The air was sharp with the bite of winter, carrying a restless energy through the Forbidden City.
Though the Emperor Kangxi had set aside his brush for the New Year, his days were far from restful, unlike the courtiers who could retreat to the warmth of their homes.
His duties multiplied: receiving ministers returning to the capital to report on their posts, a gesture of imperial favor, and visiting garrisons beyond the palace walls to bolster the morale of his soldiers, their spirits kindled by the Emperor’s presence.
By nightfall, the palace banquet awaited, a chessboard of veiled intentions where he would spar with the princes and nobles, each move calculated, each word a feint.
The court was quieter these days, subdued by recent upheavals.
Nalan Mingzhu’s dismissal had cast a shadow, as had Consort Hui’s confinement to the Great Buddha Hall.
The Grand Princess, too, had given birth to a little girl, a delicate joy overshadowed by the weight of her family’s disgrace.
Eldest Prince Yinti, usually so brash, had grown silent, his rivalry with the Crown Prince dulled to a simmer, as if the fire in him had been banked for now.
Suo’etu, fresh from his triumph in negotiating peace with the Northern Mongols, basked in the glow of success.
The Emperor had entrusted the Crown Prince, Yinreng, with weighty responsibilities—patrolling the ministries and offices in the Emperor’s name.
The Hesheli faction rode this wave, their influence cresting in the court, their confidence almost palpable.
Kangxi watched it all with a cool, discerning eye.
Even Yinreng, still a youth at heart, had grown a touch reckless under the adulation, his edges rougher than before.
The Emperor had long planned to temper his heir.
A private journey, cloaked in plain robes, to witness the hardships of the common folk—this would add steel to the Crown Prince’s bones.
On the first day of the New Year, after the morning meal, Kangxi summoned Cao Yin to join him.
With a discreet retinue of shadow guards, he called for Yinreng and Yinti, who was idling with his caged birds in the Princes’ Quarters.
Together, they slipped out through the Xihua Gate, heading for the northern city to inspect the porridge distribution for snowstorm victims, overseen by the Jingzhao Prefecture.
From the northern gate, the road led straight to the suburban military camp.
Kangxi had a plan: Cao Yin would select a few skilled soldiers to spar with Yinreng and Yinti, a lesson in humility.
Let them taste the grit of the barracks, learn how true soldiers marked the New Year.
It would forge their character, sharpen their resolve.
On the road to the outer city, Cao Yin tucked his hands into his sleeves, shaking his head with a playful tsk.
“My lord and master,” he teased, “you’re not afraid the Old Ancestor will have your head for this, are you? It’s the first day of the New Year—common folk don’t even scold their children today. If you let the Crown Prince and Eldest Prince take a beating, and the Old Ancestor catches wind of it, she’ll have words for you, mark my words.”
Cao Yin glanced up, catching Kangxi leaning against the carriage wall, his eyes half-closed, a faint weariness clinging to him.
A spark of realization hit Cao Yin, and he bolted upright.
“Your Majesty, you’re not planning to pull that trick again, are you?”
His voice was a mix of dread and exasperation.
The last time Kangxi had roped him into a scheme—something about keeping a young male courtesan—the capital’s gossip mills still hadn’t let him live it down.
Even now, his wife and concubines interrogated his attendants, not about other women, but about how many men he’d spoken to in a day.
If he came home reeking of rouge and perfume, his wife would send someone to sniff out which courtesan house had a particularly enchanting boy.
Cao Yin could scarcely clear his name.
And now, was Kangxi about to drag him into another farce, making him pit soldiers against the princes?
“This humble servant can’t do it!” Cao Yin wailed softly, his face a mask of misery.
“Even if I had the gall of a bear or the courage of a leopard, I wouldn’t dare trouble the Crown Prince or Eldest Prince! If Lord Suo’etu finds out, he’ll have my head!”
Kangxi’s gaze flicked to him, cool and unimpressed.
“You’re not afraid of me, but you tremble at the thought of Suo’etu?”
An outsider hearing the Emperor speak so might have collapsed in terror, forehead to the floor, begging for mercy.
But Cao Yin only grinned, hands still tucked in his sleeves.
“That’s because I know Your Majesty’s heart is vast and merciful, too grand to fuss over a lowly servant like me.”
His eyes glinted, reading Kangxi’s mood.
“Suo’etu? He’s not worth a single finger of Your Majesty’s. That whole family—those petty minds of theirs, smaller than a needle’s eye. Just look at the year-end reports. I was on duty at the Ministry of Revenue, but I heard every whisper from the Ministry of Personnel across the way. Mingzhu’s followers are practically cornered, their paths blocked by Suo’etu’s men.”
Kangxi’s lips curled in a faint, mocking smile.
Suo’etu, riding the Crown Prince’s coattails, was amassing allies, his influence sprawling like weeds.
He was no different from Nalan Mingzhu in his hunger for power.
Left unchecked, he’d tarnish Yinreng’s name and turn the court into a mire of corruption.
Kangxi knew Suo’etu’s boldness stemmed from that very “mercy” Cao Yin had just praised.
It was a calculated risk, one Kangxi allowed for now.
He wasn’t overly troubled—not yet.
The Hesheli clan couldn’t be touched for the moment.
Let Mingzhu stew in his disgrace a while longer; soon enough, Kangxi would summon him back to keep Suo’etu in check.
What truly gnawed at him was another voice, one that had dared to mock his “mercy” with biting irony.
His fingers tapped the low table in the carriage, the sound sharp in the quiet.
“Has Lady Gu forgiven you yet?” he asked abruptly.
Cao Yin blinked as he was caught off guard with this question.
But he managed himself and replied, “Forgiven? There’s no need for that. As long as I visit her chambers, give her face and control of the household, she won’t make trouble.”
Women, he thought, were predictable.
Without children yet, he was her only anchor.
Why would she risk alienating him?
Kangxi knew Cao Yin as well as Cao Yin knew him, their bond forged in childhood.
He shot Cao Yin with a sidelong glance and said, “You’re not afraid she’ll truly turn her heart from you? That she might demand a divorce?”
Cao Yin’s thoughts turned mutinous, though he kept his face bright.
‘If she did, it’d be your fault, Your Majesty.’
But aloud, he only grinned wider.
“Of course, I still have to coax her. Women, you know—bound to the inner quarters, their thoughts so different from ours. A bit of sweet talk, a touch of intimidation, then hold her close and give her confidence. Let her know I’m handling serious matters, and she won’t ask too many questions.”
Kangxi fell silent, his expression unreadable.
Cao Yin’s words, flippant as they were, stirred something in him.
He didn’t want to know how keeping a courtesan counted as “serious matters.”
Yet, they sparked a faint clarity.
Fang He’s words from that day still burned in his mind, her accusations cutting deeper than he’d admitted.
At first, her defiance had only fueled his anger—she’d betrayed his trust, and he’d even considered never seeing her again.
But in the restless nights at Zhaoren Hall, her words haunted him, replaying alongside memories of their past.
Fang He had changed.
Before she left the palace, and even upon her return, she’d been vibrant, her resilience a quiet joy.
Now, that spark had sharpened into something cutting, her tears more frequent, her regret laced with a coldness that held no trace of affection.
Yet he remembered the light in her eyes, once so alive when they looked at him.
He couldn’t sleep in Qianqing Palace.
The first night he’d gone to Yanxii Palace, he’d slept soundly, and that led to a second night, then a third.Â
The more he went, the more her refusal to yield—to meet him halfway—stoked his frustration.
She seemed untouched by the chasm between them, and that indifference stung.
Last night, he’d drunk too much, though not enough to lose himself entirely.
She wouldn’t place him in her heart, and he, as Emperor, couldn’t force her to.
To do so it would be no better than begging.
He’d only wanted to see her once more, to share a New Year’s meal, to keep their last argument from becoming their final memory.
But when he saw her, cradling her belly, radiating a softness more radiant than ever, yet guarded with a wariness that pierced him, it was like a candle in the fog had singed him.
Her stubbornness, her impatience, even her calm—all carried a detachment that burned him, a pain laced with confusion and grievance.
He’d done everything he thought right.
Save for Uya, whom the Empress Dowager had asked him to spare for now, what more did Fang He want?
“Your Majesty?” Cao Yin’s voice was cautious, pulling him back.
“Have you and Consort Zhao… has she upset you again?”
Kangxi didn’t answer at first, letting the silence stretch.
Then, lazily, he hummed.
“Tell me, how do you coax Lady Gu?”
Cao Yin nearly choked on his laughter, barely containing his glee.
‘ Even you have such a day, Your Majesty!’
But he schooled his face into solemnity.
“Don’t mock your servant, Sire. I kneel before Gu with a switch in hand, swearing on my honor I’ll never touch a courtesan again. I handed her the account books and the keys, told her if I slip up, she can cast me out. Oh, and I serve her myself—”
“I’ll have every word you’ve said sent back to the Cao household,” Kangxi cut in, his voice dry as the carriage slowed to a stop.
“Let’s see if the Empress Dowager can wash away your sins. I’ll issue an edict to Lady Gu, ensuring you, Cao Yin, don’t lose your head for deceiving your Emperor.”
Cao Yin’s smile froze, but he recovered, scrambling to help Kangxi from the carriage.
“Sire, I was only joking to lift your spirits—why take it to heart?”
“What’s Cao Yin joking about to amuse Father?” Yinreng piped up, squeezing past Yinti with a grin.
Kangxi glanced at his son and said, “He’s saying we’ll test your skills today, see how much lighter your bones have grown under all that flattery from the ministers. You and your brother will spar, and whoever wins takes the glass carousel lamp from my study.”
Yinreng’s face stiffened, but behind him, Yinti’s eyes lit up.
That lamp, a tribute from Johann Adam Schall von Bell, had long caught his fancy, though he’d never dared ask for it, knowing his father’s fondness for it.
Now, with Kangxi’s words hinting at displeasure with the Crown Prince, Yinti’s gloom lifted.
That lamp was his.
He’d present it to Lady Yiergenjueluo, a balm for her sorrow over their daughter’s birth and her father’s demotion.
Even with his uncle’s fall and his mother’s punishment, the Crown Prince was yet unwed.
If Yinti could sire a legitimate grandson, his future might still hold promise.
With a few words, Kangxi had shifted the air between the princes.
Cao Yin, chastened, led the imperial trio toward the porridge distribution site, no longer daring to jest.
***
Meanwhile, in the rear hall of Yanxi Palace, the Empress Dowager sat with Fang He, explaining why Consort De still lingered in Yonghe Palace.Â
“Barring any mishaps, both Garudai and Wuxiha will be sent to foster ties with the Mongols. A stain on their mother’s name would diminish them in the tribes’ eyes. I know the difference between strength and weakness in those lands. I secured this grace for the girls, with the Emperor’s consent. It’s only a delay until their names are recorded in the imperial genealogy.”
Fang He frowned and asked, “If they’ll be dealt with eventually, won’t the princesses still be affected? Even Yong’s fourth son?”
The Empress Dowager smiled gently and replied, “You may not grasp the weight of altering the genealogy. Once it’s changed, Garudai, Wuxiha, even Yinzhen—their mother will no longer be Uya. Her fate, whether she lives or dies, will mean nothing to them. In the histories, Concubine De will have no heirs.”
Wuyunzhu elaborated, translating the Empress Dowager’s words.
“Since August, the Emperor has ordered the Imperial Clan Court to begin the process. For the sake of the princes and princesses, my aunt and I instructed Prince Yu to keep it quiet. Once the records are fully amended—a process that takes at least half a year—Uya will be dealt with, and Yinzhen and the others will be free of her shadow.”
Fang He nodded, understanding dawning.
“And how will the Emperor deal with her?”
The Empress Dowager’s tone was light but unyielding.
“A woman so venomous, so ruthless as to defy propriety, must be erased. She’ll be stripped to commoner status and sent to a royal temple for ‘purification.'”
Sensing Fang He’s confusion, she continued.
“The temple houses noblewomen in seclusion. They perform menial tasks, locked behind high walls, subsisting on plain fare until their end. They’re buried in the Buddha’s Forsaken Grove, unrecorded in any clan.”
Uya’s fate was sealed, her name erased from the imperial lineage.
She would never again emerge as a consort, nor would she rest in the imperial mausoleum.
Even the gods would offer her no solace, her soul barred from the cycle of rebirth.
In a world where all souls yearned to return to their roots, to sever that hope was the harshest punishment the imperial house could mete out to a disgraced consort—far more terrifying than the cold solitude of Yanchun Pavilion.
Fang He had no more words to offer.
She cradled her belly with a serene smile, murmuring an “Amitabha” as if she were a guileless fairy untouched by the ways of the world.
Then, pulling a thick quilt over her stomach, she leaned close to the Empress Dowager and whispered, “You and the Grand Empress are truly formidable. This matter’s been handled so brilliantly it’s positively thrilling!”
The Empress Dowager blinked, caught off guard.
Was this girl shielding her unborn child from her own words?
A chuckle escaped her as she tapped Fang He’s forehead and said, “You’re about to be a mother yourself. You must set an example for your child. No more acting like a petulant girl, picking fights with the Emperor every day.”
She paused, her voice softening but firm.
“Let me speak plainly. No matter how much affection you hold for the Emperor—even if it’s only half a spark—you must show him tenfold. I can protect you, yes, but the Emperor is the true master of this palace. Defying him brings you no good.”
Tucking a stray lock of Fang He’s hair behind her ear, the Empress Dowager sighed.
“I know you feel wronged. I’ve never borne a child, but I understand a mother’s resolve. Yet who in this palace doesn’t carry grievances? I can’t shield you forever. Once you’ve entered these walls, there’s only one path forward. For your own sake, you must walk it well.”
Fang He leaned into the Empress Dowager’s shoulder, nodding with a smile.
“Don’t say such things—you and the Grand Empress will live to a hundred! I’ll keep your words in my heart.”
She knew, deep down, that when the Emperor had swept away the mess with Uya, he wasn’t as heartless as she’d painted him.
Nor was she as righteous as she’d convinced herself.
She understood the truths—the principles she was supposed to accept.
But now, with pregnancy hormones swirling, she couldn’t bring herself to place the Emperor on a pedestal like others did.
A stubborn knot of emotions, tangled and unyielding, lodged in her throat.
Her twenty years of independence, her very soul, refused to bend entirely.
“For now, with this child in me, I can’t serve His Majesty. Staying quiet isn’t a bad thing,” she said, her smile masking her thoughts.
“Once the baby’s born, perhaps I’ll see things differently. With a child to ground me, I won’t be so willful.”
She knew, in time, she’d have to bow to the Emperor’s towering presence.
It wasn’t a question of if, but when.
The months of childbirth and confinement would give her time to untangle her feelings, to recalibrate, to slip back into the role of a diligent palace worker—oh, the grind of it all!
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