Chapter 14 — Old Dreams on the Dragon Bed

Emperor Lang Zhao gazed down at the tiny child sitting upon his knee. The wrath that had simmered within his chest throughout the entire day was finally punctured by the innocent words of the boy, leaving it to quietly deflate. He bent down, scooped Chuahui into his arms, and settled him securely. Your tutor truly dares to teach you anything under the sun, he murmured. Chuahui leaned naturally against his chest and nodded with utmost solemnity.

The tutor said that because His Imperial Father is wise enough to select capable men, he is able to teach me so well.

Lang Zhao actually laughed aloud at this. I knelt quietly to one side, lifting the earthen teapot to pour him a fresh cup of tea.

Your Majesty, the tea has grown cold. This concubine shall fetch you another cup.

He reached out and accepted it from my hands, the dark cloud over his brow already half dissipated. Out upon the bustling court, the Prince of Su had steadily amassed considerable renown and influence. Yet within the secluded chambers of the Fragrant Palace, it was young Chuahui who had truly captured Lang Zhao’s heart. In the quiet years that followed, I often found myself wondering how much of that reckless ambition spoken of so lightly by Chuahui that day had actually taken root in Lang Zhao’s mind. In the beginning, perhaps there was only a passing wariness, a mere three parts of caution. But as the seasons bled into one another, and the Prince of Su’s reputation for sagacity spread far and wide, those three parts of caution gradually whetted themselves into a blade as sharp as frost.

By the time Chuahui reached his twelfth year, Lang Zhao remained in robust and formidable health. He continued to attend court daily, reviewing memorials with meticulous care, and during his moments of leisure, he would still personally examine Chuahui’s scholarly progress. The one who grew restless first was, inevitably, the Prince of Su. He possessed a sharper intellect than the deposed crown prince, and he was far more adept at enduring humiliation in silence, yet it was his profound misfortune to face Lang Zhao. For a man who had reigned supreme over the realm for decades, patience was the single virtue he possessed in the greatest abundance.

On the very night the Prince of Su launched his rebellion, the capital did not descend into chaos. The palace gates were bolted shut with finality, and the imperial granaries were thoroughly sealed. Those generals who should have thrown open the city gates to welcome the approaching forces were met not with alliance, but with the cold, unyielding steel of the imperial guards pressed against their throats before they could even signal their accomplices. The wrath of the Son of Heaven descended like a tempest, and the court underwent another thorough and merciless purging. Not a single soul who had once fawned upon the Prince of Su or bolstered his faction managed to escape retribution. With this single, crushing blow, the capital finally grew deathly still. The storytellers in the teahouses dared not utter even the two characters of the Prince of Su’s name ever again.

The white silken cord destined for the imperial consort Shen was brought to her by my own hands. The Hall of Immortals, the palace she had inhabited for all these long years, had never once fallen into disrepair. Even now, with the Prince of Su utterly undone, the flora and fauna within her courtyard remained meticulously trimmed and tended. By the time I stepped across her threshold, she had already changed into a fresh robe of lake-blue silk, her hair dressed with such immaculate precision that not a single strand strayed from its place. She still appeared remarkably youthful at a glance. Only the delicate fan of wrinkles at the corners of her eyes betrayed the passage of time, lending her an air of even greater frigidity than before. When her gaze fell upon the wooden tray resting in my hands, it seemed she had anticipated this moment all along.

I knew deep down that it would be you who came.

I stepped forward and laid the white silk gently upon the table. You were always clever, elder sister.

She lifted a porcelain teacup, her fingertips tracing the delicate orchid motif painted upon its surface with supreme poise and elegance. Throughout my entire life, I have never once conceded defeat to you in a single matter. When we speak of noble lineage, the Shen clan is illustrious and pure; when we speak of offspring, my Duanhui never once fell behind your Chuahui. And when it comes to the ruthless arts of the inner palace, when I ascended to the rank of Imperial Noble Consort, you were still scrubbing floors and learning basic etiquette in some obscure courtyard.

She lifted her eyes to look at me, and within their depths, the bitter resentment she had harbored for a lifetime finally broke the surface. I merely lost to the merciless current of time itself.

I shook my head slowly, walking over to take a seat directly across from her. Those who arrive first do not always manage to retain their footing, and those who linger until the end are not necessarily the ones who emerge victorious. To lose is simply to lose. Tell me, when Chuahui was three years old, who was it that ordered someone to smear oil across the slick green stones beside the imperial garden pond? When I labored in childbirth, why was the daughter of the imperial midwife suddenly whisked away by a distant branch of the Shen clan? And during the winter before last, why did Chuahui’s bowl of pear syrup happen to contain traces of osmanthus pollen, a substance he was deathly allergic to?

Her expression stiffened by a fraction, and the hand gripping the porcelain cup finally began to tremble. Matters having reached this juncture, whether she confessed or denied was utterly inconsequential. For all these years, I had worn a submissive mask before her, and she had always maintained an air of gracious benevolence toward me in public. We had called each other sister with honeyed words, yet behind closed doors, neither of us had ever spared the other a merciful blow.

Suddenly, she let out a sharp, piercing laugh, which rapidly deteriorated into a raw, ragged shriek. The haughty pride that had sustained her through decades of palace intrigues was finally draining out of her in this singular, wretched moment.

Consort Duan, you are far more vicious than Empress Lan ever was.

I shook my head once more. Compared to our late aunt, I am remarkably benevolent. Our aunt demanded that every single person step aside to clear a path for her. As for me, I merely ensured that those who blocked my path would never rise again.

After draining her teacup to the last bitter drop, I stood up and executed a precise, immaculate bow before her. The hour has arrived. I must ask you to embark on your final journey, Imperial Consort. Down along the nether springs, Your Highness the Prince of Su will surely appreciate the company.

Outside the grand hall, the twilight was bleeding across the horizon. The dying rays of the sun filtered through the intricate window lattices, casting long shadows across the white silken cord, making it resemble the bridal veil she had worn when she was first carried into the imperial prince's manor so many years ago. The heavy doors of the Hall of Immortals slowly closed behind me. A cold spring wind swept down the desolate, endless palace corridors, whispering that spring had finally arrived. From this day forth, the very last adversary in the inner palace capable of standing against me as an equal had reached her definitive end.