Futai brought a small copper hand warmer for A wu.
She clutched it tightly, resting her chin on her knees, her gaze fixed on the smoldering charcoal in the nearby brazier.
Her thoughts swirled, heavy and unspoken, as the faint glow of the fire cast shadows across her face.
Futai dared not disturb her.
He hovered nearby, cautious and attentive, occasionally straining to catch any sound from outside.
The day’s events had spiraled into chaos, a scandal of monumental proportions within the forbidden court.
If mishandled, it could ripple outward, unsettling the court and even the lives of the common folk across the realm.
Futai’s face remained calm, but his heart pounded with dread.
Thankfully, the Thirteen Guards of the Inner Court and all ordinary attendants had been kept at a distance.
Only the Dragon Guards stood close, their presence a silent promise of control.
If the matter was handled discreetly, a gag order could be issued afterward, and perhaps the storm would pass unnoticed.
To the lofty emperor, the tearful scene of his son and the woman he loved might sting his pride, but even he, in his intolerance, would have to swallow his anger this time.
One was the woman he cherished in his heart; the other, his own flesh and blood.
Which could he bear to cast aside?
Yet Futai couldn’t shake the darkest possibility.
Just two days prior, the emperor had issued a quiet edict, placing the Eighteen Imperial Guards on high alert, ready to defend the capital.
The Gold Vanguard, the Left and Right Feather Guards, the Five Garrison Guards, the Tiger Guards, and the Soaring Guards were all poised for action.
The last time Emperor Jingxi had issued such a decree, years ago, his wrath had led to the demotion and execution of thousands of officials, great and small.
The Great Hui Empire could weather storms, and Emperor Jingxi had clearly prepared for the worst.
If the Crown Prince refused to yield, it would be branded as rebellion, with ready-made excuses tied to the Crown Princess’s actions—reframed as a scandal of catastrophic proportions.
The Crown Prince was too young, too naive.
He hadn’t yet grasped the lethal power his father, who had ruled the court for eighteen years, wielded with such precision.
Nor could he fathom the emperor’s cunning, a master of schemes who could toy with his son as easily as a cat with a mouse.
Futai’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps outside.
Startled, he glanced at A wu, who flinched, her eyes darting toward the door.
They waited, hearts in their throats.
Moments later, the heavy palace door creaked open, and a soft glow spilled inside—the flickering light of a gauze lantern.
A wu’s lips trembled.
With the lantern came the glint of a sword sheath and the rustle of a robe’s hem.
A figure stepped into the room, and it was none other than Fang Yue.
Behind him, A wu caught sight of the Crown Prince.
The prince’s sword had been confiscated, his hair crown slightly askew, a faint disarray betraying his usual composure.
Futai hurried outside, where Fang Yue whispered a few words to him.
Relief seemed to wash over Futai’s face.
He returned and leaned toward A wu.
“The Crown Prince wishes to speak with you alone,” he said softly.
A wu’s fingers tightened around the hem of her skirt.
She shook her head, hesitant.
“Perhaps… it’s better if we don’t.”
The moment Fang Yue appeared, she knew the contest between father and son had ended in the prince’s utter defeat.
He had never stood a chance.
But why, then, did Emperor Jingxi want the prince to speak with her?
Did he despise her so much that he would cast her aside like a trinket, handing her to his son?
She didn’t know how to face the prince or what to say.
Her heart was a tangled mess, her resolve crumbling.
She looked to Futai, pleading for guidance.
Futai hesitated, then steeled himself.
“My lady, there’s no need to fear. Since it’s the emperor’s command, perhaps you could speak with His Highness? Offer some… counsel?”
‘Counsel?’ A wu’s mind reeled, but she nodded faintly, her thoughts adrift.
With her consent, Fang Yue ushered the Crown Prince inside.
His gaze flicked briefly over A wu, subtle but sharp.
The delicate maiden, pampered within the depths of the palace, seemed even more radiant, though fear had left a sheen of tears on her fragile eyelids.
Fang Yue quickly averted his eyes, lowering his voice to a respectful murmur.
“I’ll be just outside, my lady. Call if you need anything.”
A wu barely registered his words, nodding absently.
Fang Yue bowed and closed the door with care, retreating with Futai into the shadows beyond.
The Crown Prince stood before A wu, his voice heavy with shame as he began.
“I didn’t know you were in trouble. I thought you were safe at Yan Yang Temple. My father said things… and I thought if I could mend things with the Crown Princess, there might be a way forward. I held onto a shred of hope that I could bring you back.”
His voice grew bitter.
“It was just that one time. I never imagined…”
A wu kept her eyes downcast, unable to meet his gaze and said, “Your Highness, you don’t need to explain. The Crown Princess’s pregnancy is joyful news—a great blessing.”
The prince’s voice hardened.
“Knowing what she did to you, I could never touch her again. Never.”
“Why trouble yourself, Your Highness?” A wu said softly.
“There’s no need for that.”
His gaze, raw with pain, lingered on her, trembling as it traced her features.
“A wu,” he whispered, “have you ever, even for a moment, cared for me?”
“I don’t know,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.
“I don’t know anything. You’re a good man, Your Highness, but…”
“But you don’t want to be with me, do you?” he pressed.
A wu nodded, a small, reluctant motion.
“Because I’m already married?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“If I hadn’t taken a wife, would you have cared for me more?”
A wu thought carefully, then shook her head, bewildered.
“I don’t know. When I met you, you were already married. I can’t imagine you otherwise.”
The prince’s face twisted with pain.
“These days we’ve spent together—I felt as if I were drinking honey, sweet beyond measure. Didn’t you feel even a flicker of that?”
A wu fell silent, her thoughts a tangled storm.
At last, she lifted her eyes to meet his.
“Of course I’ve cared for you,” she said quietly.
“But I care for many things in this world—the sunrise tomorrow, a pile of gold, fresh spring vegetables, or soft, clean bedding.”
Her tone grew firm.
“I care for you, Your Highness, but I don’t need you. And you’ve never truly belonged to me.”
The prince froze, stunned by her words.
A wu sighed, her gaze drifting to the inky night beyond the window.
“Now that things have come to this, how will it end? Whatever the outcome, I can’t bear it. If history remembers this, I’ll be branded a villain for all time—a temptress who brought ruin. All the blame will fall on me.”
The prince looked at the frail, delicate figure before him, his heart aching so fiercely he could barely stand.
He gripped the window frame for support and said, “Just now, father promised me—if you’re willing to leave with me, he’ll let us go. A wu, come with me. We’ll go to the Eastern Sea, sail far away. I’ll take you to find your father and brother.”
His words painted a beautiful dream, but A wu shook her head, resolute and unyielding.
“Your Highness, you are the heir to Great Hui. You could rule the world, bring prosperity to its people. But you can’t sail the seas with me or give me the life I long for.”
“Why not?” he demanded, his voice breaking.
Her words were cruel but achingly true.
“To the emperor and his ministers, you’re a paragon, a dragon among men. But in the streets, on the open sea, you’d be adrift, destitute. A scholar is useless without his books. Even your archery is just a nobleman’s pastime.”
She continued, her voice steady.
“At sea, on a ship, a hundred princes couldn’t match one of my brothers. I learned young that strength and skill bring fish to the table. My brother Ye Han polishes shells, sweat dripping down his arms, dirt caked in his nails. I don’t see filth—I see a man working to feed his family.”
Lifting her chin, she spoke with quiet conviction.
“Your Highness, without the court, without your father’s protection, what could you offer me? How could you provide for me? I can sew, cook, dry fish, and manage a household. But I need a man who can go out, earn a living, and stand tall against the world.”
The Crown Prince stood stricken, his eyes brimming with pain.
In the flickering glow of the copper brazier, A wu’s face was unyielding, cold as a shard of ice.
His lips trembled as he forced out the words, “Yes, I’m useless. That’s all I am—a useless man.”
A wu’s voice softened, but her words carried weight.
“Your Highness, we shared a moment of fate, and I truly wish you well. You were born into fortune, the sole heir of an imperial house, destined to be the crown prince—a blessing forged over lifetimes, envied by all. You should cherish it.”
The prince’s thoughts drifted to his father’s words, a storm of emotions surging within him.
He closed his eyes, anguish etching his face.
“But is this what I want? No matter what, you’re mine, and yet I can’t even protect you!”
A wu shook her head gently.
“Your Highness, there’s no point in saying such things. I’m grateful for you. If not for you, I’d still be toiling in the fields of some rural estate.”
His gaze wavered, a tremor in his silence.
After a long pause, he began, “A wu, I want to ask you—”
“Please, go on,” she replied, her voice steady.
But the prince fell silent, his question unspoken.
He wanted to ask about the grasshopper folded from her kerchief, tucked against his chest, burning like a brand against his heart.
Yet he knew that if their words reached his father’s ears, they would only bring calamity upon her.
His father, torn by guilt and the bonds of family, might overlook his son’s defiance.
But if he learned that on that reckless morning, A wu had left a secret token for him—a mark of her heart’s quiet hope—would he turn his wrath on her?
He swallowed, his voice hoarse and strange.
“It’s nothing. I just… remembered the grasshopper you folded for me.”
Her lashes fluttered, a flicker of panic in her eyes, and he understood.
She had left it intentionally, hoping he’d notice.
His heart twisted, a bittersweet ache.