The matter of the Zhao family was like a silent avalanche. Though it was ultimately blocked outside the towering palace walls of Fengqi Palace, within those walls it left behind a chill that lingered for a long time and fissures that were difficult to mend.
After that night, Xiao Yuhuang still came every evening. Only now, she no longer carried that deliberately cultivated sense of gentle companionship—one that perhaps even she herself had once briefly indulged in. She became more taciturn, stayed for shorter periods of time, and sometimes, after reviewing a few urgent memorials, would rise and leave without even a perfunctory inquiry. The way she looked at me had also changed completely—no longer were there those heart-stirring lingerings or the hidden heat beneath them. All that remained was a purely imperial scrutiny and a kind of detached calm, as if I were truly nothing more than a valuable object she had collected here, something requiring periodic inspection, rather than a person with independent emotions and will.
The air in the hall would congeal with her arrival, then slowly begin to flow again after her departure, yet it always carried an inescapable heaviness. I, too, grew ever more silent. Aside from necessary responses, I almost never spoke of my own accord. I began spending longer stretches of time in that small corner of models, using cold wooden pieces and clay to construct courtyard after courtyard, pavilion after pavilion—miniature worlds that could never truly be touched. Only when immersed in those scaled-down realms could I momentarily forget the icy gazes and invisible shackles of reality.
Aunt Qin saw all of this clearly, sighed to herself in secret, yet was powerless to change anything. She only took greater care with my medicines and meals. Occasionally, in a very low voice, she would tell me bits of news about the aftermath of the Zhao family case—the Vice Minister Zhao was sentenced to exile three thousand li away, his property confiscated; the Grand Secretary Zhao, shocked and enraged, fell gravely ill and passed away several days ago. As for the male members of the Zhao household… just as Xiao Yuhuang had said, they were stripped of office according to the law. That gentle Zhao Zhengjun and his two children were nowhere to be found; it was said they had been sent north to a harsh official slave camp.
Whenever I heard these things, my fingers would unconsciously tighten, my nails biting into my palms and bringing sharp pain. Yet on my face, I could already maintain a dead-water calm. Only the dull ache in my chest, the recurring cough, and the deepening exhaustion that seeped from my very bones betrayed the torment within.
Thus, amid this oppressive stalemate, the days slid into deep winter. The capital saw its heaviest snowfall of the season, covering the vermilion walls and yellow tiles in a glaring white.
It was at this time that preparations for the southern inspection tour began within the palace. A newly enthroned emperor touring Jiangnan to pacify the people and inspect official governance was customary. Fengqi Palace also grew busy, with palace attendants carefully preparing all the necessary items for the journey.
I was not included among those accompanying the tour. On the grounds that my "body was frail and unfit for long travel," I was to remain in the palace to "recuperate quietly." This was within expectations, and I even felt a secret sense of relief. At least during the months of the southern tour, I would no longer have to face those icy eyes night after night.
On the eve of departure, Xiao Yuhuang arrived earlier than usual. She seemed to have just finished discussing the detailed itinerary of the southern tour with high ministers. There were traces of contemplation between her brows, and a faint scent of alcohol about her—no doubt from a farewell banquet.
She entered the hall, her gaze habitually sweeping over me before landing on a newly completed miniature corridor bridge in the Jiangnan water-town style that I was arranging. She paused for a moment. In her eyes, there seemed to flash a trace of something faint and hard to grasp—perhaps memory, perhaps nothing at all. Then she shifted her gaze, walked to the window, and looked out at the thick snow piled in the courtyard.
"Tomorrow I depart," she said suddenly, her voice especially clear in the quiet hall. "Jiangnan winters are damp and cold. It is better for you to remain in the palace. The imperial physicians and the Qin household will stay as well. I have already given instructions—none of your provisions are to be neglected."
"Yes. Thank you for Your Majesty's concern," I replied with lowered eyes, my voice flat and without ripples.
She turned around, her gaze settling on my face once more, this time lingering longer. The candlelight flickered in the hall, brightening and dimming in the depths of her eyes. She seemed to want to say something; her lips moved, but in the end she only said, "Yuzhi, never leave me."
Never.
That word left her lips with the unquestionable force of an emperor, yet it was like a cold pebble dropped into the dead-still lake of my heart, stirring only a bitter ripple.
Within these layers of vermilion walls, this deep palace where even breathing required measured restraint—what was "forever"?
And this body of mine, damaged by the freezing lake, then drained day after day by worry and fear, tattered like a dying candle in the wind, swaying unsteadily—whether I would even open my eyes tomorrow was uncertain.
Where, then, was… forever?
She did not stay long and soon departed. I watched her dark-clad figure disappear into the wind and snow, my heart hollow and empty.
The southern inspection procession left the capital in grand array. Fengqi Palace suddenly fell quiet, leaving only me, Aunt Qin, Chunyu, and a handful of remaining, silent palace servants. The days seemed to return to the beginning—only now there was less of the nightly, suspended tension, yet an even more boundless emptiness.
When my health allowed, I began permitting myself, accompanied by Aunt Qin, to take walks in the gardens within the bounds of Fengqi Palace. The gardens after snow had a beauty of their own: red plum blossoms against white snow, pines and cypresses holding their green, the air crisp and bracing. This limited freedom became the sole comfort in my pallid life.
About a month passed during the southern tour. One afternoon, as I was practicing calligraphy in the warm pavilion, Chunyu hurried in, her expression somewhat strange, hesitating as if unsure whether to speak.
"What is it now?" I set down my brush, my heart lifting slightly. There had been no bad news of late.
Chunyu twisted her fingers and said softly, "Young Master… earlier the Internal Affairs Office delivered the monthly allotment. There was a small eunuch I didn't recognize—he secretly slipped this embroidered pouch to this servant, saying it was… saying it was the latest pattern from the Su Embroidery Pavilion in Jiangnan, for Young Master to look at and pass the time." As she spoke, she handed over an exquisite lotus-pink embroidered pouch.
I took it; it was soft to the touch. Untying the cord, I found that inside was not an embroidery sample, but a warm, lustrous white ring-shaped jade pendant. The jade was of superb quality, the carving exquisite. Auspicious cloud patterns were carved on the front, and on the back… there was faintly a very small, barely noticeable seal mark of the character "Yue"!
My heart jolted violently. Xiao Linyue's "Yue"!
Was she not under house arrest at her residence? How could this jade pendant have passed through layer upon layer of scrutiny to reach this deep palace? Was it an old subordinate of hers in Jiangnan? Or had she… already found a way to leave the capital?
What alarmed me even more was the style of the pendant—it was strikingly similar in size and form to the phoenix-pattern jade pendant Xiao Yuhuang had given me, seven or eight parts alike. Only the motifs differed: one phoenix, one cloud.
What did this mean? A coincidence? Or… was Xiao Linyue doing this deliberately? Was she telling me something in this way? That she was still paying attention to me? Or even… provoking Xiao Yuhuang?
Countless thoughts surged through my mind in an instant, mingled with shock, confusion, a long-absent stir of emotion, and deeper unease. I clenched the jade pendant tightly in my palm, its icy touch penetrating straight to my heart.
"Did the little eunuch say anything else?" I asked in a lowered voice.
Chunyu shook her head. "Nothing else. He handed it to this servant and left quickly, head lowered—I couldn't see his face clearly."
After a moment's thought, I placed the pendant back into the pouch and handed it to Chunyu. "Put it away properly. Do not mention this to anyone—especially Aunt Qin." Aunt Qin was, after all, Xiao Yuhuang's person. I could not take the risk.
Chunyu's face went pale. She nodded repeatedly and carefully hid the pouch in her sleeve.
However, some things—the more one tries to conceal them, the more easily they are exposed.
Just as I spent several days in restless unease, repeatedly weighing the pendant's meaning and risks, Fengqi Palace suddenly welcomed an unexpected visitor.
That day the weather was clear. I was strolling by the plum grove with Aunt Qin. From afar, we saw a group approaching in winding formation, surrounding a young nobleman dressed in finery, his manner somewhat frivolous. When they drew closer, I recognized him as the legitimate son of a newly appointed circuit governor in Jiangnan, surnamed Shen. His mother had recently risen in power, and he himself had obtained a sinecure in the capital. He was a well-known wastrel.
He was evidently also there to "admire the plums." Upon seeing me, his eyes lit up, and with a deliberately ingratiating smile he stepped forward and bowed. "This must be Young Master Su? I have long admired the reputation of the Jade Gentleman. Seeing you today, the fame is indeed well deserved."
I returned the greeting with a slight nod, unwilling to say more, and prepared to leave.