FYM - 95

Two days later, it was New Year’s Eve. The palace gates opened wide, and officials gathered to pay their respects, finally showing a glimmer of the hopeful prosperity that typically accompanied the new year.

Song Shuyan, preoccupied with the day’s sacrificial rites and banquet preparations, had slept poorly the previous night. Just before dawn, in the twilight hours, she stirred from a restless sleep, murmuring softly for “Zhui’er.” Outside her bed curtains, a gentle female voice responded: “Your Majesty.”

Her eyelashes fluttered slightly, and as she opened her eyes, she saw Chaohua’s face—neatly styled in the distinctive coiffure of a palace lady-in-waiting, far removed from the carefree maid who had grown up alongside her.

…Yes.

Her Zhui’er was gone.

The realization came in an instant. Youthful dreams were fragile and fleeting, easily shattered. A flicker of sorrow passed through her eyes, but within moments, she composed herself as if nothing had happened.

“…What time is it?” Her voice was hoarse from beneath the intricate, ornate bed curtains.

“It’s just past the third quarter of the Hour of the Tiger,” Chaohua replied smoothly. “There’s still time, Your Majesty. Please rest a little longer.”

With nearly two hours before the grand sacrifice began, Song Shuyan felt somewhat reassured but rose before the Hour of the Rabbit regardless. This was a habit she had formed during the late emperor’s reign, always retreating to the hidden chamber behind the throne to listen in on court discussions before the ministers convened at the Mingtang Hall. Over three years of this routine—it wasn’t something easily abandoned.

She was attended by palace maids as she rose to wash and dress. By the Hour of the Dragon, she had already changed into the ceremonial robes for today’s rites—a set of extraordinarily prestigious and heavy dragon-embroidered robes. Adorned with twelve intricate patterns symbolizing dragons, sun, moon, stars, mountains, flowers, beasts, waves, fire, grains, axes, and blades, along with other accessories like knee coverings, leather belts, sashes, and ribbons, these robes were traditionally reserved exclusively for emperors or high-ranking nobles. Yet now, they were bestowed upon her—a woman wielding the power to govern from behind the curtain.

This decision wasn’t made at her request nor did it conform to protocol; it was an overreach by the Imperial Wardrobe Bureau, likely believing they could curry favor with her—or perhaps seizing the opportunity to align themselves after witnessing the recently returned Lord Fang publicly defer to her. She chose not to investigate their motives further, reasoning that accepting their gesture might serve her well. It was a chance to assert authority, especially given the inevitable clashes ahead with the Luoyang faction. With him returning and using his strength to solidify her position, she couldn’t afford to waste such an opportunity.

From Jishan Palace to Guanfeng Hall, as soon as she stepped out of the hall, the attendants exchanged looks of shock and fear, clearly startled by her attire resembling that of the Son of Heaven. The only one who remained unperturbed was her second brother, Song Mingzhen, waiting outside to escort her. Recently promoted from Assistant General to Commander of the Imperial Guard, he now resided permanently within the palace walls.

“Your humble servant pays respects to Her Majesty.” He bowed formally.

She gestured for her brother to rise, her gaze lingering on his face. As they walked slowly towards Guanfeng Hall, she asked softly, “You look pale. Is your duty too burdensome?”

Hearing this, Song Mingzhen waved for the guards behind him to retreat a few steps. Once confident no one else could overhear, he sighed quietly. “The duties are lighter than my time in the army, but lately, Tong hasn’t been returning home, and Han cries endlessly when separated from his mother. Last night, I barely slept…”

Song Shuyan smiled faintly at this.

Her brother had married Lou Tong in the fourth year of Taiqing, and they now had a son named Song Han. Around the same time, he moved out of the main Song household to live independently. Though he brushed off inquiries about it whenever asked, Song Shuyan understood—it stemmed from his lingering resentment over what had happened to her years ago. He had grown distant from their father, brothers, and uncles. Now, with the army’s return, many members of the Lou clan must have returned home. Likely, his wife stayed behind to catch up with her siblings.

“How is your wife?” Song Shuyan asked. “Will she join us for tonight’s banquet?”

“All is well, though she probably won’t come to the palace,” Song Mingzhen sighed, a trace of melancholy in his tone. “You know how the Lous feel—they’re forever guilty about Third Brother.”

Indeed.

Seven years ago, the catastrophic defeat at Shangxiaogu loomed large in memory. The Lou clan’s reckless actions had brought disaster upon the realm. In penance, they relinquished half the military power in Guanzhong to the Fangs and subjected themselves to public humiliation. But ten thousand lives lost in battle and the fall of the Western Capital were irreversible facts. Burdened by guilt, they avoided confrontation with the Fangs whenever possible. People joked, “Where there’s Fang, there’s no Lou.”

These memories inevitably evoked sighs. Song Shuyan remembered hearing the sounds of the Lou family kneeling to beg forgiveness from Fang Xianting in the Mingtang Hall years ago. Right and wrong were hard to untangle even then, and the late emperor could only respond with a long sigh.

“So let her stay a while longer,” Song Mingzhen added, his expression a mix of helplessness and affection. “Once the new year begins, things will get busy again.”

The deep bond between her brother and sister-in-law should have pleased Song Shuyan, but thoughts of Zhui’er lingered. Every time she saw her brother speak so tenderly of his wife, a pang of sadness struck her—he likely never knew how a certain maid had harbored feelings for him. Now, he had a wife and child, while she…

Song Shuyan lowered her eyes, unsure whether to bring up those old memories. As they approached Guanfeng Hall, the young emperor, hearing of her arrival, hurried out to greet her. His slight frame struggled under the weight of his ceremonial robes, making him resemble a child playing dress-up.

“Mother!”

He ran joyfully toward Song Shuyan. Seeing Song Mingzhen bow respectfully to him, the emperor quickly bid him rise. He held Song’s family in high regard, especially this general who had recently led troops to quell unrest in the Eastern Capital. Song Shuyan gently adjusted her stepson’s collar. Soon after, surrounded by attendants, she turned toward the palace gates. Imperial processions required five carriages, the foremost being the Jade Carriage—a lavish vehicle adorned with blue dragons, white beasts, golden phoenixes, and red scales, topped with a three-tiered azure canopy and mirrors. Twelve flags adorned its left side, while spears painted with golden dragons flanked its right, complete with flowing ribbons and bells.

The banners fluttered dramatically as the procession moved through streets lined with awestruck citizens. At Yuanqiu Altar, where officials had waited for hours, they were stunned to see the Empress Dowager descend from the emperor’s carriage clad in imperial robes. Whispers erupted among them. Song Shuyan proceeded steadily, half a step ahead of the emperor, toward the altar. Along the way, she crossed paths with Lord Fang, now dressed in purple robes and standing at the forefront of the officials. Without a word, he raised his brows slightly to glance at her, his gaze as deep and tranquil as a dark pool. Then, without hesitation, he knelt once more, bowing deeply. “This humble servant greets Her Majesty and His Majesty.”

Though spoken softly, his words placed “Her Majesty” before “His Majesty,” affirming her authority behind the curtain and publicly declaring the Fang clan’s stance. No official dared remain standing while Lord Fang knelt, prompting a collective bow from all present. Their voices echoed loudly across the vast altar: “We humbly greet Her Majesty—greet His Majesty!”

The reverberations stirred emotions, filling hearts with pride and fervor. Song Shuyan ascended the steps gracefully, turning to survey the assembled ministers below. After a pause, she spoke calmly: “Rise, all of you.”

The officials obeyed, proceeding with rituals to honor heaven, earth, and ancestors. Unbeknownst to many, the delicate bride who entered the Eastern Capital seven years ago had transformed into a regal Empress Dowager clad in imperial robes. What the nation would become under her rule remained unknown.

The grand sacrifice was lengthy and intricate, concluding well past dusk. Upon returning to the palace, the halls were ablaze with light. The Ministry of Rites showcased its talents, performing exorcistic dances to ward off evil spirits. Following this, performers entertained guests as the feast began. The tumultuous years of Taiqing were drawing to a close, and tomorrow marked the first day of Emperor Wei Xi’s Guangyou era—”Guang” signifying restoration, and “You” representing divine favor. Clearly, the Zhou dynasty hadn’t abandoned its desire to reclaim the old capital, and the people still dreamed of a glorious revival.

This night also marked Lord Fang’s victory banquet. Officials who had previously visited the Marquis of Yingchuan’s residence laden with gifts only to be politely turned away by Fang Da Gongzi seized the opportunity now. Each approached Lord Fang bearing goblets of wine, bowing low to offer their respects. Fang Xianting accepted every toast without faltering, drinking tirelessly throughout the evening. From her elevated seat, Song Shuyan observed the scene below. Occasionally catching sight of him, she recalled memories of his younger days in Jiangnan. Truly, he was a peerless military lord, capable of drinking wine like water. Yet, instead of appearing coarse, his demeanor exuded refined elegance.

—Though she remembered he disliked muddled flavors in his drinks. The Xin Feng wine of the Western Capital likely suited his taste, but did the New Year’s ritual Tu Su pepper wine meet his approval?

She lifted her cup and took a sip, the sharp, peculiar flavor instantly filling her mouth and nose. Still, she tilted her head back and drank it all down. The weight of her elaborate headdress pressed heavily on her, making it hard to breathe. Beside her, the young emperor noticed her unease and leaned over to caution her: “Mother, drink less. Be careful not to get drunk…”

She murmured a soft reply, her eyes unexpectedly softening into a rare smile, recalling some amusing memory. For a moment, she appeared gentler than usual. Wei Xi watched, mesmerized, thinking how beautiful his mother truly was. But just as quickly, her smile faded, and with it, the fleeting joy.

Chancellor Fan approached to offer her a toast, notably without the presence of Prince Yinping, who had reportedly been subdued by Fang Xianting and claimed illness to excuse himself from the banquet. Fan Yucheng, ever pragmatic, recognized the shifting winds and sought to mend fences with the Empress Dowager he had once tried to harm. Song Shuyan saw through his intentions clearly but didn’t wish to alienate the Luoyang faction entirely. Accepting the cup, she feigned a reconciliatory smile.

—Such was the cyclical nature of life.

As a child, she endured her father and stepmother in the Song household. Now, in the imperial palace, she faced similar trials with these courtiers.

She chuckled bitterly to herself, turning away indifferently after Chancellor Fan departed. At that moment, her gaze collided with Fang Xianting’s. He was looking at her, his eyes as serene as an ancient well. Meeting her gaze, his brows furrowed slightly before he lowered his head and reached for another goblet.

She was momentarily stunned, her heart pierced by a needle-like pain, yet warmed like melting ice. Memories flooded back, and she reflected on how this man had always evoked both warmth and ache within her.

—Like that time.

Seven years ago, when he returned to court and stood facing her, now the Empress.