The very air around the Emperor was cold. Anyone who had refined their senses enough to sense chi would feel his energy crackling dangerously, boundless wrath simmering beneath his skin. But even the servants who could not sense the Emperor’s energy could feel chills running down their spine and they dared not utter a sound as the Emperor got off his horse and stormed into the Yongyagong, heading straight for one of the outer courtyards where the newest Virtuous Lady, Lady Qing, lived.

“Your Majesty, Lady Qing and the First Imperial Prince have been attacked in the harem!”

The moment that the Shadow Guard had interrupted his meeting with Marquis Han and relayed those words, Huang Yasheng felt something in his chest jump. He had stood without delay and stormed out of the man’s house. He had not taken his palanquin, knowing that thing was as slow as a snail. Instead, he hopped on one of the horses and weaved through the Capital, taking the shortcuts that he had learned when growing up.

It was against all the etiquette of the Imperial Family, but surely no one would blame him. His only son had been attacked. It was only natural he would be worried. If not for the concern to maintain a modicum of decorum, he would have run through the Capital at the highest speed to get to his son

But who would know? Who would know that it was not only his son he was worried about? Who would know that the first thing that entered his mind as soon as he heard those words was the image of that woman lying prone on the floor, curled around a smaller body like he knew she would be if she was ever forced to give up her life for her son? Who would know that he imagined the light leave her hazel eyes, her gaze - usually so fiery - void of life and the fire that he had come to admire? Who would know that his chest had tightened painfully at the image of her empty eyes?

No one.

No one would know.

No one could know.

That woman was not someone he should get attached to. An Emperor’s attachment held weight - political implications. It was a burden for those who did not want it, shackles that bound you in the glided cage that was the Imperial Harem. It was something that could cause an upheaval in the entire nation. His uncle - the product of his grandfather’s attachment to a courtesan - was proof enough of that. At a time when the future of the throne was uncertain with one unborn child in the Empress’s womb and the First Imperial Prince suddenly appearing out of nowhere, when his courtiers were contemplating choosing sides, he could not show favour to the mother of the Prince.

And above all, that woman did not want his affections. He could see it. She only saw him as the father of her child, someone to cooperate with but be wary of. He could not blame her. And he would not force his affections on her on a whim, a temporary desire for closeness. He was sure that was what it was. Emperors feeling some sort of affection for a certain concubine was normal. It would fade with time. She would leave before the decade was over.

That was what he told himself even as he raced through the capital, his throat tight as he tried to chase the image of her broken, lifeless body away. The Shadow Guard had said that she was alive, and so was his son. There was nothing to worry about.

He did not stop as he approached the gates of the Imperial City. Even if the door guards had not recognised him, his Shadow Guards must have gotten the message that he was coming. The larger doors opened with a heave and the guards quickly moved out of the way. He paid them no mind as he weaved through the Palace roads towards the Inner Palace, making a beeline for the Yongyagong.

It did not take him long to reach the courtyard, but it felt like an eternity.

He ignored the servants who had dropped to their knees at his approach, head to the ground. He walked to the closest one and spoke.

“Speak. Where is Lady Qing and the Prince?”

The young girl, to her credit, answered swiftly. “Answering Your Majesty, the Lady is inside, being treated by the Imperial Physician. Imperial Prince Xu has been taken to Lady Fu’s courtyard by Eunuch Liu.”

“And Han Qin?”

From the little information he got, Han Qin was the one who saved them.

“The Grand Commandant is guarding the Lady.”

He relaxed just a tad. Han Qin standing guard meant that she was safe.

Without another word, he went inside, crossing the front porch. He saw Han Qin standing just a step behind the door, facing outside with his arms crossed. It did not mean much that he had his back to the room. Han Qin could react to anything within his surroundings easily.

The moment he saw the Emperor, the man bowed. “Your Majesty.”

Nodding in response, Huang Yasheng spoke only one word. “Report.”

Years of being together in battle and politics meant that Han Qin’s response was prompt and precise. “Your Majesty, I had come to the Palace to get the documents that you needed.” Ah, the documents that he had trusted Han Qin to bring over, the documents that had some considerably damning implications for some particular courtiers of his court. He’d told Han Qin to go after midnight so that no one would be able to interrupt him or even see him. He did not need the spies in the Palace to blabber. He was supposed to discuss them today with Preceptor Xie, who himself had some disturbing news of his uncle being active towards the East.

“Just as I was leaving the Palace, I heard a scream coming from the Yongyagong. I ran as fast as I could. When I came here, I saw bodies on the floor, one man holding Prince Xu hostage while the other had his sword aimed at Lady Qing.” He paused for a moment. “I took care of the latter first, since Lady Qing seemed to be in immediate danger. I was going to deal with the one holding the Prince immediately after, but… Lady Qing took care of that already.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Huang Yasheng blinked as he processed that information. “Qin… you are telling me that my concubine killed all her assailants but one?”

Han Qin nodded, not a trace of a lie on his expression. “Well, not all of them. Two of them were alive but incapacitated. One of them is still unconscious, and the other had his hand sliced off. One of them was just knocked out. He is in the dungeon.” Han Qin nodded towards the inside… towards the drying pool of blood on the floor. “We don’t know if either of them will survive.”

He supposed he should not be surprised. Part of him was not, truly. Qing Samaya looked like someone who went through quite a few battles of her own in life. Her life must not have been easy in that border town brimming with criminals. The way she held herself, the way she scanned her surroundings, the way she seemed ready to move into action, … all tells of a trained soldier. Most importantly, the way she could run circles around his Guards.

What kind of life had she lived?

The question that sometimes strayed into his mind when he thought of her found its way into his thoughts again.

He shook his head slightly. Useless thoughts, those were.

“How are they?”

“Prince Xu is unharmed save for a small cut to his neck. Don’t worry, he is not in danger, it is a shallow cut on the skin. Lady Qing… she has small shards of wood on her back and arms from being thrown onto the furniture and a cut on her shoulder. She is being treated inside.”

He clenched his teeth, as the image in his mind was replaced by her slender body being pierced with jagged pieces of wood. He pushed it away, walking inside. He could see that the curtains around the bed were down and two figures sitting behind them, a third one standing beside them with a bowl in hand.

They seemed to notice his approach and immediately the figure sitting behind the first one stood, lifting the curtain. It was the Imperial Physician. As soon as he saw him, the middle-aged man bowed, along with the maid who was holding the bowl.

“Your Majesty.”

Huang Yasheng spared them a nod before stepping inside the flimsy shield that the curtain created. The only indication that he felt anything at the sight in front of him was the clenching of his fist beneath his sleeve.

His concubine sat with his back to them, her back devoid of clothes on her upper body except for the wrapping around her breasts. And even that had spots of blood on it. No doubt that the wounds there were taken care of first so that she could have some sort of covering to protect her decency as the physician took care of the rest. Usually, no man except the Emperor would be able to see the bare skin of a concubine. There were only two exceptions to this, the birth of a child and dangerous or life-threatening injuries. This was the latter.

Lady Qing’s back and arms bore the wounds of her fierce battle. Small and large shards protruded from her skin like twisted daggers, a painful reminder of the attack she had endured. The larger shards, jagged and menacing, jutted out from her flesh in irregular patterns, their tips stained with blood where they had pierced her skin. Some were embedded deep, pressing into her flesh, the wound around it raw and pulsing.

But Huang Yasheng could see more open wounds, where the shards that had been piercing her must have been removed, leaving behind raw, angry wounds that oozed blood. The smaller fragments, like tiny shards of glass, dotted her skin in a macabre mosaic of injury. He could see other, older scars, jagged lines and veins of old injuries scattered across her dark skin, knowing from experience some of those had to have been quite painful. He was barely even surprised at the sight. And now, more scars would be added to that canvas that had already been carved through by whatever life she had led before coming to the Palace.

He had given her his word. He had told her the Palace would be safe. Why had he gotten so complacent, so unnecessarily confident in the security of the Palace? Why had he not spared a few Shadow Guards to the Yongyagong, where all his children lived? Where she lived?

He exhaled softly and pulled himself out of his spiralling thoughts.

“Lady Qing,” he called.

She turned around and Huang Yasheng saw her clenched jaw, the sweat rolling down her face and her eyes simmering with pain.

“Your Majesty,” she exhaled those words softly. “Forgive me for being unable to greet you properly.”

Huang Yasheng waved at the Imperial Physician to continue his work as he walked to the bed and sat in front of her, the Physician taking his place behind her.

“Do not worry about such trivial things when you are injured,” he said sternly. “How painful is it?”

“I do not. But the people around here do.” He should have expected that answer. She tilted her head and gave a shaky smile. It looked a bit manic. “Are you worried about me, Your Majesty?”

“Of course, We are worried about Our concubine,” he replied immediately. She rolled her eyes as if she didn’t believe him. He did not expect her to, of course. Still, it irritated him. “You still have not answered Our question.”

The woman scoffed. “It is as painful as … you know, getting your flesh pierced by a dozen shards of woo- mph!”

She immediately clamped her mouth shut and clenched her jaw as a scream of pain rumbled in her throat, suppressed and muffled into something like a growl. Her hands clenched around the sheets so tightly that he could see her knuckles turning white, her nails digging into her palm through the fabric.

Almost without thought, he reached out, taking one of her hands in his and turning it around. He gently made her fingers unfurl before wrapping his own larger palm around hers. He looked up at her, only to find her looking back at him warily, her chest heaving with soft, pained pants. He was sure she would have ripped her hand away from his if she could. He could see that she felt drained of strength and energy.

He reached out with his other hand. “Let me hold it, Ya’er,” he said, the term of endearment he had made up on the spot in the Imperial Punishment Grounds to rile up his courtiers slipping out of his tongue easily. “You are already injured. Do not hurt yourself anymore.”

She stared for a long moment before the stalemate was broken by another groan behind clenched teeth as the Physician pulled out another shard. Something in her must have given in, because she unclenched her other hand and put it in the palm he held out. The next moment, he felt those slender hands tighten around his own in an iron grip, callused fingers pressing so hard against his skin that he could feel every bump, her nails finding purchase in the back of his hand this time. It was barely a sting.

They stayed like that for more than half an hour, groans and grunts of agony leaving her every now and then, even as she tried not to make a sound. He did not let go for even a moment, moving his hands this way and that with her when the Physician needed to get those shards out of her arms.

He moved closer and closer until at one point, her head ended up on his shoulder. He could hear her frantic heartbeat, her ragged breathing, every tremor that ran through her body, and the rumble in her throat as she muffled her screams from the pain. He tried not to notice her olive skin glistening with sweat, tried not to notice the heat of her body against his, tried not to notice her bosom heaving every time she took a breath, tried not to notice her biting down on her bottom lip. That was not what she needed right now, he reminded himself as he allowed her to use him as support.

All the while her hands held his tightly.

As the Physician pulled out the final shard, she finally slumped against him, her soft pants brushing warm air against his skin and her small shoulders trembling against his chest.