PM - 37

On the northern slopes of Mount Mang, there are imperial tombs and cemeteries for concubines. Though not far from Yuan Hill, Lady Lou could not enter the concubine cemetery due to her “sinful” suicide.

Even though the young emperor had ascended the throne and her status as the mother of an emperor was acknowledged, Lady Lou remained buried separately, far from the imperial mausoleum. Who would not care for their own mother? The young emperor rarely showed it outwardly, always busy with court affairs and politics. Only in her most vulnerable moments did she reveal her pain. For a close minister to hear the emperor’s innermost thoughts was a great honor. The young emperor’s journey to this point had not been easy, and Shangguan Zhao naturally felt even more sympathy and compassion for her.

“Not long now before Your Majesty’s wedding. After assuming full authority, you can move Lady Lou’s remains and posthumously honor her,” he suggested.

“Would she want to be buried on Mount Mang? Would she wish to accompany the late emperor?” The young emperor clutched the broken hairpin tightly in her palm, weakly leaning back against the pillow, murmuring, “Matters of life and death carry over to the next world. Perhaps she would rather remain alone on Yuan Hill than see the late emperor again.”

Shangguan Zhao was at a loss for how to address her despair. Observing her flushed face, shortness of breath, and coughing, he couldn’t determine the exact nature of her illness. He moved closer, tightly gripping her hand, “Summon the physician, please. This cannot go on…”

The young emperor opened her eyes slightly, offering him a reassuring smile, “It’s alright. I’ve been like this during past illnesses, and I’ll recover soon. This time, it’s probably just a chill. Have someone prepare some herbs to clear heat and resolve the exterior.”

“How can medicine be taken lightly?” Shangguan insisted stubbornly, feeling exasperated. “Look how high your fever is. Delaying treatment will cost your life—do you want to bring joy to your enemies and sorrow to your loved ones?”

“Who are my loved ones, and who are my enemies…” The young emperor wore an indifferent expression. “I consider myself incredibly fortunate not to have been deposed so far. There are too many in this world who wish for my death—I can’t concern myself with all of them.”

Her words grew increasingly disheartening, leaving Shangguan deeply uneasy. Turning his head, he saw the dazzling lights within the hall, the palace gates wide open, while outside lay the pitch-black night, resembling the gaping maw of a ghost ready to swallow someone whole. Panic suddenly gripped him. “Ayin, even if everyone else betrays you, I won’t. For my sake, summon the physician, won’t you?”

Fu Wei shifted her gaze toward him, her eyes roaming across his features. “I am an emperor. To survive, emperors sometimes must sacrifice those closest to them. I am always calculating—calculating about the ministers in court, and about you. For instance, in arranging this marriage, why didn’t I assign Princess Gai to Hulü but instead gave her to you? Did that ever make you suspicious?” Seeing him remain silent, she forced a bitter smile. “Because Lord Jinghou Hulü An once commanded the Tiger Guard army, and by the time of Puzhao’s generation, they were overseeing troops in the Shanglin Garden and Hu cavalry in Xuanqu—I don’t trust them. I don’t trust anyone with real power. Ay Zhao, I’m actually very much like my father. I resent him for what happened to my mother, but beneath the surface, our hearts are equally black.”

The young emperor’s words were sharp, yet under the lamplight, Shangguan Zhao appeared calm. How could one blame her for being cold-hearted when she had fought so hard to grow up? The young emperor had always been disciplined, and granting him the title of marquis might be the boldest act she had done since ascending the throne. As a subject, he never feared becoming the target of others’ arrows, but he dreaded the combined opposition of the Three Dukes and Nine Ministers. In the end, despite everything, he didn’t believe the young emperor manipulated him solely for her own plans. By bestowing upon him the title of Marquis Within-the-Pass, she still cared for him.

“Your Majesty should not speak this way about the late emperor or yourself,” he said gently. “Though I may be foolish, I understand seven or eight parts of the situation. The military power of Wuling has already been handed over to General Wei. If Your Majesty hadn’t granted me a title, I would have remained a miscellaneous general for life. In life, some things needn’t be dug too deeply into—even knowing the truth wouldn’t bring happiness. Whether I am Wing Guard General or Marquis Within-the-Pass, one thing remains unchanged: I will always be Your Majesty’s attendant. I do not plan for the future, nor do I ask about my prospects. If Your Majesty needs me, I am at your command; if not, I will focus solely on guarding the Eastern Palace and its three-tiered gate.”

After hearing his words, Fu Wei was momentarily lost in thought. Initially, her intention had simply been to use her illness to open her heart to him. Though her old friend was reliable, she feared her actions might hurt him and ultimately cause her to lose him. While scheming deeply, consolidating relationships was a common tactic used by emperors throughout history. Even the strongest bonds required maintenance, so she sometimes had to weigh options and employ both kindness and severity. However, Zhao was a simple and straightforward person. He never spoke insincerely or deliberately placated her. He genuinely regarded her as a sibling, unbothered by anything as long as she was well. Fu Wei felt a pang of shame. Compared to him, she lacked sincerity—and such sincerity was precisely what emperors feared most. One day, if you trusted someone completely without reservation, your reign might come to an end.

She sighed, lowering her eyes. She desired too much, while all he wanted was for her to summon the physician right now.

“Please call the Chancellor for me…”

As soon as the words left her mouth, someone entered through the door. They seemed to have arrived in a hurry, wearing only a thin robe without an outer layer. Fu Wei struggled to sit up, coughing twice, “Father Chancellor came quickly…”

Shangguan Zhao promptly stood up and retreated to the foot of the bed, bowing low to greet the Chancellor. The Chancellor, displeased by how close Shangguan had been to the young emperor, offered no warm welcome, merely saying, “Hulü told me about the situation on the way here. You’re to interrogate the Chief Eunuch. Take my hand order and proceed into the Northern Palace to handle it.”

Shangguan Zhao nodded in acknowledgment, still worried about the young emperor. He turned to look back. Fu Wei mouthed the word “go,” and he finally left the chamber feeling reassured.

Everyone else dispersed, and she collapsed heavily back onto the pillow, her dizziness worsening. Despite her condition, her tone carried a hint of triumph. “I mentioned earlier that I’d wait for you on the bed at midnight—and here you are.”

To joke around at a time like this, the Chancellor shot her a fierce glare. Lifting his robes, he stepped onto the wooden platform and sat beside her to examine her. Her face was flushed, like a half-cooked shrimp. He placed his hand on her forehead—it was scorching hot. Truly, she was quite ill.

“I’ve brought someone to take your pulse.”

She let out a faint hum, and with him there, she felt a sense of security. Her body relaxed entirely, leaving her too weak to speak.

The Chancellor clapped his hands, and another figure entered the hall. Clad in a winding skirt and veil, the long black gauze of the veil trailed to the ground, obscuring the face. From the attire, however, it was clear this was a woman.

Fu Wei took a few labored breaths—the bright light made her uncomfortable, forcing her to squint. “Who is this?”

The woman approached, lifting the veil to reveal her face. Upon seeing her, Fu Wei laughed softly. “My queen has arrived…”

Lingjun’s expression was grave. There was no room for jesting at a moment like this. She removed the veil, setting it aside, then rolled up her sleeves to take Fu Wei’s pulse. Her wrist was delicate and pale, resting on the pulse pillow, with blue veins clearly visible, appearing fragile and pitiable. The Chancellor glanced down and noticed she still clutched the broken hairpin. His lips tightened slightly, but he said nothing, retreating from the inner chamber.

He didn’t know what transpired inside. Lingjun’s medical skills were excellent, capable of treating most ailments. The night was cool as water. Standing on the vast terrace, occasional gusts of wind caused the flames in the lamp stands to flicker, casting alternating shadows across the square in front of the hall. The night reached its darkest point, clouds obscuring the moon, not a single star in sight—it seemed rain was approaching.

In the duty quarters, the imperial physicians were still waiting. It was their responsibility to diagnose and record the emperor’s condition. But now that the Chancellor had brought in an outside doctor, though her origins were unclear, at least it wasn’t against protocol. The Deputy Chief Physician fumed, “While the emperor is ill, allowing outsiders unrestricted access to the inner palace—can this be considered trespassing?”

The Chief Physician sighed, tucking his sleeves. “The Chancellor arranged it, and the attendant received the proper credentials. It seems there’s no obvious wrongdoing.”

The Deputy Chief Physician pressed on, “Then how shall we record this illness?”

The Chief Physician glanced at him, interjecting slowly, “Emperor Xiaowu did not shy away from speaking frankly. When the Grand General sought to seize the six imperial seals, the Seal Keeper refused, saying, ‘You may take my head, but not the seals.’… Today, the Chancellor shows a similar spirit!” Nodding toward the Zhangde Hall, he added, “With the emperor present and the Chancellor overseeing, if you dare to question, I’ll accompany you.”

The Deputy Chief Physician was silenced, awkwardly refraining from further comment. The Chief Physician sighed again. “Let’s wait. Once the examination inside is complete, a prescription will surely be written and medicine prepared. At that time, instruct the Medicine Registrar to document it. If the Ministry of Rites wishes to review it later, we’ll have an explanation.”

As they discussed, someone approached with a lantern along the corridor. Upon closer inspection, it was Jianye, the Chief Eunuch. The Deputy Chief Physician hurried forward to greet him. Jianye arrived at the duty quarters, respectfully holding a tablet with both hands, and presented it to the Chief Physician. “Golden Order, please follow the prescribed medicines listed on the form and instruct the Medicine Registrar to prepare them fully.”

The Chief Physician turned slightly, examining the tablet under the light. It listed cinnamon twigs, white peony root, and roasted licorice, among other ingredients. He looked up cautiously, probing, “Has the emperor caught a chill? And the female physician inside…”

Jianye gestured subtly, indicating silence. “The Chancellor knows it would be difficult to record this in the medical records. Simply note that the Empress attended to the illness.”

“The Empress attended to the illness… the Empress?”

The Chief Physician and Deputy Chief exchanged startled glances. Jianye nodded, then turned to return to the main hall.

The Empress served diligently, ordering half of the candles in the sleeping chamber extinguished. After the young emperor took her medicine, she fell asleep, and he spent the entire night kneeling by the bedside.

Fu Wei was delirious from her illness, unable to concern herself with what was happening outside. Lingjun’s prescription seemed quite effective; not long after drinking it, a layer of sweat broke out on her body, and her limbs felt somewhat lighter, no longer as heavy as before. She eventually fell into a relatively peaceful sleep and woke naturally at the fifth watch, struggling to get up.

Lingjun quickly reached out to stop her. “What is Your Majesty doing?”

She looked around. “What time is it? There’s a court meeting today—I need to prepare to attend.”

Lingjun looked at her helplessly. “I’ve never seen such a diligent emperor. People eat grains and are bound to fall ill sometimes. When one is sick, they should rest properly. Your fever hasn’t subsided yet—if you go out and catch a chill, your condition will worsen. It’s better to stay in bed and recover fully before attending to state affairs. Besides, with Lord Hou here, there won’t be any trouble.”

Feeling truly exhausted, Fu Wei relented, collapsing back onto the pillow with a long sigh. “The Empress has taken care of me all night—it must have been tiring. I didn’t know the Empress was also skilled in medicine, resolving my urgent predicament at this critical moment.”

Lingjun smiled. “I am like clay, molded by Lord Hou. Whatever Your Majesty needs, Lord Hou instills in me. I exist for Your Majesty.”

Hearing this, she smiled faintly and nodded slowly. “Without the Chancellor, I might have died several times over.” After a pause, she asked, “Where is the Attendant?”

Mentioning the Attendant made Lingjun puff up indignantly. “With the Empress present, the eunuchs naturally had to withdraw. They should be waiting outside for orders.”

“And the Chancellor?”

Lingjun glanced around. “He was in the side hall earlier, but I don’t know where he went afterward—perhaps he has already returned to the Chancellor’s residence.” As he spoke, he yawned widely, tears welling up in his eyes, and asked solicitously, “Is Your Majesty thirsty? Shall I pour some tea for you?”

Fu Wei shook her head. “After drinking so much medicinal broth, how could I possibly be thirsty? The Empress must be tired. I feel much better now—you don’t need to keep watching over me. Go rest.”

But he refused, saying, “I will stay until Your Majesty is fully recovered. The wedding is approaching—I don’t want Your Majesty to marry while still unwell.” He chuckled mischievously. “I want the bride to be healthy and strong—it’ll be my blessing.”

Upon hearing this, Fu Wei’s expression changed instantly. “Be careful what you say! What bride? Who’s the bride!”

Deep down, she still resisted the idea, a flush rising to her cheeks out of embarrassment and indignation. Lingjun gazed at her, feeling only sorrow. “What must I do for Your Majesty to accept me? Whether it’s the Attendant or the Chancellor, no matter how close Your Majesty may treat them, in the end, they belong to others.”

They all belong to others. Only through formal rites would they truly become hers. Fu Wei’s head throbbed painfully—this child’s words cut deep, offering no peace. Covering her eyes, she complained, “Can’t the Empress let me recover in peace? Why must you say these things!”

Lingjun pressed his lips together and fell silent, sulking for a moment before yawning again. Stretching, he said, “I’m really quite sleepy—the sky hasn’t even brightened yet. Your Majesty should rest a little more, and I’ll close my eyes too.” Without waiting for her response, he collapsed onto the bed, sprawling out in a relaxed position.

Fu Wei could do nothing about him. Though he handled matters with sophistication and skill, he was still young, and she couldn’t be too harsh on him. Still, she couldn’t help critiquing his sleeping posture. “You’re wearing a quju —how can you lie sprawled like a frog? That pose is indecent—women don’t look like that.”

Hearing this, he turned to face her, folding his hands under his ear as a pillow, curling his legs, and wrapping the quju elegantly around himself. Blinking, he asked, “How about this? Is this elegant enough?”

Fu Wei laughed at the rouge on his face. “If you were a girl, you’d surely possess beauty capable of toppling kingdoms.”

But he appeared confident. “Even though I’m not a girl, Your Majesty needn’t worry—I’ll still grow up to possess beauty capable of toppling kingdoms. I’m still young, and I’ve already been collected by Your Majesty. In the future, you’ll realize what a bargain you’ve struck.”

Perhaps so! Looking at his nose, eyes, and overall features, it wouldn’t take many years for him to grow into a stunning “beauty.” If not for the Chancellor’s presence overshadowing him, perhaps she really would settle into contentment, dedicating herself wholeheartedly to her little Empress.

The October nights were chilling. He lay on the bed fully clothed, and fearing he might catch a cold, she shared half of her blanket with him. Noticing this, he cheekily wriggled closer, cooing, “Let me warm Your Majesty! Lean on me to sleep, and your illness will soon be gone.”

Fu Wei was surrounded mostly by men. Except when facing the Chancellor, she usually consciously ignored her own gender. Lingjun was an adorable youth, and she didn’t reject him in her heart. Having shared a bed with him before, she remained entirely at ease. However, she gave a cautionary tap on the gap between them, signaling him to maintain distance. Lingjun understood immediately—though slightly disappointed, he obediently complied. Retreating slightly, he propped himself up to adjust the blanket around her shoulders and softly urged her to sleep.

Two youthful souls, both in their prime, lying side by side innocently—there was nothing suggestive about it. The Chancellor stood behind the curtains, holding a lacquer cup and gazing into the inner chamber. Nearly all the five-branched jade lamps had gone out, leaving only the topmost lamp burning faintly. Thus, the dim light revealed only vague silhouettes… With Lingjun taking care of her, the young emperor was faring well. Gradually, she would no longer need him. His duties lay solely within the court. Whether she fell ill or experienced her monthly courses, there was no need for him to worry—he was finally free.

The tea in the lacquer cup had grown cold after sitting for too long. The Chancellor drank it all in one celebratory gulp, the lukewarm liquid rolling down his throat and chilling him to the core.

Jianye entered through the palace gate, bowing deeply upon seeing the Chancellor standing outside the small sleeping chamber. Approaching quietly, he whispered, “Lord Hou hasn’t slept all night—please rest for a while. Her Majesty is being attended to by us here, and with the Empress personally serving, Lord Hou should rest assured.”

The Chancellor exhaled deeply. “Today’s court session—Her Majesty is unwell and cannot attend. I must go to the Southern Palace to preside over it. It’s nearly time…” Glancing back at him, he asked, “How did you come in?”

Jianye bowed low and replied, “I feared Her Majesty might need tea. She didn’t eat much last night during the evening meal, so I wasn’t sure if Her Majesty or the Empress might require anything…”

The Chancellor’s tone was less than kind. “From now on, knock before entering the private chambers—don’t forget. Since the Empress is present, if we happen to stumble upon something inappropriate, there are plenty of eunuchs in the palace. You’ll end up as a steward in the punishment chamber.”

These words sent a cold sweat trickling down Jianye’s spine. Bowing repeatedly, he begged forgiveness: “It was my rashness—please forgive me, Lord Hou. I’ll remember your words and never dare to transgress again.”

The Chancellor wielded sufficient authority over those surrounding the young emperor. When the young emperor was a child, the palace servants attending her were frequently replaced. As she grew older, things stabilized, but these people worked with their lives on the line. The young emperor’s unpredictable temper was hard to manage, and the Chancellor’s strictness was unbearable. Therefore, whenever palace servants received such warnings, they were invariably terrified—even the Yellow Gate Eunuch, who served the emperor closely, dared not act recklessly.

The Chancellor shot him a cold glance and tossed the lacquer cup in his hand. Jianye scrambled to catch it, avoiding eye contact, his gaze awkwardly fixed on the Chancellor’s feet. After standing for a brief moment, the Chancellor turned his black shoes toward the palace gate. When Jianye looked up again, he saw the Chancellor’s wide sleeves fluttering, brushing past the edge of the door before vanishing swiftly, his figure already heading down the corridor.

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① Lanru : Entering without proper authorization.

② Bu hui : A euphemism for death.