Chapter 8 — A Lifetime's Delayed Longing

In the years following, while serving as an official away in the capital, I finally understood that one cannot rely on the tears and loud outbursts of others to decide whom to love.

Nor can one wait until someone has perished to realize what debts remained unpaid.

I listened in silence. The wind swept through the palace corridors, stirring up a few fallen leaves. He withdrew his gaze.

The Evergreen Pavilion is a fine place.

I once went to look.

I replied:

It is a residence for the female officials of the palace.

Mm.

He spoke in a low voice:

It is warmer than the isolated courtyard in my dreams.

Those words were so soft they nearly dissolved into the wind. Yet I heard them. I made no reply. Nor did he wait for an answer. After offering a formal bow, he turned and walked away. From that day onward, we occasionally crossed paths when managing official palace affairs. Nothing more than Lord Huo and Chief Nguyen. Proper, courteous, and strictly bound by convention. That was for the best. Years drifted by, and Meng Huai Zhou grew frail with age, retiring from her post. She refused to return to her native village, saying she had spent half her life within the palace walls and would have nowhere to go upon leaving. I personally escorted her to the Evergreen Pavilion. She stood beneath the pomegranate tree, her eyes unusually red.

Nguyen Tang Van, you truly know how to arrange a path of retreat for others.

I smiled.

I learned it from Elder Sister Meng.

She cast a sideways glance at me.

I never taught you this.

You did.

You taught me that records must be kept clear, and people must be known clearly.

Meng Huai Zhou fell silent for a moment.

And what of yourself?

I knew what she was asking. I looked toward the elderly former female officials basking in the sun within the courtyard of the Evergreen Pavilion. Some were sewing garments, others were decocting herbal medicine, and some sat beneath the eaves dozing off. I spoke softly:

I am very clear as well.

I owe no one anything.

And I am waiting for no one.

She nodded.

That is good.

Many years later, Su Xing Yu returned to the capital for a brief visit. She had married a medicinal merchant in the southern provinces. It was not a grand or noble household. Yet in her letters, she wrote that her husband treated her with utmost kindness. Their apothecary kept stocks of cough lozenges year-round, and whenever her cough worsened, he would sit beneath the lamplight to brew her medicine. When she came to the palace to pay her respects, she wore modest, elegant garments. Though her complexion lacked deep color, the tension in her brow and eyes had smoothed away.

Chief Nguyen.

She curtsied to me. I reached out and raised her.

Miss Su.

She smiled.

Do you still address me thus?

I smiled as well.

I am accustomed to it.

She produced a small wooden box.

Southern herbal candies. They are of little value, but let the female officials in the Evergreen Pavilion have a taste of sweetness.

I accepted the box.

My thanks.

She studied me, and only after a long pause did she speak in a quiet murmur:

Tang Van, in all these years, I have often wondered what would have become of us if you had never entered the palace.

I said:

It is all in the past.

She nodded.

Indeed.

It is all in the past.

Before leaving the palace, she suddenly embraced me. It was a very light touch, as though she were finally laying down an old thorn she had not dared to brush against for years. I did not push her away, nor did I return the embrace. I merely stood there, waiting for her to release her hold first. That was enough. That very winter, the Empress fell gravely ill. Before her final breath, she entrusted the Bureau of Palace Attendants into my hands.

Nguyen Tang Van.

Her majesty was exceedingly frail, yet she still fixed her gaze upon me.

When I first admitted you into the palace all those years ago, I truly believed you would not endure three months.

I smiled, though the corners of my eyes grew hot.

Your Majesty misjudged.

She smiled faintly as well.

True.

I misjudged.

She reached out and grasped my hand.

In the days to come, let any female official in the palace who has a place to go depart in peace.

And for those who have nowhere to return to, the doors of the Evergreen Pavilion must always remain open.

I knelt before the bedchamber floor.

This subject will forever remember your command.

Following the passing of the Empress, I kept vigil by her bier for seven full days. During those seven days, my thoughts often drifted back to the very first time I had knelt before her. She had asked me then if I felt no regret. At the time, my reply had been barely a whisper. Only now did I realize that it had been the heaviest choice of my entire life. Twelve years later, I had risen to the position of supreme attendant. Attendant Nguyen. The newly arrived junior maidservants in the palace all held me in dread. They whispered that I audited records with merciless precision, possessed an unerring eye for character, and could freeze a person with a single unsmiling glance. Upon hearing such descriptions, I scrutinized my reflection in the mirror with utmost seriousness. It was true—I was not particularly fond of smiling. When Meng Huai Zhou caught wind of this rumor at the Evergreen Pavilion, she laughed until she fell into a coughing fit that lasted half an achievement of the day. She sent a messenger to relay a single phrase to me:

You deserve it.

I carried a parcel of herbal candies to visit her. She rested against the wooden eaves, her hair heavily frosted with silver. I placed the confections upon the small table.

Sent by Su Xing Yu.

She arched a brow.

To think that girl still remembers.

Mm.

And what of Huo Qing Ci?

I pondered the matter briefly.

A few days ago, a memorial from the Ministry of Rites contained errors, so I rejected and returned it.

Meng Huai Zhou chuckled softly.

You truly refuse to leave a shred of grace for anyone.

I smiled as well.

An erroneous document ought to be returned.

She nodded approvingly.

Well done.

The pomegranate tree within the courtyard had borne fruit, glowing a brilliant, vibrant red.

By the time I reached the age of forty, a junior maidservant in the palace, while taking inventory of the old storehouses, unearthed a wooden chest filled with red wedding candles dating back many years. The paper seals pasted across the lid had long since faded. The manifest recorded that these were surplus candles recovered from the Palace of Shining Yang and deposited into storage. I stood before the threshold of the storehouse, staring at that chest of red candles for a long time without speaking. The junior maidservant looked somewhat uneasy.

Attendant, should these candles be kept?

I reached out and picked up a single pair. They bore the interwoven patterns of dragons and phoenixes against a background symbolizing joyous union. They looked remarkably similar to the pair of candles Huo Qing Ci had chosen in a dream for Su Xing Yu. Yet now, they were nothing more than a chest of expired, forgotten wax. I set them back down.

Send them to the Evergreen Pavilion.

The maidservant blinked in surprise.

The red candles?

I offered a faint smile.

They burn lamps late into the night for reading at the Evergreen Pavilion.

Red candles are candles all the same.