t thought much of it then.
Only now, seeing Emperor Zhaoning’s odd demeanor and his questions about Xie Wuling’s background, Pei Xia suddenly recalled that moment returning to the city—when, for an instant, he’d thought the Crown Prince and Xie Wuling looked somewhat alike.
Could it be…
The thought had barely formed before he dismissed it.
One from the northwest, one from Jiangnan; one the son of an empress, the other the child of a boat courtesan—how could they possibly be connected?
Emperor Zhaoning’s loss of composure earlier must have been simple shock at Xie Wuling’s resemblance to someone—perhaps the late empress.
Pei Xia had never seen the empress himself, but judging from the Crown Prince’s features, Xie Wuling must share some likeness with her.
Seeing him lower his eyes in thought, Shen Yujiao felt an inexplicable unease. “Langjun, do you know something? Is there something wrong with Xie Wuling?”
She couldn’t quite make sense of it, but she knew Pei Xia was perceptive—he must’ve noticed something.
Pei Xia lifted his gaze and caught the clear worry in her eyes—for another man. His chest tightened slightly.
Yet since this matter might concern lives, he suppressed his irritation and said quietly, “Don’t worry. It was merely a misunderstanding. Now that it’s cleared up, as long as he keeps a low profile, he should be fine.”
“Really?”
“I may not like him,” Pei Xia said evenly, “but I wouldn’t lie to you about something like this.”
Shen Yujiao was taken aback, her expression awkward. “I didn’t mean it like that, I just—”
“There’s no need to explain.”
Pei Xia released her hand and sat upright again, his expression distant. “Tonight the flowers bloom and the moon is full. As husband and wife, we shouldn’t waste our thoughts on irrelevant people or matters.”
He picked up a silver wine jug engraved with osmanthus motifs, and, unhurriedly, poured a cup. Handing it to her, he said, “The moon is full in the sky, and people are reunited on earth. Yuniang, will you share this cup with me?”
Since he wasn’t pursuing the matter, Shen Yujiao couldn’t bear to spoil the mood.
“Since Langjun has the sentiment, how could I refuse?” She took the silver cup shaped like eight petals, lifted it gently to her nose—it was rose wine.
The wine went down smoothly, gentle on the throat, with a faint fragrance—it was the kind most favored by the ladies.
Pei Xia poured himself a cup of strong, full-bodied Xinfeng wine and lightly touched cups with Shen Yujiao. The two of them tilted back their heads and drank together.
As he set his cup down, Pei Xia’s gaze flicked upward.
In the half-lit glow ahead, Xie Wuling sat drinking alone, pouring himself one cup after another.
He must be wondering too, Pei Xia thought.
His Majesty loathed the late Empress, yet this man bore a face that resembled hers…
Pouring another cup, Pei Xia clinked glasses with Shen Yujiao again and thought to himself—out of consideration for the man who had once saved Yuniang and their child, he would send him some travel money tomorrow and have him leave Chang’an at once. Then they would be even.
Aside from the Emperor’s brief and uncharacteristic lapse at the start of the banquet, everything afterward went on as usual. After a dance to Treading Song, musicians came forward with pipa, jade sheng, konghou, and bamboo flutes to play the fitting melody The Middle Tune of Rainbow Skirts.
As the wine flowed through three rounds, the atmosphere grew ever livelier. Some military officials performed sword dances, while civil officials composed and sang poems in response.
Everyone had long since forgotten the earlier incident. Shen Yujiao stole a glance or two at Xie Wuling—seeing him eating and drinking normally, she finally set her worries aside.
The rose wine tasted lovely, but it was still wine—too much of it could get one drunk.
After drinking half a pot between them, she was already a little tipsy. Realizing half the banquet still remained, she waved her hand. “Langjun, no more. I can’t drink any further.”
Pei Xia lowered his gaze and saw his wife resting her soft pale cheek on one hand, her face flushed, her eyes misty with intoxication as she looked at him.
That look held a rare hint of dazed sweetness.
His eyes softened, a smile tugging at his lips. “Already drunk?”
“Not drunk.” She shook her head, her tone unconsciously drowsy and languid. “But if I drink any more, I will be.”
“Then let yourself be drunk. Tomorrow’s a rest day—you don’t have to go to court anyway.”
Shen Yujiao blinked in confusion. She didn’t understand what her getting drunk had to do with court attendance—she never went to court in the first place.
Unable to figure it out, she simply set her cup aside and said, keeping a touch of clarity, “If I drink too much, I’ll have a headache tomorrow. I still have to go to Aunt’s to bring back Di Ge’er.”
“Even now, you’re still thinking of him?” Pei Xia’s dark eyes narrowed slightly.
“Of course I am.” Shen Yujiao laughed, half teasing, half reproachful. “Aren’t you his father? Don’t you miss your child?”
Pei Xia knew this soft, lazy charm of hers came entirely from the half pot of rose wine.
But looking at her flushed, tender face, the natural allure glimmering in her eyes, his throat moved slightly.
So, wine wasn’t without its merits after all.
When they had free time in the future, perhaps they could share a quiet drink at home.
Shen Yujiao was unaware of his thoughts. After setting down her cup, she turned her full attention to eating crab.
Seeing how much she liked it, Pei Xia picked up the crab tools and began to crack and clean them for her.
He was handsome to begin with, and even his hand—the one that held a brush or drew a bow—was slender and well-shaped, its joints distinct. Now, as he patiently pried open the crab, his focused expression and chiseled profile were like a fine piece of jade. Shen Yujiao rested her chin in her hand, watching him in a daze.
This is nice, she thought.
With a husband like this, what more could a woman ask for?
Just as the thought rose, she suddenly felt a sharp gaze fall on her head—so sharp it felt like it could bore two holes through her skull.
She thought it was Xie Wuling, but when she turned her head, she found it was Princess Shouan.
For a moment, it felt as if time overlapped—just like at last year’s Mid-Autumn banquet, Shouan was staring at her in exactly the same way.
That time, she had avoided the look and bowed her head.
This time, Shen Yujiao forced down the resentment in her heart and met that gaze calmly—neither humble nor defiant.
So what if she was a princess? Did that make it righteous to harm others?
And how long could the power she relied on protect her?
“Yuniang, eat.”
The cool, clear voice at her ear pulled her back. Shen Yujiao lowered her eyes and saw Pei Xia had neatly separated the crab meat and roe onto a plate—the meat white as snow, the roe golden as sunlight.
“I’ve opened three,” Pei Xia said. “I’ll do two more for you—five at most. Crab is cold in nature; too much will hurt the body.”
“Alright.” Shen Yujiao smiled at him. “Thank you, Langjun.”
“No need to thank me.”
Seeing how happy she was, Pei Xia picked up the silver scissors again and continued working on another crab.
Perhaps because of the wine, once she’d eaten her fill, Shen Yujiao began to feel a bit of pressure in her bladder. She excused herself from the table, and a palace maid led her toward the side hall.
The farther she walked from the main hall, the fainter the sound of music and flutes became. Above, the dark sky hung a bright moon, spilling silver light like rippling water.
When she came out from the side hall after relieving herself, the maid who had been waiting by the door was nowhere to be seen.
Shen Yujiao frowned slightly. “Is anyone there?” she called softly.
No one answered.
Puzzled, she stepped a few paces down the corridor—when suddenly, a gust of wind swept past.
Before she could react, a hand clamped over her mouth from behind. A tremendous force seized her waist, and she had no chance to struggle before being carried off toward the rockery beside the side hall.
The rockery was dimly lit. The chest pressed against her back was firm and burning hot. Shen Yujiao’s heart raced wildly as she kicked frantically. “Mmph—!”
Then, above her head, came a low, lazy male voice, deliberately subdued: “Jiaojiao, it’s me.”
Her struggling stilled, fear in her eyes giving way to shock.
“I’ll let you go now, but don’t make a sound, understand?”
Shen Yujiao: “…”
She wasn’t stupid—if she shouted now, it would only draw everyone’s attention.
Seeing that she’d stopped resisting, Xie Wuling slowly released his hand from her mouth.
The arm around her waist, however, seemed to have a will of its own—unwilling to let go.
When he didn’t loosen his grip, Shen Yujiao raised a hand to push him away, then quickly turned around.
By the hazy, clear moonlight, she finally saw the man before her clearly—peach-blossom eyes, a high nose bridge, lips curved in a bright grin. Who else could it be but Xie Wuling?
She hadn’t expected him to be this bold!
“This is the imperial palace, and I came here together with Pei Xia! How dare you… how dare you act so recklessly!”
Shen Yujiao realized her usual gentle composure always shattered in front of Xie Wuling. Like now—her cheeks flushed, her tone sharp, even her hands itched to hit him. “If you don’t want to live, don’t drag me down with you!”
“Don’t be angry,” Xie Wuling said quickly when he saw her fury. He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “I didn’t mean to—I acted on impulse. Someone was trying to harm you.”
Shen Yujiao’s brows twitched. The haze of wine in her head cleared a little. “What happened?”
“When I saw you leaving earlier, I followed. Cough… I wasn’t planning to approach you. I just drank a little too much, felt stifled, and wanted some air.”
In truth, he had come out with the faint hope of an ‘accidental’ encounter—perhaps to exchange a few words, or even just to brush past her. Anything was better than watching her from afar.
So he trailed along and pretended to stroll near the waterside pavilion. Unexpectedly, he spotted a young eunuch standing furtively by a window not far away.
“I thought that eunuch’s lust hadn’t been cut off, daring to act so shamelessly. I was about to grab him and beat him up, but then realized he was blowing some kind of knockout smoke.”
Xie Wuling immediately leapt forward, struck the man unconscious with a knife-hand blow, then kicked him viciously a few times below the waist. After that, he saw Shen Yujiao walk out, eyes dazed, looking for her attendant.
“That palace servant who led you here must be in league with that dead eunuch. They likely have gone to report back to their master by now.”
He spoke in a low voice, lowering his gaze to her. “Jiaojiao, believe me. Even though I think of you every day and every night, so much I can’t sleep, I would never act on impulse or do anything that would disgrace you.”
Perhaps it was the alcohol, or perhaps the deliberate restraint in his voice—but he sounded almost wounded.
Thinking of the missing servant, Shen Yujiao believed his words. Remembering how harshly she had spoken to him just now, guilt stirred in her heart. She lowered her eyes and murmured, “You… you startled me just now. I thought…”
“Thought it was a flower thief?”
Xie Wuling bent down, his handsome face drawing near, eyes crinkling in amusement. “If I could really abduct you home like that, I wouldn’t mind being one.”
“Xie Wuling.” Shen Yujiao glared at him. “Is this really the time for jokes?”
“Eh, I’m here,” he answered readily.
“Jiaojiao, call me again.”
“…?”
Xie Wuling sighed, his gaze full of grievance. “Since coming to this wretched Chang’an, every time you see me, you call me ‘Young Master Xie.’ It sounds so distant. Why not just call me ‘Wuling,’ or ‘Langjun’—without the surname? Or even by my courtesy name?”
Shen Yujiao blinked, frowning slightly. “When did you even have a courtesy name?”
“Isn’t a courtesy name just another nice name? Easy to come up with.”
He narrowed his eyes in thought for a moment, then suddenly brightened. “Got it,” he said, his dark eyes shining. “Thinking of you, missing you, admiring you—Jiaojiao, which do you think sounds better?”
