Even with Chen Jinan by her side, Feng Lezhen didn’t sleep well that night. In her dreams, she saw the late emperor, the imperial edict, and Qing Wang over and over again. By the time she woke fully, the room was still shrouded in darkness.
“Your Highness, why are you awake at this hour?” In the dark, Chen Jinan asked gently.
Feng Lezhen blinked slowly. “How did you know I was awake?”
“I could tell from your breathing, Your Highness,” Chen Jinan answered.
Feng Lezhen paused. “You didn’t sleep all night.”
It wasn’t a question. Chen Jinan hesitated briefly and didn’t lie. “You were sleeping restlessly, Your Highness. I didn’t dare sleep.”
“Silly man,” Feng Lezhen sighed softly and slowly sat up in the darkness. “What time is it?”
There was a rustling sound beside her, and after a moment, Chen Jinan answered, “It’s already the hour of the tiger.”
“Let’s go. To the palace,” Feng Lezhen said quietly, lowering her gaze.
Winter was approaching in the capital. The days were short and nights long. By the time the two of them dressed and went out, it was still dark.
The early morning air carried the scent of dew and soil—moist and cool. Street vendors were already staking out spots and setting up their stalls. The nearby breakfast shop hadn’t opened yet, but lights were on inside, and steam could be seen rising from afar.
A change in imperial power, courtiers crying and wailing—one grand show after another. But to the common people, it was just a spectacle, a rare glimpse into the world of the powerful. As long as their own lives stayed stable, it didn’t matter whether the drama was entertaining or not.
Feng Lezhen’s eyes were closed, as if she were asleep. Chen Jinan glanced at the bundle in her hands and quietly draped a thin blanket over her. Her eyelashes trembled, but she didn’t look at him.
The carriage traveled in silence until it reached the palace. The two of them walked quietly, one after the other, and before long they arrived at the residence of Feng Ji. Chen Jinan was about to follow her in when Feng Lezhen raised her hand to stop him.
“You go to the side hall and rest for a bit. I’ll go in alone.”
“Your Highness…”
“Go.” Feng Lezhen looked at him.
Chen Jinan was silent for a moment, then finally obeyed and left.
Feng Lezhen stared at the tightly closed door for a long while, then finally stepped inside.
Though she hadn’t been here in some time, the room was still clean and tidy. Fresh flowers were arranged in the corners—proof that even though Feng Ji had lost his power, no one dared to slight him.
Feng Lezhen walked straight into the inner chamber and saw Feng Ji wrapped in a quilt, sleeping curled up on the footrest at the end of the bed. She looked at this younger brother—only half a year younger than herself, yet already graying—and suddenly felt that blood ties were truly a strange thing. She had always looked down on his foolishness and tried to cut ties in every way, but in the end, she still noticed the similarities between them. For instance, when anxious or afraid, they both preferred to sleep on the footrest.
Feng Ji hadn’t been sleeping deeply. In a haze between dreams and wakefulness, he vaguely sensed someone approaching and struggled to open his eyes.
When their gazes met, he sobered instantly and sat up with a sullen expression. “Royal Sister graces me with her presence—why not give some notice first?”
“You’ve nothing to do anyway. Whether I come early or late, I can see you at any time. What difference does it make if I gave notice or not?” Feng Lezhen countered calmly.
Feng Ji gave a faint laugh. “Royal Sister is indeed sharp-tongued. I wonder if you’re just as eloquent when facing the court ministers.”
“How would you know what happens outside the palace?” Feng Lezhen smiled faintly. “Seems no matter how tight I’ve made security, I still can’t prevent someone from leaking you information.”
Feng Ji’s face was wooden. “I am the emperor. I am the legitimate heir. Is it not natural that I have supporters?”
“Indeed. You are the emperor, the legitimate one. That’s why, no matter how foolish your actions, there are still people to shield you,” Feng Lezhen said. Then she suddenly let out a laugh. “I truly envy that.”
“You came here at the break of dawn just to say you envy me?” Feng Ji asked.
“Then what do you think I came here for?” Feng Lezhen retorted.
Feng Ji stared at her for a long while, a trace of mockery flashing through his eyes. “You’ve finally decided to kill me? Not easy, Royal Sister. I suppose you’ve finally figured it out.”
Feng Lezhen’s lips curled faintly. “Wrong.”
“What?”
“This time, I didn’t come to kill you. I came to show you something.” As she spoke, she tossed the cloth bundle in her hand to the floor in front of him.
A flicker of wariness passed through Feng Ji’s eyes, and he didn’t touch it right away. Feng Lezhen, however, was in no rush—she simply looked at him with a calm expression.
After a while, Feng Ji finally moved the fingers resting on his knee and picked up the bundle from the floor.
When he opened it, a bright yellow imperial decree was revealed.
Seeing the pattern—used only during the late emperor’s reign—Feng Ji glanced cautiously at Feng Lezhen. When he saw no reaction from her, he slowly began to unfold it…
Feng Lezhen watched as Feng Ji’s grip grew tighter and tighter. The edict, which had been preserved with care for nearly ten years, soon became wrinkled and creased in his trembling hands. She stood there coldly watching, with no intention of stopping him.
After a long time, Feng Ji suddenly let out a bitter laugh—and then burst into laughter. His entire body shook, his face twitched, and he coughed violently as though he were choking. Feng Lezhen stood and watched until his laughter finally subsided into silence. Only then did she speak:
“I’m giving you one last chance to choose. A graceful abdication, saving face for both of us—or I take this edict and ascend the throne by force.”
“Emperor Chenyuan is dim and incompetent, unfit for great responsibilities. Yet with the royal bloodline dwindling and no other suitable heir, I had no choice but to appoint him as successor. However, I cannot allow Great Qian to drift aimlessly. Thus, I decree against ancestral precedent: when the time is right, my eldest daughter, Princess Hengkang, may present this edict and take his place. Take his place…”
Feng Ji gripped the imperial decree tightly. When he looked back at Feng Lezhen, there was a sorrowful look in his long-numb eyes.
“Royal Sister, tell me—how could he be so unfair?” His voice cracked. “For the sake of his precious daughter, he could even write an edict like this. But I… I was his only son! His biological son!”
His voice nearly bled with anguish, but Feng Lezhen remained calm.
“He was indeed unfair. You and I are only half a year apart in age. The name he gave me, Lezhen, means joy and innocence. The name he gave you, Ji, means ‘state and order’. He knew full well I was a girl and could not inherit the throne, yet he still used me as your whetstone—giving me hope while constantly guarding against me and manipulating me at every turn. Yes, he was unfair. But he was unfair to me. You don’t have the right to say that.”
Feng Ji let out a laugh that bordered on madness. “I don’t have the right? And you do? When we both caught the plague at age five, we both lost consciousness. But he skipped court for a whole day and night to watch over you. While I had only my mother and a physician by my side. On his birthday, I spent three days handcrafting a little horse for him, but it couldn’t compare to the single flower you picked from the imperial gardens. I used to think it was because I wasn’t clever or accomplished enough that he favored you more. Until then I finally realized—when parents love their children, it’s not about how accomplished they are. He favored you blindly, even when you brushed him off, even if you were dull and stupid. He would still favor you. And then when we were nine…”
Feng Ji’s breath began to tremble as he recalled the past. “When we were nine, I accidentally pushed Qi Jingqing into the water. You took the blame and knelt before Qi Zhen for a whole day and night. But did you know—I knelt outside the imperial study for nearly three days. I didn’t get up until your fever subsided. My knees ached for half a year. While kneeling those three days, I kept thinking: I made a mistake, so I deserve to be punished. But if it hadn’t been his precious daughter taking the blame, would the punishment have been this severe?”
He laughed again, his eyes misting as he looked at Feng Lezhen. “He wouldn’t have. Just like—if you had been born a son, he would never have passed the throne to me. He never truly loved me from the start.”
“But unfortunately, there is no ‘if’,” Feng Lezhen said coldly. “The fact is, he gave the throne to you. And he even feared you couldn’t hold it securely—so while bedridden, he racked his brain trying to deal with me. Feng Ji, as the one who gained the most in the end, what right do you have to speak ill of Royal Father?”
“Because I never wanted to be emperor!” Feng Ji suddenly shouted, each word laced with blood and tears. “I never wanted to be emperor. I am incompetent, I am unfit, I don’t belong on that throne. If he hadn’t always favored you—if you hadn’t always fought me—I would have never even considered sitting on the dragon throne!”
After shouting, his whole body slumped back against the bed. His laugh was more pitiful than crying. “But now, you’ll finally get your wish. The old man loved you after all. In the end, he still left you this secret decree. You can finally… righteously sit on that throne.”
“So, you still refuse to abdicate voluntarily?” Feng Lezhen stared at him calmly.
The smile on Feng Ji’s face slowly faded. His expression turned wooden again. “I told you before. If you want the throne—come and take it. I will never hand it over.”
There didn’t seem to be anything more to say. Feng Lezhen turned and walked out. Feng Ji watched her back grow more distant, his breathing suddenly quickening.
“That imperial edict—Fu Zhixian gave it to you, didn’t he?! That night before the old man died, he called Fu into his chambers and spoke with him for a long time. When he came out, he was holding something. I asked him about it several times and he wouldn’t say—so that must have been the decree!”
Feng Lezhen stopped walking. “Yes.”
“When did he give it to you?” Feng Ji asked again.
Feng Lezhen: “Yesterday.”
“I’ve been on the throne for nine years… nine whole years. When I first ascended and the throne was unstable, he didn’t give it to you. When I repeatedly suppressed the Eldest Princess’s Household, he still didn’t give it to you. Even when I forced you to flee to Yingguan, he didn’t give it to you. But now, now that everything is already decided, he gives it to you?” Feng Ji laughed hoarsely. “Fu Zhixian is still clever—he knows that giving charcoal in the snow doesn’t compare to adding flowers to brocade.”
He sneered, eyes full of mockery. “Feng Lezhen, it must sting, doesn’t it? To see the man you once trusted and admired most scheming to the very end.”
Feng Lezhen turned to look at him, her eyes full of pity. “To think you’ve been emperor for nine years… and still haven’t matured at all.”
Feng Ji stiffened, his breathing growing more ragged.
“Back then, I had no wings, no military power. The court and the people both believed that a woman could accomplish nothing. If I had received this edict then, it would’ve brought everyone against me. But now—” Feng Lezhen slowly lifted her lips in a smile, “—now, everything is different.”
Feng Ji stared at her in a daze, dry lips beginning to crack and bleed.
“Oh, by the way,” Feng Lezhen added in the silence, “Royal Father actually left Fu Zhixian two decrees. One for me… and one for you.”
“What did he write for me?” Feng Ji asked anxiously.
She looked at him for a long time, then opened her lips slowly. “A decree of absolution. It says: no matter what wrongs I commit, as emperor, you are to remember our bond of blood and pardon me without blame.”
Feng Ji stared blankly, then collapsed to the ground as if all strength had left his body.
Feng Lezhen no longer looked at him. Without turning back, she walked away.
Winter was only days away. The air was dry and cold, and though the sun had risen high, it brought no warmth.
When Feng Lezhen stepped out of the palace hall, she felt as if her whole body had gone weightless. Her knees, which hadn’t ached in years, began to throb faintly. The cold seemed to seep in from every direction. She gave a slight shiver and was just about to head to the side hall to find Chen Jinan when a coat was draped over her shoulders.
Feng Lezhen smiled, turning to the person beside her. “Didn’t I tell you to go rest for a while?”
“I did. Then I woke up again,” Chen Jinan replied.
Feng Lezhen nodded and held out her hand. Chen Jinan took it without hesitation, ignoring the shocked looks from the palace servants—he never let go.
The two walked slowly side by side. Chen Jinan didn’t ask what had been discussed or whether things had been resolved. He only mentioned that at this hour, the vendor selling potato cakes on West Street would be setting up, and that he wanted to take her to try some.
“They may be humble food, but the smell is heavenly. One bite and all your troubles disappear,” he said, voice full and warm, as if well-rested.
Feng Lezhen couldn’t help but laugh. “Is it really that good?”
“It’s a taste I’d never had before,” Chen Jinan replied earnestly. “I heard the vendor comes from West Jiang. The potato cakes are a family recipe. I’m sure Your Highness will like them.”
Feng Lezhen’s smile deepened. “Alright. Then let’s—”
Dong—
A heavy bell tolled, startling a flock of crows into flight. Feng Lezhen’s smile vanished in an instant. She turned around blankly.
They were already near the palace gates. Looking back from this angle, all she could see were brilliant chrysanthemums blooming in the garden.
The mourning bell tolls—the emperor has passed.
Dong—dong—
The sound continued. However many years Feng Ji had lived, that was how many times the bell would toll. The sound floated up to the heavens, sank into the earth, whispered through the ears of all living beings, wordlessly spreading the news of death across the land.
The palace servants around them dropped to their knees at the first sound, wailing in anguish as if enduring the greatest sorrow on earth.
Feng Lezhen blinked slowly. When the twenty-fourth toll sounded, she remembered that Feng Ji had not yet turned twenty-five—so only twenty-four strikes.
The mighty peals faded, leaving only endless crying. Feng Lezhen stood amid the mourning world and gently whispered:
“Jinan.”
“Here, Your Highness.” Chen Jinan looked at her with concern.
“Tell me… isn’t Royal Father utterly ridiculous?” Feng Lezhen tried to lift her lips into a smile, but failed. Her eyes were hollow. “He left two secret decrees. One in case I failed in taking the throne, to protect me from being killed by Feng Ji. One in case I succeeded, to prevent me from harming Feng Ji. He thought of everything. But he never considered how unpredictable the world is… or how unfathomable the human heart can be. In the last life, I never received that edict. In this life, Feng Ji wouldn’t accept his so-called kindness. He tried to use two decrees to preserve the lives of his children—but in the end, he got nothing…”
Feng Lezhen’s expression grew colder and colder, though a faint glimmer of tears appeared in her eyes. “He thought of everything… except that maybe we didn’t need anything from him at all.”
“Your Highness,” Chen Jinan gently interrupted. When she looked over, he smiled warmly. “Let’s go buy some potato cakes.”
This time, Feng Lezhen truly laughed. The tears in her eyes fell as her eyes crinkled in a smile. “The emperor just passed, and you’re going out for street food. Aren’t you afraid you’ll be impeached three hundred times in court?”
“I don’t care,” Chen Jinan said, slowly prying open her clenched hand and once again interlacing his fingers with hers.
Feng Lezhen lowered her eyes. “Let’s go… buy some potato cakes.”
Behind them, the palace was drowned in a sea of sorrowful wailing. But neither of them looked back—not even once—as they walked away, leaving all the pain and entanglements behind.
The emperor had passed, and the late emperor’s secret edict was also revealed before the court officials. For a time, the entire hall was shocked, and no one dared to stir up trouble. Not only did they not dare cause trouble, they even gathered together to discuss how to preserve the last shred of dignity for Feng Ji, who had taken his own life. After a long deliberation, the civil and military officials came to a consensus: the secret edict would be sealed away, and a new imperial decree, imitating Feng Ji’s handwriting, would be drafted—a self-criticism and a formal abdication in favor of the worthy.
The man was already dead—there was no way to go through the formal show of “thrice refusing the throne”—but with all officials serving as witnesses to this “final letter,” it would be convincing enough.
Most importantly, any who might raise objections were themselves among those officials. Since even they had agreed to conceal the truth, naturally no one else would dare question it.
This decision from the court was within Feng Lezhen’s expectations. So when the news reached the Eldest Princess’s residence, she simply and calmly picked up a piece of fish and placed it in Chen Jinan’s bowl.
“Eat more—your wound will heal faster,” she said.
Chen Jinan obediently gave a soft acknowledgment and lowered his head to eat.
Feng Lezhen glanced at the messenger who had brought the news and, seeing he hadn’t yet left, asked, “Feng Ji’s body is still laid out in the palace. Have they decided on a date for burial?”
“According to ritual, a corpse may be buried after seven days,” the man said hesitantly, “but…”
“But what?” Feng Lezhen asked.
“…But the burial location is a problem,” the messenger said awkwardly. “Since the late emperor blew up the imperial mausoleum, many officials believe that burying him there would be a great disrespect to the emperors of past generations. Yet if another location is chosen, no one knows where would be appropriate.”
“Bury him in the imperial mausoleum,” Feng Lezhen said. “He only destroyed the front hall—the rear grounds are still usable. The Feng ancestors aren’t that petty. They won’t reject him as a descendant just because he did something foolish.”
As she spoke, she placed more food in Chen Jinan’s bowl. She was already full but was rather enjoying the act of feeding him.
Chen Jinan, naturally, accepted all of it without protest.
The matter of the burial site was settled, but the messenger still didn’t leave. Feng Lezhen paused and asked, “Is there more?”
“There is…” The man was annoyed inwardly—why had the other officials pushed him forward to deliver this message? But he could only brace himself and say, “Also… a nation cannot be without a ruler for even a day. Your Highness hasn’t attended court for several days now, and the court is without leadership…”
“I’ll attend court tomorrow,” Feng Lezhen said calmly. “As for the enthronement ceremony… set it for sometime in the twelfth lunar month. At the very least, I should wait until my leg is fully healed. A lame-legged enthronement—what sort of sight would that be?”
“Yes!” The man received her answer and left, overjoyed.
Ah Ye personally escorted the messenger out, and upon returning, couldn’t help but mutter, “Before, when Your Highness wished to be emperor, they obstructed you in every way. Now that you’re staying behind closed doors, they’re the ones hoping you’ll ascend the throne quickly.”
“Before, they thought they still had a chance to compete with me, so they obstructed me at every turn. Now I hold all the power, and the late emperor’s edict supports me. They know the outcome is set, so of course they want things to settle quickly—to save themselves from these days of living on edge,” Feng Lezhen said calmly.
Ah Ye rubbed her nose. “Still, it’s unfair to Your Highness. With the late emperor’s edict, you could’ve taken the throne directly, yet now you have to seal it away to preserve Feng Ji’s dignity.”
“Feng Ji’s dignity is the imperial family’s dignity,” Feng Lezhen said.
Ah Ye was about to say more, but Chen Jinan spoke first: “For the past few days, Lord Yu has been managing court affairs. I trust that his will reflects Her Highness’s will.”
Ah Ye was taken aback. Realizing she had said too much, she quickly bowed and excused herself.
The weather grew colder by the day. On the day of Feng Ji’s burial, Feng Lezhen once again went to the imperial mausoleum.
The rubble from the explosion had been fully cleared, and new foundations had already been laid. Feng Lezhen looked at the fresh bricks and tiles, then turned to Chen Jinan and asked, “Everything will be alright, won’t it?”
“It’ll be even better,” Chen Jinan replied with certainty.
Feng Lezhen nodded. Once she had watched Feng Ji’s coffin lowered into the tomb prepared just for him, she softly announced that her enthronement ceremony would be held on the tenth day of the twelfth month.
At once, cries of “Long live the emperor!” echoed in the air.
