On the nineteenth day of the seventh month, the torrential rain finally ceased. Within Moxiang Palace, wisps of fragrant smoke drifted through the air. Nongmo reclined lazily on a golden-threaded couch made of fragrant wood. Her brows were delicately painted, her hair elegantly coiled atop her head like a black cloud. Her autumn-water eyes shimmered with a lingering sorrow, as though burdened by the weight of rain and clouds.

What exactly does His Majesty intend to do? For three consecutive days, he has stayed in Moxiang Palace.

“Your Highness,” Siyan emerged from behind the curtain, her voice low and cautious.

Nongmo half-sat up, her hair cascading down her shoulder like a phoenix perched on a dark mountain. “What news?” she asked eagerly.

Siyan carefully glanced around before leaning in to whisper, “Master says that beneath sweet bait, there will always be dead fish. His Majesty is casting a net.”

“A net?” Nongmo murmured softly.

“Master also said this net was cast too early—there’s something suspicious about it. He instructed Your Highness to observe His Majesty’s daily habits for any unusual signs.”

“Unusual... signs?” Nongmo lowered her head, deep in thought. Her brows furrowed slightly, neither fully knitted nor relaxed. After a moment, she raised her head and whispered, “At night, His Majesty coughs heavily—it might be a chill from the wind. But he forbade me from calling the imperial physician, only summoning De Xian to attend to him. I wonder if this counts as an unusual sign.”

Siyan listened intently, nodding repeatedly. After a pause, Nongmo asked, “Did Master have any other instructions?”

“Master said: A minor ailment is a blessing; in illness, one sees the truth of hearts.”

Nongmo’s brows suddenly relaxed. She removed the four-butterfly golden hairpin from her head, allowing her smooth black hair to cascade down her body like a waterfall. Lazily extending her hand, she said, “Siyan, please summon Imperial Physician Hu to examine me.”

Graceful as a gentle breeze, still as a willow, she lay back, watching the sandalwood incense burn in the golden beast-shaped burner.

A solitary goose cried across the sky, slicing through the clouds. An old woman with white hair sighed deeply at the melancholy of autumn.

“Ah.” King Ling Zhun’s soft sigh was drowned out by the mournful cries of geese.

De Xian lowered his head as a young eunuch whispered a few words into his ear, then respectfully withdrew.

De Xian glanced at the King, who wandered amidst the withered flowers, and sighed deeply. After a long pause, he spoke, “Your Majesty.”

“Hmm?” Ling Zhun picked up a gardenia floating on the surface of a puddle, his tone indifferent. “What is it?”

“The imperial physician has been summoned to Moxiang Palace. Consort Cheng claims to be unwell.”

Ling Zhun’s gray-streaked hair fluttered in the wind. Slowly closing his hands, he chuckled softly, “Similar faces, yet different hearts. Nuan’er, if you had even a fraction of her cleverness, would you have faded so soon?” His fists clenched tighter, as if venting the sorrow in his heart. “Or perhaps...” He opened his palm, revealing the crushed remains of the gardenia, which slowly drifted downward in the cool air. “You grew weary of autumn and chose to leave so ruthlessly?”

When will this bitter wind and rain cease?

The gardenia cannot withstand the chill of autumn.

Tears fall before words are spoken.

At the edge of sight,

lies a fragrant hill.

Bone-chilling,

grief.

De Xian’s face was filled with melancholy as he gazed downward. Since the passing of that Empress, the most beautiful palace in Qing Palace had remained without a mistress for thirteen years, and the streaks of white in the King’s hair had grown denser.

“De Xian,” the King’s voice regained its composure, his tone slightly lower.

De Xian stepped closer, silently awaiting His Majesty’s orders.

“Bring the Yinhua Lu to Consort Cheng and tell her I wish her a swift recovery.” Each word dripped with icy indifference.

De Xian hesitated, his heart skipping a beat. The Yinhua Lu was one of the secret remedies passed down by generations of Qing Kings. Unlike the insidious Zuihuaying , consuming it merely induced symptoms of a deep-seated chill.

“After all,” the King said, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed at the sky, a faint smile tugging at his lips, “an illness must take its full course.” Suddenly, his brow furrowed slightly, his chest rising and falling sharply. Taking the handkerchief offered by De Xian, he covered his mouth and gave two muffled coughs. Then, handing the handkerchief back, he commanded softly, “Burn it.”

De Xian accepted it, opening the yellow silk cloth slightly. His face turned pale with shock: had it really come to this? He glanced at the King’s somewhat desolate figure and sighed secretly. By the time spring returned next year, who would become the lead goose flying ahead?

Bestowed with the Yinhua Lu , using it to mask a grave illness.

Gazing afar at the geese in the clouds, the Emperor’s heart remains unfathomable.

The mournful cries of geese pierced the vast sky, soaring past Bai’e Palace and straight toward Moxiang Palace.

Outside the palace, an attendant bowed his head, glancing at the lavishly dressed figure passing by. He inwardly puzzled: one master just left, and another arrives. During previous illnesses of the consorts, such a scene had never occurred. The attendant clicked his tongue and shook his head: why concern myself with such matters? It’s enough to focus on my duties.

Nongmo’s hair was disheveled, her complexion tinged with illness. Mustering her strength, she sat up from the bed. “Sister Huafei, why have you come?”

“No need for formalities, little sister,” Huafei said, her delicate brows furrowing slightly as she hastened to Nongmo’s side, gently pressing her down. “We haven’t seen each other for days—how did you fall ill?”

Nongmo smiled faintly, her frailty unable to withstand the wind. “It’s been windy and rainy these days—I suppose I caught a chill.”

“Indeed,” Huafei’s warm eyes flashed with a sharp glint. “And after attending to His Majesty for three days, it’s understandable that you’d be exhausted.”

Nongmo’s eyelids twitched momentarily, but she quickly regained her composure. “It was my duty.”

“Hoho, of course it was your duty,” Huafei replied smoothly. She gestured behind her, and a maidservant respectfully approached, holding a brocade box. Smiling faintly, Huafei opened the lid and retrieved a magnificent robe. Upon closer inspection, Nongmo’s eyes widened in astonishment. The auspicious phoenix motif, the radiant red and gold hues—this was no ordinary garment meant for a palace consort.

“Little sister, the weather grows colder by the day,” Huafei said firmly, draping the phoenix robe over Nongmo’s shoulders with decisive movements that brooked no refusal. “Dressing oneself is an art.”

Nongmo clutched the robe tightly, cold sweat beginning to bead on her palms.

“Look at you,” Huafei chided gently, her voice dripping with false concern. “You’re truly unwell—your lovely face has lost all color.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, she took Nongmo’s delicate hand in hers. “Oh dear, it’s ice-cold. It seems the palace doors weren’t properly closed.” She signaled to the maidservants, and after a few soft clicks, the sound of autumn disappeared entirely from the chamber.

Beside the bed, a small dragon-patterned incense burner emitted wisps of pale smoke, filling the silent room with a faint fragrance. The scent seeped into one’s heart, sending involuntary shivers down the spine.

“Nongmo, little sister,” Huafei softened her tone, her voice more intimate. “How long have you been in the palace?”

These walls and painted screens stirred a trace of melancholy in Nongmo’s heart. Years ago, to repay the great debt owed to the Ninth Prince and to help Young Master establish a foothold in Qing, she had steeled herself to enter this devouring cage. Pausing briefly, she masked her deep sense of helplessness and replied with a smile, “Thanks to His Majesty’s grace and the kindness of Empress and Sister Huafei, I have safely spent seven summers and winters within the palace.”

“And...” Huafei tucked a strand of Nongmo’s hair behind her ear, her voice lowering. “Do you know the fates of the other maidens who entered the palace alongside you?”

Nongmo trembled, her body shaking slightly as she remained silent.

“Consort Liu was beaten to death for seducing the court. Concubine Chang miscarried at six months and bled to death. Lady Mu lost her mind after birthing a stillborn child and remains locked away in Suling Alley. And...” Huafei slowed her tone, her voice laced with satisfaction, “Lady Lin, who was promoted to the highest rank of consort alongside you, was executed for allegedly poisoning the Empress.”

Nongmo couldn’t suppress her trembling, the painful memories vivid as if they were before her eyes.

“Sister, do you know why you’ve been so fortunate?” Huafei’s voice sharpened. “Is it because your nephew has achieved great merit?”

Nongmo lowered her head, her eyes brimming with sorrow.

“Of course not,” Huafei replied decisively. “When it comes to family influence, Chancellor Lin once stood second only to the Emperor himself. Yet what happened? His entire family was executed, and Consort Lin met her end. So why, then, have you been spared?” She gently stroked Nongmo’s cheek.

“Only through His Majesty’s grace and the kindness of Empress and Sister Huafei have I survived to this day,” Nongmo replied meekly.

Huafei smiled in satisfaction. “You should know why His Majesty favored you from the start, little sister.” She picked up a cloud-patterned mirror from beside the bed and held it directly beneath Nongmo’s delicate face. “What a lotus-like visage. But have you truly seen yourself clearly?” Huafei tilted the mirror slightly. “When His Majesty looks at you, he doesn’t see you—he sees Consort Yin, who passed away thirteen years ago.” Placing the mirror back on the bed, she continued softly, “The resemblance is uncanny, truly uncanny. Even Empress paled upon seeing you for the first time.”

Nongmo froze, her eyes clouded with confusion as she gazed at Consort Hua.

“Hoho, little sister doesn’t know?” Huafei leaned close to her ear and whispered, “It’s rumored that Consort Yin met her demise after consuming an eight-treasure soup sent by the Empress.”

Nongmo’s heart trembled slightly. So that was why the Ninth Prince had specifically warned her to be wary of the Empress—it all made sense now.

“And do you know why the Empress has spared you, little sister?” Huafei gently squeezed Nongmo’s delicate hand, her tone laced with mockery. “Because no matter how much favor His Majesty bestows upon you, your womb remains barren. A consort without children is the safest pawn—especially one as virtuous and well-behaved as you. Why would the Empress want to topple you, allowing those ambitious vixens to climb higher? Tell me, isn’t that right?”

The wound from the knife on Leiyue Cliff had sealed her fate long ago—she would never bear a child of her own. This thought filled Nongmo with a deep sadness.

“In that case,” Huafei shifted her tone, her voice turning icy, “it seems it was you who saved yourself, little sister. Remember, every advantage has its flip side—a strength today may become a weakness tomorrow.” She glanced sidelong at Nongmo, her voice dropping to a murmur. “Let me speak bluntly—even though it may be disrespectful. After His Majesty departs this world, what will become of you? According to tradition, imperial consorts without heirs are sent to Chanxin Monastery to live out their days as nuns, never to leave again.” Huafei sighed. “What a pity for such a beautiful face as yours to wither away before the flickering light of Buddha. Or perhaps...” Her voice rose slightly as she tugged at the phoenix robe. “You could join hands with me, and together we could ascend to the position of Empress Dowager. Hmm?”

Finally, the truth was laid bare. Nongmo raised her head, meeting Huafei’s gaze directly. Gone was the earlier melancholy; her voice was calm and measured. “Your Highness jests. After seven years without issue, how could I possibly become Empress Dowager?” With that, she removed the phoenix robe and called softly, “Siyan.”

Siyan emerged from behind the beaded curtain, bowing low. “Yes, Your Highness?”

“This is a token of Consort Hua’s goodwill.” Nongmo handed over the resplendent robe. “Take it and store it carefully.”

“Yes.” Siyan respectfully took the garment and walked over to the carved rosewood cabinet, folding it meticulously.

Huafei narrowed her eyes, watching closely. As the cabinet door opened, a peach-pink five-phoenix cloak fluttered to the ground. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she stared at Nongmo reclining on the bed—this was attire reserved for a rank above mere consort. How could this be?

“Siyan!” Nongmo’s delicate brows furrowed as she spoke sharply.

Siyan scrambled to pick up the fallen cloak, her voice trembling with fear. “Forgive me, Your Highness, forgive me.”

Nongmo glanced secretly at Huafei, noting her unchanged expression of warmth and kindness. After a moment, she pressed a hand to her forehead and softly called, “Siyan, Siyan.”

“What is it, Your Highness?” Siyan closed the cabinet door and hurried over.

“I suddenly felt dizzy, and everything went black.” Nongmo closed her eyes, her face contorted in apparent pain.

Huafei stood up, gazing intently at the sickly beauty lying on the bed. Her voice softened. “Take care of yourself, little sister. I won’t disturb your rest any longer.”

Summoning her strength, Nongmo opened her weary eyes and responded weakly, “Thank you for visiting, Sister. Siyan, see Her Highness out.”

“No need.” Huafei raised her delicate hand, her lips curling into a faint smile. “Once you’ve recovered, do come visit me.” She lifted the beaded curtain and glanced back. “Between crimson red and peach blossom pink, which do you prefer, little sister? I’m truly curious.” With that, the beads swayed gently, and her figure disappeared, leaving only the soft clinking of jade beads echoing through the silent chamber.

Nongmo opened her eyes, her face etched with exhaustion as she lay back on the bed. She sighed deeply. “Siyan, dispose of those two garments properly.”

“Yes.”

“Who is on duty outside the palace today?” she asked next.

“It’s Zhao Fu.”

“Mm.” Nongmo slowly lay down, turning her face inward. It was just the right time for Zhao Fu’s incessant chatter.

“You there, what is your name?” Outside Moxiang Palace, Consort Hua glanced sideways at the eunuch guarding the door.

The eunuch flinched, lowering his head even further. “To answer Your Highness, my name is Zhao Fu.”

“Oh, Zhao Fu.” Huafei leaned slightly, supported by Xiuying’s arm. “Tell me, who else visited today to inquire about her illness?”

“Uh…” Zhao Fu scrunched up his face, pursing his lips. He dared not speak.

“The Consort asks you a question!” Xiuying snapped harshly.

Swallowing hard, Zhao Fu reluctantly replied, “At noon, the Empress came.”

Huafei unconsciously tightened her fingers around Xiuying’s arm, causing her to wince. After a long pause, she abruptly released her grip, tilting her head to gaze at the impossibly high blue sky. A cold smile curved her lips: “Qiu Jingxian, I have been beneath you for thirty years. It’s time to strike back!”

Oh? Strike back? Lifting her teacup, she took a delicate sip, her excitement palpable as she gazed at the intricately woven chessboard. Truly, the game mirrored life—silent and unassuming, escaping the central dragon’s grasp only to counterattack moments later. What a worthy opponent. A faint smile played at her lips as she picked up a black piece and placed it lightly in the lower-left corner.

Xiuyuan quietly studied the chessboard, then fixed his gaze on me, his eyes shimmering with a hint of surprise.

Mm, being with him was so comfortable. Resting my chin on my hand, I smiled warmly at Xiuyuan. My brother hadn’t opposed our interactions, and even Que’er had grown accustomed to his occasional sudden appearances. These past few days, whenever I thought of that embrace, my cheeks still flushed involuntarily. Pressing a hand to my cheek, I stole a glance at him, lost in deep thought: he was so handsome. The sound of my heartbeat was unmistakable, startling me momentarily. Was this what they meant by “beauty is in the eye of the beholder”?

Lover? Lowering my head, my throat tightened, my heart twisting and turning: Hmm, no, not yet. There was no overwhelming obsession, no mad longing. Then, were we friends? Placing a hand over my racing heart, I sighed. No, that wasn’t quite right either—seeing him still sent involuntary shivers through me. Then, what exactly were we? Clutching my head, my thoughts tangled into knots.

“Yunqing.” His clear, cool voice broke the silence, startling me into looking up. “Hmm?”

Xiuyuan’s dark eyes sparkled, a faint smile blooming at the edge of his elegant lips. “Your move.”

“Mm, mm.” Calm down, calm down. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, reconstructing the black-and-white board in my mind. After a moment, a smile spread across my face as I slowly opened my eyes. Picking up a black piece from the box, I placed it delicately amidst the intertwined battle lines.

Leaning back in the lounge chair, I basked in the gentle warmth of the autumn sun: finally, the skies had cleared.

After a while, Xiuyuan straightened his posture, his deep, fathomless eyes locking onto mine. We gazed at each other, my cheeks flushing slightly, my heart skipping a beat. If this continued, Lady Xi Shi might truly appear.

“I concede.” A faint smile curled his thin lips, his voice calm and devoid of disappointment.

Reaching out, I began picking up the pieces one by one, smiling. “Were you letting me win, Xiuyuan?”

“No.” He helped tidy the board, his movements unhurried. “You won.”

Carrying the heavy chess set to the bookshelf, I carefully separated the black and white pieces, storing them neatly.

“Yunqing.”

“Mm?” I answered absentmindedly.

“I must return.”

I froze, subtly tightening my fists, my lips pressing together. “When?”

“Today.” His reply was as brief as ever.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly turned around. “Why so soon?”

Xiuyuan’s expression grew solemn. “Jing Kingdom is in chaos.”

Leaning against the desk, I chuckled softly. “Is it a conflict involving the Empress Dowager’s family?”

A faint tremor passed through his brows. “Yes.”

“Are you wondering how I know?” I gazed at him tenderly, my voice soft. “On the very night I first took a life, I witnessed a confrontation between Empress Wen and the King of Jing. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I lit the fuse that ignited the turmoil in Jing.” Staring at my hands, I laughed bitterly, mocking myself. “In truth, I haven’t been pure for a long time.”

“No one is pure.” He stood up, striding toward me with unwavering determination. “The fuse was already there—you bear no blame.”

“Mm.” Sighing, I retreated to the inner chamber, retrieving the phoenix hairpin from the jewelry box. Wrapping it carefully in a silk cloth, I held it out to him. “Xiuyuan, this belongs to you.”

He glanced at the silk-wrapped object, a flicker of displeasure crossing his face. “Keep it.”

“Mm~” Shaking my head, I took a step forward. “This hairpin emits a sound when touched by the wind—it’s clearly a priceless treasure. How could I, with my clumsy hands, possibly ruin it?”

Xiuyuan accepted the silk bundle, swiftly inserting the hairpin back into my hair. “You are the second person to make it sing softly.” He lowered his head, gazing at me thoughtfully. “The first was my mother.”

I stared at him, my heart filled with unease.

“Keep it safe for me.” His deep eyes shimmered with a trace of tenderness, like a tranquil lake atop an icy mountain.

As if entranced, I found myself responding instinctively. “Alright.”

His elegant smile brushed against my heart like a gentle spring breeze. “Yunqing.”

“Mm.”

“I will return.”

“Mm.” I smiled faintly. “Take care.”

“Take care.” His voice lingered in the air, but his figure had already vanished. Truly like a gentle breeze, ascending effortlessly to the heavens. Shaking my head, I chuckled at my own sentimentality, only to suddenly realize the silk cloth that had wrapped the phoenix hairpin was gone. My cheeks flushed slightly as I murmured inwardly: Keep it safe for me, Xiuyuan.

The wind stirred, and the phoenix hairpin emitted a clear, melodious sound that pierced through the clouds, startling the formation of geese into disarray.

Was it the sorrow of parting, or the unrestrained madness of one without resolve?

At the time, no one could have known. It was only years later that the renowned historian Zhang Mi would designate this year as the “First Year of the Age of Chaos.”

And I? I became the enigmatic beauty immortalized in his writings—the “riddle-like crimson visage.”