In Jingshou Palace, Su Qingfu stood by the window, having just dismissed the weeping Consort Wu, whose sobs had nearly stolen her breath. Outside, the drizzle had ceased, yet the sky remained overcast, much like the shadow upon her aging face—deep and somber.
After a long while, she raised her eyes slightly, letting the gloomy light settle in them, hardening into ice that mirrored the desolate coldness of the palace.
"Empress Dowager, the Empress is here to pay her respects."
It seemed as though Su Qingfu did not hear the report. Amidst the whistling wind, her fingers nearly broke the jade plaque she held.
Suddenly, the plaque fell, emitting a crisp jingle as it landed on the black brick floor, unscathed, its luster untouched.
"Empress Dowager!"
The palace maid's startled cry brought her back to herself. Taking a deep breath, she took the jade plaque handed back to her and slowly said, "Let her in."
With the support of a palace maid, Ye Rong approached her calmly. After years apart, Su Qingfu once again laid eyes on this last scion of the Ye clan. Her beauty was startling, dressed in a black robe that sharply contrasted with the joy of her recent marriage. The brows and eyes may not have resembled those she remembered, but the spirit—sharp and resolute—pierced her heart like a knife.
"Greetings to the Empress Dowager."
Ye Rong bowed gracefully, and Su Qingfu stared at her coldly, lost in her own thoughts, not in a hurry to bid her rise. But Ye Rong, unbothered, rose with He Du's support and sat down with elegance.
Su Qingfu frowned, her beautifully drawn brows tightening, as she looked at the expressionless woman. Anger swelled within her chest, yet her face remained calm. Her lips moved slightly before she spoke slowly, "I heard... the Empress disciplined Consort Wu today. What matter caused you to become so enraged?"
"It's nothing serious. I heard Mother has been unwell, even missing the wedding ceremony. From now on, please entrust the affairs of the inner palace to me, so that you may rest in peace."
These words stifled Su Qingfu, causing a flicker of anger in her phoenix-like eyes. Her hands tightened, then relaxed, the pain reminding her to maintain her composure. She spoke calmly, "Indeed, I haven't been well. This jade plaque, presented by Consort Wu, should be handed over to you. However, your eyesight is poor, and you are still new to the palace, unfamiliar with many matters. I shall assign someone to assist you, to put my mind at ease. What do you think?"
At this, He Du, standing beside Ye Rong, stepped forward to receive the jade plaque from the maid. Yet Ye Rong's flawless face flushed at Su Qingfu's words.
She gave a cold scoff, sweeping her black sleeve, knocking over the freshly presented tea cup. The porcelain shattered, and tea spilled across the table, the fragrance of green tea wafting through the air.
Seeing such blatant disregard, Su Qingfu could no longer contain herself, her expression changing. But before she could rebuke, Ye Rong stood up and spoke with an even tone, devoid of any emotion, "Mother must be tired. I shall take my leave now."
Watching her departing, graceful silhouette, Su Qingfu's brow furrowed deeply, her voice lowering as well, chilling anyone who heard it. "Ye Rong, no matter what happened back then, he is now your sovereign, your husband, your sky. No matter how strong and ambitious a woman may be, in the end, she must rely on a man. You must understand the loneliness of this deep palace. No matter what, he is your support. He favors gentle, graceful women, so do not overstep, do not anger him. Without him... you are nothing."
A woman should be like the vine, rich in glory and fortune but always in need of a tree to cling to. No matter how firm she might be, in the face of her husband, she must become as pliable as a finger. Otherwise, she is as useless as earth without the sky.
Hearing these words, Ye Rong paused, turning back. Her unfocused eyes shone with a faint light, her crimson lips curling into a smile, as alluring as a flower on the other side of life, laden with a crimson mist, pressing toward Su Qingfu.
A demon...
The word flashed through Su Qingfu's mind.
"Nothing more than an ill-tempered blind woman."
Only when she was far gone did Su Qingfu slowly exhale, a faint smile of self-reassurance appearing on her lips.
The autumn wind blew, rustling the leaves of the parasol tree. Ye Rong, feeling a surge of irritation, chose to forgo her carriage, dismissing the accompanying servants, and walked along the imperial path to Ningye Palace with He Du supporting her.
The palace attendants, seeing her approach, prostrated themselves from a distance. Amid the rustling wind and the mournful cries of the autumn trees, Ye Rong slowed her pace, her eyes half-closed, recalling the gentle willow breeze of Youzhou, soft as silk brushing against her skin.
After some time, He Du could no longer hold back, glancing around to ensure they were alone, then speaking softly, "Your Highness, why endure this? Consort Wu is one thing, but the Empress Dowager... You are being too impulsive."
She paused at his words, her dragon and phoenix-adorned hairpin swaying, and a slight bitter smile curled on her lips. "You think so too, do you?"
He Du looked at her elegant figure, still graceful despite being draped in the finest silk, her beauty untainted by joy. His heart ached, and he could not help but call out, "Your Highness!"
"He Du, do you know what it means to feign weakness?"
"Your servant is foolish, please enlighten me."
She stopped, turning her head slightly in his direction, as though she wanted to smile, but the sadness of her soul forbade it. Delicate fingers raised her black and gold-embroidered sleeve to cover her lips, seeming to smile and cry at once. Her bright eyes seemed to pierce through He Du, looking into a distant, unknown place.
Yet he still felt her gaze, like ripples across a jade-green lake, drifting towards him, layer upon layer of shimmering waves enveloping him. Her tender yet hidden thoughts seemed to brew within the furrowed brow, the faintly curved lips, shrouded in a haze.
"I am but a blind woman. To me, this is a misfortune, yet not without its silver lining. The fact that the heir of the Ye clan cannot see allows them to drop some of their vigilance. Therefore, I must be irascible, must be flamboyant, all for the sake of survival... You must understand, the king of Liguo has already set his noble hand upon the Ye clan, and it shall soon be stained with Ye clan's blood. I cannot seem too wise, nor too dull. They must see me as nothing but a blind woman with a bad temper and limited capability—that is the only way I can survive."
"Your Highness, why not try to save them?"
"Save them? They have taken advantage of my blindness, never considering me as the leader of the Ye clan. In all these years, have they ever treated me with respect?" A smile, enigmatic and cold, appeared on her coral lips, drawing out a peculiar arc devoid of warmth. "Their death will be my greatest liberation. Only through their death will the Ye clan bow under my feet. Call it using a borrowed knife, or a heart of stone—I care not. As for them, you need not concern yourself."
"Yes, Your Highness." He Du's face was hidden in the thick shadows of branches and leaves, his voice sharp yet gradually softening, "This servant only wishes for your happiness."
Ye Rong said nothing more, but her half-hidden hand tightened slightly, grasping He Dong's hand beneath her sleeve.
Slowly, a hint of dawn emerged on the horizon, slanting across the thin branches of the parasol tree, casting a faint glow before the sun sank behind the western mountains.
The pale moon hung like a hook, and the echoes of the watchman's clappers reverberated outside the long steps. Within the study of the Tai Chi Palace, lanterns still burned bright.
Kneeling on the ground, He Qian reported the Empress's conduct to Roga, who sat behind his desk, draped in a golden dragon robe.
Silence filled the hall, so much so that not even the sound of breathing could be heard. Only the soft cracking of candle wicks on the nine-dragon candle stand broke the silence, each tiny pop echoing eerily through the empty hall.
He stole a glance; Roga had risen and walked to the open window. The dark sky above lay heavy, the crescent moon hanging low. The wind grew fiercer, shaking the shadows of trees that danced across his incomparably handsome yet unreadable face.
Roga narrowed his eyes, hands clasped behind his back. There was a measure of arrogance, tempered by composure; but in those moments of furrowed brow and raised head, the elegance and noble bearing etched in his very bones slipped free.
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He Qian spoke of her—Ye Rong of the Ye clan—hot-tempered, jealous, unforgiving, and impure, none of which matched his vision of what she should be.
In his mind, what should she be like?
"Your Majesty, Grand Preceptor Fu requests an audience."
Roga paused, then recalled that the ever-steadfast Grand Preceptor Fu must have something urgent to discuss. He returned to his seat and commanded, "Let him in."
Clad in the vermilion robe embroidered with cranes, the white-haired Grand Preceptor entered hastily, performed his obeisance, and presented a memorial to the emperor.
"This is the evidence of Lingzhou Marquis Ye Kesuo's corruption."
Jing Feiyan accepted the memorial, gave it a quick glance, and sneered, "A mere marquis of Lingzhou dares such impudence. According to the laws of Liguo, he ought to have been executed long ago. His arrogance must be due to the lingering influence of Xie Liulan."
Knowing well that Xie Liulan had always been a thorn in the emperor's side, Grand Preceptor Fu dared not say more. Gauging Roga's mood, he chose his words carefully.
"I understand Your Majesty's intent. You wish to eradicate the forces restraining the Ye clan, but there is considerable risk. Ye Fengming commands a hundred thousand iron cavalry on the border of Beidi, and Beidi itself has long been our nation's concern. Therefore, we must not act rashly. Although Your Majesty has reigned for several years, hastily attempting to eliminate the Ye clan may destabilize the court, possibly inciting unrest at the Beidi border."
Roga replied without any visible reaction, "Then, according to Grand Preceptor, what should be done?"
The Grand Preceptor bowed deeply, the golden tassel of his seven-beamed crown brushing the air, leaving a gilded trace that contrasted starkly with his white hair.
"Liguo law forbids relatives by marriage from holding military positions. Although Ye Fengming is kin to the empress, he remains of the clan, thus his position must be reconsidered. But the loyalty of the troops and the deeply-rooted influence of the Ye clan within the army..."
"The Ye clan's power now stands in a tripartite state—wealth in Lingzhou, military strength in Qingzhou near Beidi, and Yusongdu of Jing'an." Roga glanced at him, raising an indifferent brow as he smiled, his elegance belying the ambition in his eyes. He said, "Grand Preceptor is correct, but I believe the trunk must first be severed before the branches can be dealt with, one by one."
The Grand Preceptor bowed even lower, his tone growing firmer. "If Your Majesty truly wishes to eradicate the Ye clan, then the highest-ranking woman of the Ye clan by your side... must also be removed. Otherwise, the fire will never be extinguished, and it will rekindle with the spring breeze."
Roga slowly closed his eyes, his lashes trembling. His white jade-like hand emerged from his golden sleeve, holding the memorial. Under the lamplight, his hand trembled ever so slightly, and after a long, silent moment, he sighed.
"What the Grand Preceptor says is true. However, she is already blind—a half-broken person. Her temperament, I find, poses no threat."
The Grand Preceptor kowtowed, his forehead striking the ground, "This servant is loyal to Your Majesty. Should this woman remain, Your Majesty may regret it in the future. A ruler must be without sentiment. Did Your Majesty not know that the late emperor fell to ruin because he was beguiled by a woman of the Ye clan?"
"Grand Preceptor!"
The sharp reprimand cut him off, but Roga's voice softened once more, still gentle. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, though his face had turned ashen.
Rising, he once again walked to the window, taking a deep breath. "Grand Preceptor, I am weary. You may go."
Listening to the fading, faltering footsteps of the Grand Preceptor, Roga suddenly felt a wave of inexplicable irritation.
Outside the window, the night was as dark as ink.
After a long while, he subconsciously left Qianjian Palace.
He Qian quickly got up and followed, hesitantly asking, "Your Majesty, tonight will you...?"
"Nowhere."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The monarch's voice was cold and unwavering, but after following him for years, He Qian could discern his thoughts. He gestured for the trailing servants to stand down, leaving him alone to follow the figure in bright yellow.
He walked towards Liufu Palace, where an ancient hibiscus tree stood amidst the still-abandoned courtyard. In the entire palace, this was the one place he loved most.
For reasons unknown, every time he stood beneath that tree and touched its rough bark, a sense of tranquility would wash over him.
Tonight, just as always, he walked there silently.
It was already August, autumn's presence growing heavier, and the hibiscus tree’s once brilliantly red flowers had long since faded.
No... something seemed amiss.
He frowned, glancing around.
The wind, carrying autumn’s chill after the light rain, swirled about, lifting the still-green fallen leaves. It seemed his heart was being tossed and turned just the same.
From outside the window, he saw that at some point several dim lanterns had been lit in Liufu Palace.
The flickering lights filtered through the dusty silken windows, casting shadows at his feet.
Roga lightly pushed open the window and gazed within. The dim glow of candlelight reflected faintly off the darkness, and he narrowed his eyes, his gaze deepening.
Inside the hall, the interplay of light and shadow crossed over a woman's figure, like a thin veil of dust obscuring her, blurring her colors. From afar, all that could be seen was her graceful silhouette, clad always in her long, flowing black garments, their hem trailing upon the ground. A golden sash at her waist stood out sharply, the tassels swaying as she took tentative steps, adding an unexpected touch of charm to her usually cold demeanor.
Suddenly, a gust of wind blew through, blurring his vision.
For just a fleeting moment, a familiar yet unfamiliar image flashed through his mind—something that seemed etched into his very bones without his knowing, a fleeting phantom.
"Your Majesty, shall I announce your arrival..."
He Qian saw his somber expression and was about to cautiously ask, when he saw the monarch wave a slender, pale hand, the wide sleeve cutting an elegant arc through the air. Then, the figure, cloaked in golden brocade, strode towards the door of Liufu Palace.
Liufu Palace, long sealed, was thick with dust, the air filled with the scent of decay.
Upon entering, Roga saw Ye Rong standing before a jade-gold screen, her dark silks catching the dim light and shining brilliantly. Her fingers, as delicate as green onions, reached out tentatively into the air as she took careful steps forward.
"Your Highness, five steps left to the screen, twenty steps right to the dressing table, and ten more to the left is..."
He Du, standing at a distance, spoke with a smile, a touch of indulgent warmth in his eyes.
"Slower, He Du, I cannot remember."
There was a softness in her tone, a gentle murmur that was absent of her usual coldness. She had even referred to herself as "I" rather than "This Palace." This intimacy, likely unconscious even to her, sparked a fire within him, a blaze barely held in check.
"What are you doing here?"
The cold voice, sharp enough to freeze, echoed through the empty hall. He Du startled, turning to see Roga standing at the door, dressed in his golden dragon-embroidered robe, his gaze as sharp as a blade.
Ye Rong, too, was startled at the sound, her steps faltering.
"Oh no, Your Highness, watch out for the flower stand!"
He Du called out, but it was too late. The flower stand and Ye Rong fell to the ground together, the solid wood clattering loudly against the floor, mixed with her cry of pain.
"Are you alright?!"
Roga was taken aback, forgetting all imperial decorum as he rushed forward, crouching to gather her trembling form in his arms.
She shook slightly, clutching her elbow in pain, unable to make a sound, only panting softly.
The coldness in Roga’s eyes melted. He hastily pushed up her sleeve, revealing a large bruise on her elbow. Panic flooded him, the pain seeming to pierce his very soul—it hurt even more than if he had been wounded himself.
He tried to be gentle, massaging her arm with utmost care.
This was not the first time they had touched, but the delicate, silky texture of her skin beneath his hand caused him to momentarily lose himself. A soft sigh brushed past his ear.
" Roga... is it you..."
The name, spoken with a tone full of dependency and tinged with pain like someone who had endured life and death, made his heart wrench. Even in their most intimate moments, she had never spoken to him like this.
Roga's heart constricted sharply, his voice softening in a way it had never done with any other consort—so gentle that even he was surprised by it.
"It is I... Does it hurt?"
Hearing his voice, she shivered, then slowly leaned into his neck, breathing heavily. It took her some time before she spoke, and her voice had lost the tenderness brought on by pain, becoming entirely cold and respectful, making him feel as though what had just happened was nothing but an illusion.
"It's not too bad."
Her frail shoulders trembled with the effort of bearing the pain. He helped her up and carried her to the chaise. He wanted desperately to see her expression, but she lay there, her face buried in her injured arm, and all he could see was her dark hair and pale neck.
At that moment, he felt acutely aware of having missed something—something beyond his ability to grasp or hold onto.
An emptiness, like a growing chasm, spread in both their hearts.
This was not like him; he strove to shake off this inexplicable mood. He raised his head, speaking sternly to He Du.
"He Du, why were you not attending the Empress?"
He Du fell to his knees with a resounding thud. Only then did Ye Rong raise her head, though her eyes remained lowered, her long lashes casting delicate shadows.
"Do not blame him. My brother knows that this is... my mother's former residence, and I wished to come and see it. This is just how I am—whenever I go to a new place, I do not let him stay by my side. I prefer to familiarize myself with the surroundings personally."
Her expression was respectful, her tone calm.
He remembered, long ago, when she had just returned to Jing'an from Lingzhou, burdened by the grief of her father's passing. Yet she still faced him with that same calm—a mask-like composure that concealed all the turmoil within her heart.
But at this very moment, seeing that expression again, he felt an overwhelming urge to shatter it.
"Rong..."
He leaned down, softly calling her name, wanting to see her clearly. He did not expect her to jerk her head up at the sound of his voice. In that instant, they were barely a breath apart, their breathing clearly audible.
"Why so startled? Do you not like it when I call you this way?"
"No, brother."
Roga could see her face turn pale, her subtle fragrance lingering and wrapping around him, strand by strand, unsettling his very soul.
Ye Rong could hear the increasingly heavy breathing so close to her, and suddenly, her body lifted into the air. Feeling herself being moved within his arms, she gasped softly.
"Ah, where are we going?"
"Back to Ningye Palace. Here, the dust fills every corner; how could anyone enjoy warmth and comfort in such a place?"
Roga held her tightly, striding out of Liufu Palace, under the astonished gazes of He Du and He Qian. With each step, he gazed down at her in his arms, moonlight and starlight casting a glow upon her.
Her face was tinged with a faint yellow light, as serene as the moon, revealing an ethereal beauty. Her arms were already wrapped around his neck, her soft and slightly cool palms resting gently against his skin.
Bereft of all her defenses, she lay meekly in his embrace. In moments like these, he felt free to hold her without reservation, to possess her, and she would shed her elegant, proud facade.
He held her as he walked slowly, neither of them speaking, as if both were savoring this rare tranquility.
The path, paved with bluestone, was lined with towering trees, their crowns spreading like canopies. The wind rustled through the pines, creating a sound akin to waves. The path wound between the trees, like a pale jade river flowing beneath the starlight and moonlight, exuding an unmatched grace and tranquility.
Her body was light, but the distance between Liufu Palace and Ningye Palace was considerable, with several palace courtyards in between. His arms grew sore from holding her so long, but he found himself wishing that this path would never end—that it could last longer, much longer.