Chapter Twenty: The Conversation

When Ling Zetian returned to the Palace of Morning Clouds, Feng Qiuji was busy hammering away at something with a tool she had somehow procured.

“What are you doing?” he asked in bewilderment as he walked over.

“Your Majesty,” Feng Qiuji straightened up, wiping sweat from her brow, “don’t you think I’d make a fine carpenter?”

Ling Zetian glanced down to see a long plank of wood at her feet. “What’s this for?”

“Well, the Palace of Morning Clouds is so spacious, and now that I’ve moved back in, I thought I should use a plank to partition the bedchamber. That way, we won’t disturb each other’s private lives…”

“Private lives?”

“Exactly. Imagine one night you’re gazing at the moon from this very palace, feeling unbearably lonely, and you send a young eunuch to summon a concubine to keep you company. How awkward would that be for me? If I left, there’d be nowhere for me to stay; if I stayed, I couldn’t very well just watch you. But if we split the room…”

“There’s no need for me to summon concubines,” Ling Zetian interrupted, moving closer with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Since the Empress is already living here with me, why would I need anyone else?”

“But even you must crave variety from time to time…” As Ling Zetian drew near, Feng Qiuji’s heart began to race. She quickly cleared her throat to cover her embarrassment. “Your Majesty, could you not stand quite so close? It’s still summer… yes, summer, after all…”

“Oh?” Ling Zetian responded, but made no move to back away. Instead, he leaned in even more. “Summer does make the Empress’s attire delightfully light.”

At his words, Feng Qiuji looked up to see him staring at her chest. She glanced down to find that, in her exertion, she’d tugged at her clothing and was now rather exposed.

“What are you doing!” She hastily clutched her collar and shouted at him.

“Oh, please. It’s not as if I haven’t seen it before.” The memory of their carriage ride outside the palace brought a smirk to Ling Zetian’s lips.

“Well, you’re not seeing it now.” Feng Qiuji pushed him away and ran to the door to peer outside. She’d sent someone to fetch a bed ages ago—why hadn’t it arrived? The palace servants were so inefficient; didn’t they fear being punished by a demanding master?

“What are you looking at, Empress?” Ling Zetian slipped his arm around her waist from behind, closed the door, and dragged her onto the bed.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing? Let me go!” As soon as she was on the bed, Feng Qiuji retreated to the corner, wary of what Ling Zetian might do next. Though her figure was nothing special, her face was passable enough—better to be cautious.

Seeing her tense and anxious, Ling Zetian found himself quite at ease. He stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes. “What did the Empress Dowager want from you?”

“Hmm?” Relieved that he seemed to have no further designs on her, Feng Qiuji relaxed—until his question made her tense again.

How could she answer that? She couldn’t admit to seeking an alliance with the Empress Dowager; it could cost her her head. No, she mustn’t say a word.

“Oh, she just asked how I was getting along with you, how our relationship was. She said you can be difficult, but that I should be more understanding.” With no other excuse coming to mind, Feng Qiuji invented an answer on the spot, grasping for any way out.

“You’re lying to me?” Ling Zetian caught the perfunctory tone and words, his eyes narrowing. The Empress Dowager had always despised him—why would she care about such things? “Do you really think I’m as easy to fool as a child of three?”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Feng Qiuji bowed her head in contrition. Since entering the palace, she’d learned to read the mood. Seeing Ling Zetian’s displeasure, she hastened to admit fault in hopes of leniency.

“I’m nothing but a minor figure who just wants to live quietly. I have no interest in palace schemes and only wish to avoid being caught up in them. Before entering the palace, my mother warned me again and again to stay within my bounds, to neither vie for favor nor cause harm, but always to guard against others…” She rattled on, her words flowing without thought, all the while wondering how to explain her meeting with the Empress Dowager once she’d finished this speech.

“I don’t recall asking you any of this.” Ling Zetian cut her off, eyes still closed.

“In truth, the Empress Dowager only wanted to reminisce…”

“You and the Empress Dowager have fond memories to share?”

Feng Qiuji fell silent, gnawing her finger as she struggled to find an answer.

“She wants you to help bring me down, doesn’t she?” Ling Zetian finally said when she remained mute.

“What? No, of course not, ha ha…”

“Did you agree to help her?”

“I…” Since Ling Zetian had already guessed, Feng Qiuji wanted to deny it, but couldn’t bring herself to lie outright. The conflict was clear on her face.

“Even if you did, I wouldn’t blame you. But when the time comes, don’t accuse me of heartlessness if I execute you both.”

“Oh.” Feng Qiuji responded sullenly. She really shouldn’t have tried to deceive Ling Zetian—she’d never get away with it. If he already knew, why bother asking her at all?

“I’m planning to transfer your father out of the capital.”

“That’s your business, not mine. I know nothing of court affairs; do as you like.”

“You’re not at all concerned for your family’s safety?”

“I’ve always believed in cause and effect. If my father has sown certain seeds, he must reap the consequences. I don’t know what he’s done, but I know he’s not a good man.” She’d never met her father, the Grand Chancellor, nor did she know his character, but with so many saying he was no good, there must be some truth to it. After all, where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

People are naturally partial to their own, but as she had never even met this so-called father, why bother pleading for him? Besides, as Empress, and an unloved one at that, even if she did beg for mercy, Ling Zetian wouldn’t change his mind. What would happen, would happen.

“I never realized the Empress possessed such a noble spirit—willing to sacrifice family for justice.” Ling Zetian opened his eyes and looked at her, smiling.

Did she not know that making her Empress was only to counterbalance her father’s power?

If her father was truly sent away, her position would be meaningless. Without backing, she would be nothing. Throughout history, how many Empresses have ascended without powerful relatives? Even those most cherished by the Emperor could not rely on affection alone to reach such heights.

Ling Zetian found himself unable to fathom Feng Qiuji. Since childhood, he’d been molded into the perfect sovereign, and upon his father’s death, he’d naturally inherited the throne—everything unfolding with smooth inevitability.

It was only upon meeting Feng Qiuji that he realized how mysterious women could be; men never truly understood what went on in their minds.

“Do you like me?” Feng Qiuji asked, gazing into Ling Zetian’s eyes.

“What if I do? And what if I don’t?”

“I know you’re the Emperor. You’d never like a country girl like me, ignorant of etiquette and all. I’m not even sure whether I like you. Sometimes I’m happy with you, so if that’s love, we should get along well; if not, we should part ways now, before feelings deepen and pain grows.”

“Part ways?” Ling Zetian was momentarily stunned. He’d never considered it. With so many concubines, even if he didn’t care for one, he could keep her around. Yet this woman was proposing to leave if there was no love?

“You’re the Emperor and can have countless women, but do you know a woman’s greatest wish? It’s to find someone she can trust for life, to be each other’s one and only, to live together, simply and sincerely.” Feng Qiuji paused. “I always thought palace women were pitiable—loving so humbly, forced to share a man with many others. That’s not real love. To me, it’s dirty. Sometimes I envy General Yan and his wife, though Lady Qin passed away, leaving Anuo orphaned. At least he has you to care for him.”

Ling Zetian looked at her in silence.

“Forget it, why am I telling you this?” Seeing his absent expression, Feng Qiuji laughed at herself. In the end, it didn’t concern her—why say more?

“Anuo seems quite fond of you.” Indeed, since childhood, Anuo had disliked female creatures—he’d only keep male cats and dogs. Yet lately he was always clamoring to play with Feng Qiuji, which was out of character.

“All children are like that, drawn to new faces and things.” Feng Qiuji smiled, rising from the bed. “If you don’t mind, I’d be happy to spend more time with him. He’s so young and has never known a mother’s love. That’s rather cruel.”

“Very well, visit him often.” Ling Zetian agreed. He, too, wished Anuo could have a normal life, but his fears for the boy’s safety kept him at a distance. As Yan Wuying’s only blood, Anuo could not be allowed to come to harm.

“I will. By the way, Your Majesty, this courtyard feels so barren. Why not plant a few silk trees? They make fine ornamentals, and their blossoms are beautiful.” Feng Qiuji walked to the window, gazing at the empty grounds outside. It seemed a waste not to grow something there.

“As you wish.” The Palace of Morning Clouds was usually inhabited by him alone, and, ever preoccupied with affairs of state, he’d never thought to plant anything. But now that Feng Qiuji mentioned it, the place did seem rather desolate.

--- A side note: My story “Crimson Dusk” has fallen flat, so I’m brainstorming a new one. I know no one’s reading, and there will likely be no recommendations. Don’t scold me for being foolish, but I can’t abandon this story. I’ll keep updating daily, so if you’re not enjoying it, feel free to stop reading.