The first day of the twelfth lunar month.
In the early morning, scattered snowflakes began to drift down.
This year, the first snowfall in the capital was quite hasty. Snowflakes rolled across the ground, while the wind was fierce, slicing across faces like knives.
Ding Wenfu, the vice commander of the Imperial Guard, was braving the biting cold wind as he gnawed on a flatbread.
The flatbread, fresh from the pan, was scalding hot when taken out, but after just a few steps, it had frozen solid, making his teeth ache as he chewed. Licking his teeth, Ding Wenfu decided it wasn’t worth the effort, so he stuffed half of the flatbread back into his coat.
A young subordinate came over to report, “Vice Commander Ding, the palace wall has been completely rebuilt, except for the gate. Should we seal it?”
Ding Wenfu turned to glance at the Xiaonan pavilion behind him. The newly rebuilt palace wall was exceptionally sturdy, with no sign of corner-cutting. Unless someone inside had access to cannon fire, they wouldn’t dream of digging their way out in this lifetime.
Ding Wenfu sighed and said, “Seal it.”
At his command, his subordinates swiftly sprang into action.
Ding Wenfu walked to the base of the wall and ran his hand over the half-dried outer surface. “Look at the quality of work we Imperial Guards deliver—I’d say it’s no worse than those professional masons!”
The accompanying subordinate chuckled.
Ding Wenfu leaped nimbly onto the wall in one swift motion, agile and light on his feet.
The Xiaonan pavilion was desolate—a first for Ding Wenfu, as he surveyed the courtyard’s entirety.
In the northeastern corner of the courtyard, where Ding Wenfu crouched, stood a persimmon tree. It wasn’t particularly healthy, its trunk crooked at an odd angle, making it appear especially short.
A child was clinging to the branches, lying atop the tree.
Ding Wenfu crouched on the wall and happened to lock eyes with him.
Startled, the child clutched the tree trunk, nearly falling.
The persimmon tree held a round bird’s nest. Its leaves had long since fallen, leaving it bare, and the nest was empty. With the capital’s harsh winter approaching, the clever birds had already migrated to warmer places.
Once, this nest of birds chirped endlessly, day and night.
Li Fuxiang hadn’t heard their familiar calls for days and climbed up to take a look.
He didn’t know where the birds had gone; no one had told him that migratory birds must leave.
He only knew that the birds were gone.
Instinctively, he felt a melancholy sadness for their departure.
To Ding Wenfu, the boy looked like a frightened little bird. And he had to admit, the child was remarkably good-looking. What a pity…
Ding Wenfu, an old bachelor and vice commander of the Imperial Guard, was over twenty but still unmarried. He liked children, but since he couldn’t have any of his own, he could only admire those of others to satisfy his longing.
Ding Wenfu fished a red-dyed egg from his coat, where it had been tucked close to his body all morning and was still warm to the touch.
Today was the third prince’s birthday.
The palace had distributed red eggs to various places, and a familiar palace maid had insisted on giving Ding Wenfu one while he walked by.
The red egg rested in Ding Wenfu’s palm, appearing delicate and exquisite, almost too beautiful to eat.
Ding Wenfu leaned forward and handed the red egg to the child.
The young Li Fuxiang had a very gentle disposition. As long as no one showed hostility toward him, he was willing to approach others.
Without fear, he reached out and took the red egg from Ding Wenfu’s palm.
Ding Wenfu could not bear to look any longer. He let out a deep sigh and jumped down from the palace wall.
Before the gate-sealing work began, a palace maid from Chunhe Palace arrived, draped in a cloak and braving the snow.
Ding Wenfu dusted off his clothes and stepped forward to meet her. “What orders does Her Lady have?”
The palace maid carried a food box hooked over her arm. “Today is a joyous day in the palace. Her Lady instructed me to bring some pastries for the Xiaonan pavilion.”
Ding Wenfu lowered his head to look at the food box. “Just pastries?”
The palace maid was confused. “What do you mean?”
The poison decreed by the emperor was not an open command, and naturally, Consort Xian wouldn’t broadcast it. The palace maid, being simple-minded, was likely kept in the dark.
Having spent years in service at court, Ding Wenfu could guess the emperor’s true intentions without much thought.
He remained silent, stepping aside to let the palace maid pass and instructing his men to open the gate.
The palace maid, unwilling to linger in such an ominous place, stopped at the gate, set the food box down, and quickly left without even daring to lift her head. As the gate closed, she summoned her courage to glance back through the crack, catching a glimpse of a small, thin figure bending down to pick up the food box.
A sliver of golden light suddenly broke through the clouds, slanting over the gate of the Xiaonan pavilion, only to be swiftly engulfed again by the jostling clouds.
The wind and snow grew heavier.
Ding Wenfu steadied his breath and shouted, “Seal the gate—”
At the same time.
In Jingmen Palace, Gao Yuexing had been awake all night. Before her lay a thick record of pulse diagnoses and the Imperial Medical Bureau’s detailed prescriptions over the years.
The pages, yellowed with age, were still well-preserved.
As dawn broke, she extinguished the lamp. Fu Yun, who had stayed up with her through the night, forced herself to stay alert, serving at her side. “Miss Gao, did you find anything?”
Gao Yuexing rested her hand on the pulse record. Her expression was composed, clearly indicating that she had found the answers she sought.
Beginning in the early spring of the second year of Jingle, people in Consort Mei’s palace began frequently requesting medicines from the Imperial Academy. The records noted that Consort Mei was unwell during the spring season, suffering from deficiencies in both qi and blood, for which the academy prescribed Bazhen Decoction, taken long-term.
In the same spring, Aunt Chen in the Xiaonan pavilion, suffering from joint pain due to rheumatism, was prescribed medicinal wine containing an unusually high dosage of one ingredient—Dipsacus.
Later, sporadic requests for other medicinal ingredients were made from the Xiaonan pavilion. After meticulous comparison, Gao Yuexing noted two critical ingredients mixed in: Amomum and Scutellaria.
At first glance, the medicines requested over the past year by the Xiaonan pavilion seemed unremarkable.
But for someone with a discerning eye, upon dissecting and recombining the ingredients, the modified formula built upon the foundation of Bazhen Decoction revealed itself to be the renowned pregnancy-preserving medicine—Taishan Panshi.
Marrying into the prince’s household as the princess consort, Li Fuxiang’s days were quite uneventful. Without many trivial matters to occupy her, she often sought ways to alleviate her boredom.
Due to Li Fuxiang’s frail health, Gao Yuexing frequently studied medical texts.
While she did not dare claim mastery in the art of medicine, she had achieved a respectable level of proficiency.
Gao Yuexing turned to Fu Yun and said, “Send someone to summon Imperial Physician Chen. Tell him—Her Highness wishes to see him.”
Fu Yun hesitated and let out an “Ah.”
Gao Yuexing left no room for doubt. “Go.”
Fu Yun turned to the door and called over a young palace maid who was cleaning. The maid dropped her feather duster and dashed off like the wind. Worried, Fu Yun asked anxiously, “But the Consort Dowager hasn’t summoned Imperial Physician Chen. If he arrives and confronts Consort Dowager Hui, won’t our scheme be exposed?”
Gao Yuexing reassured her, “Don’t worry.” She handed the pulse records to Fu Yun and said, “The Consort Dowager is already awake. Go in, bring these records, and follow my instructions. When the truth is revealed and justice is served, the Emperor will surely reward you.”
Fu Yun, thoroughly flustered, was swept away by Gao Yuexing’s confident words. She clutched the pulse records tightly and went to the main hall to request an audience with Consort Dowager Hui.
Gao Yuexing stood under the eaves, gazing at the eastern side hall opposite.
The cuckoo bird hanging in front of the door was almost dried out by now.
The eastern side hall was bustling today. Even before dawn, people were delivering congratulatory gifts. An attendant from the Emperor’s side had also visited but was startled by the dead bird hanging at the entrance. He had wanted to take it down and dispose of it, but the Third Prince himself refused.
Gao Yuexing hadn’t known why the Third Prince had died young before, but now she had a faint idea.
She was pondering something.
If she hadn’t come and meddled in these affairs, would Li Fuxiang truly have been mistakenly killed by that foolish emperor?
She wondered if the path she was walking now mirrored the forgotten three years of her past.
She was lost in thought.
Suddenly, the door to the eastern side hall opened.
The intricately dressed Third Prince stepped out.
Gao Yuexing squinted her eyes.
She had once been puzzled about the Third Prince’s premature death.
Now, she understood.
In some sense, the Third Prince’s demise might owe more to her intervention.
Li Fuqiu glanced at the ashen snow on the ground, then at Gao Yuexing, who stood across from him. “The weather is awful,” he said.
Gao Yuexing replied calmly, “Winter has arrived.”
Li Fuqiu: “But I’d like to see the sun.”
Gao Yuexing glanced up at the dark, oppressive clouds overhead. “It doesn’t look like the sky will clear today.”
Li Fuqiu: “Then when will the sun return?”
Gao Yuexing thought to herself, How would I know? Out loud, she vaguely replied, “Maybe tomorrow.”
Li Fuqiu, gazing across the still-green holly trees in the courtyard, asked, “Do I still have a tomorrow?”
Gao Yuexing was shaken to her core.
Li Fuqiu found her reaction amusing and grinned. “I noticed the light in your room stayed on all night.”
That meant he hadn’t slept either.
He jumped down from the veranda, stepping into a patch of light. Gao Yuexing noticed that his face was unnaturally pale, almost greenish-white.
He mumbled, “I knew it—you’re here to curse me.”
This was the third time he’d said these words.
The first two times, Gao Yuexing hadn’t taken them seriously, merely letting them pass by her ears. But now, she began to reflect deeply on their meaning.
Only Li Fuqiu himself knew how sensitive he truly was inside.
Every word Gao Yuexing had spoken and every action she had taken since entering the palace seemed to carry hidden meanings, relentlessly stabbing at the shameful scars he couldn’t bear to expose.
He could sense it—she was dangerous.
Her arrival at the palace was meant to claim his life.
Li Fuqiu said, “You’re truly coldhearted.”
Gao Yuexing nodded. “You’re right.”
To protect Li Fuxiang, she had no choice but to kill Li Fuqiu. She had known this from the very beginning, yet she hadn’t hesitated for even a moment.
Even though the target was only a ten-year-old child.
Even though she had always understood the principle that children are innocent.
Gao Yuexing uncharacteristically admitted, “I don’t actually like my personality—selfish, coldhearted, and cruel. I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember. I can’t change it. Maybe I was born bad. Every bit of kindness, gentleness, and humility I pretend to have—it even makes me sick. Did you think I was a good person?”
Yes, this was her personality in her past life as well.
From a young age, she had always stood out as different.
She had wished to be genuinely gentle and kind, open and magnanimous like her elder sister. But she couldn’t do it. At one point, she was so pained by her inability that she locked herself in a dark room and refused to see anyone.
Day after day of self-loathing and anguish gradually numbed her.
She silently mimicked her sister’s words and actions until she came of age.
Before her marriage, her mother had continued to love her as always, but there was a persistent sigh in her demeanor, as if she had words she couldn’t bring herself to say.
After her marriage, Prince Xiang loved her, doted on her, bestowed her with honor and wealth, yet in the quiet of the night, he would kiss her eyes and tell her not to be sad.
It seemed as though she had deceived everyone.
Or perhaps she had long since laid her bloody wounds bare under the glaring sun, open to scrutiny and judgment.