In the quiet of the evening, A wu rummaged through her belongings, sifting through her modest treasures to take stock of what little she possessed.
Her fingers brushed against something unexpected—a small parcel wrapped in reed paper.
It was the honeyed pill, a gift from Futai, untouched since the day he’d given it to her.
The brittle paper crinkled in her hand, stirring memories of Emperor Jingxi.
Flashes of their intimate moments flooded her mind, vivid and unbidden.
That day, she had teased the Crown Prince deliberately, but the emperor—oh, he had left her breathless, craving more.Â
The older man’s vigor surprised her, his skill undeniable.
Even in the height of passion, he maintained an air of restraint, his stern, dignified countenance at odds with the fervor of his actions.
It was that very contradiction—his cool, reserved face against the heat of their entwined bodies—that ignited something wild in her, a longing she couldn’t shake.Â
On rare occasions, when his tightly held control slipped, those fleeting glimpses of raw emotion thrilled her.
She savored them, turning them over in her mind like a connoisseur tasting fine wine.
Perhaps, she admitted with a wry smile, there was a perverse streak in her.
When Lu Yunjian or the Crown Prince begged for her attention, she found it dull, uninspiring.
But him—Emperor Jingxi—he was just right.
Yet, what use were these thoughts?
Her world had crumbled.
The grand and the trivial, the poised and the unguarded—all were lost to her now.
She let out a soft sigh, the weight of her future settling heavily.
Like countless other women in the palace, she would be left to languish alone in an empty chamber.
It wasn’t unbearable, but a quiet ache of disappointment lingered.Â
Better to plan ahead, she decided.
Perhaps this pill could serve some purpose.
She bathed, the warm water soothing her skin, and afterward applied fragrant ointments, smoothing them over her body until her skin gleamed soft and supple.
She took the honeyed pill, rinsing it carefully with clear water before slipping it inside.
Lying flat, she waited as the pill dissolved, a tingling warmth started spreading through her.
It was neither wholly pleasant nor painful, but an odd, prickling sensation that coursed through her veins, leaving her body flushed with an unfamiliar fullness.
Instinctively, she tugged at the crimson silk wrapped around her, letting it fall away.
But the act only deepened her sense of emptiness, as if something vital were missing.
Her vision blurred, faces flickering in her mind’s eye until they settled on one: Emperor Jingxi’s stern, commanding features.Â
The mere thought of that face stoked her yearning.
She clutched the embroidered quilt, her nails digging into the fabric as she bit her lip, her slender waist twisting subtly against the silken sheets, seeking relief in their soft embrace.
A sound escaped her lips—soft, unintended—and it roused the attention of a palace maid.
The girl approached, her voice tentative as she asked, “Is everything all right, my lady?”Â
A wu’s voice was hoarse, strained.
“It’s nothing. Just a dream. Leave me.”Â
The maid, flustered by the husky, honeyed tone, blushed deeply and scurried away.
It was a long while before the sensation ebbed.
A wu rose, exhaling a satisfied breath, her body finally at ease.
In the depths of this palace, who could say what the future held?
That man would likely never visit her again.Â
And so, she told herself, life without a man might be just fine.
***
If A wu’s days held any true hardship, it was her encounters with Consort Kang.
As the only concubine to have borne a child, Consort Kang fancied herself superior even to the Empress.
She had little patience for her fellow consorts, and her grudge against A wu ran deep.
Now, knowing A wu had fallen from favor, Consort Kang seized every chance to mock and belittle her, her words sharp as knives.
A wu brushed off the taunts.
A thicker skin, she reasoned, was all she needed.
But one day, after a lecture in the palace halls, A wu prepared to return to her quarters.
The sky darkened, and a bitter mix of rain and snow began to fall, the wind driving icy pellets against the ground.Â
Yilan, her maid, poked her head out and quickly retreated.
“It’s freezing out there, my lady! And it’s raining!”
A wu glanced around.
The usual faces she might have relied on were absent today.
“Let’s wait a bit,” she said.
“Perhaps it’ll stop soon.”
The two stood under the eaves, watching as others passed by.
Among them was Consort Kang, carried in an ornate palanquin adorned with red lacquer and carved phoenixes, draped in colorful brocade.
Inside, a cushioned bench promised warmth and comfort.
Consort Kang ordered her bearers to halt, lifting the crimson curtain with a smile.
“Oh, who do we have here? Isn’t that Noble Lady Ning?”
A wu stepped forward and offered a courteous bow.
Consort Kang’s smile widened, her tone dripping with false concern.
“On such a cold day, my dear Noble Lady, standing out here? Mind you don’t catch a chill. You’d best hurry back.”
She glanced at the sky and said, “This rain won’t stop anytime soon, I’m afraid.”
A wu had no patience for her games.
They rarely crossed paths, so she let the barbs slide, lowering her head to feign ignorance.
Seeing no reaction, Consort Kang’s amusement faded.
“Spend enough time in the palace,” she said with a sneer, “and you’ll learn your place. Did you really think a bit of beauty would carry you to the heavens?”
With a huff, she dropped the curtain, and the palanquin moved to depart.
But then a maid at Consort Kang’s side spoke up.
“My lady, look over there!”
A wu followed her gaze and saw a figure approaching, holding a narrow-rimmed umbrella of green silk.
Even from a distance, she recognized Futai’s distinctive silhouette and attire.
She waited, her heart stirring.
To her surprise, Consort Kang’s palanquin halted again.
As Futai drew near, Consort Kang lifted her curtain once more, her voice bright and overly familiar.
“Eunuch Fu! Out in this rain? Quite the leisurely day, isn’t it?”
A wu blinked, startled.
Consort Kang, a high-ranking imperial concubine who had borne Princess Dening, was speaking to Futai with such warmth?
There was even a hint of deference in her tone, as if she were currying favor.
Futai offered Consort Kang a brief nod before turning to A wu.
He hurried to her side, raising his umbrella to shield her from the rain.
“My lady, what are you doing out here in this downpour? You’ll catch your death!”
A wu felt a pang of guilt and replied, “I didn’t bring an umbrella.”
In truth, Langhua Hall had no umbrellas—a mystery she hadn’t yet unraveled.
Futai understood at once and said, “You may not know, my lady, but umbrellas are restricted in the palace. Most ladies use wide-brimmed rain hats or silk raincoats instead.”
Realization dawned on A wu.
“I see…”
The palace was a labyrinth of rules, and without experience, one could stumble blindly.
She hadn’t encountered rain since entering the palace, so she’d been unprepared.
Futai reached into a white satchel and produced a vibrant, dragon-embroidered raincoat and a delicate bamboo-framed rain hat.
“Here, my lady. Use these, and mind the wind doesn’t chill you.”
A wu’s heart swelled with gratitude, and she thanked him warmly.
From her palanquin, Consort Kang watched, her expression souring.
“Eunuch Fu, always so busy!” she remarked.
Futai turned to her with a polite smile and replied, “When I arrived, I saw you speaking with Noble Lady Ning. Has she perhaps offended you, my lady, in her ignorance of protocol?”
Consort Kang’s face stiffened, her brows knitting as she met Futai’s gaze.
Though he bowed humbly, his smile gentle, there was an undeniable authority in Futai’s presence.
A wu saw it clearly now—Consort Kang feared him.Â
Even other passing palace folk lowered their heads in respect as Futai stood there.
A wu recalled Consort Hui’s words: Futai had once been a powerful chief eunuch, wielding significant influence before stepping back due to poor health to serve solely at the emperor’s side.
The wind grew sharper, the rain heavier.
Futai’s voice remained cheerful.
“Consort Kang, the weather is bitter. You’d best return to your palace before you catch a cold.”
Consort Kang’s face flushed with embarrassment, but she nodded.
“Of course, Eunuch Fu.”
Her palanquin rolled away, its wheels creaking over the wet stone tiles.
A wu, watching the exchange, felt a new clarity.
She had been fearless, even reckless, in her early days here, oblivious to Futai’s true influence.
Consort Hui had warned her, but she hadn’t taken it to heart.
Now, cast aside by the emperor, she understood his importance.
She lowered her eyes, her voice soft.
“Eunuch Fu, it’s so cold, and yet you came to bring me an umbrella. I’ve troubled you.”
Futai studied her cautious expression, a twinkle in his eye.
“Noble Lady Ning, just call me Futai. When you say ‘Eunuch Fu,’ I can’t help but wonder if you’re plotting some mischief against me.”
His teasing tone made her want to laugh, but she held it back, biting her lip.
“I was ignorant before. You’re older, and you serve at His Majesty’s side. I should show you proper respect.”
Her thoughts drifted to that terrifying night when Futai had stayed by her side, offering comfort.
Tears welled in her eyes at the memory.
Futai sighed softly.
“My lady, you don’t need to revere me. When you see His Majesty, just soften a little, speak gently. That’s all we servants ask—it eases our hearts, spares us the constant worry.”
A wu hadn’t expected such words.
Her eyes reddened, and she murmured, her voice thick with grievance, “It’s His Majesty who ignores me, not the other way around!”
Futai tilted his head, glancing into the distance.
A wu followed his gaze and saw a dragon palanquin—unmistakably Emperor Jingxi’s, adorned with gilded dragon heads and shimmering pearl ornaments, a lavish display even in the rain.
Her breath caught.
It had been days since she’d seen him.
Should she approach and pay her respects, or pretend she hadn’t noticed?
Through the misty rain, she saw the palanquin’s curtains drawn tight.
He hadn’t spared her a glance.
Her heart twisted, a bitter pang of hurt swelling within her.
He could ignore her, leave her to languish—she didn’t care.
Others lived without the emperor’s favor and survived.
But knowing she was here, standing in the rain, and still he refused to look her way?
That cut deeper, a cold, aching sorrow.
And yet, he’d sent Futai with a raincoat.
Her heart felt like ice.
She curtsied to Futai, her voice low.
“Eunuch Fu, I’ll return now. It’s getting late or else I’ll miss dinner.”