Chapter Three: The Emperor Arrives

Meanwhile, in the Palace of Morning Clouds, all the eunuchs and maids had been dismissed. The vast bedchamber was enveloped in silence as the evening banquet drew to a close. Listening to the distant laughter gradually fading away, Xiao Hui paced anxiously within the room, throwing worried glances at the door, yet there was still no sign of Feng Qiuji.

“Where could my lady have gone?” Had she lost her way? Or had something happened to her? What if His Majesty arrived soon? Was she to face him alone? The thought sent a shiver down her spine. No, she must find her lady at once. If the Emperor came and could not find her mistress, how could she bear such blame?

Just as she stepped outside, a sharp cry echoed from beyond the palace walls. “His Majesty is coming!” The Emperor?

Xiao Hui’s mind went blank. “What should I do? What should I do?” His Majesty was truly here, but her mistress had not yet returned. Should the Emperor take offense… There was nothing more she could do. Gritting her teeth, she closed the door, hurriedly donned the bridal gown, and pulled the red veil over her head before sitting primly by the bedside. Tonight was their wedding night, but the Emperor seemed to have little interest in her mistress; if that was the case, perhaps her impersonation would go undetected.

The festivities had faded, and the Palace of Morning Clouds was tranquil, bathed in a flood of moonlight. The palace lanterns along the corridor glowed quietly, and Ling Zetian pushed open the door. The room was empty; only the thick red candles burned alone, their warm light casting a gentle glow over the festive chamber.

He glanced at the woman sitting by the bed. She remained utterly still, as if she were a statue. Ling Zetian’s face was cold and silent. He disliked this feeling, just as he loathed political marriages. Marriage should have been a joyous affair, but as Emperor, his life was not his own.

Meanwhile, Xiao Hui was tense from head to toe, holding her breath so as not to miss a single movement from Ling Zetian. She had no idea what would happen next, nor did she dare imagine the consequences. The stifling air of the bedchamber made her heartbeat quicken. Inwardly, she prayed that Feng Qiuji would return quickly, before matters grew any worse.

Ling Zetian took a sip of tea, his gaze settling on the pitch-black window. His deep eyes betrayed nothing of his thoughts.

“I have no interest in you.” The words, cold as ice, drifted into Xiao Hui’s ears, sending a chill through her body.

No interest? What did that mean?

“So, you know what to do, don’t you?” Ling Zetian glanced at the pristine white cloth on the bed. The court officials were always prying into every detail—he had no desire to be criticized at court the next day.

No response.

At last, Ling Zetian’s eyes fixed on her once more. “Must I do it for you?”

Xiao Hui tried desperately to understand what he wanted her to do, but she could not fathom it no matter how hard she tried.

“I—I do not understand Your Majesty’s meaning.” She quelled her fear, striving to keep her voice steady.

“You do not?” The corners of Ling Zetian’s lips curled into a cryptic smile. With a flick of his hand, the red bridal veil floated gently to the floor.

Upon seeing her face, Ling Zetian’s brows knitted together. The woman staring at him, eyes wide with terror—who was she? That was not Feng Qiuji.

“Tell me, where is your mistress?” Though his anger was rising, his expression remained inscrutable. Feng Qiuji! She dared to wander off on her wedding night and send a maid to impersonate her? Did she hold him, the Emperor, in no regard?

Xiao Hui pressed her lips tightly together and lowered her head, remaining silent. The sharp gleam in his brown eyes made her afraid to meet his gaze.

A metallic clatter broke the silence. Xiao Hui jumped in fright, staring dumbly at the dagger Ling Zetian had tossed at her feet. The blade was exquisitely crafted and razor-sharp, glinting coldly in the candlelight.

“Do it.” His icy voice was harsh in the air.

Trembling, she bent down and picked up the dagger, stealing a fearful glance at Ling Zetian. He was the Emperor—if he gave an order, what choice did she have?

Ling Zetian watched coldly as she closed her eyes and pointed the dagger at her own chest.

Another clatter as the dagger fell once more to the floor.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ling Zetian withdrew his hand, frowning. He had only intended for her to prick her finger—was she trying to kill herself?

Xiao Hui opened her eyes, staring at Ling Zetian in bewilderment, her face full of confusion.

“I meant for you to prick your finger.”

She stared blankly at him. He hadn’t meant for her to take her own life? Mechanically, she nodded, picked up the dagger once again, and cut her finger.

“Drip your blood onto the white cloth.”

She did as he instructed, breathing a sigh of relief. So that was all His Majesty wanted. She had feared she was doomed, that she would never see her mistress again.

“Now, tell me—where has your mistress gone?” Ling Zetian’s question, cold as ever, made her heart leap into her throat once more. Should she tell the truth? She was not skilled in lying and could think of no excuse to fool him.

“Your Majesty,” she decided, gathering her courage, and with a soft thud, knelt before Ling Zetian, “my lady left after the enthronement ceremony and has yet to return. I beg Your Majesty to have someone search for her within the palace.” Feng Qiuji rarely ventured beyond the gates of the Prime Minister’s residence and had no sense of direction at all. Having been gone this long, she must have lost her way in the palace. They needed to find her quickly.

“Where did she go?”

“She said she was hungry and went to find something to eat.”

“To find something to eat?” A heavily made-up woman from earlier at the banquet flashed through Ling Zetian’s mind. He had found her somewhat familiar—could that have been Feng Qiuji? “Was your mistress dressed in palace attire when she left?”

“Yes.”

The truth dawned on Ling Zetian. He lowered his head for a moment, then looked up, his expression grave as he spoke to Xiao Hui. “Your mistress may already be paralyzed.” To think, on their wedding night, he had ordered the Empress so severely punished—how could he face the court tomorrow?

Seeing his expression, Xiao Hui’s heart raced. Could something have happened to her mistress?

“Come, let’s search for her.” Before she could react, Ling Zetian had already risen and strode out of the Palace of Morning Clouds. The night deepened, and the palace grew ever quieter, but it was destined to be a sleepless night.

In the Empress Dowager’s Changxin Palace—

“Speak. Who sent you?” The man raised his teacup, blew gently on the newly steeped leaves, and looked up at Feng Qiuji, who was sprawled on the ground.

After resting for some time, Feng Qiuji had regained a bit of strength, though her shoulder still throbbed painfully, not enough to be fatal. She lay motionless, feigning death, but her mind was racing. The most urgent thing was to preserve her life. What name could she give to avoid being killed? Or should she simply claim to know nothing at all?

“Keep playing dead and I’ll kill you myself.” As the Empress Dowager finished speaking, Feng Qiuji felt something cold press against her neck. She looked up hastily to see that the Empress Dowager now held a long sword, its sharp edge poised at her throat, needing only the slightest push to end her life. Was this the legendary “one stroke to the throat”?

“Hahaha…” Forcing herself to stay calm, she burst out laughing, then began rambling. Suddenly, she recalled the scene in “The Deer and the Cauldron” where Wei Xiaobao faced off against the Empress Dowager. As the saying goes, books hold golden mansions and beauties alike—perhaps there was some truth in that.

Sure enough, the Empress Dowager was intrigued by her inexplicable laughter and barked, “At death’s door, what are you laughing at?”

Seeing her hook the Empress Dowager’s interest, Feng Qiuji quickly sobered, assuming a righteous air and said mournfully, “If you kill me now, His Majesty will know everything by tomorrow.”

“So you’re saying the Emperor sent you?” The Empress Dowager’s phoenix eyes narrowed, though a thread of doubt crept into her heart. She had always been cautious, leaving no loose ends, yet the Emperor was not easily deceived. Since this woman claimed as much, she might as well hear her out. “What does the Emperor know?”

“In truth, His Majesty has long known of your… liaisons,” Feng Qiuji cast a meaningful glance at the unhurried man, then looked at the Empress Dowager, feigning complete knowledge. “But he says the Empress Dowager is young and full of vigor, and it’s only natural to have desires. Since the late Emperor’s passing, you’ve been alone and pitiable, so he chose to turn a blind eye.”

“And then?” Instead of anger, the Empress Dowager laughed at Feng Qiuji’s words, sheathing her sword and looking at her with interest. She had never been a proper consort, not even in the late Emperor’s lifetime. She had entered the palace at sixteen, when the Emperor had already been fifty-six. She was a beautiful woman who appreciated handsome men; how could she be attracted to an old man nearly in his grave?

“And then His Majesty said that, since you treated him kindly in his youth and often cared for him, he has always respected you…” Seeing that the Empress Dowager was not angry, Feng Qiuji grew bolder, her tongue running wild while her mind searched for a way to escape.

By now, the Empress Dowager was certain the woman was lying. She was only a few years older than the Emperor; when he was young, she had not yet entered the palace—how could she have cared for him? The Empress Dowager’s lips curled into a seductive smile. “Little girl, since you serve the Emperor, if I were to kill you, His Majesty would surely come looking for trouble tomorrow. Why don’t I let you go instead?”

“Yes, yes!” Overjoyed, Feng Qiuji broke into a broad smile. She had been desperately trying to figure out how to convince the Empress Dowager to release her, never expecting the woman to suggest it herself. “Rest assured, Your Majesty, I saw nothing tonight and will not breathe a word of it.”

“Very well. As long as you behave, I will not treat you poorly.” With that, the Empress Dowager produced a small porcelain bottle and shook out a pill, handing it to Feng Qiuji. “This will treat your internal injuries.”

Feng Qiuji accepted it, sneaking a glance at the Empress Dowager. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Yet she did not swallow it. The woman was unpredictable—who could say if it was truly medicine or poison?

As if sensing her thoughts, the Empress Dowager covered her lips with a bewitching smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t kill you. Go on, be on your way.”

“Yes.” After lying on the ground for so long, Feng Qiuji longed to flee this accursed place, but her injuries forced her to rise slowly. She bowed to the Empress Dowager and limped out of Changxin Palace.

“You’re really going to let her go?” The man, silent until now, finally looked at the Empress Dowager as Feng Qiuji’s figure vanished from sight.

“If we truly killed her, neither of us would have peace.”

“Why?”

“Because she is the Empress.” The Empress Dowager lifted her gaze slightly, staring into the dark night beyond the window, a subtle, enigmatic smile in her eyes.

---End of aside--- Ah, the author is in utter chaos now.