PM - 76

She thought he must still love her—leaving this item behind was the best proof.

Gazing at the desolate foothills, for a moment she felt lost, unsure of where to go. The tears that had traced her face were quickly dried by the wind. She wanted to follow him... If she abandoned her power and stepped down from her lofty position as emperor, would he take her with him? The countless lives that stood between them were caused by this very power that harmed so many. If she had the resolve to shed all the glory draped over her and become simply herself, could he still accept her?

He would not return; even if he did, there would be no place for him in court—he knew this well. Two sharp-edged individuals together required one to constantly yield to avoid hurting each other. He had laid down what he needed to survive, but what about her? Did she have the courage to take such a risk?

The cold wind cleared her mind. She gazed into the distance for a long time, ignoring the Grand Secretary’s repeated pleas. There were many things she needed to think through carefully—to distinguish what was important and what was secondary, then follow the plan she devised, step by step.

When they arrived, the city had been warm; she hadn’t expected the mountains to be so cold. Fearing the emperor might catch a chill, the Grand Secretary silently positioned himself upwind, attempting to shield her from the wind. But the wind wasn’t easily diverted—it was like water, seeping through every crevice.

Fawei looked at the young, stubborn face before her, reminded of Azhao. By seniority, he was Azhao’s great-nephew, though their ages weren’t far apart. Aristocratic families often had many generations within the same age group—Shangguan Xun and Shangguan Zhao were like that.

Throughout the court and the entire realm, countless talents awaited discovery. The emperor’s side, now vacant, would soon be filled with new capable hands. Shangguan Xun had distinguished himself among the three thousand imperial guards, and Fawei appointed him as Commander of the Imperial Chariots, a promotion for the Shangguan clan.

The Grand Secretary earnestly blocked the wind, but she remained melancholic. He stood directly in front of her, impossible to ignore. Sorrow thrived in the right environment, and his presence made it hard to avoid. Finally, she smiled wryly: “The Chancellor has gone far. Let us return.”

The Grand Secretary acknowledged, stepping forward to offer his arm for the emperor to lean on. Descending was harder than ascending, much like climbing down stairs. He carefully planted each step, using himself as a staircase to safely escort the emperor back to the straight road.

Fawei boarded the carriage, feeling dazed throughout the journey. Upon returning to the palace, she fell ill, and her hearing in the right ear showed no signs of improvement. She told the Grand Tutor: “I think I’m going deaf.”

The Grand Tutor watched as the emperor grew increasingly gaunt. Though she remained decisive in court, her private moments revealed her weariness. Like a flower nurtured in a clay pot, it bloomed rapidly with water but slowly withered, showing signs of impending decay.

Seeing this, the Grand Tutor grew deeply troubled. “Your Majesty handles myriad affairs daily, laboring tirelessly, but your health must not be neglected. The death of Lord Ji…” Catching sight of Shangguan Xun standing nearby, he quickly corrected himself: “I mean, Lord Ji’s death has weighed heavily on Your Majesty. Now that the Chancellor has left the court, Your Majesty feels unsettled. Fear not—your servants remain by your side and will fight for Da Yin until our last breath. Your Majesty was raised under my tutelage. Pardon my boldness, but to me, you are like my own child. Thus, I sometimes worry excessively, perhaps annoying you. Please forgive me.”

Fawei chuckled softly: “Teacher, why speak such words? I know better than to blame you.”

The Grand Tutor smiled with relief. “Then allow me to offer some frank advice once more. The position of empress has been vacant for nearly three months. Has Your Majesty considered remarrying?”

This time, Fawei couldn’t smile. Inwardly, she thought she had indulged him enough—sometimes he worried excessively, which was rather tiresome.

She touched her nose. “Let’s not discuss this for now. Teacher knows that during the palace coup, the empress was wrongfully killed by her brother. Even now, thinking of it pains me deeply. It’s only been three months since her death. For teacher to urge me to remarry now feels like betraying her memory. Let’s wait another year.”

The Grand Tutor tilted his head, clearly troubled. “Your Majesty’s deep affection for the empress is understood. However, leaving the empress’s position vacant is not a long-term solution. With the realm now stable, harmony must be restored. Moreover, during Empress Dowager Liang’s birthday celebration, she publicly uttered those treasonous words before the entire court. I believe Your Majesty could use remarriage to affirm your legitimacy. Why not consider my suggestion?”

Thus, her identity remained a significant challenge—to legitimize it meant burdening another innocent person. She no longer wished to do so.

“I have a secret I wish to share with teacher,” she said with an apologetic smile. “Please keep it to yourself.”

The Grand Tutor immediately tensed, his wrinkles brimming with fear. Reluctant yet curious, he swallowed and nodded: “Your Majesty can trust my discretion.”

The emperor seemed somewhat bashful, fidgeting with her hands, kicking pebbles, and lowering her voice: “What the Empress Dowager said that day… it wasn’t entirely wrong.”

The Grand Tutor gasped sharply, his legs weakening as he nearly collapsed. “Y-Your Majesty… what do you mean?”

The emperor hesitated for a long moment before replying: “Though people don’t say it openly, many surely whisper about how the emperor lacks masculine traits and resembles a girl… Actually, teacher doesn’t know—I am inclined toward men. Thus, the idea of remarrying or visiting the harem feels daunting.”

The Grand Tutor was utterly stunned, retreating several steps and leaning against a pillar to catch his breath. Glancing at the Grand Secretary, he saw an expression as calm as still water—the young man clearly wasn’t shocked. After all, while older generations might struggle to accept such matters, for the youth, having male companions was hardly scandalous.

In the gaze of these two youths, the Grand Tutor felt the awkwardness of aging. Indeed, those nearing the coffin couldn’t keep up with the times.

Licking his lips, he struggled for words: “Well… I’m not entirely opposed, but Your Majesty’s status is unique, carrying over sixty years of Da Yin’s legacy. Having heirs is crucial to stabilizing the realm. Take the Han dynasty—Emperor Wen had Deng Tong, Emperor Wu had Yannian… As long as the emperor maintains the harem and produces heirs, a male companion or two does little harm. But if the emperor becomes overly indulgent, endangering the state, that’s another matter. Your Majesty is wise and discerning, so I needn’t remind you. Please bear with this responsibility…” This topic was too awkward to continue.

Alas, despite the Grand Tutor’s persistent urging, the emperor remained disinterested, merely smiling faintly at him: “I confided in teacher to seek ways to delay. Let’s not rush into remarrying—or perhaps wait until after the implementation of the tax reform.”

The bewildered Grand Tutor sighed and departed. Turning to Shangguan Xun, she asked: “Were you startled by my earlier words?”

Shangguan Xun replied calmly: “All humans have desires. Though Your Majesty is emperor, you cannot transcend worldly bounds. Therefore, I am not surprised. I only hope Your Majesty finds joy as you wish.”

Such a perceptive Grand Secretary—his youthful heart indeed adapted faster than the old ministers’.

When glorified excessively, others’ expectations naturally rise. Occasionally presenting oneself in a less favorable light could relieve that pressure. Fawei gradually began to understand the Chancellor’s approach to life. A tarnished reputation had its advantages—at least no one would chase him to force marriage upon him.

Whenever she missed him, she would look at the jade pendant he left behind. No longer wearing the ceremonial jade accessories on her robes, she kept only this one, stroking it during court sessions as if he were still by her side.

Wait another year—once she had settled most court affairs, she would find him. And there was also Yuan Han, whose whereabouts she had finally traced. The Chancellor’s treatment of those he didn’t love was terrifyingly decisive. Yuan Han had been imprisoned in Yunyang Jail for half a year.

Yunyang Jail was a secret prison used to detain nobility and key criminals. Without an imperial decree, outsiders were forbidden entry. She had never been here before, though she had visited the掖庭 prison twice. She remembered the oppressive darkness of the punishment cells—compared to those, this place was tenfold more terrifying.

The emperor’s black shoes tread along the damp passageway, the air thick with decay and bone-chilling cold, suffocating. Torches burned continuously in the prison, for without light, the darkness consumed all paths. She heard the sizzle of burning oil, while outside basked in bright sunlight, here it felt like midwinter.

Yuan Han’s cell lay deep within the prison. As Fawei walked, countless cries and pleas surrounded her—but Yuan Han remained eerily silent.

She stopped before the wooden bars, observing. One plank covering the window had fallen off, allowing a sliver of sunlight to filter through. The ragged figure leaned into the narrow beam, basking in its glow—this tiny ray of light was her sole hope.

Fawei stood for a long time, watching her, puzzled by the contentment on her face. But then a guard approached with a hammer, brutally nailing the plank back in place. The sliver of light vanished, plunging the cell into sudden darkness. She heard Yuan Han sob softly, and in that moment, she felt a profound empathy for her despair. After all, wasn’t her own situation similar?

“Princess,” she called softly. Yuan Han stopped sobbing, turning to look at her. Clearly startled by her presence, she froze for a long while before moving.

“The cause of King Jing and the Empress Dowager has failed. Do you know this?”

Her expression remained indifferent as she finally rose and approached. “Success or failure means little to me. I only wonder why Your Majesty came instead of him?”

Fawei didn’t answer, instead asking: “Was the person who aided you initially King Jing?”

Given the current situation, it made sense if it were him. Yuan Han nodded slowly. “My father and brothers committed treason, implicating the entire family. Though the court hasn’t yet reclaimed the lands of Chaishang, relying on them for sustenance is no longer possible. Terrified, I fled Changsha with my tutor, hiding in a guesthouse in Jiaodong. That’s when King Jing sent someone, claiming to be a close friend of my grandfather, and brought me to settle in Shu.”

“If King Jing intended for you to drive a wedge between me and the Chancellor?” If that had been his goal, it was clearly a failure.

Yuan Han shook her head. “King Jing ordered me to seize the opportunity to assassinate the Chancellor, but I... couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

Fawei sighed involuntarily. There were still people in the world who valued emotions deeply, and Yuan Han was one of them. Refusing to reveal the identity of her benefactor and failing to complete the task entrusted to her made it clear that she was indeed the real Yuan Han. As a pawn, she was utterly incompetent.

“I will release you and send you back to Chaishang. You have your fief and estate there. Don’t waste any more time—find someone to marry, start a family, and live an ordinary life.”

Yuan Han listened silently. Being granted freedom didn’t stir any emotion in her, but the final words—”live an ordinary life”—suddenly brought tears to her eyes. She covered her face, sobbing uncontrollably. A youthful romance had nearly destroyed everything for her. She had believed that the Chancellor harbored feelings for her; if he had treated her gently, she might have revealed all of King Jing’s schemes to him and stood by his side against their enemies. But his face had been like ice when he approached her, merely probing about who stood behind her. She had heard about his entanglements with the emperor and knew her own situation must be difficult. She never expected that after moving on, he would show no trace of lingering affection—it had broken her heart completely.

Deemed useless, she was locked away in Yunyang Prison. Before coming to the capital, she had been haunted nightly by nightmares of her clan’s extermination. Seeing him again began a new nightmare—he confined her here, to live alongside bedbugs and rats. Reflecting on her past, this wasn’t a life meant for humans. The past decade had been a complete tragedy.

The emperor signaled the jailer to open the cell door. Yuan Han stepped out timidly, asking, “Your Majesty is not going to kill me?”

Because she knew her origins? Fawei replied: “I won’t kill you. I hope you take care of yourself.”

She said nothing, but her eyes already seemed to bid farewell to her past. Adjusting her collar, she walked down the corridor—slowly at first, then faster and faster, until she was almost running. Who would want to remain trapped in a place that symbolized decay? Emerging from the dark prison into the light made her realize how precious it was to live under the open sky—and how important it was to cherish it.

Yuan Han would no longer think of him, for he had treated her too harshly. But what about Fawei? He had treated her with deep affection and boundless kindness, so she could never let go.

After the initial disappointment and confusion following the palace coup, the seemingly insurmountable obstacles now appeared less daunting. She had indeed resented him—for hesitating to save her when her life hung by a thread. What hurt her wasn’t the possibility of losing the empire, but his indecision about whether or not to rescue her. The thirteen elders of the Yan clan hadn’t been killed by her order—he had briefly doubted her, causing him to arrive late. Azhao had died, and she had been devastated, lashing out unfairly. Looking back now, it wasn’t reasonable.

He had his grievances too. After all, those thirteen men had upheld the vast Yan clan. Though he didn’t feel a deep connection to his paternal family, he knew they were his roots, and he ultimately belonged there… But she wasn’t sure if, after such a long period of reflection, he could come to terms with things as she had. Regardless of his stance, she decided to try. Putting herself in a desperate position might lead to survival—if he refused to forgive her, then that would be her punishment.

For half a year, he sent no word until winter arrived, when a memorial finally reached the Ministry of Works, letting her know his location in Jincheng Commandery. She kept that memorial—the entire piece detailed local livelihoods, but the familiar handwriting remained unchanged, still bringing her warmth and comfort.

On cold winter nights, she fell asleep clutching it, finally able to rest well. Quietly carving characters on bamboo slips, the reforms she had planned were nearly complete. The day for final resolution drew near, and she felt nervous.

A ruler attempting to abdicate, much like preserving an empire amidst feuding lords, was no easy feat. She needed to find a suitable successor while crafting an excuse for her departure. It didn’t need to be overly contrived—her hearing loss was undeniable. Sometimes, during court sessions, when officials spoke, she couldn’t hear them. Only when the Chief Eunuch shouted loudly beside her would she lift her eyes from the documents. The ministers stared at her fixedly, and she stared back. After a long silence, she searched among the crowd: “Who just reported? I didn’t hear clearly—repeat it.”

Court officials whispered amongst themselves; the emperor’s hearing seemed impaired. Throughout history, no emperor had been deaf because the discussions in court were complex. If the emperor couldn’t hear, it would be highly inconvenient.

The Three Dukes and Nine Ministers were deeply concerned, gathering in the ministry to deliberate: “Post notices to seek skilled doctors for the emperor. This cannot continue. Her hearing loss has reached a critical point. Ignoring it further would be a national calamity.”

But she was the Son of Heaven—proud and stubborn. Posting notices for medical help was something the emperor wouldn’t agree to. Thus, the awkwardness persisted in court. Officials spoke haltingly, and the emperor struggled to keep up.

Finally, Emperor Xihe lamented: “It seems I shouldn’t be emperor anymore. When you speak, I can’t hear. When I speak, it feels like my head is inside a drum, echoing loudly and giving me headaches.”

The emperor’s face showed despair. Seeing her like this, even those privately sympathetic had no choice but to bow deeply and urge her to stay.

She watched the high-crowned ministers repeatedly bowing solemnly and waved her hand dismissively: “I am still young, and I am reluctant to leave, but I cannot hang the fate of the empire on my ears.” The final court session ended without resolution, dissolving into gloom.

Each court session was a torment. Strangely, when seated high in the hall, her hearing faltered, but once back in her private chambers, conversing posed no issue. She summoned the Grand Tutor, the Minister of Imperial Clan Affairs, and two trusted officials from the ministry: “I have selected two candidates. Please review them.”

The Grand Tutor took the document tremulously: “This matter is of utmost importance. Has Your Majesty truly considered it thoroughly?”

She nodded. “My hearing fluctuates unpredictably—I can’t explain why. Da Yin has flourished since its founding, and I foresee a prosperous era ahead. I cannot allow my personal desires to hinder the nation.”

The document circulated among the ministers. They saw the names: Wei Marquis Yuan Yangzheng and Cheng Marquis Yuan Xu. Whether or not the throne changed hands, the ultimate consideration was still the current emperor’s future.

The Minister of Imperial Clan Affairs asked: “What will happen to this imperial city if there are two rulers? If Your Majesty abdicates, where will you go?”

The emperor, seated beneath the canopy, pounded her knee—she had already planned it out. “Naturally, I will leave the capital and travel as far away as possible. I remember when the Chancellor requested to guard the frontier, saying he missed the days of military campaigns after being in court too long. I feel the same—after staying in one place for too long, I want to explore the beautiful landscapes under my rule.”

The ministers were deeply reluctant. “Your Majesty, please reconsider…”

She smiled consistently. “What did you say?”

Not hearing what she didn’t want to became a form of self-protection. Her close ministers felt a sense of loss. She pressed again: “Who is more suitable?”

Considering the emperor’s safety, the ministers ultimately chose the Wei Marquis’s son—a decision that resonated deeply with Fawei. She vividly remembered the scene during King Jing’s forced entry into the palace. Most of the court officials, including her royal uncles, had cowered in the back, too afraid to speak. Only a few, along with the Wei Marquis, dared to confront King Jing and the Empress Dowager. True loyalty was revealed in times of crisis. In that situation, success or failure was uncertain—if she had lost, none of them would have survived. She would forever remember their unwavering support during her darkest hour.

As for the Wei Marquis, he had nine daughters and two sons. The nine daughters clamored for land allotments, while the two sons raised no objections. The Wei Marquis’s son was renowned for his good temper—like his name, Yangzheng, gentle but not weak. If he ascended the throne, he would make an excellent ruler for a stable era. Legitimacy was no longer within her considerations. The Wei Marquis’s father and Emperor Wen were brothers, so by this generation, they were considered collateral branches. But so what? Compared to the main lineage, their descendants were far stronger.

“Let the ministry draft the edict then. It will be announced in court three days hence.” She felt a sense of finality, gazing at the blue sky before her. Her heart had already flown thousands of miles away.