FYM - 3

Beyond the palace gates, countless disputes raged. Yet inside the halls, everything remained as it always had been. The faint scent of sandalwood wafted through the inner chambers, mingling with the aroma of ink and paper on the desk.

The Empress was painting.

With graceful strokes, she outlined shapes in ink, using diluted washes to add depth. Occasionally, she switched to a harder brush for darker tones, her movements deliberate and confident. In just a few strokes, she brought to life a galloping horse, its mane and tail flowing freely. Renowned for her skill in painting, she had apprenticed under Zhang Jian, the finest artist of Jinling in her youth. Even the late emperor had praised her work, declaring it superior to that of the imperial art academy—rich in color, brimming with vitality, and exuding an effortless elegance.

At this moment, she was adding the eyes to the horse—a deep, resolute black emerging from the soft gray ink. Just as she was about to finish, hurried footsteps echoed from the outer hall. Before she could react, a small figure rushed into her arms.

“Mother Empress—”

Prince Wei Xi’s voice trembled slightly.

Only thirteen years old, frail due to chronic illness since childhood, his impact was still enough to jolt her hand. The brush slipped, smudging the delicate point of the horse’s eye. What had been a nearly complete masterpiece was now ruined.

One of the palace maids, Xixiu, gasped softly. Before they could greet the Crown Prince, a group of attendants burst into the hall, all visibly panicked. They dropped to their knees in unison, pleading: “Your Highness, please return with us…”

The young prince seemed oblivious, clinging tightly to his mother. Song Shuyan felt him trembling but did not look away. Gently patting his thin shoulders, she asked softly, “Are you cold?”

Her voice was light and soothing.

He shook his head, but she signaled Chaohua, another maid, to fetch a blanket nonetheless. As she draped it over him, she turned to the kneeling attendants and said calmly, “Leave us. I wish to speak with the Crown Prince.”

They exchanged glances, none rising to leave. She sighed but showed no irritation, continuing, “I understand your difficulties. If anyone questions why the Crown Prince is here, I will take full responsibility. No harm will come to any of you.”

She then instructed Xixiu to bestow some gold and silver upon them. Bowing deeply, they retreated one by one until the hall fell silent.

Yet the young prince remained rooted in place, curled up beside his mother like a frightened animal. Though she was not his blood relative—and barely twenty-five when he was born—Chaohua observed silently, concern etched on her face. Finally, she ventured cautiously, “Your Majesty, you have not rested for two days. Perhaps…”

Her words were tactful, but Wei Xi snapped out of his daze. He quickly pulled away from Song Shuyan’s embrace and looked up to see her pale complexion—she was utterly exhausted.

“Mother Empress…” he murmured guiltily.

She smiled faintly, neither blaming him nor chastising Chaohua for speaking out of turn. Taking his hand, she led him to the sitting couch in the outer hall and sat down. After a pause, she asked gently, “Did the regents not try to stop you from coming here?”

“Uncle Emperor forbade me from leaving the Eastern Palace,” Wei Xi replied, head bowed, his small hands fidgeting nervously. “But Junior Tutor Chen ordered the guards outside to let me go…”

This came as no surprise.

With Duke Wei Bi wielding unchecked power within the court, even confining the Crown Prince was plausible. Junior Tutor Chen, however, had always maintained neutrality, keeping equal distance from both the Luoyang and Jinling factions. Witnessing the ministers’ vigil outside Xianju Hall, he likely acted out of compassion.

“Mother Empress…”

Lost in thought, the young prince spoke again, his gaze fixed intently on her. “I heard they want you to move to Bailu Terrace. I absolutely forbid it! You are the Empress, destined to reside in Jishan Palace after my ascension. No one has the right to offend you!”

His tone was forceful, yet hollow—a fragile child masking his vulnerability with false bravado, unwilling to reveal his fear and confusion.

“I know.”

Song Shuyan patted his hand reassuringly. Her calm exterior concealed a storm of complex emotions. After a moment’s consideration, she continued, “However, I’ve also heard that Lord Wei Lin has taken troops to Bailu Terrace. It seems they intend to bring Consort Dong back to the palace… Xi’er, what do you think about this?”

“I don’t want her to return!”

Wei Xi sprang up from the couch, his young voice sharp and shrill.

“She is unfaithful, cast off by Father Emperor long ago! How dare they decide to bring her back without consulting me? She should rot in Bailu Terrace! I only have one Mother Empress!”

…He was losing control.

Rumors of Consort Dong’s infidelity had circulated throughout the palace for years. Many had mocked and speculated, even questioning whether the prince was truly the emperor’s son. Wei Xi had grown up amidst these whispers, his resentment toward his birth mother ingrained in his very bones. Song Shuyan remembered meeting him seven years ago when she first entered the palace as empress—a sullen, distrustful child with a guarded gaze. It had taken her seven long years to become his trusted mother, earning his heartfelt call of “Mother Empress.”

“I understand…”

She patted his hand reassuringly.

Yet the prince’s emotions remained unsettled. His breathing was heavy, and his eyes reddened slightly. After a while, he sat down beside her again, burying his face in her lap and muttering, “But I can’t stop them…”

“They honor me as the Crown Prince, saying they’ll crown me in the ancestral temple in a few days… But they don’t listen to me. I told them to withdraw the soldiers surrounding your palace—they refused. I forbade them from bringing that woman back from Bailu Terrace—they ignored me…”

“I’m powerless…”

The royal “I” gave way to the personal “me.” Stripped of his princely title, he was merely a child who had just lost his father. No one understood Wei Xi’s helplessness better than Song Shuyan, for she too was caught in the same desolation.

“When will Lord Fang finally return?”

She heard the child in her arms ask, his voice trembling with unshed tears.

“If only Lord Fang were here… those people wouldn’t dare bully us…”

“Lord Fang.”

Those two words stirred a tempest within her. Like a boulder crashing into frozen waters, her fingers tightened unconsciously before relaxing moments later, all traces of emotion vanishing behind her placid gaze.

“It won’t be long…”

Her voice was soft, every ripple of emotion buried beneath an unruffled surface.

“…Everything will be alright.”

________________________________________

Meanwhile, the massive gates of the imperial palace slowly opened.

A stately carriage, flanked by soldiers, rolled in with dignified grace. Beside it rode a nervous-looking female official, glancing around anxiously. A slightly aged hand pushed aside the carriage curtain, revealing dull eyes clouded by over a decade of loneliness at Bailu Terrace—eyes that had long lost their youthful sparkle.

“Consort Dong.”

Wei Lin rode alongside the carriage, his voice carrying through the window.

“The winter is harsh, and the melting snow makes it colder. Please lower the curtain to avoid catching a chill.”

Though his words were respectful, his tone was cold. What respect could there be for a widow abandoned by the late emperor? Were it not for her potential to influence the Empress Dowager, she would never have been summoned back to the palace. Even if she froze to death in the snow, no one would care. The order to lower the curtain was merely to prevent trouble from the elders of the Jinling faction.

Inside the carriage, Consort Dong Xian trembled, letting the curtain fall immediately. After a moment, her uneasy voice emerged: “…Yes, thank you, Young Master.”

Once a consort of the late emperor and the Crown Prince’s birth mother—now reduced to such humility before a mere nobleman.

Wei Lin sneered inwardly, his disdain plain on his face. Upon entering the palace gates, he turned toward the Northern Palace to meet his father. Passing through the imperial gardens, another carriage approached—ornate, adorned with gold and jade, attended by servants. It was the Empress sending the Crown Prince back to the Eastern Palace.

As they passed, a gust of wind lifted the edge of the carriage curtain. Through the gap, Consort Dong caught a glimpse of the face atop the jade carriage—familiar yet distant. There was something of herself, something of the late emperor, and much more maturity than the last time she’d seen him. He was now a handsome, refined youth.

When had she last seen him?

It must have been two years ago during the New Year celebrations, when she was briefly allowed back to the palace. She had encountered the Empress’s carriage in the same gardens. Everyone spoke of how much the emperor favored her, even building her a plum garden—named for Song Shuyan, whose name evoked the image of plum blossoms: “Sparse shadows slant across the clear water; alone among falling flowers, she shines.”

The plum garden still stood, its frost-covered blooms glowing brilliantly against the snow. Their fragrance carried far, like crimson clouds adorning the otherwise monochrome palace.

Beautiful…

And yet infuriating.

Consort Dong clutched the edge of the curtain tightly, her eyes fixed on the prince mere steps away. Just as she opened her mouth to call out to him, he saw her first. In an instant, disgust filled his youthful eyes—so blatant, so intense, it pierced her heart like a dagger.

They passed each other.

He didn’t stop, as if unwilling to spare her another glance. The jade carriage moved farther away, leaving behind fragments of conversation between him and the palace maids—instructions to care for the Empress’s health, even specifying which incense to burn at night.

The curtain fell again, and Consort Dong’s gaze dropped. The wheels of the carriage creaked endlessly, the passage of time unknown until they finally stopped. Wei Lin’s arrogant voice called out, instructing her to alight. She obeyed, leaning on the arm of a palace maid who had served her for years at Bailu Terrace. The poor girl, unfamiliar with the grandeur of the imperial palace, trembled uncontrollably.

Consort Dong herself fared no better. Stepping down, she beheld the solemn majesty of the Northern Palace. Beneath the gloomy sky stood several indistinct figures—the officials who had summoned her back. She didn’t know what they wanted from her, nor what fate awaited her in the days to come.

“We pay homage to the Empress Dowager.”

Their faces remained impassive as they knelt before her.