In the fifth year of Kangnian, on the eighth day of the eighth month, an auspicious day for weddings, the royal city welcomed its new mistress amid the sounds of jubilant music. The palace, draped in red, was filled with the revelry of intertwining wine cups, the melodies of flutes and zithers filling the air, oblivious to the passing of time.

In Jingshou Palace, far from the hustle, silence prevailed. The attendants stood quietly by the steps, only able to hear the faint echo of distant drums.

The sky darkened gradually, storm clouds gathered, and a strong wind swept through. Willow branches swayed uncertainly in the breeze, the dark clouds thickening, pressing heavily upon the palace eaves. Suddenly, a bolt of lightning tore through the sky, and rain poured down.

Su Qingfu leaned lazily on the Xiangfei couch, while a young maid knelt by her side, massaging her legs with delicate hands. At that moment, she seemed to have aged ten years, leaning there, exhausted, her gaze misty and lost as she looked at the rain through the crimson gauze window. The orchids by the window were wilting in the rain, their petals crushed into the mud.

Is all beauty in this world but a fleeting blossom...?

Wu Xianfei still couldn't understand her aunt's thoughts. She smiled gracefully, holding a jade bowl delicately as she approached, her slender fingers as gentle as orchids.

"Empress Dowager, you must be tired today. I have brought freshly brewed lotus seed porridge."

"Hmm, thank you for your care." Looking at her niece, she smiled kindly, a rare expression. The phoenix hairpin in her dark hair gleamed in the candlelight. "I know what worries you, but don't fret. The Emperor has already begun punishing the Ye clan. However, no matter what, she is still the Empress, so you must not go too far."

She stirred the porridge, the snow lotus from the Tian Mountains gleaming like pearls in the bowl, its sheen matching the jade color of the vessel. The steam rose, gathering and dissipating within the brocade curtains, but never quite masking the heavy scent of incense that filled the room.

"The most important thing is to bear an imperial heir as soon as possible."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

A faint blush spread across Wu Xianfei's lotus-like face. She concealed her rosy lips behind her embroidered sleeve and answered with a smile.

When Roga entered Ningye Palace, it was already late into the night, and the rain still poured relentlessly. Ye Rong sat by the window, the bright red wedding robe already replaced. She wore a black dress, leaning slightly against the armrest, her face glowing faintly under the candlelight, her wide gold-embroidered sleeves falling to reveal slender wrists and fingers resting on her cheek. The long sleeve draped over the chair, occasionally caressed by a moist breeze, lending an ethereal grace to the scene.

Amidst the swirling blue smoke from a jade incense burner, Roga felt that the woman before him was almost too beautiful to be real. A gentle ripple stirred in his heart, finding this side of Ye Rong profoundly endearing. He approached slowly, hesitating whether to call out to her. But she seemed to sense his presence already, tilting her head slightly, her eyes, like glazed glass, misty and uncertain, as she spoke softly:

"Royal Brother?"

Roga was momentarily stunned and sat beside her, smiling as he spoke:

"How did you know it was me?"

"A blind person's sense of smell is always more sensitive."

She sat there quietly, not saying much else, her lips curving faintly, offering a semblance of a smile that wasn't quite a smile.

"Have you gotten used to everything after just entering the palace today? Were you too tired to wait, and lifted the veil yourself?"

"Not really."

Hearing such indifferent words, Roga suppressed his displeasure, slowly reaching out to curl her hair around his finger, watching it glisten between his fingers. Ye Rong remained indifferent, allowing him to toy with her hair, her head always bowed, never lifting.

Her obedience made Roga narrow his eyes, curving into a gentle smile.

"You always seem so quiet, just like the first time we met."

"The first time we met?"

She seemed moved, lifting her face slightly. Her cold yet beautiful features held a faint glow, tinged with anticipation.

"Yes, when Father passed away."

"The first time... So... you never truly remembered..."

She furrowed her finely drawn brows slightly, lowering her head again, murmuring in a voice even she could barely hear.

Closing her eyes slightly, her pale, cold face showed a rare hint of melancholy, her beauty taking on an inexplicable tenderness. Roga looked at her, feeling a sudden daze. Realizing his lapse, he frowned, grabbing Ye Rong's hand.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, Royal Brother."

Her voice was soft, as faint as a flickering candlelight.

Unable to endure her coldness any longer, he grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips, teasing in a low voice:

"Still calling me 'Royal Brother'? It's time to change that, don't you think?"

"Changed it, have you? You may outwardly adjust, but deep inside, doesn't it feel awkward?"

"Is that so?"

"Don't you know all too well in your heart?"

She turned her face towards him, the crimson candlelight casting its glow upon her features, as pale as jade. Though she couldn't see, he still felt as if her eyes were deep pools, their surface reflecting shifting lights.

"Why the sudden hostility? Have I offended you?"

"I thought Royal Brother knew I am your sister."

The words struck Roga, nearly prompting him to storm off. Yet, he restrained himself, pressing his lips tightly together.

The woman before him was unlike any other in the palace who worshipped him as though he were heaven. She was ever as cold as frost, always calm and self-possessed.

Because she had a powerful lineage behind her, she needed nothing from him—not now, and perhaps never.

"Am I wrong, Royal Brother?"

Before she could even finish the word "brother," Roga's lips, filled with something close to madness, captured hers. She felt his soft, wine-flavored tongue invade, tangling and pushing aggressively.

Roga drank deeply of this exquisite beauty, her lips so soft, with a unique fragrance—so familiar and alluring that it was more intoxicating than the finest wine, making him savor her again and again.

Only after a long while did he break the kiss.

Their chests heaved, their breaths coming fast.

She pressed her hands against his chest, her eyes half-closed, a stray lock of dark hair clinging to her pale face, her lips tightly shut. The once serene and aloof her now possessed a mesmerizing allure, her demeanor soft, fragile, and... utterly tempting.

Unable to contain himself any longer, Roga scooped her up and strode towards the crimson lotus canopy...

Outside, blossoms trembled under the relentless rain, petals carried by the wind to cling to the emerald gauze of the window, even more enchanting for it.

By the morning of the next day, the palace had grown noticeably quieter, save for the night guards who hadn't changed shifts yet. In the autumn air, the faint calls of birds and insects could still be heard, and whenever the wind passed, raindrops that had gathered on the leaves throughout the night would fall, lending the palace a distinct laziness under the gray morning light.

The morning drum had just sounded when He Qian led the servants with washing supplies and quietly stepped into the hall.

The thick red candles, as wide as an arm, still flickered faintly, casting a dim glow, making the grand palace seem chilled and eerie.

He shivered unconsciously, standing before the drawn brocade curtains, about to call out when the curtain was brushed aside, and Roga emerged.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"Your Majesty."

He Qian quickly bowed, and in the dim light of dawn, he could faintly see a shadow of gloom on Roga's face.

With a signal from him, a nearby servant swiftly presented a still-warm cup of tea.

Roga took it, but did not drink, merely holding it in his hand.

The faint scent of Biluochun tea lingered, its delicate fragrance rising gently, while the yellow-glazed floral cup shimmered faintly in his pale fingers.

A cold smile tugged at Roga's lips, his slender eyes narrowing slightly, his gaze deep as a bottomless pool, impossible to read, flickering uncertainly in the dawning light.

Holding his breath, He Qian tried to decipher his sovereign's thoughts amidst the spiraling steam from the tea.

Roga's hand gripped the yellow-glazed porcelain cup, the veins faintly bulging beneath the elaborate dragon-embroidered robe, his lips twisted into a smile that seemed as though it could tear someone apart.

The delicate porcelain couldn't withstand the force, and soon a crack appeared. Then, with a sudden flick of his hand, the cup shattered, shards skittering across the dark stone floor.

He Qian froze, quickly kneeling down.

The servants behind him followed suit, kneeling hastily, plunging the already silent hall into an even deeper stillness.

"What happened?"

A woman's clear voice, crystalline and soft, called from behind the curtain.

He Qian looked up, and there was Ye Rong, still dressed in her black ceremonial robe, the long sleeves trailing on the floor like flowing spring water, with mirrored silk wrapped around her arms. Supported by the servants, she walked gracefully into the hall.

"No matter, just a slip of my hand," Roga forced himself to say, suppressing the anger in his chest, though his face was still ashen.

"Were you hurt?"

She seemed startled, raising her slender wrist, her delicate, crystal-like fingers reaching out tentatively.

Roga hesitated, before placing his hand into hers, and she gently felt it, her movements tender and slow, like a feather brushing across water.

"No harm done, don't worry."

With each breath, Roga felt a soft sensation brushing against his cheek, gentler than silk, more lingering than water—her breath, warm and fleeting, escaped her crimson lips and touched his skin lightly.

"That's good. Royal Brother's body is worth more than gold; it cannot endure even the slightest harm."

After a brief pause, her hand traveled up his arm to his collar, carefully adjusting the unfastened part. Then, she bowed her head and stepped back, performing a respectful yet graceful salute as she said quietly:

"It is time for Your Majesty to attend morning court. I humbly bid you farewell."

At such close proximity, their breaths mingled. Roga felt an almost uncontrollable urge to pull her tightly into his embrace, to meld her into his very being.

But his hand, hanging at his side, tightened, then relaxed.

"Take care and rest well."

He turned away abruptly, his footsteps heavy as he strode out.

Standing alone in the hall, Ye Rong lowered her head, her lips curving into a faint smile, her brows carrying a trace of aloofness, almost with a hint of coldness. Yet, as she cast her gaze downward, her gentle smile was utterly enchanting.

"Princess..." Her attendant, He Du, began to speak but, realizing his mistake, hurriedly corrected himself, "Your Grace, why put yourself through this? Such matters could still be concealed, to some extent."

"Conceal what?"

She asked indifferently, her elegantly shaped brows arching slightly in a graceful arc.

"Your Grace!"

Having grown up together, with a bond deeper than most, He Du daringly spoke with a tone that carried both reproach and concern.

Ye Rong wasn't offended, her eyes holding a subtle allure, though it couldn't mask her inherent hostility.

"All he wants is the Ye family. What I am doesn't matter. Whether I'm blind or tarnished, he must accept it, mustn't he?" Her eyes, like polished glass, showed no emotion as she calmly stated the truth. "In the end, all he wants is a tool to hold the Ye family in his palm. Whether that tool is damaged or incomplete, it's not within his control, nor does he need to care."

"When His Majesty shattered the cup this morning, Your Grace, why put yourself through this? Why cause such unhappiness right after the wedding?"

"So what? I merely used his hand to repay a strike—otherwise, he might truly believe I am just a clay doll, one that can be manipulated at will."

He Du looked at her, resplendent in her brocade gown, her black hair and attire contrasting against her fair skin. Yet those once sightless eyes held an unmistakable hatred.

He couldn't help but recall that day—the day Regent Xie Liulan passed away. He had seen that same expression on her face.

Back then, her eyes had brimmed with hatred, just as they did now.

And today, that hatred seemed even deeper.

The hour of Chen had passed, yet the sky remained overcast. Gentle rain continued to fall, streaming down the glazed tiles, forming strings of droplets at the eaves, cascading down the veranda of Ningye Palace, forming gentle ripples.

Ye Rong habitually sat by the window, plucking the strings of her qin, allowing its deep notes to reverberate through the empty hall.

He Du stood beside her, enjoying the moment of serenity.

The tranquility was abruptly interrupted by the somewhat sharp voice of a palace maid.

"Your Grace, Lady Wu Xianfei and Lady Fu Shufei request an audience."

"Have them wait a moment."

He Du waved his hand, dismissing the maid, and his face, as pale and delicate as a woman's, darkened like the sky outside.

"Your Grace, Lady Wu is the Empress Dowager's niece, and Lady Fu is the daughter of His Majesty's Grand Preceptor. Both have been in the palace for five years. It would be wise to grant them an audience."

"Hmm."

Ye Rong responded lightly, intending to continue playing the qin, but her thoughts were already restless. Her fingers, passing over the strings, pulled heavily, producing a discordant note.

She withdrew her hand, placing it on He Du's extended arm, rising slowly. She sighed softly, her slender fingers tightening around his arm.

Quickly organizing all that had transpired in her mind, she wore an expression adorned with the eerie beauty of indigo blossoms and rouge.

"Five years... is that so? Then there's no rush. Let them wait."

"As you wish."

He bowed in reply, his lips curving into a cold smile as well.

Outside, the drizzle continued to fall.

In the side hall, Wu Xianfei and Fu Shufei had waited for half an hour, yet no one appeared. Growing restless, Wu Xianfei's impatience became evident. Born of a prestigious family, with her aunt being the Empress Dowager, she had never experienced such neglect.

Her slender, ring-adorned fingers adjusted her hairpin. Before speaking, her eyes, as deep as autumn waters, glanced intentionally at Fu Shufei, her tone carrying a chill sharper than the rain.

"What airs she puts on, making us wait so long without a word. Does she truly believe herself the mistress of the six palaces?"

Consort Fu was a gentle woman, as graceful as jade. She gazed out the window, and at Wu Xianfei's words, she turned her head, offering a faint smile, her brows and eyes imbued with a tenderness like flowing water. In a soft voice, she said:

"Sister, please be patient a little longer. After all, the Empress is still the Empress."

As soon as she finished, it seemed as though she could not withstand the chill in the air, and she began to cough lightly. Her slender fingers held a white silk handkerchief to her lips, her downcast brows casting faint shadows.

The sound of her cough, intermittent like a willow swaying in the wind, was utterly pitiful.

This scene fell into Wu Xianfei's gaze, and her heart sank.

They had entered the palace together, chosen at the same time, but the woman before her, though of higher rank, had always held the Emperor's favor. Wu Xianfei, who considered herself no less in beauty or character, had held this bitterness in her heart for so long that it had begun to turn into a silent resentment.

Covering her lips, Wu Xianfei gave a cold smile. The gold-threaded peony embroidery on her pale pink sleeves set off her complexion, making her face appear as white as snow.

"So what? She's just a blind woman. What's there to be so arrogant about?"

Fu Shufei finally managed to stop coughing, her delicate brows furrowing. Her deep eyes, glistening with tears from her cough, held an unreadable expression, her lips curving in a faint, mysterious smile.

"Sister, be quieter—someone is coming."

As she spoke, a palace maid in green lifted the curtain and entered quietly, bowing low:

"The Empress requests the presence of both Your Graces."

The two women exchanged glances, sharing a smile only they could understand, before following the maid out.

At the side of the vermillion doors of the main hall, the palace attendants stood in solemn silence.

On the throne sat a woman in a black robe adorned with phoenix patterns, draped with a gauzy black shawl. Her hair was adorned with a flying phoenix hairpin, her crown of jade and pearls casting glimmers of light, like shards of sunlight falling on her fair skin.

Fu Shufei looked at her, raising her brows almost imperceptibly, an indecipherable emotion flickering in her eyes.

"This concubine greets Her Majesty the Empress."

After performing the three kneels and nine kowtows, they remained kneeling, for Ye Rong had not yet permitted them to rise.

He Du received a cup of fragrant tea from a servant and personally handed it to Ye Rong.

She took the cup unhurriedly, gently blowing over the lid before taking a sip. Only then did she slowly speak:

"Rise."

Supported by the palace attendants, they stood and took their seats, their faces slightly pale.

Though it was early autumn and not yet too cold, charcoal had already been lit in Ningye Palace. Kneeling for so long, the warmth from the brazier caused beads of sweat to trickle slowly down their necks, leaving translucent marks on their silk garments, like water spreading across fabric.

Wu Xianfei dared not wipe her sweat. She bit down on her lip, her face forcing a smile.

"Your Majesty looks so radiant. I thought, being new to the palace, you might have some difficulty adjusting."

Ye Rong appeared not to hear her, merely holding the tea cup as she sat there silently. If not for the slight movement of her long lashes, Wu Xianfei might have thought the woman before her was but a jade statue.

Receiving no response for so long, Wu Xianfei, her face already paling, could no longer bear it, and spoke again, her tone tinged with spite.

"Shufei and I plan to pay our respects to the Empress Dowager shortly. Would you care to join us, Your Majesty?"

"There is no rush."

Ye Rong leaned back, resting on the brocade cushion behind her. Her gaze, following the sound, was icy cold. "By the way, which of you holds the palace's jade tablet?"

The jade tablet was the emblem of the Empress' authority over the harem. Before the Emperor's marriage, it had been held by the Empress Dowager, and as Wu Xianfei was close to the Dowager, it had naturally fallen into her hands.

Hearing this, Wu Xianfei was taken aback. But recalling the Empress Dowager and Ye Rong's earlier indifference, she forced herself to reply coolly:

"It is in my possession. I thought that, since your vision is impaired, managing the affairs of the six palaces might be inconvenient. Why not allow me to continue?"

The tea cup in Ye Rong's hand was placed on the rosewood table with a crisp sound that echoed in the vast hall, revealing her intense displeasure.

"What did you say?"

Seeing the fury rising between Ye Rong's exquisite brows, as sharp as a blade, Wu Xianfei could not help but tremble. The schadenfreude in her eyes vanished, but she still bit her lip, stubbornly responding:

"I said, managing the six palaces might be inconvenient for Your Majesty."

"Someone, teach the Lady a lesson."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Seeing the palace attendants rushing forward, Wu Xianfei finally panicked, exclaiming:

"You... you wretches... what do you think you are doing?!"

"Your Grace, we are following Her Majesty's orders to instruct you."

He Du bowed before speaking gently, but no sooner had he finished than the slap landed upon her face.

Fu Shufei was already covered in a cold sweat, yet, weary of Wu Xianfei's usual arrogance and seeing Ye Rong's ice-cold demeanor, she chose to sit silently, saying nothing.

Wu Xianfei felt a searing pain spreading across her face, humiliation mingling with the sting, as though she were being burned alive. She could not describe the pain, her lips split, blood trailing like scarlet tears.

After three slaps, Ye Rong rose, standing before Wu Xianfei, her gaze filled with disdain, as though looking upon something no more significant than dust.

Wu Xianfei trembled, staring into those eyes, her own reflection within them, yet those eyes could see nothing. She found herself unable to utter a word.

"Lady Xian, remember these three slaps well. I detest anyone mentioning my eyes."

After speaking, Ye Rong turned her gaze towards Fu Shufei, her lips curving into a half-smile, before walking away, her steps calm and unhurried.