Outside the screen, Hong Fu wore a long face like a mourner as he helped Liu Yuanxun into his greatcoat. Unable to hold back, he said, “Seventh Lord, you rarely get to see His Majesty. Why get into a spat with him?”
“I’m not angry,” Liu Yuanxun replied. Unlike the stubborn defiance he’d shown when speaking with Liu Yuanze, he had regained his usual calm. He smiled at Eunuch Hong and said, “Go check on His Majesty. I’m afraid I… upset him badly.”
That smile tugged at the wound on his lip. Liu Yuanxun pressed the back of his hand against his swollen, numb cheek, then pulled up his hood to cover his face.
Eunuch Hong jumped at the sight of it. He wanted to ask if he should summon an imperial physician but feared provoking the emperor in his current mood. In the end, he held his tongue and watched helplessly as Liu Yuanxun walked out of the Imperial Study.
The slap had landed with brutal force—his entire cheek had gone numb, and his lip had split open in a bloody gash—but he didn’t care.
He had anticipated the emperor’s reaction, which was why he’d spoken those words in the first place. His goal was achieved, so he had no reason to be upset. He could have chosen gentler methods, but he refused to.
Ever since Liu Yuanze had laid bare the truth before him and shattered their facade of peace, the brotherly warmth between them had felt utterly false.
He would rather Liu Yuanze slap him and banish him from the study than pretend everything was serene, mimicking the closeness of their childhood.
Liu Yuanxun walked ahead with his head down, feeling bone-weary in body and soul. All he wanted was to see his consort mother as soon as possible.
He had only taken two steps when he ran into an elderly man coming the other way.
The other man spotted him first and stopped half a pace away, calling out kindly, “Seventh Prince…”
Liu Yuanxun looked up and saw an exceptionally aged minister. Recognizing him, he gasped in shock. “Minister Meng, you… it’s only been half a year. How did you…”
“I’m old now, no good anymore,” Meng Yannian said, taking Liu Yuanxun’s hand and rubbing it gently. His eyes brimmed with affection. “Though it’s only been half a year, people age in the blink of an eye. But that’s all right. This old man has lived a full life.”
Meng Yannian, who had fought alongside the late emperor to conquer the realm, was already advanced in years. Now he was stooped and gaunt, his once-imposing court robes hanging loosely on his withered frame, fluttering in the breeze. He looked to be on the verge of extinction, like a candle flickering in the wind.
Mid-sentence, Meng Yannian trailed off. He stared at Liu Yuanxun’s face and asked in surprise, “Seventh Prince, this…”
He didn’t need to ask. He knew Liu Yuanxun had come from the Imperial Study, and there was only one person under heaven bold enough to strike a prince like that: the emperor.
Meng Yannian coughed lightly to change the subject. “Last night, I dreamed of the late emperor calling to me. He said, ‘Yannian, why haven’t you come yet? No one’s here to play chess with me!’ I panicked and said, ‘Coming, coming right now.’ Then I woke up, and it was just a dream…”
He chuckled and patted Liu Yuanxun’s hand, winking conspiratorially. “When I see the late emperor, I’ll make sure to lodge a proper complaint on your behalf.”
At the mention of the late emperor, a genuine smile touched Liu Yuanxun’s face. “They say pines and cranes herald eternal spring. If you want to play chess with Imperial Father, you’ll have to wait a while longer.”
Meng Yannian laughed heartily. He had no intention of lingering; after all, the emperor had summoned him to the palace, and delaying might displease His Majesty.
“Then this old minister will go pay respects to the emperor first. Seventh Prince, if you’d grace my residence with a visit, I’d be honored. I’ve been out of court so long, cooped up at home all day—I’m starting to gather mold.”
Liu Yuanxun smiled. “I certainly will.”
With that, the two parted ways, one heading forward and the other behind.
Liu Yuanxun had taken only two steps when something occurred to him.
When the emperor had flung the memorial at him, it had fallen to the floor. While gathering up the scattered pages, Liu Yuanxun had deliberately averted his eyes, but he’d still caught a glimpse in his peripheral vision…
Meng Yannian’s name had been in that memorial.
But he hadn’t seen what kind it was.
…
Shou Kang Palace had always been the residence of empress dowagers through the generations. Its current occupant was not an empress dowager, however, but Noble Consort Ling, who had personally raised the crown prince to adulthood.
The late empress had been the late emperor’s wife since his days as crown prince, but her blessings were too few—she had passed away before the crown prince turned seven. The empress position had remained vacant for years thereafter, and all affairs of the rear palace had fallen to Noble Consort Ling’s hands.
Though Noble Consort Ling lacked the title of empress, her status had been no different. After raising the crown prince herself, she had moved into Shou Kang Palace following the late emperor’s death, becoming Noble Consort Ling—a figure who heard nothing beyond the palace walls and rarely saw outsiders.
Curtains embroidered with dangling crabapple blossoms hung to the floor. The heavy wooden windows were tightly shut, and the room was filled with cloying incense. Two elderly palace maids stood to either side, eyes fixed on their noses in stoic silence, paying no attention to Liu Yuanxun at all.
Liu Yuanxun knelt and kowtowed. In a low voice, he said, “Mother, I’ve come to see you.”
Noble Consort Ling lay dazed on the phoenix bed. At his words, she merely lifted her eyelids slightly. Her lips moved for a moment, but no sound came out.
As Liu Yuanxun knelt, the maids attending her gently lifted the curtain, revealing a face as vibrant as a crabapple in the rain.
Liu Yuanxun removed his greatcoat and handed it to a nearby maid. Then he sat beside the phoenix bed and gently took her wrist, examining it from both sides.
The maids attended her meticulously. Whether Noble Consort Ling needed it or not, they patiently trimmed her nails and applied bright red nail dye.
Noble Consort Ling had gone mad. Her lucid moments were few and far between. Even residing in the most exalted chambers under heaven, it was no different from being locked in a cage.
She didn’t remember her own son—only the late emperor. In her calm states, she seemed merely a weary, fragile beauty. But when madness took her, she flew into frenzies that terrified the entire palace. The only thing that could soothe her was the late emperor’s portrait.
The imperial physicians who examined her all said the same: when the late emperor passed, so did her soul.
This girl, who as a child had trailed after the late emperor calling “Big Brother,” had grown up to marry her beloved and bear him a child.
Later, when her beloved departed, she had lost her mind as well.
At first, Liu Yuanxun had considered taking her out of the palace to live with him in his own residence. Strangely, though, she viewed her only child as a ferocious beast. Anyone else could touch her—except Liu Yuanxun.
The imperial physicians explained that her mind was disordered. Other people and events didn’t stimulate her, so she remained calm. But Liu Yuanxun was the one she cared for most deeply. Seeing him agitated her. With her mind already shattered, every emotion became an overwhelming shock, tormenting what little sanity remained.
The physicians advised that, for her health, mother and son should meet as seldom as possible.
At first, Liu Yuanxun had tried everything to help his consort mother gradually adjust to his presence. But after half a year, all he had accomplished was nearly driving her to death.
Three years had passed since then, and he had finally come to accept it all.
Liu Yuanxun let out a soft breath. “Imperial Brother has granted me a marriage. It’s a very handsome ger with excellent martial skills. But you might not like him.” After all, his consort mother had always placed great stock in pedigree and bloodlines. She had never cared for gers. Convincing her to accept Gu Lianzhao would be no easy task.
“In early winter, I was wondering if your Shou Kang Palace would be cold. But now that I’m here, it’s nice and warm. When I was little, you’d always whisper in my ear that one day you’d live in Shou Kang Palace and become the most exalted woman under heaven. You’ve gotten your wish, Mother.”
He spoke whatever came to mind, regardless of whether Noble Consort Ling could understand. He seized every chance to share the details of his life, great and small.
Noble Consort Ling watched him with open eyes, her gaze vacant and lost. When it fell on him, it seemed to pass right through, as if seeing something else entirely.
Liu Yuanxun smiled at her and slowly raised his hand toward her hair. He moved deliberately, never taking his eyes off hers. Only when he was certain he wouldn’t startle her did he tuck a stray lock behind her ear.
Noble Consort Ling shuddered. Her empty gaze shifted from the embroidery on his chest to his face. Her right hand lifted vaguely, as if to touch his cheek.
Liu Yuanxun’s heart leaped with surprise. He leaned in gently. But just as contact was about to be made, she yanked her hand back and began to shriek piercingly.
The cries held no pattern, no emotion. In that moment, Noble Consort Ling was like an infant newly discovering its voice, howling on pure instinct.
The maids holding the curtain hurried forward and seized Liu Yuanxun’s arms, escorting—no, dragging—him forcefully out of Shou Kang Palace. They offered no explanation, and even if they had, Liu Yuanxun couldn’t have heard it. Everyone serving in Shou Kang Palace was mute.
Was it to preserve Noble Consort Ling’s dignity?
Or to make her madness burn fiercer amid the suffocating silence?
Liu Yuanxun didn’t know.
He allowed them to usher him out the palace gates. As the doors locked behind him, Noble Consort Ling’s screams fell silent.
It was always like this. When he wasn’t there, she remained calm most of the time. But out of three visits, two would provoke screams from her. In the worst cases, she would bash her head against a pillar.
As a child, he’d been sickly. Even in sleep, his breathing would grow faint. His consort mother would stay up all night holding him, listening to his weak heartbeat, checking his barely-there breaths. By the time he was six months old, she—barely in her twenties—had developed streaks of white hair.
Fortunately, he proved resilient enough to survive past three years, and his health gradually improved. Everyone else breathed a sigh of relief, but his consort mother continued to treat him like fragile porcelain.
She and Imperial Father had always shared a deep bond, never quarreling. The one exception was when Imperial Father rebuked her for spoiling him rotten: “Doting like this is as good as killing him. You’ll ruin the Seventh Prince someday.”
He had been ten years old then. To this day, he could still picture the scene: his tear-streaked mother clutching him fiercely, as if he were the root of her very life.
She had said, “I don’t care if he achieves great things. I just want him alive and well. I want him to grow up happy. So what if he skips his studies? He’s a prince—can he really starve?”
Imperial Father had given a cold laugh at that. It was from then on that Liu Yuanxun had buckled down and studied diligently.
Imperial Father had pulled him aside one day and said, “Even a prince will starve without the skills to survive.”
He had taken the words to heart and suffered nightmares for days.
Many years later, he realized Imperial Father had spoken the truth. Without ability, even a prince could starve.
…
Those memories from childhood scattered like passing clouds. Now, standing before him was only this grand and opulent palace—and inside it, the mother who raved in madness and no longer knew him.
