Chapter 7 — Old Dreams on the Dragon Bed

Just one more step, and the sky beyond the walls of the Phoenix Ceremony Palace would belong to her entirely. All that talk of virtue, benevolence, and walking on eggshells to read another's mood would be gone. What she truly desired was for every living soul to grovel beneath the hem of her robes. I watched the wild, consuming fire blazing in her eyes and offered her a final, merciful chance:

"Aunt, you and His Majesty have shared decades of profound affection. Can it be that you truly wish to walk this irreversible path of ruin?"

Hearing those two words of affection, her expression froze into an arctic sheet, and she struck me across the face with a vicious, stinging blow.

"Affection? Do you actually believe this palace ever shared a shred of genuine affection with that man?"

"All those years ago, when I first crossed the palace threshold, he took my hand and swore before the heavens that he would never betray me."

"And how did that vow end? The military power of the Lam clan was carved up and scattered to the winds, leaving that common woman Shen to trample over my dignity and ride upon my head."

"Even the Third Imperial Prince, born of that wretched Shen woman, was showered with his endless praise. He would constantly boast of how clever the boy was, how fiercely he resembled him in his youth."

"For all these countless years, I have forced myself to play the part of the virtuous wife, pretending to be generous and tolerant. It was he, step by step, who backed me into this inescapable corner."

"Since he never intended to leave a single breathing space for me, why on earth should I harbor any mercy and leave a path of survival for him?"

She gripped my chin with bruising force, her patience entirely evaporated: "Pour it! Drink it down!"

"If you dare to harbor even a shred of misplaced softness, I will slaughter your father first, and then have my guards drag you down to be buried alive alongside His Majesty!"

The porcelain bowl of dark medicine was shoved forcefully into my hands. The heavy, lingering heat radiated directly into my palms, but I dared not loosen my grip by even a fraction. Outside, the festive banquet music continued to play, its hollow strains drifting through the thick, heavily bolted doors like the distant tolling of a funeral bell from another realm. I cradled the medicinal bowl and turned away, tears streaming down my face. Once this draught was delivered, the night would pass, and everything would be settled by dawn. The murder of the sovereign would be rewritten as a sudden, fatal illness, and the unforgivable crime of treason would be squarely pinned upon the Third Imperial Prince. As for myself, I would be nothing more than Consort Lam, forced by the Empress into playing the executioner, only to be conveniently cast aside as the ultimate scapegoat. My tears splashed into the dark liquid, instantly swallowed by the swirling black concoction. One step, two steps. Just as I prepared to take the third, a low, mocking chuckle suddenly echoed from the shadows behind me.

"Truly, I had no idea."

"After decades spent as husband and wife, the Empress harbored such a deep and festering resentment toward me."

The chamber doors glided open in silence, and Nguyen Lang Chieu strolled leisurely out from the profound darkness, the hem of his dark blue robe faintly stained with dried, dark crimson patches. My aunt whipped her head around in horror, her gaze darting frantically toward the dragon bed. Through the layered gauze curtains, the silhouette of a body still lay motionless and still. She forced her head back, but the mere glance drained every last drop of blood from her face, leaving her stark white. At last, the terrifying truth dawned upon her. All these past days, when she had issued imperial edicts in his stead, bestowed royal marriages, and even ordered bowl after bowl of medicine to be brought to the sickbed, she had been playing a fool's game. Every single action had merely been performed for the benefit of a double. Nguyen Lang Chieu walked deliberately to the imperial desk, picked up a prepared decree of ascension, scanned it twice with an amused glance, and tossed it carelessly back onto the wood.

"The Empress has certainly labored exhaustively these past few days."

"From the pristine, upright scholars in the imperial court to the former remnants of the Eastern Palace, and even the staunch old ministers who once stood faithfully by my side—you have arranged and replaced them all to your liking. You have played the part of the ruler far more convincingly than I ever did."

Yet, regardless of everything, my aunt was still the Empress. After a fleeting moment of utter panic, she forcibly composed herself and spoke through stiff lips:

"If His Majesty is not resting within the Hall of Supreme Purity, then you ought to emerge and take charge of the morning court."

"Throughout these trying days, this concubine has not even had a moment to shed her garments, keeping vigil day and night in the great hall to stabilize the realm on Your Majesty's behalf."

"Yet, in the end, His Majesty chose to deceive me."

Nguyen Lang Chieu fixed his gaze upon her, the faint smile vanishing from his lips: "Had I not deceived you, how else could I have possibly known the true depths of your ambition and the boundless greed of the Eastern Palace?"

"And how else could I have discovered just how many of those self-proclaimed loyal ministers surrounding me could no longer wait to swear allegiance to a new master?"

"Besides, throughout these past several decades, I have only lied to you this one time."

"When you deceived me, did you do so any less frequently?"

Hearing those words, my aunt's expression fractured completely, the fragile veneer of calmness shattering beyond repair.

"These words of Your Majesty... this concubine simply does not understand."

12

Nguyen Lang Chieu stared at her, his gaze sinking deeper with every passing second. Years seemed to peel away, and the relentless rain of Thieu Chau once again poured down in torrents. The late emperor had commanded him to travel south to oversee the management of flood controls. He was young then, with a temper as unyielding as iron, and shortly after arriving in Thieu Chau, he had been ambushed along the mountain road, sustaining a severe injury to his leg. The local government office was ancient, damp, and freezing, and the medicinal herbs brought by the imperial physicians were subpar at best. Before long, his wound began to fester. The agony kept him awake through the endless nights, yet by daylight, he was still forced to listen to subordinates drone on through endless memorials. Some claimed grain transport ships could not navigate the waters, while others argued that the western passes could not be opened. Back and forth the excuses went, a ceaseless volley of shifting blame and evasion. Brimming with fury, Nguyen Lang Chieu leaned heavily on a cane and limped out to inspect the river embankments with his own eyes. When he finally returned, the soles of his boots were caked in thick mud and stagnant water, and his half-healed wound had torn open once more. His personal guards urged him to rest and recover. Sitting bitterly beneath the eaves, nursing a smoldering wrath within his chest, he raised his bow and casually shot down a stray carrier pigeon that had lost its way. Bound to the bird's leg was a small bamboo cylinder, its opening sealed tight with the official red wax of the Lam family. Inside lay a detailed map of the regional river currents.