The sky was just beginning to brighten.
It had rained the night before, and the air still held a hint of moisture. Mingling with the lingering wisps of Calming Incense in the room, it made one feel drowsy and adrift.
When Li Zhaoyi awoke from his chaotic dreams, his mind was still sluggish with disorientation.
Lying in bed with his eyes open, what met his gaze was a dazzling canopy stitched with golden threads. The embroidered gold dragon bared its fangs and brandished its claws, its eyes intense, exuding a majestic air.
He lay in that position, staring into nothing for a while.
When the sky grew a little brighter, faint footsteps came from outside the bed curtains. Li Zhaoyi came back to his senses and silently counted to three in his mind.
Right on cue, the characteristic high, shrill tone of a eunuch sounded with practiced calm: “Your Majesty, the time for Morning Court has arrived.”
Li Zhaoyi cleared his throat and gave an “Mm.” But the sound was too soft. After that single note, there was no response from outside. His fingers unconsciously clutched at the blanket.
After a long while, he finally gathered his courage. Amidst the silence, he gave another “Mm,” heavier and more restrained this time.
This time, there was finally movement outside.
He sat up, and two palace servants, one on each side, lifted the curtains. Light abruptly streamed into the dim bedchamber.
A stream of eunuchs and Palace Maids filed in from beyond the screens, bearing all sorts of objects. The head Palace Maid had a beautiful face, her hair pinned up, and a light, pleasant fragrance clung to her.
She approached to help Li Zhaoyi dress, her movements cautious and meticulous. Staring at her respectful, unfamiliar features, Li Zhaoyi paused, and words escaped his lips before he could stop them:
“Where is A-Cai?”
The moment those words were spoken, the entire hall fell silent for an instant.
A moment later, the maids and eunuchs continued with their tasks, only burying their heads lower.
Someone accidentally dropped a handkerchief onto the floor. In the next breath, that person was kicked to the ground. The Old Eunuch, having delivered the kick, retracted his foot and scolded furiously:
“Useless thing! Get out at once!”
The shrill voice made Li Zhaoyi’s ears buzz.
He passively allowed the Palace Maid to drape the final outer robe over him, watching as the Little Eunuch whose hand had trembled—his face now ashen—scrambled away on all fours, clutching the tray and handkerchief.
Probably because he was truly too frightened, that gold-embroidered handkerchief still fell to the ground as he left, carried by the wind right to Li Zhaoyi’s feet.
Li Zhaoyi’s fingers curled slightly.
Someone swiftly and silently retrieved the handkerchief. Everything became so quiet it was almost forbiddingly silent.
“Your Majesty,” the Old Eunuch said respectfully from the side, “It is time for the court session.”
The exact same tone as before, impossible to discern how much respect it truly held.
Li Zhaoyi said, “…Mm.”
He had wanted to say “Alright.” The word reached the tip of his tongue, but he bit his lip, swallowing that soft character back down, replacing it with a pretentious, cold syllable.
It was just then that the sky outside the window finally took on the pale white of a fish’s belly. Day had broken.
Today’s Morning Court was unexpectedly and tediously protracted.
In truth, Li Zhaoyi had not attended court many times. It had only been half a month since the enthronement ceremony; the Heavenly Family had changed, but the Court Officials were the same, the people were the same, and naturally, the grand matters of the Imperial Court would not suddenly increase or decrease simply because a different person sat at the head—
Perhaps they had increased somewhat.
Seated behind a Gauze Curtain, Li Zhaoyi’s neck had stiffened from sitting upright so long, and his rear and waist ached from the hard, cold throne. At this very moment, he seemed to understand the most subtle and reasonable reason why his Imperial Father had disliked attending court.
Behind the gauze, two officials were locked in a verbal duel. Even through the curtain, Li Zhaoyi could see the spittle flying through the air.
He was growing sleepy.
He still wasn’t used to waking so early. The first day of court had been the hardest to endure because there had been no curtain. He sat rigidly straight, the courtiers’ gazes falling directly on him, making him feel as if he were sitting on pins and needles.
Fortunately, by the next day, a curtain had been placed in front of him.
Li Zhaoyi still didn’t know whether it was because he had been too stiff that first day, prompting that person to use such a method to cover the shame for him and for himself.
But this curtain undoubtedly became his best shield for letting his mind wander.
With the stilted, scholarly words he didn’t understand in his ears, his eyelids grew heavier and heavier.
Just as he was about to drift off into sweet dreams, he heard a familiar voice:
“Your Majesty.”
Li Zhaoyi jolted awake.
Through the thin, translucent Gauze Curtain, he saw the leader of the hundred officials—that tall, erect figure.
The other’s tone was indifferent, seeming to hold a smile, yet seeming not to.
A terrible premonition instantly flared in Li Zhaoyi’s heart.
Sure enough, after that single call, the hundred officials suddenly fell to their knees, prostrating themselves. A tsunami-like roar exploded beside Li Zhaoyi’s ear:
“We respectfully request His Majesty’s imperial decision!”
Li Zhaoyi sat at the table. Before him was an exquisite spread of dishes.
Nearest to him was a plate of Eight Treasure Drunken Duck. The skin was roasted to a fragrant crisp, and beneath it was tender, juicy duck meat. His Adam’s apple bobbed unconsciously, but surprisingly, he didn’t have much of an appetite.
He had to eat even without an appetite. The day before his enthronement, Li Zhaoyi had been so nervous he couldn’t eat. After that one night, every chef in the Imperial Kitchens had been replaced entirely.
The man’s tone had been very casual as he spoke, his gaze on Li Zhaoyi, his slender, knobby fingers tapping slowly on the armrest of the chair. “The Imperial Chefs are meant to prepare Your Majesty’s meals. If they can’t even do this one task properly, then there’s no need for them to remain in this palace.”
Li Zhaoyi didn’t know where they went. Perhaps they left the palace, or perhaps… they died.
But after this incident, Li Zhaoyi dared not use such a method to protest subtly again.
The sweet, fresh taste of the Drunken Duck filled his mouth. Li Zhaoyi chewed slowly, at a pace barely faster than a cat’s. That one lunch dragged on for a very long time, until a Palace Servant from outside announced: “Your Majesty, Her Highness Grand Princess Wanrong has arrived.”
Li Zhaoyi looked at the barely touched food, still feeling it was a pity.
But his own capacity was ultimately limited. Before, when A-Cai was still here, she would secretly help him eat some.
A-Cai…
Li Zhaoyi was lost in thought for a moment, then finally collected himself. “Please, let Second Sister come in.”
The Palace Servant hurried away.
A short while later, a woman with a delicate, clear countenance entered the hall. Her plain-colored dress trailed along the floor. Clearly in the prime of her youth, her features were yet marked by haggardness and withering despair.
The Yan Dynasty had lasted several hundred years, flourishing then declining. By the era of the Late Emperor, Emperor Ruide, it was nearly at its end. But Li Zhaoyi always felt that while his Imperial Father had little talent, he was quite prolific in having children.
Emperor Ruide had four sons and three daughters. Apart from Li Zhaoyi, who had been thrown into the Cold Palace since childhood to fend for himself, the rest were all outstanding talents.
Not to mention the former Crown Prince Li Zhaoyu, upon whom the officials and the world had placed their hopes, and the wildly ambitious First Prince Li Zhaocheng—
Li Zhaocheng died for his rebellion. Sharing his death on the same day was his own sister, titled Princess Chengyang, who had assisted him in his treasonous rebellion.
Beyond them, the Fourth Prince, Li Zhaolin, though young, had died in an “accident.” The eldest of the three princesses, Grand Princess Changping, was married to the son of Wei Jian, the Minister of Personnel. The Wei Clan had also made an unwise choice in the succession struggle, so now Grand Princess Changping and her Prince Consort were “recuperating” at home, with their doors closed to visitors. It was called recuperation, but in truth, it was house arrest.
Four sons, three daughters, one bloody succession fight. Upon careful counting, the only ones who had come out unscathed were Li Zhaoyi and this unfamiliar second sister before him.
And Li Zhaoyi knew, it wasn’t because they were clever.
With a guest present, the meal clearly could not continue. As the Palace Servants quietly removed the food, the woman ignored Li Zhaoyi’s perfunctory, “Sister, there’s no need for such formalities,” and still respectfully performed a full court bow to Li Zhaoyi before carefully sitting to the side.
Her nature was gentle and soft, and her speech was light and hushed. Li Zhaoyi watched her tightly wring her handkerchief. After a long while, she finally spoke: “Your Majesty… I wish to request permission to go to the Eternal Light Temple to pray for the blessings of our Yan Dynasty. I humbly beg Your Majesty’s consent.”
She lifted her sorrowful, beautiful eyes and looked at Li Zhaoyi.
The latter stared back at her silently, his pretty, cat-like eyes devoid of any ripples.
Li Zhaoyi was spacing out.
He was still thinking about the court session. The officials had said, “We respectfully request His Majesty’s imperial decision,” but no decision could be made. Thus, the scene could only grind to a halt, utterly awkward. Li Zhaoyi thought, what was the point.
He was a waste. The officials knew he was a waste. He… that person also knew. Why use such a scene to humiliate him.
Yet it wasn’t complete humiliation. Amidst the heavy silence of the hall, that person had ultimately spoken to break the deadlock. With a clear smile, he said His Majesty was unwell today, and perhaps the matter should be discussed later. Li Zhaoyi didn’t know what there was to discuss, just as he didn’t know how to answer Wanrong’s persistent request now.
Though she called it praying for blessings, it was essentially the same as living as a nun while keeping her hair.
Li Zhaoyi didn’t know why his second sister wanted to do this.
Grand Princess Wanrong, the full sister of the former Crown Prince Li Zhaoyu, had been extremely close with him since childhood. It was known throughout the court and the land that the late Crown Prince’s name was like an immunity token—obtaining it could, at the least, secure a lifetime of peace for one’s family, and at best, lead to meteoric success. If even nameless nobodies and civil and military officials alike felt this way, how much more so a princess.
But Wanrong said, “Your Majesty, those are all external things. I am tired.”
“These days, I can never sleep through the night. I keep dreaming of that day.” She said softly, “That day, the flames soared to the sky…”
That day, the flames soared to the sky. The First Prince Li Zhaocheng had rebelled and attacked the palace. The reigning Heir Apparent was assassinated and ultimately perished in the inferno, plunging the entire nation into mourning.
That very night, the steps before the Hidden Dragon Hall ran with rivers of blood. The Prince of Pingnan, Yun Yin, led his iron cavalry to suppress the rebellion. The rebel troops were besieged and slaughtered without quarter, their blood dyeing the moon crimson. Yet they could not save the one who, in all hearts, had hung as high and bright as the moon.
Li Zhaoyi fell silent.
Wanrong looked at him with expectant eyes. Li Zhaoyi could feel the genuine, profound pain contained within that gaze.
But after a moment of hesitation, he still answered honestly: “Second Sister, this matter… This Sovereign cannot make the decision.”
Wanrong was slightly taken aback.
As if on cue, the shrill voice of the Little Eunuch at the door announced: “His Highness, the Prince of Pingnan, has arrived—”
Li Zhaoyi lowered his eyes slightly, his fingers unconsciously clutching his sleeve.
It was only for a moment.
A second later, he released his sleeve and silently drank a sip of cold tea.
The footsteps in his ear drew to a halt. Then, that low, husky voice sounded beside him, unhurried as always: “Your Subject, Yun Yin, pays respects to Your Majesty. May Your Majesty live ten thousand years, ten thousand years, ten thousand of ten thousand years.”
Li Zhaoyi raised his head and met a pair of ink-black, careless eyes.
