Chapter Eighteen

“You remind me of someone,” the Imperial Grandmother’s voice sounded above, tinged with fatigue. “Seven or eight years ago, she knelt here just like this to beg on behalf of my son. After all these years, she still feigns illness every twelfth month, reminding me of the grief I felt when I lost my child.”

I stayed kneeling and listened, not daring to look up or speak. The Imperial Grandmother was talking about Wan’er.

“Yongan, raise your head and look at me.” the Imperial Grandmother commanded.

I looked up at her. In those sharply painted, icy eyes there was neither amusement nor anger: “Half a year ago, over the Fengyang Gate incident, you risked your life to stop Longji.

Today you even knelt to plead for his brothers. Among my grandchildren, could it be that you’ve taken a liking to someone three years your junior?”

That single sentence hit like thunder; I couldn’t reply. I had thought I had covered my tracks well enough—even Wan’er didn’t know about that matter.

Now I truly understood: in the Daming Palace, there was nothing the Imperial Aunt couldn’t see or hear.

I kowtowed again and said, “The Fengyang Gate incident was falsely presented by Yong’an; I beg Imperial Aunt to reduce the punishment.”

The Emperor regarded me for a moment and said, “If I intended to punish you, I wouldn’t have kept you until today.” After speaking, she stood and walked toward the outer hall.

Wei Tuan’er hurried after her, leaving a floorful of people still kneeling.

The incense still drifted through the air; I knelt at the side of the dragon throne as well, not daring to look at the expressions of those few people.

By the time Wan’er arrived, several hours had already passed.

She entered the hall still looking weary, and bowed to Li Chengqi and the others, saying, “The Emperor is now seeing Di Renjie; princes, please return to the Eastern Palace first.” When she finished she hurried over to me without speaking and reached out to help me up.

My legs had long since gone numb from kneeling; seeing Li Longji’s burning gaze fixed on me, I hastily turned my head away.

Great-Grandmother’s words were obvious: Li Longji pleased her among his sons and grandsons, and as the crown prince’s eldest son he was far removed from the throne—naturally a source of safety and protection.

But could she really think I had plotted against a ten-year-old boy?

Wan’er kept a handkerchief over her mouth the whole time, coughing softly, not stopping until she had led me to her rooms.

“Your kneeling has dragged me into this too,” Wan’er said with a smile, patting the couch. “Sit over here; I need to say a few things to you.” I went over and sat down, a sharp pain in my knees making me draw a cold breath.

“When I was seventeen I knelt in the same place for the Li family just like you did,” Wan’er said softly. “Seeing you today made me realize how foolish I was back then. He was her legitimate son; if she could muster the intent to kill him, what did it matter to add one more to the list? I thought that one kneel might make the Emperor hesitate even for a moment, give us some room to maneuver, but instead it only poured oil on the flames.”

I watched her in silence. She casually poured a cup of tea and handed it to me. “Your great-aunt by marriage is naturally suspicious,” she said.

“If she finds out that people close to her are being swayed, even to the point of risking their lives, wouldn’t that make her even more wary?”

What she said wasn’t wrong — it was spot on. In my panic I had hoped that making the Emperor hesitate, that reminding him the boy was his own legitimate grandson, might leave some opening. I forgot that my surname is Wu.

“But anyone thrown into the Junchen prison who has already seen the instruments of torture is half dead already; what chance does interrogation leave?” Wan’er sighed. “If he were still alive, perhaps I would still be like you now. If the person you care for were strapped down, their hands and feet bound, their skull broken open for the marrow — only a woman like the Emperor could remain so calm.”

I listened as she spoke of him sentence by sentence, and a name slowly formed in my mind.

Seven or eight years ago I was still just a child, and Wan’er was only sixteen or seventeen; whether she was protecting Li Hong or Li Xian, it all ended up as a bleak, faded memory.

I hesitated for a moment, then said, “Why didn’t Imperial Aunt punish him on the spot today?”

I didn’t believe that Wan’er’s memory of those days, or my kneeling now, could make her change her mind. After all, this wasn’t about smashing bowls and plates — it was about plotting to usurp the throne.

The case accusing Di Renjie of treason had surely reached matters far beyond what we knew, and that was the real reason the emperor chose not to pursue it.

Wan’er turned her head to look at me and said, “You want to ask me what became of Di Renjie’s treason case, don’t you?” I nodded, waiting for her to reveal the secret.

Wan’er propped her chin in her hand and said, “I don’t know the details of that case either.

It was your uncle Wu Chengsi who personally tried it with Lai Junchen, but since the emperor has just declared Di Renjie into the palace, there’s a very good chance he’ll be pardoned.”

I suddenly understood — Imperial Grandmother only wanted to probe those princes; she already had her decision in mind. She was still testing.

Ever since Prince Yongping knelt on the snowy grounds of Taichu Palace that night there was no change; from Fengyang Gate, or even before I entered the palace, or going all the way back to Li Xian’s death and Li Xian’s exile, the Crown Prince and the various princes had already become the people she least trusted.

Wan’er smiled at me, waiting for me to piece everything together before she said, “Still, your kneeling was useful — it exposed the emperor’s suspicions about you over the Fengyang Gate matter.

Otherwise you wouldn’t have known her thoughts, and I would have remained in the dark. With only her carrying that doubt and watching your every move, just thinking about it frightens me.”

I forced a smile. “This kneeling has earned me the reputation of being schemed against — but the one who was actually schemed was the ten-year-old Prince of Linzi.”

Wan’er poured herself another cup of tea, sat up, and said earnestly, “That’s better. Who in this palace isn’t scheming?

She’ll only feel secure if the emperor can see your plots; it’s the ones he can’t see that she fears most.” She took a sip of tea and sighed, “If Prince Yongping had one or two faults, it would be fine — he wouldn’t be made the target of everyone’s ire.”

That sentence soaked me through with a chill; I didn’t answer.

The crown prince, as the eldest son, was always the target of blame; if he faults, it’s death—if he doesn’t, he’s accused of hiding ill intent.

“Sorry,” I said, “this matter drags you into it too.”

“If I gripe aloud, you don’t need to take it seriously,” Wan’er said, blowing on the tea leaves in her cup and smiling. “Just now the emperor truly flew into a rage, saying I take leave every December on his memorial day, that after all these years I still can’t let go of my resentment. I can’t let go—what good would letting go do? The emperor would surely think, how could such a big thing be so easily set aside? He’d assume I’m still secretly harboring hatred.”

I leaned against her side, my hand rubbing my knee as I stared into space.

The flutter I felt before entering the palace still remained; the Imperial Aunt seemed like a childhood legend — a woman who ascended the throne, bringing the Wu clan into the exalted Daming Palace to stand shoulder to shoulder with the Li family.

What a formidable figure she must have been. Only now, standing beside her, do I realize it was all bought with one hatred and drop of blood after another. How many have borne the charge of treason?

They were all the closest of kin.

“Once the twelfth lunar month passes, you’ll be thirteen,” Wan’er said, covering her teacup, “find a chance to leave the palace. Though I hate to see you go, I want you to be farther away.”

I didn’t reply; both of us fell silent.

Wan’er lived next to Wei Tuan’er. I had planned to avoid that place, but as soon as I stepped outside I ran into a woman talking with Wei Tuan’er.

She wore a moon-teal wide-sleeved, front-crossing shirt, with a pale yellow shawl slanted over her arm, which made her features look gentle and approachable, as if she’d stepped out of an ink painting.

I vaguely heard them mention something about a concubine’s chamber and was about to slip away on the other side, but she heard the noise and turned her head—she was the Crown Princess.

I had only seen her once, in the first month of the year I entered the palace; afterward she repeatedly claimed illness and kept out of sight.

Grandmother Imperial Aunt apparently wasn’t very attentive toward this daughter-in-law, only bringing her up in passing when chatting with the Crown Prince.

Now, looking at her face, which bore a five- or six-point resemblance to the Prince of Yongping, I found myself inexplicably flustered.

I hurriedly bowed and said, “Crown Princess.” She nodded lightly, glanced at Wei Tuan’er, and Wei Tuan’er quickly smiled and said, “This is the Lady of Yong’an.”

The Crown Princess looked at me gently; her eyes sparkled with added warmth. “Get up.

It’s been almost three years since the year you entered the palace—time flies, and you do look a bit different.” I rose and said, “It got dark a moment ago, so I didn’t notice; please forgive me, Crown Princess.”

The Crown Princess smiled at me and said, “There are no such formalities.” She turned to Wei Tuan’er and asked, “I’ve always heard the Empress Dowager is very fond of this little nephew—has she suggested a marriage yet?” Wei Tuan’er shook her head and replied, “It came up today, but the little county princess is shy; we brushed it off.”

I heard the two of them exchange words, sounding very familiar with each other, though not as subtle as Wan’er had described.

Thinking carefully about what I had vaguely overheard when leaving just now — could it be that the Crown Prince had changed his mind, or that the Crown Princess wished to grant someone their wish?

The talk of taking a concubine must have been about Wei Tuan’er.

The Crown Princess seemed unaware of the terrifying scene in the Penglai Hall earlier; she only laughed twice and said, “Such an obedient child, I rather like her.” Wei Tuan’er glanced at me and forced a smile, “Several princes are already able to take wives.

If the Crown Princess likes her, you might mention it to the Emperor; he would certainly see it through.” The Crown Princess smiled at me but did not respond.

I felt a little at a loss but dared not take my leave rashly; in the end the Crown Princess nodded and released me.

After that day, Imperial Aunt acted as if nothing had happened, only occasionally mentioning that Di Renjie had been demoted to magistrate of Pengze, and even talking with me about the banquet over a year ago where he was appointed chancellor.

I replied carefully, and now and then I could see some regret in Imperial Aunt’s eyes.

Whenever my uncle Wu Chengsi repeatedly urged for execution, she refused without hesitation and bluntly said she would not bring up the matter again.

When my great-aunt was in a good mood, she would ask about the qionghua fruits I had collected two months earlier, smiling and saying that if I could grow new seedlings next year, they could stay in the palace’s imperial garden and tend the qionghua there.

Every time she mentioned “next year,” I always thought of Wan’er’s words: that leaving the palace wouldn’t be difficult—if father came to ask my great-aunt she wouldn’t forcibly keep me—but I didn’t want to think further on it.

In the Daming Palace the rain and snow never ceased, but on the second day of the first lunar month a heavy snowfall finally came.

Yiping carefully tied my robe for me and adjusted my hood, saying, “Miss Shangguan sent someone late last night to say she’d be arriving earlier at Jiayu Hall today and told the County Princess to go by herself.” I hummed and asked, “What time did they come?” I had gone to bed very late last night—she came even later?

“Three quarters into the Hour of the Ox,” Yiping thought for a moment and said, “luckily I wasn’t sleeping deeply.” I was taken aback, puzzled why Waner would send word in the dead of night: “Did she say anything else?” Yiping shook her head and said, “Nothing more, only to tell the County Princess that today is the day people from the palaces pay their New Year respects, so don’t be late.”

I nodded, feeling there was something odd, glanced at the pale window, but couldn’t quite make it out.