Chapter 114

Half a month later.

Shangjing.

The shocking news of the Emperor’s severe injuries and the Noble Consort’s death not only rocked the court but also stirred up a massive uproar in the capital.

Countless rumors spread among the common folk. Many believed that the Emperor and the Noble Consort had encountered this calamity because the Emperor had killed his brother, slain his father, and seized the throne through coercion, committing all sorts of evil deeds that provoked the heavens’ wrath and brought down divine punishment.

There were also rumors that Qi Guifei was a demon star descended upon the world. Ever since he had been enfeoffed as consort, disasters had struck the palace one after another. The Emperor had only just recovered from a major illness not long ago, and now he was gravely wounded in a fire—none of it could be unrelated to Qi Guifei.

They even attributed all the natural and man-made disasters of the past half year to Qixue, convinced that the demon consort was stirring up trouble, laying down demonic spells in the palace, and siphoning the destiny of Great Yong and the Emperor to bolster his own magical power.

In addition, another widely circulated rumor pointed the finger at Cloud Moon Temple.

Certain monks and Daoists claimed that the true bringer of calamity lurked at the peak of Cang Mountain, within the ancient temple. The real State Preceptor Xie had long been dead, replaced by a massive silver-white demon.

For a time, rumors swirled through the capital, filling the people with panic. It was not until the Crown Prince Ji Yuheng issued several imperial edicts clarifying the rumors one by one, and ordered searches to capture those spreading falsehoods, subjecting them to skinning, dismemberment, and extreme punishments as a warning to others, that the situation in the capital gradually stabilized.

…

Imperial Palace, study.

Ji Yuheng was dressed in plain white mourning clothes. His handsome face was pale and gaunt, his brows and eyes weary and indifferent. He exuded an aura of deathly stagnation.

He sat inside the desk and handed the memorial in his hand to the eunuch in charge beside him, who then returned it to Prime Minister Li Mo and the others.

He had not even opened the memorial, sending it back untouched. The same scene had played out three times in the past half month.

Seeing that Ji Yuheng would not even glance at the memorial, Prime Minister Li could no longer sit still. He rose hastily and said, “Your Highness, Your Highness… I beg Your Highness to show mercy and allow this old minister to present the memorial to His Majesty.”

Ji Yuheng said flatly, “Prime Minister Li, this palace has said that Father Emperor has only just awakened and still needs bed rest. Until His Majesty’s health fully recovers, he is not suited to handle any state affairs.”

“But the Noble Consort has been gone for over half a month now. Her funeral truly cannot be delayed any longer!”

Prime Minister Li gritted his teeth and spoke bluntly, “If His Majesty is unable to handle the Noble Consort’s funeral, then please, Your Highness, issue an edict on his behalf. The six ministries will naturally arrange everything properly.”

“This humble minister dares to advise: The Noble Consort was virtuous and gentle in life, prudent and proper in conduct—a model for all consorts. I beg Your Highness to allow the six ministries to bury her with the honors of an Imperial Noble Consort. Once His Majesty recovers, he can posthumously bestow the title of Imperial Noble Consort upon her…”

Seeing that Ji Yuheng paid no attention to the memorial, Prime Minister Li simply recited all the matters it contained, from the Noble Consort’s posthumous title, to which relatives to invite to the funeral, to how to place her coffin after the collapse in the Imperial Mausoleum. All required a decision from Helan Ji or Ji Yuheng.

Ji Yuheng lowered his eyes and listened quietly, neither interrupting nor chiming in.

Prime Minister Li spoke for nearly half an hour, until his mouth was parched, only to realize that the Crown Prince showed no reaction at all. Sensing trouble, he asked cautiously, “What does Your Highness think?”

“…” Only then did Ji Yuheng lift his unfocused gaze. “This palace cannot make decisions regarding Mother Consort’s funeral. Prime Minister Li need not ask this palace anymore.”

“This…” Prime Minister Li nearly choked with anger. So all his talking had been for nothing—the Crown Prince had not listened to a word!

“Your Highness!”

Prime Minister Li raised his tone. “This old minister knows that Your Highness shared a deep mother-son bond with the Noble Consort, always respecting and obeying him as your own mother consort. For that very reason, Your Highness should handle her affairs properly, rather than leaving her coffin trapped in Chenglu Palace, denying her a proper burial!”

“Half a month has passed, Your Highness— a full half month… She has already missed her first and second seven-day rites. If she is not buried soon, how can she rest in peace? How can her soul reincarnate?”

“Can you bear to watch her soul wander homeless, drifting alone in the world until it fully dissipates?”

At the word “dissipates,” Ji Yuheng’s face changed abruptly. He shot up from behind the desk. “Enough!”

“Li Mo, is it because this palace has shown you too much face that you dare spout such nonsense, cursing my mother consort’s soul to scatter right in front of me?”

“Your Highness, calm your anger! This old minister would never dare!”

Prime Minister Li and the officials behind him all knelt down, heads bowed in fear. But Ji Yuheng ignored them and stormed off with a flick of his sleeve. “Kneel there until you have repented.”

–

The night was cool as water, with the bright moon hanging high.

Ji Yuheng did not take a palanquin, nor did he allow any palace servants to follow. He simply carried a white paper lantern and wandered through the quiet Imperial Palace.

The palace was draped everywhere in stark white linen and mourning banners. Muffled sobs echoed now and then, and handfuls of paper money were scattered into the air, fluttering down like frost and snow to pile up on the ground.

The entire Imperial Palace resembled a desolate ghost city, and Ji Yuheng was a wandering spirit within it. The hem of his snow-white mourning robe fluttered, and even the flame in his white paper lantern glowed faintly blue, like a will-o’-the-wisp.

He walked quickly at first, soon drawing near Chenglu Palace. But the closer he got, the slower his steps became. When he finally arrived, he could barely advance an inch, his pace completely frozen.

Reciting of scriptures drifted from Chenglu Palace—the Daoists from Cloud Moon Temple were chanting.

But they were not reciting sutras to guide a departed soul; quite the opposite. They chanted soul-summoning rites, because whether it was Helan Ji, Xie Shu, or Ji Yuheng himself, they all yearned too desperately to see Qixue one more time.

To see him one last time.

He paused for a long while, then set down the white paper lantern and slowly entered the courtyard.

Several pots of withered flowers and plants lined the long corridor—all ones he had originally meant to give to Qixue.

After Qixue had gone to the Summer Palace, Ji Yuheng had sought out these precious plants, transported from the humid south where they thrived but struggled in the capital. Worried the palace servants would not care for them diligently, he tended them personally, nurturing them to lush abundance.

These were flowers and plants the little rabbit loved to eat. Mother Consort would surely be delighted to see them upon his return…

But after receiving news of Qixue perishing in the fire, Ji Yuheng plunged into profound grief, to the point where he could neither speak nor walk, neglecting the plants entirely.

Without his care, they withered and died swiftly. By the time Ji Yuheng could barely get out of bed and come to check on them, they were long desiccated—just like Qixue’s fate.

Ji Yuheng passed through the corridor to Rabbit Garden.

Rabbit Garden had changed little; every blade of grass and tree was familiar to Ji Yuheng. No white silk hung there.

When Ji Yuheng had first entered the palace, Qixue saw him as a thorn in his side and hated him intensely. That changed after Qixue adopted a litter of gray rabbits. The mother rabbit had a difficult birth, and Ji Yuheng helped deliver them, saving her life—their relationship shifted from there.

Later, the gray rabbits’ group grew too large for Rabbit Garden. Qixue honored their wishes, releasing most to the mountains for freedom. A few went to East Palace under Ji Yuheng’s care, and several stayed in Rabbit Garden willingly.

Ji Yuheng often visited Rabbit Garden, and the gray rabbits recognized him, happily crowding around for food.

They huddled together like a bowl of gray glutinous dumplings. Ji Yuheng had seen a similar sight before, but back then, there had been the cutest white dumpling in the middle—Qixue in his true form. Now the white rabbit was gone, leaving only these few gray ones.

“…”

Tears fell silently. Ji Yuheng opened his mouth, but no words came—only broken, strange syllables.

His heart felt like it had a gaping hole, wind whistling through it, blowing into his ears with eerie gusts mingled with the gurgling of bleeding from his soul.

He fed the gray rabbits some fodder and personally cleaned Rabbit Garden, laying down fresh straw.

The gray rabbits ate their fill and curled up to sleep, but they left a small empty space in the center—for Qixue. He would occasionally turn into Rabbit Tuan to nap in Rabbit Garden, and they had grown accustomed to leaving him a spot.

They did not know Qixue would never return.

Ji Yuheng fled Rabbit Garden.

He could not bear to look any longer—it was too cruel.

He still could not fully accept Qixue’s death. Sometimes he forgot Qixue was gone, even kneeling before the coffin in a daze, imagining the person inside was not Qixue but some unfamiliar, elderly figure on the verge of death.

His mother consort was so young, so full of life and vitality—how could he lie in a coffin?

Yet those tiniest details cruelly stripped away his illusions, forcing him to face the truth: Qixue was truly gone.

The gap among the gray rabbits would never be filled.

Because he was dead.

…

Ji Yuheng followed the sound of chanting, stumbling into the mourning hall.

Incense smoke filled the air.

The scent of candles hung heavy.

The pitch-black coffin rested in the center of the hall. Daoists sat cross-legged around it, reciting soul-summoning scriptures without cease.

They chanted tirelessly, day and night, switching shifts when weary but never stopping.

This way, Qixue’s soul would not lose its way back. How could they bear to let him wander or dissipate? They cherished him more than anyone and hoped he would return to see them.

Ji Yuheng stood dazed before the coffin.

The ceaseless chanting addled his mind and dreams. The black coffin and white mourning banners entered his vision, twisting into chaotic lines.

The black coffin resembled a rabbit’s dark eyes.

The white mourning hall looked like a giant white rabbit.

A very large white rabbit…

Was he in Mother Consort’s embrace?

Ji Yuheng’s eyes trembled. His numb expression shifted to confusion, then suddenly relaxed.

Yes, Mother Consort was embracing him… Mother Consort had returned, holding him. He was Mother Consort’s child, after all—she could embrace him.

In that instant of relaxation, Ji Yuheng collapsed before the coffin, a faint smile on his lips.

He had not rested in so long. He was exhausted, so sleepy. Now he could finally sleep.

In his mother consort’s arms.

But when he awoke, clear-headed and refreshed, his sober mind would once again confront that cruel reality—

His mother consort had died half a month ago.