PM - 10

The hearts of the young are hard to fathom, especially those of young girls. In her position, standing above all others, she could act as she pleased, while you had no recourse to stop her.

The Chancellor crossed his arms and bowed past the blade aimed at his neck. “I heard that Your Majesty was feeling troubled tonight, so I came to see if there was anything I could do.” As he spoke, he glanced at the scattered wine jars by the bed. “Wine is a fine thing—it relaxes the body and lifts the spirits—but please, Your Majesty, remember not to overindulge. Excessive drinking is harmful to your health, and I implore you to consider the greater good.”

The young emperor, displeased, puffed out her cheeks. “Did Father Chancellor barge into my chambers just to lecture me on how to drink? Those old fossils...” She lifted the sword from his neck and swung it wildly through the empty hall. “They must have said I was drunk beyond recognition and sent you here to rein me in, didn’t they?”

Her words were coherent enough, but her speech was already slurred. The Chancellor replied, “Not to rein you in, but to offer counsel. Drinking like this could harm Your Majesty’s health.”

She waved her sleeve dismissively. “Nonsense! I... can handle my liquor! Tell me, Father Chancellor, do I look drunk to you?”

She leaned closer to him, but being shorter, she jumped twice to make sure he got a good look. With each jump, the smell of alcohol hit him like a wave. He remembered her eyes—cold as a deep pool beneath her ceremonial headdress—but had never seen her cheeks flushed with drunkenness, indistinguishable from any common drunkard.

The Chancellor grew irritated. “I’ve told you before: when laborers drink, they neglect their duties; when rulers drink, they endanger the nation. Do you remember?”

The young emperor nodded. “Your words—I remember every one of them, etched into my heart and bones... You don’t know how much I value you.”

Sure enough, the Chancellor’s eyes widened in shock. Fú Wēi inwardly congratulated herself. Drunken confessions, after all, were truthful. She had performed so convincingly that even she almost believed herself. Regardless of what he thought, she had warned him repeatedly. If he failed to take heed and something went wrong later, it wouldn’t be her responsibility.

After all, to ensure he remained at her beck and call, she had to hold onto this throne! She stepped back, smiling sweetly at him. The tranquil night, with the man she had long desired standing before her—it felt perfect. Distance was often created by external factors, but with the Chancellor standing alone here, she didn’t feel any remoteness at all. What was a man, anyway? The more arrogant he seemed now, the greater the surprise he’d bring later.

She really had been drinking, and her thoughts ran wild like an untamed horse. Imagining the future, it felt as though he was within reach. Seeing the Chancellor’s stunned expression only made her mood brighter.

“Father Chancellor, I can wield a sword. Let me show you!” She pushed him back onto her throne. “Sit still—if I hurt you, I’d be heartbroken.” After a shy smile, she retreated to the center of the hall, where layered mats awaited.

The lanterns illuminated her willow-green robe, the delicate skin of her shoulders faintly visible through the fabric, catching the eye. Raised as a prince, she lacked nothing a man would wear—deep robes and jade belts—but had never worn women’s clothing. This robe, meant for lounging after bathing, wasn’t strictly feminine. On a man, it exuded leisure; on a woman, grace.

She flicked her sleeves, the silk fluttering around her like a dance. A woman wielding a sword had a strange yet harmonious quality—not as rigid or sharp as a swordsman. Her movements were soft yet biting, each flourish imbued with a peculiar allure. Though the Chancellor had seen many performances, never had he witnessed one by someone of such unique status. The young emperor, with her proud spirit and ever-upheld head in court, now moved with seductive ease, gripping the imperial sword. It sent shivers down his spine. Her figure was elegant, swift as a startled swan, sinuous as a dragon. No other description fit better. Barefoot on the reeds, she turned gracefully, appearing both pitiable and enchanting. The Chancellor felt increasingly dizzy. Had he rushed from the philosophical gathering to the palace just to witness these eccentric antics?

He sat stiffly, enduring until the performance ended. The iron chimes under the eaves still tinkled faintly. She tossed aside the sword, picked up a jar of wine, and sat beside him, asking with a grin, “Did I dance well?”

The Chancellor nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty has drunk and danced. Now it’s time to rest.”

Ignoring his words, she tilted her head back and took another swig. The mouth of the jar was too wide, and wine spilled down her chin, soaking her robe. She sighed deeply, leaning back. “With you here, how can I possibly sleep?”

The Chancellor turned to look at her—the wet fabric clung to her abdomen, revealing even the silver patterns along the edges. Blinking his dry eyes, he vaguely recalled that this undergarment had been among the items he once sent her. Her growth was intertwined with him in countless ways. Though she was arrogant and reckless, he couldn’t fault her while she was drunk. Young people often went through phases of disliking everyone; once the harsh realities of ruling cut her, she’d understand.

He said, “Your Majesty’s troubles—you can confide in me. I’m here to share your burdens. Sometimes misunderstandings arise, but clearing them up removes barriers.”

The throne was spacious. Fú Wēi didn’t reply but leaned sideways, quietly grasping the hem of his robe.

Unaware, the Chancellor continued softly, “For instance, if Your Majesty wishes to reorganize the Ministry of Ceremonial Affairs, such matters can be entrusted to me. The Grand Tutor is aging, and many affairs are handled carelessly. Why create unnecessary secrecy when transparency would prevent rumors of discord between us?”

Fú Wēi already knew his spies were everywhere in the palace, making her task difficult. But since he had pointed it out, she didn’t feel embarrassed. Still, she couldn’t respond right away. Closing her eyes, she murmured, “I’m tired... Father Chancellor, stay the night here.”

The Chancellor felt a pang of disappointment at her evasive tactics. “I am an outsider and cannot stay. Since Your Majesty is tired, I should take my leave.”

As he rose, she used her drunkenness as cover, wrapping her arms around his waist first. The Chancellor’s physique was impressive—lean and upright beneath his robes. Fú Wēi’s heart raced, though her words remained casual. “Before Uncle became a marquis, he lived in the palace for thirteen years. Why did no one say it was inconvenient then?”

Since her ascension, she hadn’t been this close to him in over a decade. Today’s sudden clinginess filled the Chancellor with unease. He pushed her away, eager to escape. “Times have changed. Things are different now.”

Out of his sight, she smirked. His faint scent of linghe incense pleased her. Taking a deep breath, she mumbled, “It’s the same... If Uncle wishes, the palace is still his home.”

She clung to him stubbornly, leaving the Chancellor unsure of how to handle the situation. All he could do was repeatedly remind her, “Please, Your Majesty, maintain decorum. If someone sees us like this, what will they think? Let go... let go...”

Did she truly not understand the rules of propriety? When she was younger, it might have been excusable, but now, as an adult, she needed to be cautious. Irritated, he applied more force. Finally, reluctantly, Fú Wēi sat up, scowling. “Aren’t you afraid the ministers will think we’re at odds? Staying overnight would dispel rumors far better than your endless pretenses. What are you afraid of, Uncle? That I’ll eat you alive? In terms of power, I’m no match for you. In martial arts, I...” Her voice cracked as she wailed, “Only know the flowery moves from earlier. I want to establish the Empress’s quarters—but when I wanted to name you, you refused...”

She was utterly unhinged, shouting loud enough for the entire palace to hear. The Chancellor hastily covered her mouth. This drunkard was insufferable. If deposing the emperor weren’t outside his plans, he might have considered regicide.

Through gritted teeth, he glared at her. “What exactly does Your Majesty want?”

Tears glistened in her large, luminous eyes. Her fragile fingers reached up, prying his hand away. “I want to make you my empress.”

The Chancellor felt a surge of bitterness rise in his throat. Without another word, he turned and walked away. After a few steps, he heard her mocking laughter. “The Eastern Palace is locked up tight. Uncle, if you have the skill, sprout wings and fly out.”

Perhaps because everyone knew the young emperor posed no real threat—even sharing a room with the Chancellor wouldn’t put him in danger—the eunuchs and guards followed her orders, locking the gates. Only then did the Chancellor realize he had underestimated her. Her long-cultivated facade of weakness wasn’t useless. If she had intended to eliminate him, tonight’s scenario would have been ideal for an ambush.

Fú Wēi noticed the cold gleam in his eyes but dismissed it with a smile. Standing by the lantern tree, she lowered her head, her face half-lit by the flickering light. “Uncle, rest assured. No one knows I’m a woman. Your reputation is safe.” She placed a jar of wine on the table, rolled up her wide sleeves, and smashed the seal with a punch. “Those scholars are so noisy. Earlier, you barely drank. Here’s premium imperial wine—let’s have a proper toast.”

Each “Uncle” she uttered carried hidden malice. He monitored her every move, just as she kept tabs on him. It seemed they were evenly matched, making this political game unexpectedly intriguing.

The Chancellor turned and sat cross-legged opposite her. “This afternoon, I received a report from Shanhai Pass...”

Fú Wēi raised her hand lazily. “Appointments and dismissals in Liaodong have always been your domain. What concerns me now is the upcoming court session—will we really proceed with ennobling Nie Lingjun?”

The Chancellor didn’t answer, merely gazing at her silently.

She sighed, her brows furrowed. “The lies grow bigger and bigger. Aren’t you afraid you won’t be able to keep up the charade? Besides, I think you’ll regret it. Better to pull back now than face a thousand arrows piercing your heart later.”

The Chancellor carefully considered her mention of “a thousand arrows.” Unsure of its basis, he responded firmly, “Everything I do is for Your Majesty. I hope you understand my intentions.”

Intentions... Fú Wēi smiled. “Uncle, have you ever loved anyone in your life?”

The Chancellor fell silent, staring at the twin fish depicted on the bottom of his cup. His heart felt hollow. If guilt and regret counted as love, then yes, he had once cared for someone. But fate had been cruel; by the time he turned back, she had vanished like smoke, lost forever across the vast expanse of the world. These years, he had remained solitary, occasionally recalling her with a faint pang of sorrow, leaving behind only endless regret.

Even the slightest crease in the Chancellor’s brow caught her attention. Resting her chin on her hand, Fú Wēi said, “I’m not afraid of parting ways bitterly—I fear missing out. So I often wonder: if I can’t grow fond of the empress, what will I do in the future?” She stretched out a finger, drawing an invisible box between them. “There’s a wall separating us. I want to cross to the other side, but Uncle keeps building it higher.” Ignoring his sidelong glance, she lay down comfortably, propping one leg up and resting the other on her knee, swaying lazily. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Uncle governed the realm with me? I’d handle external affairs, and you’d manage internal matters—how perfect!”

Her drunken ramblings went unheeded by the Chancellor, who remained lost in melancholy memories. Later, he couldn’t recall when he fell asleep. In his dream, he saw her again—not fleeing this time. Reaching out, he carefully cradled her in his arms.