Liu Yuanxun rested at home for two days. By the third day, he had no choice but to enter the palace.
The annual Winter Sacrifice of the Tianyong Dynasty had arrived.
Just past the Chou hour, Ling Ting stepped through the door and nearly collided with Gu Lianzhao, who was heading out to practice martial arts. The two men exchanged a glance, cupped their hands in greeting, and passed each other by.
“Master, it’s time to rise…” Ling Ting leaned in close to his ear and called softly. He repeated it twice, but his master showed no sign of opening his eyes. All he heard was a faint, sleepy hum from the soundly sleeping man.
Ling Ting was long accustomed to this. He wasn’t truly trying to wake him but simply informing him. Everything that followed—dressing, washing up, and the rest—Ling Ting handled bit by bit, half-supporting Liu Yuanxun through it all.
For someone weak in both qi and blood, waking in the morning was no easy task. Even when he realized it was time to get up, his body felt limp, his eyelids heavy, and his mind foggy. Forcing his eyes open would only leave him seeing stars bursting before them, liable to faint the next instant.
Over time, Liu Yuanxun stopped pushing himself. He simply surrendered completely to Ling Ting’s care.
But today, the dressing took especially long. Even in his half-dreaming, half-awake state, Liu Yuanxun could sense that each layer of clothing was more elaborate than the last. Only when the coronet symbolizing a prince’s status was placed on his head did he finally open his eyes. In a faint thread of a voice, he said, “My neck’s about to snap…”
Ling Qing tidied his hair as she smiled and said, “Don’t worry, Master. It won’t break.”
Liu Yuanxun replied listlessly, “It’s not your neck. How would you know?”
“Because Your Highness said the exact same thing last time.” Ling Qing tilted her head to study his face, then had a sudden idea. “Master, how about a touch of lip rouge? Your face is just too pale…”
Liu Yuanxun refused firmly. “No. Pale is fine. If you make me look ruddy and full of vigor, and then I faint, His Majesty will think I’m doing it on purpose to stir up trouble.”
Ling Qing burst out laughing, but her hands moved more swiftly. After fussing for nearly half an hour, they finally finished.
…
Palace sacrifices were typically held at four locations: the Temple of Heaven, the Temple of Earth, the Imperial Ancestral Temple, and the Altar of Land and Grain. The Winter Sacrifice took place at the Temple of Heaven.
As Minister of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, Liu Yuanxun had to oversee many of the rites alongside the Emperor. He needed to go first to the Emperor’s sleeping palace, then accompany him to the Temple of Heaven.
Eunuch Hong attended inside the hall, while Eunuch Feng waited outside. The moment he spotted Liu Yuanxun, Eunuch Feng hurried forward to meet him.
Liu Yuanxun placed his hand in Eunuch Feng’s and said politely, “Sorry to keep you waiting, Eunuch Feng.”
“It’s all in this old servant’s duties.” Eunuch Feng smiled, supporting Liu Yuanxun as they walked toward the sleeping palace. Along the way, he asked, “I heard the Seventh Prince caught a chill a few days ago. Is Your Highness feeling better now?”
If anyone else had asked, it might have seemed presumptuous. But Eunuch Feng was the head of the Directorate of Ceremonial, a retainer left behind by the Late Emperor. When he inquired after such things, others only thought it showed the close bond between the Seventh Prince and His Majesty.
Because of that connection to the Late Emperor, Liu Yuanxun treated Eunuch Feng and Hong Fu differently. If it had been Hong Fu coming to fetch him, he might not have exchanged a single word. But with Feng Huai’an, he had to give him some face and walk the distance side by side.
Liu Yuanxun smiled faintly. “My health is no concern. Thank you for your worry, Eunuch.”
Eunuch Feng wasn’t one for idle talk. After a couple of questions, he fell silent and escorted Liu Yuanxun to the entrance of the sleeping palace.
After the Late Emperor’s passing, the Emperor’s sleeping palace had stood empty.
Once the Crown Prince ascended the throne, he claimed he was accustomed to his old residence. He renovated the Crown Prince’s Sleeping Palace inside and out but never moved elsewhere.
It was still the familiar place, but the Crown Prince Hall towering over it had changed entirely. It was no longer the spot where he had lingered as a youth, reluctant to leave.
He tilted his head back to gaze at the plaque above the entrance, momentarily lost in thought about where he even was—until Eunuch Feng’s reminder brought him back.
Eunuch Hong said, “Seventh Prince, His Majesty will be out shortly. Please wait up front.”
Liu Yuanxun nodded and handed the hand warmer in his grip to Ling Ting behind him. Then he stood at the entrance with his sleeves hanging loosely.
With a soft creak of the hall doors, the Forbidden Army guards and inner servants on either side dropped to their knees in unison. Liu Yuanxun, bundled in heavy layers, was a step slower. Halfway down, the Emperor caught and steadied him.
The Emperor glanced at him with evident distaste and said coldly, “Never mind. By the time you finish kowtowing and paying respects, the sacrifice will be delayed.”
Eunuch Hong quickly chimed in. “It’s cold today, and with all those layers, movement is bound to be awkward.”
Liu Yuanxun said nothing. Once helped up, he fell in behind the Emperor, keeping half a step’s distance as they headed to the Temple of Heaven.
The closer they drew to the Temple of Heaven, the more solemn the atmosphere grew. Armored Forbidden Army soldiers lined both sides, gripping their long spears tightly, their expressions stern and cold as blades in the pre-dawn gloom.
Inner servants in crisp new robes hurried about with lanterns in hand, weaving through the dim light. They encircled the area well before the Emperor’s arrival.
Amid the shifting shadows of figures, Liu Yuanxun trailed the Emperor up the path of wormwood-scented slabs leading to the Temple of Heaven. At a drawn-out call from the Directorate of Ceremonial, the civil and military officials standing divided on either side bowed deeply in prostration.
The sun was about to rise, and the long, intricate ceremony began.
Jade basins filled with pure water were brought forth by white-robed inner servants. After Liu Yuanxun performed the invocation rite, he rolled up his sleeves, placed his hand over the back of the Emperor’s, and guided it into the chill water.
Liu Yuanze lowered his gaze to the skeletal-thin hand in the basin. His dark, heavy eyes flickered faintly in the glow of the candle flames. He blinked, concealing the flicker of reluctance and pity in his heart.
Once the Minister of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices had led the Emperor through the purification washing, it was time for the Emperor to perform the offering of incense.
Sacrificial animals, fruits and vegetables, soil, morning dew, and other items were presented one by one. At the auspicious hour, bells and stone chimes rang out in harmony, banners fluttered, and the Emperor personally lit the sacrificial incense. He led the assembled ministers in prostrating before the heavens, then recited the lengthy prayer of blessing.
After the invocation came the primary, secondary, and final offerings. The entire process was protracted and complex, and with the cold weather besides, Liu Yuanxun stood atop the altar platform, his expression calm and solemn. Yet beneath his heavy ritual robes, his calves had begun to tremble.
Back at the prince’s residence, he had joked with Ling Qing that his sickly pallor was perfect for fainting. But deep down, he knew that no matter how wretched he felt, as long as he stood on that altar—as long as he stood beside the Emperor—he would hold out, even if it came down to his last breath.
This was a rite to pray for favorable weather and bountiful harvests in the coming year. Fainting in front of everyone might earn him punishment, but far worse, it would be an ill omen.
He endured until the libation and reception of blessed remains. Then he switched places with the Provisions Minister and retreated to a less conspicuous spot, where he found a pillar to lean against.
He drank the blessed wine and received the remains. The ritual officials returned to their positions, and the rites of dismissal began.
Liu Yuanxun rose and followed behind the Emperor, one ahead and one behind, toward the viewing platform for the burning.
The sacrificial items were fed one by one into the brazier. When the sacrificial wine was poured, flames shot several meters high. The three officials for the reading of prayers, presentation of silk, and oversight stood solemnly by the brazier, murmuring the words of dismissal.
Time ticked by, but suddenly snow began to fall from the sky. Snowflakes mingled with the ashes from the burning offerings, making it hard to tell one from the other.
Snow during the sacrifice was an auspicious sign, proof that the divinities had responded. This grand rite ended on the most perfect note.
Everyone knelt on the ground, calling out devoutly, “Long live Your Majesty.”
Liu Yuanxun knelt as well, but he did not bow his head. He knelt quietly, gazing at the imperial figure just half a step away.
With the people’s hearts won over and the officials in submission, the young Emperor shouldered the weight of all Tianyong, appearing majestic and exalted.
Yet only Liu Yuanxun, who had always followed at his heels, knew that Liu Yuanze seemed unwell too. Though he tried his utmost to suppress it, they were so close—how could Liu Yuanxun fail to notice the Emperor’s body swaying now and then?
He had at least managed a moment’s rest against that pillar, but the Emperor had endured the entire rite under the gaze of all the ministers. There had been no chance to rest, not even to let his shoulders slump for a breath.
How could he not be exhausted? With all those memorials to review, and the vast Tianyong Dynasty resting on his shoulders alone.
Liu Yuanxun did not want to see him, but he could not bear to see him suffer.
…
As the last wisp of smoke dispersed, the elaborate and grand sacrifice finally concluded.
Liu Yuanze gave a light cough and began descending slowly from the viewing platform. He had run a slight fever the past couple of days, breathed in a bellyful of cold wind that morning, and led the drinking of three cups of chilled blessed wine. His body was starting to give out.
But after just two steps, Liu Yuanxun—who had deliberately kept his distance—hurried forward.
Liu Yuanxun’s own body was frail too. By the rite’s end, his legs were like jelly and his vision swimming. Yet the instant he saw Liu Yuanze sway, instinct drove him to step up and steady the Emperor’s arm.
Liu Yuanze stiffened all over, his eyes instantly growing hot and damp.
He ducked his head to hide the emotion stirring in his features and walked slowly side by side with Liu Yuanxun.
With the Winter Festival at its end, the court ministers were to return to their residences.
Because of that steadying hand earlier, Liu Yuanze’s tone had softened considerably. He asked, “Have preparations been made for luncheon back at the residence?”
The steps had been laid right at his feet, but Liu Yuanxun did not take them. Keeping his head lowered, avoiding Liu Yuanze’s face, he said, “They have.”
Hong Fu perked up at once. “The prince’s residence can’t compare to the palace cuisine. Why not stay and dine here, Seventh Prince? I hear the Imperial Kitchen has silver fish offered to the gods lately—tender, boneless, just to Your Highness’s taste.”
Liu Yuanxun replied, “Thank you for the kind thought, Eunuch. But I’m weak these days and can only take medicinal fare. Nothing else will do.”
“In that case, never mind.” Liu Yuanze flicked his sleeve and turned to board his palanquin, ignoring even Hong Fu as he urged the bearers onward.
“Your Majesty! Your Majesty! Wait for this servant! Your Majes—” Hong Fu chased after the Emperor’s palanquin, calling out until it vanished from sight.
Only after they had gone did Liu Yuanxun raise his head. He watched Liu Yuanze’s receding figure and let out a deep breath.
Some matters, once any leeway was allowed, only brought more torment. Since it was a hopeless stalemate, he had no desire for further entanglements.
He withdrew his gaze, about to head for the palace gates, when a voice called from behind him. “Prince Rui, a moment please.”
Liu Yuanxun turned and frowned ever so slightly.
The one who had called out wore the robes of a second-rank official. It was none other than Gu Lianzhao’s father—the Minister of Punishments, Gu Mingyuan.
