The Winter Festival Lantern Fair ended on its second day due to unrest.
When the Emperor left the palace, it was in a plain, inconspicuous carriage. But when he returned, the imperial guards led the way, the palace gates were thrown wide open, and a dozen fine horses galloped into the imperial city. The Emperor’s horse carried Li Fuxiang with him. The Emperor dismounted, tossing the reins to an attendant, holding the child firmly in his arms the entire time.
Li Fuxiang was wrapped in a large cloak that covered his head, hiding his eyes, so he could see nothing.
On the other hand, Gao Yuexing was escorted by Ding Wenfu, leaning against the icy, hard armor on his chest. When the chaos erupted at the Lantern Fair, Ding Wenfu tried to cover her eyes with his hand, but she pushed it away.
She wanted to watch. In her previous life, she had died in an assassination attempt. Even though the instinctual fear enveloped her, causing her body to tremble uncontrollably, she forced herself to keep her eyes wide open and see everything clearly. She would not die foolishly and senselessly like a joke again.
An attempt on the Emperor’s life was no trivial matter.
At this time, Imperial Consort Xian had no mind for anything else. Together with the Dowager Consort Hui, she requested an audience in the middle of the night.
The Emperor was heavily guarded, and his entourage was unharmed. Having seen much of the world, the Emperor was accustomed to assassination attempts. It was clear that the attackers this time were insignificant. Instead, he was more concerned about frightening the children.
However, the two children seemed fine, especially Li Fuxiang, who, despite the chaos, still held tightly to the half-eaten sugar figurine.
The Emperor was delighted, patting his head and instructing the palace maids to take him inside to change clothes.
When Gao Yuexing returned to the palace, she quietly found a corner to sit in, not disturbing anyone. She touched her abdomen, remembering how, in her previous life, a poisoned sleeve arrow had pierced through there, bringing her young life to a tragic end.
She still couldn’t let it go.
Not everything could truly start anew. What had happened could never be erased.
The thought of defying fate and changing her destiny was too heavy for a woman secluded in the boudoir. Was her fate already sealed? She knew the future, the outcomes of everyone around her, and even the exact year and month of her own death. If nothing could be changed, it would be an endless cycle of doom.
Gao Yuexing felt alternating waves of heat and cold, her expression dazed.
This was the proper reaction of a child encountering an assassination attempt.
A palace maid brought in a bowl of warm medicinal soup.
Gao Yuexing lifted her hand but found it trembling involuntarily. She withdrew her hand into her sleeve and refused to take the bowl.
Fu Yun, ever perceptive, stepped forward, took the bowl, cooled it with the porcelain spoon, and fed it to her.
The strong ginger flavor was overwhelming at first, but as it warmed her stomach, it spread a comforting warmth throughout her body.
Li Fuxiang drank his medicine even more straightforwardly than she did. He needed no one to feed him or urge him. He held the bowl himself, downed it in one go, and set it down before moving closer to Gao Yuexing.
Gao Yuexing looked at him with her deep, ink-like eyes.
Li Fuxiang gestured to her in sign language: “Don’t be afraid.”
Gao Yuexing thought to herself, how could she not be afraid?
She suddenly felt isolated, as if no one could truly reach her or empathize with her. She was alone, driven by a singular love, yet her husband was now just an unworldly child.
It was nearly despairing.
Gao Yuexing hooked her finger at him and silently gestured: “—But I love you.”
Li Fuxiang imitated her movements and repeated, “I love you.”
He had not yet learned what the word meant and looked utterly confused.
In the palace, who would dare to speak of love so lightly?
Those who gained true love rarely met a good end.
The Imperial Noble Consort did not have a peaceful death, leaving the Emperor with lifelong regret.
Consort Mei perhaps obtained the love she sought after, but her scheming led to a shocking case, and in the end, she resolutely embraced death. Now, as the case gradually became clear, the deadlock for the son she wished to protect seemed inevitable. Could the man she loved still be protected?
The Emperor was busy in the front hall.
In the sleeping quarters, the two children remained, careful not to make too much noise. Gao Yuexing climbed onto a small desk, diligently prepared the ink and brush herself, wrote a single character, and then pulled Li Fuxiang to look at it with her.
Gao Yuexing’s handwriting was elegant, though her young age made her strokes lack strength. Nonetheless, it did not diminish the clean and graceful quality of her writing.
She handed the brush to Li Fuxiang.
Li Fuxiang took the brush and mimicked her strokes, carefully tracing the same character for “love” beside hers.
As Gao Yuexing watched his practiced movements with the brush, her calm gaze began to surge with waves of astonishment.
The mute aunt…
Gao Yuexing began to recall—what kind of person was the mute aunt?
Every stitch and thread of Li Fuxiang’s clothing from childhood had been crafted by the mute aunt. The meals in the residence were adjusted to taste by her, and when the Eastern Palace was renovated, a Crabapple embankment was added. The fortune plaques there seemed to have been inscribed personally by the mute aunt.
The mute aunt could not speak, but her reading and writing were impeccable.
She might not have been able to teach Li Fuxiang to speak, but what about reading and writing?
Gao Yuexing carefully picked up the sheet of writing, held it before her eyes, and was filled with delight.
Li Fuxiang’s handwriting was not very appealing at the moment, but even in adulthood, his writing would never become particularly impressive. At best, it could only be described as passable. As a young general, Li Fuxiang achieved two consecutive victories in the western frontier, but the one flaw in his life might have been his poor handwriting. Even the Emperor, upon seeing it, could not bring himself to offer insincere praise.
Gao Yuexing folded the paper and tucked it into her chest. When she looked at Li Fuxiang again, she couldn’t resist leaping forward to tightly embrace him.
Li Fuxiang still held the brush in his hand. Startled, the brush slipped, and a blot of ink landed on Gao Yuexing’s snow-white neck. She wiped it with her hand, only to smear it back onto Li Fuxiang’s face.
His life had not been destroyed by those ten years in Xiaonan Pavilion.
Endless torment in pitch-black darkness—had it been anyone else, even surviving would have been a miracle. Who could still hope to live like a normal person, let alone achieve great accomplishments?
Only him.
He could still laugh, still cry.
He dared to stand in the sunlight, confronting all the disdainful gazes and malicious doubts surrounding him.
He had woken up and regained his freedom.
From now on, no one could block his path.
The Emperor, after delegating the investigation of the assassins, finally returned to the sleeping quarters to change out of his mud-stained robes. From afar, he saw the two children tumbling and playing together.
He asked the palace maid attending him, “What are they doing?”
The palace maid answered, “It seems Miss Gao is teaching the young master to write.”
Unconsciously, the term “young master” had become Li Fuxiang’s exclusive title.
Li Fuxiang was born under the title of the Second Prince. However, on the day of his birth, the Emperor removed him from the family registry, and his name was never inscribed in the imperial genealogy. Besides, he was never truly a Second Prince, making such a title inappropriate.
As for the Third Prince’s title, it had been taken by another for many years and, with the Emperor’s tacit approval, became widely recognized. This made it even less suitable.
Thus, the palace staff referred to him as “young master,” though it was bittersweet. Even now, it remained an identity that could not see the light of day.
Gao Yuexing did not notice the Emperor standing not far behind her.
She fluently asked Li Fuxiang in sign language, “How many characters do you know? Shall I find a book for you to read?”
Now living in Qianqing Palace, it was impossible for Gao Yuexing’s ability to use sign language to escape the Emperor’s notice—unless she could forever resist interacting with Li Fuxiang.
The Emperor did not ask further questions. Instead, he instructed someone to locate the mute servant who had once cared for Li Fuxiang. At the same time, he finally had the opportunity to handle the remaining matters related to Xiaonan Pavilion.
Dowager Consort Hui visited Qianqing Palace to check on the Emperor, exchanging a few words of concern. Seeing that he was uninjured, she felt reassured.
Imperial Consort Xian, who accompanied her, remarked, “How could there be assassins out of nowhere?”
The Emperor’s decision to leave the palace incognito had been a spur-of-the-moment idea. He left quietly, without alerting anyone, and even the consorts only learned of it after his carriage had exited the palace gates.
Who could have known the Emperor’s whereabouts so quickly and planned an assassination in the bustling city in such a short time?
Imperial Consort Xian asked, “Were the assassins captured?”
The Emperor replied, “They escaped.”
The assassins had managed to get away unscathed.
Imperial Consort Xian exclaimed, “How audacious!”
The Emperor, calm as ever, said, “This isn’t the first time they’ve been audacious. Let the Jinyiwei1The Jinyiwei (锦衣卫) was a powerful secret police and military organization in imperial China, established during the Ming dynasty (1368–1644). They served as personal guards for the emperor but also acted as a surveillance and enforcement agency. investigate this matter slowly.”
“Slowly investigate…”
Imperial Consort Xian found this response rather absurd.
It seemed that joy brightens the spirit—having acknowledged his son, the Emperor’s mood was unusually good, and even his tolerance for the assassins had increased.
Imperial Consort Xian was momentarily at a loss for words.
Dowager Consort Hui, more experienced, smoothly shifted the topic. “Your Majesty, the child in Jingmen Palace has recently caught a cold. The imperial physician recommends rest. What is Your Majesty’s will?”
The Emperor paused. “He’s ill?”
Dowager Consort Hui replied, “Gravely ill.”
Imperial Consort Xian had not heard of Li Fuqiu’s illness, and it was likely that no one else in the palace had either.
However, Imperial Consort Xian was quick to understand: whether she had heard or not was irrelevant, and whether it was true or not was equally unimportant.
What mattered was that Dowager Consort Hui had spoken, and the Emperor believed her.
The Emperor said flatly, “Since he is ill, let him rest for now.”
Dowager Consort Hui, seeing that it was late, did not linger further and took her leave with Imperial Consort Xian.
Imperial Consort Xian was unusually silent along the way. When they arrived outside Chunhe Palace, she refused to return to her own chambers first and insisted on escorting Dowager Consort Hui back.
The winter night carried a desolate air, with withered branches under the starry sky appearing lifeless. Dowager Consort Hui’s hand warmer had cooled, so she handed it to a palace maid and said, “I rarely meddle in palace affairs, but since we were on the subject today, let me offer you some advice. Don’t take offense at an old woman’s words.”
Imperial Consort Xian had been waiting for this and quickly replied, “How could I? Please, go on, Your Highness.”
Dowager Consort Hui’s eyes glimmered with a faint smile as she spoke casually, “The Emperor is decisive and ruthless, but he is, after all, only human. He, too, may have moments of lapse or imperfection. You’ve been by his side for over ten years and are the one closest to him. When faced with difficulties, don’t always think about distancing yourself. If you give the Emperor a measure of dignity, he will remember it.”
Imperial Consort Xian was enlightened.
Among women of humble origins, some, after ten years by the Emperor’s side, still carried the servile demeanor of those who lived cautiously in the deep palace, trembling in fear to survive. Others, however, had already risen to great favor, surrounded by children, becoming the foremost woman by the Emperor’s side.
What set them apart was not their background but their insight.
Imperial Consort Xian, realizing where her shortcomings lay, respectfully escorted Dowager Consort Hui back to Jingmen Palace.