The Empress Dowager?
The two people on the throne, disheveled and out of sorts, froze.
The Empress Dowager preferred quiet and usually stayed in the Cining Palace. She rarely moved around the palace, at most summoning monks and Daoists to preach. She occasionally visited the Yangxin Hall, but this was the first time she had ever come to the Outer Court’s Imperial Study—and she had come so suddenly, without any notice. Clearly, this visit was deliberate.
Emperor Jinglong pressed an apologetic kiss to Su Yan’s forehead, quickly stood, straightening his robes and crown, and whispered, “I’ll go out and deal with her. You quickly get dressed and hide for now. There’s plenty of time later.”
Su Yan, still drowning in the aftershocks of passion, was too embarrassed to say a word. Blushing furiously, he jumped down from the throne, hurriedly pulling on his trousers, fumbling to put on his inner robe.
Outside, the Empress Dowager’s voice faintly came through the door: “…Leaving the Emperor alone in the hall while you lazy servants stand around outside—what is the meaning of this?”
The palace attendants stammered their unclear explanations, and the Empress Dowager’s tone grew sharper: “No matter how urgent state affairs are, there should always be someone attending the Emperor. Open the hall doors—I have something to discuss with the Emperor. Who dares to stop me?”
Lan Xi tried to stall her, but the palace attendants behind the Empress Dowager “politely” moved him aside. Just before the hall doors opened, he only had time to shout: “The Empress Dowager has arrived—”
The doors opened. A figure stepped in, backlit by the light. The palace attendants promptly closed the doors behind her.
Poor Su Yan had just put on his inner robe, didn’t even have time to tie the sash or flee to the back hall. In a panic, he bundled up his court robe and hat into his arms and dove under the imperial desk.
The space beneath the imperial desk was spacious enough to comfortably hide one person, and the three sides facing outward were covered by a long brocade tablecloth embroidered with golden dragon patterns to shield the Emperor’s legs from the ministers’ view during audiences.
As Su Yan crawled in, he suddenly noticed his belt was still hanging from the table’s edge. He quickly reached out, grabbed the dangling end, and yanked it inside like peeling snake skin.
Emperor Jinglong glanced down at him, his expression complex. Su Yan mouthed: “No time to hide—block me, quickly!”
The Emperor curled his lips into a thin smile, subtly moved forward to better cover him, shaking out the hem of his wide dragon robe to completely drape over Su Yan. From the outside, he was well concealed.
At that moment, the Empress Dowager reached the screen near the study’s entrance. The Emperor, seeing the room still a mess, hastily grabbed the overturned cinnabar inkstone and smashed it to the floor, feigning anger: “I told you not to bother me—I want peace and quiet! Yet you make all this noise outside—are you defying me?”
“It’s me.” The Empress Dowager stepped out from behind the screen, followed by two close palace maids.
The Emperor appeared surprised and quickly rose, saluting: “So it’s Royal Mother. May you have eternal peace and well-being.”
The Empress Dowager glanced at the mess near the imperial desk—memorials and ink scattered all over. On one hand, she doubted whether the Emperor’s temper warranted such a tantrum, but on the other, remembering the stone pillar in the courtyard, she found his anger somewhat expected.
“Emperor, no political matter is worth damaging your health. Please, take care of yourself.”
“Thank you for your advice, Royal Mother. I will remember.”
The Empress Dowager nodded and gestured for him to sit. She also picked a chair near the imperial desk and sat down. She subtly signaled the two palace maids, who quietly withdrew, pretending to fetch tea while actually inspecting the room to see if anyone was hiding.
Lan Xi also sneaked back in, and after receiving the Emperor’s eye signal, hurried over to help tidy the scattered objects near the desk. As he glanced around, not seeing Su Yan, he was just starting to wonder when he suddenly realized he was stepping on a corner of crimson fabric—its shade noticeably different from the Emperor’s dragon robe. His gaze instinctively followed the fabric’s trail—right under the desk.
The Emperor coughed lightly, shaking the hem of his robe again, and Lan Xi immediately stepped back. That bit of crimson cloth quickly disappeared under the desk.
The Empress Dowager sipped her tea and set down the cup. The Emperor asked,
“If Royal Mother has something to instruct me, a simple message would suffice. Why trouble yourself to come in person?”
“It’s not an instruction. I simply heard some rumors I wanted to verify with you. I saw the stone pillar in the courtyard just now—seems the evidence is quite solid.”
The Emperor lowered his eyes, fiddling with the jade pendant in his sleeve, “The rumors Royal Mother refers to—could it be the incident at Disaster Relief Bureau this morning? How did it spread to Cining Palace so quickly?”
Of course, the Empress Dowager could not openly admit that Consort Wei had come to her in tears holding her child, demanding justice. But even without that, she would never ignore such matters. Moreover, Consort Wei had subtly pointed to the Crown Prince as the one behind it. The Empress Dowager had always been particularly fond of her youngest grandson, and now she increasingly suspected that the Crown Prince was petty and intolerant, resorting to such despicable methods without regard for brotherly bonds.
The Empress Dowager had two sons herself, who had not always gotten along. Perhaps that was why she valued brotherly ties so much. If this incident truly was the Crown Prince’s doing, it would have crossed a line she could not accept.
“Don’t worry about how I know. Just tell me, how do you plan to handle this?”
The Emperor replied, “Please rest assured, Royal Mother. I will handle this matter properly.”
The Empress Dowager was not satisfied with this vague answer. She suddenly stood up and step by step walked toward the Emperor’s throne.
Under the imperial desk, Su Yan could hear the approaching footsteps of the Empress Dowager, growing increasingly nervous—he hadn’t even had time to put on his outer robe, half his body was still hidden under the Emperor’s dragon robes. If the Empress Dowager discovered him in such an improper state, how would he even begin to explain? He probably wouldn’t even get the chance to explain before being dragged out and publicly humiliated.
In his panic, he squeezed himself deeper under the folds of the Emperor’s robe. In the darkness, his nose accidentally brushed against something soft yet firm. Mixed with the faint imperial fragrance of the robes, he caught a familiar masculine scent.
He froze. With his breathing brushing warm air over it, the thing quickly hardened again, pressing against his lips through the fabric.
Su Yan suddenly realized what it was. Embarrassed to the point of collapse, he quickly lowered his head as far as he could, desperately wishing the Empress Dowager would finish scolding soon and leave quickly.
The Emperor tightly clutched the jade pendant hidden in his sleeve, his breathing slightly rushed, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.
The Empress Dowager, preoccupied with her own concerns, did not notice these subtle changes in his expression. She stopped beside the throne, her voice stern: “You’ve indulged the Crown Prince for fifteen years. Do you still plan to keep doing so? At such a young age, he is already so domineering and intolerant of his younger brother. If he one day holds supreme power, will he not bring disaster upon the family?”
The Emperor’s breathing was a bit disordered, but he managed to steady his voice: “Royal Mother, you are… worrying too much. Helin… is not that bad.”
The Empress Dowager said coldly, “He’s not like you! I’ve always felt that. He neither looks like you nor shares your temperament. He does resemble his mother in appearance, but his disposition is entirely his own. I’ve seen how you’ve treated your younger brother over the years. No matter how dissatisfied Cheng’er may be, I’ve always sided with you and never said a word—because I know you would never harm him.”
As she spoke, the Emperor gradually recovered his composure and let out a soft sigh. “But Fourth Brother does not trust me. I imprisoned him for ten years, destroyed the freedom he valued most, crushed his ambition to fight on the battlefield. His resentment toward me… is understandable.”
“You took that resentment on my behalf. I know this well,” the Empress Dowager’s tone softened, reaching out to gently place her hand over the Emperor’s fist resting on the desk. The Emperor’s fist tightened, as if he wanted to pull back, but in the end, he relaxed. The Empress Dowager continued, “Back then, when Great Tong nearly mutinied, I was afraid Cheng’er would be manipulated by the soldiers and act recklessly. I also feared that you would grow suspicious of him and take harsh measures. That’s why I feigned illness and had you summon him back to the capital to attend to me.”
The Emperor was silent for a moment. “I still remember what you said back then. I’ve remembered it for over ten years.”
The Empress Dowager nodded. “Yes, I said: I don’t want a son who dies a celebrated prince or general—I just want a son who is alive.
“Cheng’er followed the late emperor to the northern front when he was twelve. In six years, he fought countless battles, often narrowly escaping death. Every scar he added to his body felt like a blade carving into my heart. The best swimmers drown in water—since ancient times, has there ever been an invincible general who lives forever? Generals fight a hundred battles only to die and return wrapped in their saddle blankets. I can’t count how many times I’ve woken up from nightmares, drenched in cold sweat, fearing each time I saw him might be the last. I couldn’t endure that kind of torment, so I used the military unrest as an excuse to have you summon him back.”
The Emperor shook his head slightly. “If I hadn’t been worried about the military power in his hands, I wouldn’t have forcibly kept him in the capital. So, it’s not that I took the blame for you—it was what I should have done.”
The Empress Dowager patted the back of his hand with relief. “Cheng’er may resent you, but he is still someone who understands the bigger picture. The fact that you two can maintain peace is what pleases me most. But what about the Crown Prince? His younger brother can barely babble, yet he already wishes to get rid of him. Such a cruel and narrow-minded temperament is not the virtue of a ruler—Emperor, you should think carefully.”
Think carefully about what? Whether to discipline the Crown Prince more strictly, or perhaps reconsider the succession? The Empress Dowager did not say it directly.
But the Emperor understood the implication and fell silent once again.
Hiding under the desk, Su Yan also understood—the Empress Dowager’s dissatisfaction with the Crown Prince had accumulated to a significant degree. Even though the Second Prince was still a child whose talents and character were yet to be seen, the Empress Dowager’s heart had already tilted.
But more than that, something else shocked him—the reason the Emperor refused to let Yu Wang lead the army wasn’t just his own inevitable suspicion, but also the Empress Dowager’s deep motherly love.
Yu Wang had long resented his elder brother for this, yet he never knew the decisive force behind it was someone else entirely.
And the Empress Dowager—watching for ten years as Yu Wang publicly criticized and challenged the Emperor, watching as he frivolously chased pleasure—never once explained the truth. Was it to preserve the image of a harmonious, filial family? Or did she simply believe that as her sons, one bearing the blame and the other fulfilling her wish, both were just their natural duties?
When drinking with Yu Wang, Su Yan had once heard him casually say that he always felt the Empress Dowager favored his elder brother, though he never understood why his elder brother thought she favored him. As children, the two had argued over this countless times.
But now, even Su Yan was a little confused—who did the Empress Dowager truly love?
Perhaps this so-called “love” was actually the greatest power a mother held over her sons.
Su Yan remained silent, his mood sinking, unsure for whom he felt this sudden sadness.
Finally, the Emperor spoke: “I will consider it carefully. Royal Mother, you’ve worked hard. Please return to your palace and rest.”
The Empress Dowager knew her son was not one to make empty promises, so she was half reassured. Before leaving, she added, “That stone pillar outside—it exudes an ominous energy, it’s not a good thing. I’ve ordered it to be smashed and thrown into the river. I’ll also have two masters perform rituals to cleanse this palace of lingering evil spirits.”
Su Yan let out a self-deprecating laugh: In the Empress Dowager’s heart, anything she thought of as “ominous” or “not a good thing” probably included not only the Crown Prince but also himself, who insisted on clashing with the Wei family.
Finally, after enduring until the Empress Dowager left, Su Yan heard Lan Xi respectfully escort her out. Seizing the opportunity, he crawled out from under the imperial desk, panting heavily, and whispered to the Emperor, “This subject has behaved with the utmost impropriety. I am deeply ashamed and have no face to meet Your Majesty. I shall return to reflect on my actions.”
The emperor stood up, took the official robe from Su Yan’s hands, shook out the creases, and draped it over his shoulders. “It was I who lost control and almost implicated you. If the Empress Dowager had discovered us just now and caused a commotion, I would have been fine, but you—your reputation would have been ruined. I fear you would have been branded a seducer who bewitched the ruler, and your career would have been over from that moment.”
Su Yan quickly dressed and fastened his belt. As the fabric wrapped around him, the shame slowly faded. He earnestly said, “Your Majesty’s protection is a great kindness for which I am deeply grateful. My personal matters are insignificant. That stone pillar outside, along with the chain of subsequent events and the hidden truths it connects to—those are the real troubles. I wonder, does Your Majesty have a plan?”
The emperor fixed his gaze on him and asked, “Do you trust me?”
Su Yan thought carefully and replied seriously, “I do.”
The emperor smiled. “Then continue to trust me.”
He reached out to gather a few strands of Su Yan’s fallen hair, tucking them carefully into his crown. Then he re-hung the jade seal around Su Yan’s neck, placing it close to his skin. He leaned in and whispered by his ear, “I quite liked the musical score you presented. I originally planned to reward you with a red jade flute, but the Empress Dowager came at the wrong time. No matter, next time.”
Su Yan suspected there was a hidden meaning in the emperor’s words, but he also worried that he was overthinking it. Half-smiling, he said, “I cannot play the flute. Your Majesty gifting me such a precious instrument would be a waste.”
“You can always learn. I can teach you.” The emperor lightly inhaled the scent at his temple, as if savoring the faint, lingering fragrance in the evening breeze. Before Su Yan could take his leave, the emperor reminded him, “Remember, don’t let my name fade.”
Su Yan recalled the cinnabar mark at the base of his thigh and felt troubled. “Surely I can’t be expected to carefully cover it every time I bathe?”
The emperor gave a small smile. “Don’t worry. It won’t be long before I personally rub it off.”
Rub it off personally? Su Yan shivered, not daring to think further. He bowed and took his leave.
After exiting the imperial study, he hesitated over whether to visit the Eastern Palace to check on Zhu Helin, who had just been reprimanded. The matter of the stone pillar and the prophecy needed to be properly handled, and he also wanted to ask what the Crown Prince planned to do. But he worried that since he was now caught in the middle of this political storm, his presence might only cause more trouble. The Crown Prince likely needed time to process everything that had happened today. Perhaps it was best to go home first, send a message through Fu Bao later, and arrange a meeting then.
Today was February 14, a turbulent Longevity Festival.
After a three-day rest, at court on February 17, he planned to make his move and openly strike at his enemies.
