That morning, after she had been summoned by his father, she had still thought of him, harbored some fragile expectation.
And he had missed it.
He looked at her again, his voice low.
“A wu… will you stay here, in the palace?”
Her heart tightened.
She regretted the kerchief, the hidden danger she’d left behind.
She feared he might speak of it, but thankfully, he wasn’t entirely foolish.
If he mentioned it, she’d be doomed, and the rift between father and son would become irreparable.
Emperor Jingxi had only one son, but what if…
Better to say nothing, to let them part and fade from each other’s lives.
It was the kindest path for both.
She met his gaze, her voice deliberate.
“I’m content with my life here. I want to stay in the palace, to serve His Majesty for the rest of my days.”
The prince hesitated, then whispered, “That day, you told me you didn’t want to be a concubine. You wanted to be a true wife.”
“I did think that once,” A wu admitted.
“But now I serve the ruler of Great Hui. To be among his three thousand consorts is more than enough for me.”
His eyes darkened, heavy with sorrow.
“You’re foolish.”
“I’m happy,” she said, her tone unshakably calm.
“Him?” the prince asked, incredulous.
“He’s what makes you happy?”
“Yes,” she replied, her voice warm with conviction.
“Your Highness, the emperor is exceptional in every way. As a woman, to serve him is a joy I’d die for.”
Her gaze softened, but her words cut deep.
“Having witnessed the emperor’s valor and majesty, everything else feels like a child’s game. My heart belongs to him entirely.”
The implication was unmistakable, a blow that would wound any man.
The prince was no exception.
He recalled a passage from a medical text he’d once read, a vague note about his father’s vigor.
It hadn’t meant much then, but now, hearing such words from the woman he loved, it stung like a blade.
Child’s play…
She was likely saying it to wound him, but the pain was no less real.
He stared at her for a long time, his voice breaking.
“Very well. From this day forward, we are strangers.”
That night, A wu curled up in the side hall, waiting in the stillness.
The world outside was cloaked in darkness, silent and unyielding.
She glimpsed shadows moving, one unmistakably Fang Yue, standing like a mountain beyond the hall.
She thought of asking after him—an old acquaintance, after all—but dismissed the idea.
At a time like this, he’d be tight-lipped, ever cautious.
At last, a palace maid came to attend to her.
A wu, anxious for news of her companions—Weilan, Yilan, and the young eunuchs—asked after them.
They were safe, though Weilan had injured her arm.
It was only a flesh wound, nothing serious, and with rest, she’d recover.
A wu exhaled, relief washing over her.
She changed into fresh robes and prepared to return to her Langhua Hall.
The corridors were empty except for the Dragon Guards, their blades gleaming with cold menace.
Her legs trembled as she passed their stern ranks.
Back in her hall, she bathed and sank onto her bed.
Hunger gnawed at her because she’d missed dinner, and the hall had no snacks to offer.
She resigned herself to sleep, but then a eunuch arrived from Fentai Hall, sent by Futai.
He carried a gilded box filled with Jitai date cakes, dried provisions, and sticky rice porridge.
Simple fare, but A wu devoured it ravenously.
Sated, she rinsed her mouth and lay down again.
Yet sleep eluded her.
Images flashed in her mind—torches blazing in the night, the glint of swords, and Emperor Jingxi’s cold, imposing face.
He hadn’t spared her a single glance.
Restless, she tossed and turned, wondering how the emperor would deal with her.
Would he now regard her with disdain?
In that uneasy haze, she finally drifted into sleep.
The next day, she moved cautiously, sending maids to gather news.
The palace seemed untouched by the previous night’s turmoil, as orderly as ever.
Sunlight glinted off the glazed tiles, eunuchs swept the courtyards, and maids hurried about their tasks.
The harem was unchanged, as if nothing had happened.
A wu ate her midday meal and rested briefly before visiting Consort Hui at Langqin Hall.
She probed gently, but Hui seemed oblivious.
“Last night, there was a curfew. The hall doors were locked, so I went to bed early. Why? Did something happen?”
A wu could only feign ignorance, playing along.
They attended a lesson with the palace instructress, where everything appeared normal.
During a break, however, whispers circulated among the consorts.
They spoke of a grave incident—an assassin had infiltrated the palace, intent on killing the emperor.
The Crown Prince had protected his father, sustaining minor injuries but was now recovering in his residence.
A wu listened, quietly stunned, but relief followed.
Emperor Jingxi had protected his son’s reputation, concealing the truth.
It made sense—he was, after all, his only heir.
For a man with a throne to pass down, lineage and legacy were paramount.
A wu’s thoughts turned inward, a chill gripping her.
Between a father and his son, who was she?
That day, the emperor could have crushed her, and it was only by some miracle she still breathed.
For now, A wu had narrowly escaped with her life, and it seemed Emperor Jingxi had no intention of pursuing her further.
So she would continue to live quietly, clinging to survival in the shadows of the palace.
She exhaled a faint breath of relief and went to visit Weilan.
The sight of A wu brought tears streaming down Weilan’s face, and she tried to kneel in gratitude’.
A wu stopped her, urging her to rest and heal her injury, pressing a small sum of silver into her hands.
Weilan’s eyes brimmed with devotion, vowing to serve A wu for life.
A wu smiled inwardly, thinking, ‘If you could serve me forever, perhaps I could stay in this palace forever too.
She distributed more silver to the attendants of Langhua Hall, instructing them to buy sweets.
Still shaken from recent events, they received her generosity with heartfelt gratitude, their faces alight with relief.
In the days that followed, A wu trod carefully, as if on a frozen lake, each step measured and wary.
Her routine settled into a rhythm: two meals and a tea break each day, with lessons from the palace instructress every few days.
As a noble lady of the harem, she received all that was due to her rank.
When winter arrived, the palace distributed ear warmers, gourd-patterned brocades, eight-treasure silks, and seasonal garments.
These were apportioned by rank, and as a mere noble lady, A wu received the standard share, nothing more.
Yet even this modest provision soothed her heart, slowly easing her fears.
Since that fateful day, Emperor Jingxi had not visited Langhua Hall.
It seemed she had fallen from favor, but the harem barely rippled with gossip.
She still received her rightful provisions as a noble lady, a steady lifeline that reassured her.
Even if the emperor no longer favored her, it seemed, for the sake of past affection, he was willing to sustain her.
In a harem teeming with consorts, one more made little difference.
In this quiet, uneventful existence, A wu grew closer to Consort Hui.
She also befriended Lady Meng, a woman of striking beauty and gentle grace, skilled in the art of flower arrangement.
A wu joined Hui at Meng’s residence, learning to arrange blooms with delicate precision.
Together, they sipped tea, admired the palace gardens, and let the days drift by in leisurely contentment.
One day, Hui and Meng, curious, asked why the emperor no longer visited her.
A wu fumbled for words, her vague responses drawing laughter from the two women.
They teased her gently before turning to gossip about the emperor.
It had been years, they said, since he last favored the harem.
Why?
They exchanged knowing glances, reluctant to say more until A wu pressed them.
At last, they relented.
In his early years, Emperor Jingxi had visited the harem as custom dictated, but later, he ceased entirely.
When he summoned consorts now, it was merely to share tea—a gesture to grant them face.
The Office of Rites recorded these visits as “service,” allowing the consorts to accrue merit for promotions at year’s end.
A wu blinked in astonishment and asked, “Why would he do that?”
Hui shrugged and replied, “No reason, really. His Majesty simply lost interest.”
Meng smiled behind her sleeve.
“It’s perfect, isn’t it? We do little and still earn rewards and honor.”
Hui chuckled.
“Exactly. Word spread that His Majesty once summoned six consorts in a single night for tea, and it turned into tales of him bedding six women in one go!”
A wu gasped, laughing.
“Six in one night? What a scandalous reputation!”
Meng grinned and said, “Scandalous, yes, but the next morning, he attended dawn court and held council for three hours straight. The ministers were in awe—’Our emperor is mighty indeed!'”
A wu dissolved into laughter, clutching her sides.
Hui continued, “Later, he stopped even pretending to visit. But it doesn’t matter—everyone’s treated the same.”
Meng’s smile softened as she said, “His Majesty is kind to us, a benevolent master. The empress dowager is compassionate, and the empress runs the harem by the rules. As long as we follow them, we live in peace, our days carefree.”
A wu gradually met others in the harem—female officials, noble ladies, and talents.
Most were kind, content with their lot.
Some read books, others painted or pickled fruits, each finding joy in small pursuits.
At first, A wu was puzzled.
She’d expected a harem rife with jealousy and scheming, but now she understood.
In his younger days, Emperor Jingxi had adhered strictly to protocol, favoring no one, treating all consorts equally.
There was little to fight over—scheming was futile, and missteps risked punishment or banishment.
Now that he no longer visited the harem, there was even less to compete for, especially with no heirs at stake.
The harem’s strict rules ensured fairness: promotions, privileges, everything followed precedent.
The empress, with her deft governance, maintained this order, earning the emperor’s high regard.
A wu recalled his words about “a loving marriage, harmonious as a zither and lute.”
She smiled faintly.
He ruled the realm, she the harem—a perfect match, their lives serene and in tune.
As for A wu, with her fifty-three taels of silver, she too found her own quiet contentment.