Chapter Forty

I instructed Xia Zhi to prepare an early meal and smiled, “We didn’t sleep all night; let’s eat together.”

He smiled and nodded, leaning against the side of the desk. Taking advantage of the waiting time, he closed his eyes to rest. Since we were already acquainted, I didn’t stand on ceremony either; I casually put away the books from last night, setting each volume in place, and Xia Zhi had everything prepared.

After we finished our meal, he finally put down his chopsticks and said, “This matter won’t be a capital offense, but punishment is inevitable.”

Seeing his calm expression, I couldn’t help but think he’d long ago calculated all of this. In our world, military families still hold the highest status; the Imperial Grandmother could kill me to preserve imperial authority, but she would never execute a member of the Wu family for the sake of an outsider. Moreover, over the years she has deliberately suppressed the Li bloodline—several times she gave medicines to cause the concubines of various princes to miscarry. The subtleties of that are precisely where my chance lies.

I put down my chopsticks and said, “That’s why we should eat our fill first, then go apologize in person.” He shook his head with a smile and lightly tapped the teacup, “If that’s the case, I won’t press further. You can’t keep hiding forever—there will be a blade when you stretch out your head or pull it back. I’ll have the Imperial Medical Office prepare healing medicines and be ready to attend the madam at any time.” Hearing the lightness in his tone, I felt both amused and annoyed: “Fine. If it can’t be cured, I’ll ask you and no one else.”

He nodded, stood up with the medicine box on his back, fell silent for a moment, and said, “If I can’t cure you, someone will hold me accountable.” I understood what he meant and immediately fell silent.

After Shen Qiu left, I ordered Xia Zhi and Dong Yang to confine the palace residents, dressed myself in plain-colored clothes with no jewelry or makeup, went alone to Lady Wang’s palace, knelt straight down with bare form, and begged to take the blame.

Li Longji was nothing more than a prince without power; if I bowed and begged without arguing, it would be treated as an internal matter of the Prince of Linzi’s household, and others would find it difficult to intervene. If news reached the Hall of Eternal Life, it would at least give the Empress Grandmother an explanation.

Thinking of this made me feel ashamed and uneasy. This kneel was a stopgap measure, but wasn’t it also a calculated move.

A daughter married into the royal family, only to suffer a life of neglect — what should have been the greatest joy has instead become a lifelong regret. Since the wedding, aside from the deliberate persecutions by the Cui sisters, she has never truly treated me as her own; whether because of Li Longji’s favoritism or some other reason, in the end, the fault isn’t mine — yet it all stems from me.

The sun climbed higher, and because of this single kowtow I performed in the Wang household’s palace, the gates remained tightly shut and not a soul showed their face.

I kept my head down and stared at the ground, too weary to think of anything. Watching my shadow slowly shrink in front of me, I only realized it was already midday. It was deep winter, and after more than half an hour my knees had long since gone numb; my whole body grew colder and I couldn’t help but recall the night years ago when Li Chengqi knelt in the snow — there must have been ice under his knees then; surely that was even harder to endure than now.

No one dared pass before the palace; I was alone, which at least granted a measure of peace.

“Who told you to kneel?!” Suddenly someone yanked me hard, almost dragging me to the ground. Li Longji saw me frozen in place, his eyes full of fury, lips pressed tight, and for a moment he couldn’t find words. I shifted my knees, knelt back farther away, and looked up at him. “Prince, please leave.” He reached out to pull me again, but my stare stopped him.

He was silent for a moment, then slowly crouched down and looked me in the eye. “I’ve already gone to apologize to the Imperial Grandmother for my crime; you don’t need to bear that blame for me anymore.” I shook my head and said, “Imperial Grandmother punished you for the sake of the imperial bloodline, but I knelt for the Taiyuan Wang family. If my surname weren’t Wu, in an ordinary princely residence causing the main wife to miscarry would mean beatings to death; this is merely a kneeling punishment. If you care for me, Prince, don’t say any more.”

He slowly reached out his hand, then abruptly withdrew it, clenching his fist. “It’s my fault.” I gave a bitter smile and looked at him. “Of course it’s your fault. She carried your flesh and blood, and you repeatedly let her down. Not only did she lose the child, she will never bear one again in this life.” When I finished speaking I no longer looked at him; only after those black boots had gradually receded did I feel sharp pains at my knees, guessing they were from the earlier struggle, and couldn’t help but smile wryly to myself—Shen Qiu’s medicine really does come in handy.

Night fell and lights were lit throughout the palace; I had lost all feeling throughout my body. Listening to the whistling wind, eyes tightly shut, my body burning hot yet still shivering uncontrollably, the pain in my knees growing worse, I couldn’t help but shift, intending to kneel properly again, but everything went black before me and I lost consciousness.

It felt as if my body were being burned by fire; I wanted to struggle but couldn’t move an inch, wanted to call out but no sound came. In that moment of restless anxiety, I suddenly felt a coolness on my face, as if someone were stroking it extremely gently. In an instant, all the unease dissolved, leaving only the searing pain throughout my body, and I couldn’t help but moan twice.

“Yongan.” Someone softly called my name by my ear. Hearing that familiar voice, I gave a sudden struggle and finally saw some light, and a pair of clear, moist eyes—laden with a pain that cut to the bone.

I watched him quietly until I came fully to, and then realized he was half holding me in his arms. My heart skipped; I instinctively tried to pull away, but his arms tightened. “There are no outsiders here.” Hearing that, I finally felt at ease and leaned back against him without moving.

Li Chengqi took a bowl of medicinal soup from the table, scooped some with a jade spoon, and fed it to me mouthful by mouthful. I drank two sips and shook my head, unwilling to continue. He scooped another spoonful and said gently, “Drink two more sips.” Seeing his insistence, I could only drink another two or three spoonfuls. Only then did he set the bowl aside and straighten the embroidered quilt over me, making me more comfortable against the pillows.

This is my palace; the inner chamber has only the two of us.

After a while I spoke, “Kneeling today, I finally understand the pain you endured back then.” The words left my mouth and my throat stung; my voice was hoarse to the point of sounding frightening. He didn’t reply, but held me tighter. Seeing him do that made me feel worse, and in a huskier voice I asked, “If you come to my palace, will anyone see you?”

He was silent for a moment, then said, “No. I have arranged everything properly.” I gave a hum of agreement and didn’t ask more—if he said so, he was surely certain, and I needn’t worry. The two of us sat in silence for a while, until a soft cough came from beyond the screen and Shen Qiu walked in with a smile, saying, “It’s time to change the dressing.”

My face warmed; just as I was about to sit up, Li Chengqi had already steadied me and pulled back my quilt. Shen Qiuhan smiled at me and, very deftly, changed the dressing before hurrying out.

After he left, Li Chengqi let me lean against the bed and sat down facing me. “I had someone prepare plain congee,” he said, “eat a little.” I nodded. He added, “Eat something and sleep a bit more — the fever has only just broken, you need to rest.” I nodded again, then hesitated and asked, “When are you leaving?” As soon as the words came out I felt some regret; I only worried that if he stayed too long others might notice, but it sounded as if I were driving him away.

He smiled faintly. “I’ll leave once you’ve fallen asleep.” A sharp pang struck me and I said nothing. Seeing my silence, he sighed and softened his voice. “Do you resent me?” I shook my head. “The throne is so near; one’s body isn’t one’s own, but the heart must be allowed its own will.” He watched me in silence, and after a long while said, “Having you in this life is enough.”

I was stunned for a moment. Since marrying Li Longji I had thought my heart long since worn smooth over these six months, but suddenly it ached in waves; all the unwillingness and resistance surged up and became impossible to hold back. I lowered my head and tried to stifle the sting in my eyes, but everything blurred and I could not see clearly, only let the tears flow. He silently wiped them from my face, each touch unbearably gentle.

In these past six months, I had told myself to give up, but it was all in vain. Each time I saw him, I only gave a hurried bow and passed by, and he was distant and indifferent. I thought he had let go—after all, he now had a beautiful wife by his side, and there were so many things between us… He rose and sat on the edge of the bed, pulled me back into his arms, and kept stroking my back. When I had cried myself tired, he finally murmured, “If you keep crying, people outside will think I’m bullying you.”

I paused for a moment, then lay in his arms and said hoarsely, “That’s not coaxing at all. It’s not funny.” He laughed and said, “Then teach me—how should one coax someone?” I thought for a moment and whispered, “Do you remember the question you once asked me at Duke Di’s banquet?” He replied softly, “About me, what else has the princess heard?” My heart stirred; I straightened and looked at him. It turned out that not only did I remember every word clearly—he had kept them in his heart as well.

He looked back at me, his eyes full of amusement. I felt a little embarrassed under his gaze and lowered my head. “Actually, I’ve heard since childhood that Prince Yongping has a jade flute—endlessly charming, yet always unheard.” After he heard this, he didn’t speak at once. After a while he said, “When I’m out and about, it’s inconvenient to carry the jade flute with me.” I hummed in response and said nothing more.

He had come here in great secrecy; even if he had brought the jade flute, it must not make a sound within my palace, lest it give us away. I said a few more words to him, ate some warm, plain congee, then lay down, closed my eyes, and listened to the sound of his departure, though I didn’t dare look at his departing figure.

In the blink of an eye it was the first month again. Grandmother the Empress Dowager suddenly issued an edict permitting several of the Crown Prince’s dukes to leave confinement and granting them residence in Longqing Alley in Luoyang City. This edict effectively lifted years of house arrest; Di Renjie’s contributions were not insignificant. But with this release, whose schemes were truly being fulfilled?

Before the first edict was even fully discussed, a few days later the Prince of Luling submitted a memorial, saying he had suffered from a chronic illness for years and requested to come to the capital for treatment. The Empress Dowager personally issued a gracious edict allowing the Prince of Luling into the capital. This edict instantly put the Wu family princes in mortal fear. Seeing members of the Li family freed first and those who had been exiled for years summoned back to the capital, the Empress Dowager’s intentions grew ever clearer: the Wu family’s dominance in the world was likely coming to an end.

The Prince of Luling arrived in the capital on the eighth day of the first lunar month, which happened to be my birthday.

This time, under the pretext of treating his chronic illness, he appeared alone at the banquet. I saw a faint wetness in the Empress Dowager’s eyes, and when the Prince of Luling gently asked after her and showed concern, she seemed especially attentive. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness—after all, he was her own son. Though a prince, he had endured so much outside; only because she had been an emperor first and a mother second.

The banquet was more than half over when Li Chengqi suddenly stood and said, “Your grandson has something to present.” Everyone looked at him, not knowing what this mild-smiling prince intended to do. I too felt a pinch of nervousness. The Grand Empress Dowager, equally surprised, nodded and smiled, “Today is a family feast; no need for such formality, but by all means, perform.” Li Chengqi smiled slightly and said, “When the Grand Empress Dowager ascended the throne, Your grandson once offered a piece to congratulate Your Majesty’s rule. Now that Third Uncle has returned, Your grandson would like to present another piece today as a mark of respect.”

The Empress Dowager nodded repeatedly and smiled, “Come to think of it, I haven’t heard Chengqi play the flute in many years.”

Li Chengqi smiled as he held the flute to his lips. His eyes swept over everyone and met mine. I suddenly realized—this was the piece he had agreed to play for me; I hadn’t expected him to fulfill my wish before everyone today. As the flute’s melody unspooled, the hall fell silent. Some eyes showed surprise, some admiration: Ji Kang’s Guangling San was originally a qin piece, yet he had arranged it for the flute.

But my eyes were already wet; I stared steadily at him standing tall before me. Years ago he had given me that volume of Ji Kang’s writings, and now this piece also came from Ji Kang — its deeper meaning understood only by me.