Chapter 58 (2/2): Grievances Unspoken

Futai hurried to reassure her.

“Yes, yes, my lady, go back and stay warm. My fault for delaying you. Have some hot soup when you’re inside.”

He instructed two maids to escort her carefully.

A wu thanked him again and, with the raincoat and hat shielding her, hurried back to Langhua Hall with her maids. 

By the time they arrived, it was late.

The maids returned from the kitchens with only fried millet cakes, Xiliang rice porridge, and some fruit-filled pastries.

A wu’s frustration flared.

“They won’t even let me eat properly? Are they trying to starve me?”

The maids soothed her, urging her to make do.

It was their fault for being late, they said.

With no other choice, A wu ate the cooled cakes, washing them down with hot tea.

The taste wasn’t bad, but it did little to lift her spirits.

After a quick bath and more tea, she prepared for bed.

Yet, as she lay there, her heart churned with resentment.

To live in the imperial palace, surrounded by splendor, and still go hungry?

The injustice gnawed at her.

Outside, the wind howled, and the rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the storm in her heart.

Tears pricked her eyes, and she let them fall.

***

Futai returned to Emperor Jingxi and reported his task complete.

Hesitating, he ventured, “Noble Lady Ning looked so pitiful, her eyes brimming with tears as she glanced toward Your Majesty’s palanquin. Surely, she misses you dearly.”

The emperor’s expression remained cool, detached.

“Her? Missing me?”

Futai pressed on eagerly.

“Oh, absolutely! I swear, she’s grown thinner—her chin’s sharp as a blade. She must be pining for Your Majesty!”

Emperor Jingxi’s brow furrowed as he sifted through his memories.

“Thinner? From a distance, she seemed… fuller, perhaps, than before.”

Futai leaned in, his voice earnest.

“Your Majesty, that’s only from afar. Up close, you’d see—Noble Lady Ning is frail as a reed in the wind. Who could look at her and not feel their heart ache?”

The emperor let out a cold laugh.

“She brought it on herself.”

Futai sighed, a touch of pleading in his tone.

“Your Majesty!”

Jingxi turned his head, gazing through the glazed window of his palanquin.

Outside, the rain and snow swirled together, and there, in the distance, was her delicate silhouette.

The deep blue raincoat Futai had given her fluttered wildly in the wind, a fragile banner against the storm.

His eyes darkened, his voice rough with suppressed emotion.

“She’s never lacked for anything. Why is she dressed so thinly?”

Futai seized the opportunity and said, “Indeed, my lord. So thinly clad, and standing in the rain for so long…”

Jingxi’s tone grew icy as he asked, “What did you say to her out there? Knowing it’s this cold, you kept her talking? If she falls ill, whose fault will it be?”

Futai blinked, stunned.

“Ah?”

He felt utterly wronged, his intentions pure.

He’d only lingered because he knew the emperor was watching from the palanquin, hoping a glimpse of A wu might soften his heart, might bridge the chasm between them.

Who’d have thought Jingxi would turn the blame on him? 

The life of a servant, caught between loyalties, was a thankless one.

The emperor’s voice was flat.

“What did she say?”

Futai, sensing his master’s curiosity, embellished with care he replied, “Not much, only that her heart aches day and night, pining for Your Majesty. She said you’ve cast her aside, and she doesn’t know what to do. A young thing like her, unfamiliar with the palace’s twists and turns, doesn’t know how to curry favor. All she can do is wallow in her sorrow, weeping through the nights.”

Jingxi’s voice cut like a blade.

“Enough.”

Futai flinched, startled by the sharpness.

The emperor’s eyes narrowed.

“What’s this? You pity her now? Shall I send you to Langhua Hall to guard her gates? You can start tomorrow.”

Futai dropped to his knees, his voice trembling with mock despair.

“Your Majesty, have mercy! Spare your servant, and take care of your health—I’ll say no more!”

The wound from the Crown Prince’s attack, kept quiet and carefully tended, had only just begun to heal.

Futai dreaded any further upheaval.

Jingxi’s voice was heavy, final.

“Set off.”

Futai murmured, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

The dragon palanquin glided toward the Empress Dowager’s Changshou Hall, where Jingxi sat to keep her company. 

The Empress Dowager, still simmering over the recent clash between father and son, aired her grievances—mostly aimed at the Crown Prince.

To her, the emperor’s dalliance was a trifling matter, but for the prince to challenge his father over a mere woman, to commit such an act of defiance, was unthinkable.

As Jingxi sipped his tea, he casually asked, “Has Noble Lady Ning come to pay her respects to you lately, Mother?”

The Empress Dowager raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, she comes. Always with Consort Hui, offering her greetings and then slipping away without a word. Just checking in, nothing more.”

Jingxi merely nodded, a soft “Oh” escaping him.

She studied her son, a knowing glint in her eye.

“What’s this? Missing her, are you?”

He turned his face away, his expression cool.

“Not particularly.”

The Empress Dowager chuckled.

“You’re a grown man, Jingxi, yet here you are, sulking like a boy. If you were seventeen, I’d let it pass. But a delicate young woman, fresh as a willow bud in spring—you went to such lengths to bring her into the palace, only to leave her languishing. What’s the point of that?”

Jingxi’s lips twitched, his voice low.

“Mother, I’ll take my leave.”

She pressed on, undeterred.

“A flower in bloom is meant to be plucked, not left to—”

“Mother, please,” he interrupted, exasperation creeping into his tone.

“Enough.”

She fell silent, stunned.

A man of his years, and still he bristled like a petulant youth when teased.

Leaving Changshou Hall, Jingxi directed his palanquin to detour past Langhua Hall, where A wu resided.

Futai, though cautious not to overstep again, understood his master’s unspoken wishes and signaled the bearers to slow their pace.

The bitter wind and rain shrouded the palace, the glazed lanterns casting a hazy glow.

Through Langhua Hall’s high walls, Jingxi peered, but saw only faint glimmers of light, nothing more.

His brows lowered, he murmured, “Go ask if Noble Lady Ning has retired for the night.”

Futai bowed, ready to go himself.

Jingxi’s voice turned stern.

“Don’t let her know I’m asking. Find some other excuse.”

Futai paused, suppressing a smile—and a sigh.

Love, it seemed, turned even the proudest emperor into a creature of contradictions, no matter his age or station.

He nodded cheerfully and replied, “Yes, Your Majesty. I understand.”

But, true to his nature, he betrayed Jingxi the moment he returned.

“Your Majesty, Noble Lady Ning has already retired.”

Jingxi’s response was curt.

“To Fengtian Hall.”

Futai hesitated, then added, “But I heard she went to bed hungry…”

Jingxi’s eyes snapped to him.

“Hungry?”

Futai sighed dramatically.

“It seems the rain delayed her return, and she missed the meal hour. She made do with some cold leftovers—hardly fitting for someone as delicate as she. They say she ate reluctantly, tears in her eyes as she lay down…”

Jingxi knew Futai was embellishing, but the thought of A wu going without a proper meal struck a chord.

He spoke decisively.

“Tell the imperial kitchen to prepare a few hot dishes—doesn’t matter what, but freshly made. Have them sent to Langhua Hall at once.”

Futai bowed and replied, “Yes, Your Majesty!”

The imperial kitchen was strict, its fires doused after the meal hour, but an emperor’s command could reignite them.

Futai wasted no time, dispatching servants to carry out the order.

Jingxi leaned back in his seat, eyes half-closed.

His mind conjured an image: the Crown Prince holding A wu in his arms, her delicate beauty nestled against him.

They looked so perfectly matched, a pair of young lovers, while he, the emperor, was cast as the villain tearing them apart. 

He remembered her tearful eyes, the unmasked worry in them as she gazed at the prince.

His heart grew cold, his voice hoarse as he ordered, “Set off.”

Futai, sensing his mood, could only comply.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

But at that moment, the gates of Langhua Hall swung open.

A palace maid emerged, holding a gauze lantern, followed by a figure. 

Futai’s voice was urgent.

“Your Majesty, it’s Noble Lady Ning!”

Jingxi’s head snapped up, his eyes locking on her. 

There she was, her hair loosely pinned with a white jade hairpin, clad in a crimson jacket and a pomegranate skirt.

The wind pressed the thin fabric against her slender frame, accentuating her fragile grace, like a wisp of cloud just rising from the mountains.

She knew he was there.

Her eyes, glistening with unshed tears, met his through the rain and mist, a glance soft and fleeting, yet piercingly evocative.

That single look was a spark, igniting a tumult of emotions within him—sour, sweet, painful, all bursting forth at once. 

Jingxi rose abruptly, leaping from the palanquin.

His dragon boots splashed against the wet stone as he strode toward the hall.

A wu, seeing him approach, turned as if to retreat inside.

He reached the gate just as it began to close, his hand shooting out to hold it fast.

A wu froze, her startled gaze lifting to meet his.

In the misty rain, her eyes were wide, dewy, and utterly captivating.

His heart clenched.

With a swift motion, he pulled her into his arms.

A wu’s voice trembled with a mix of grievance and defiance.

“Your Majesty, what are you doing? Let me go!”

She’d admit it—she’d come out deliberately to catch his eye.

But now that she had, she wanted to keep some shred of dignity, to play the part of the wronged lady.

Jingxi’s grip tightened, his voice low and firm.

“Stop fussing.”

Stop fussing?

Oh, she’d fuss all she liked!

She pushed against him.

“Let go! I don’t want Your Majesty’s embrace. You don’t even care for me—let go!”

Her anger was real, her struggles fierce, but to Jingxi, they only fanned the flames of his desire. 

He scooped her up in his arms.

“Not out here. You’ll make a spectacle.”

A wu squirmed, refusing to cooperate, but his hold on her waist was unyielding. 

“You leave!” she cried, twisting in his grasp.

“Don’t come here!”

Her soft, pliant body writhed against him, boneless yet lively, stoking a fire in his veins.

He carried her swiftly into the bedchamber, his sudden arrival startling the maids and eunuchs, who scrambled to lift curtains and open doors.

Unimpeded, Jingxi strode past the screen, laying her down on the embroidered bed.

His strong fingers gripped her slender waist, and he leaned close, his voice a low murmur in her ear.

“Still fussing?”

The familiar, regal scent of dragon’s blood incense enveloped her, flooding her senses with memories—moments she thought lost, now startlingly reclaimed.

A wu froze, then let out a wail, tears spilling freely down her cheeks.