Chapter Seven: The Splendid Palace

For the past few days, Ling Zeytian had been troubled. Ministers in the court kept submitting memorials, urging that the empress could no longer be left to languish in the Cold Palace. Yet Feng Qiuji’s father, Prime Minister Ling Chaofeng, had not uttered a single word about the matter. By rights, the Prime Minister would never be foolish enough to incite his subordinates into such reckless acts. Still, the ministers’ concerns were not unfounded. Ling Zeytian was nearly twenty, and though the palace had few concubines, the more pressing issue was that he remained without an heir. This was a grave matter indeed—should anything unforeseen befall the emperor, were he to suddenly pass, the throne would once again become the object of fierce contention. The ensuing turmoil would shake the political foundations of the dynasty and plunge the realm into chaos, a prospect fraught with peril. Therefore, after much deliberation, the ministers resolved to risk everything and remonstrate, no matter the cost.

When Ling Zeytian entered the Cold Palace, he found Feng Qiuji squatting in the courtyard, tending a fire and roasting potatoes. Thick, black smoke billowed from the Cold Palace, carrying a choking stench. Ling Zeytian frowned; seeing her crouched on the ground, absorbed in her roasting, a wave of distaste rose within him. In all his years, he had never encountered a woman so uncouth.

“Ahem… His Majesty arrives.” Eunuch Sun cleared his throat, masking his embarrassment; after all, as a servant, witnessing such a scene was awkward at best.

“Greetings, Your Majesty.” Feng Qiuji turned, bowed her head to the ground, and then resumed fussing over her potatoes—she had promised Xiao Hui she would let her taste the delicious roasted tubers.

Ling Zeytian could bear it no longer. He had thought that after leaving this woman in the Cold Palace for so long, she would reflect on her faults and mend her ways. Yet here she was, still so brazenly disregarding him.

Clearly, he had been far too lenient as emperor!

With a single motion, he grabbed Feng Qiuji and tossed her aside. She looked up in annoyance, about to demand an explanation, when she saw Ling Zeytian’s stormy expression.

At that moment, Xiao Hui hurried back from outside the Cold Palace. Seeing the scene before her, she immediately knelt before Ling Zeytian. “Your Majesty, please forgive us. The Empress has angered you again, but she means no harm…”

A flash of anger crossed Ling Zeytian’s eyes. This maid again. “Eunuch Sun, convey my decree: The Empress has shown a lack of propriety and decorum, bringing shame upon the royal family. Her maid is to receive fifty strokes of the rod.”

“What?” Feng Qiuji’s eyes widened at his words. “Shouldn’t the punishment be for me? Why punish Xiao Hui?”

“Such are the rules of the palace,” Ling Zeytian replied coldly, scoffing.

In truth, palace rules dictated that when a servant erred, their mistress was to be punished. But for Feng Qiuji, the rules could be changed.

“No, you can’t do this.”

Can’t? Ling Zeytian narrowed his eyes—no one had ever dared tell him what he could or could not do. “Very well. Eunuch Sun, drag the Empress outside and give her fifty strokes.”

“No! You can’t do this either!” Now that the punishment was to fall on her, Feng Qiuji protested even more fiercely. She hadn’t embarrassed him in public; why should she be treated so?

Eunuch Sun gave a signal, and two young eunuchs stepped forward, each seizing one of Feng Qiuji’s arms.

Just then, a guard rushed in. “Your Majesty, word has come from Jinxiu Palace—the young prince’s illness has worsened.”

Ling Zeytian’s expression darkened. He could spare no further attention for anything else, and hurriedly strode out of the Cold Palace.

Feng Qiuji stared blankly at the sudden turn of events, sniffing the air, which was thick with the smell of burning. Her potatoes had been scorched. She immediately broke free from the two eunuchs and dashed over to rescue her potatoes.

The young eunuchs watched her in bewilderment. “Eunuch Sun, do we continue with the punishment or not?”

Eunuch Sun sighed and shook his head. “Let it be for now.” Though the emperor had just ordered the Empress to be taken out for punishment, she was, after all, the Prime Minister’s daughter. Fifty strokes was no trivial matter. The emperor must be aware of this; should they blindly carry out the punishment and injure the Empress, no one would dare take responsibility.

“Eunuch Sun, come, have a potato.” After instructing Xiao Hui to tidy up, Feng Qiuji handed him a small stick.

Eunuch Sun glanced at the potato on the stick, bowed, and said, “Thank you, Your Grace, but this servant must decline.”

Since he refused, Feng Qiuji withdrew her hand, a little disappointed. Never mind—she would eat it herself.

“It seems His Majesty cares deeply for Anuo,” Feng Qiuji remarked casually, though in truth she was probing for information.

“Your Grace, His Majesty has no son, so he is extremely fond of the young prince.”

“Oh? Then who is his mother?”

“Forgive me, Your Grace, I do not know.”

“What illness does he have?”

“I heard he caught a chill a few days ago. The imperial physicians have treated him, but he hasn’t improved.”

“I see. That’s all, you may go now, Eunuch Sun.”

After dismissing him, Feng Qiuji was left even more puzzled. Could it be that Anuo’s mother was not a palace concubine? Then perhaps a common woman? History was filled with tales of emperors sowing wild oats while traveling incognito. So Ling Zeytian was such a man as well—tsk, tsk, tsk…

Just then, Ling Zexin hurried in. Finding only Feng Qiuji present, he looked around. “Is my brother not here?”

“He just left. What is it?”

“Anuo’s condition has worsened. I came to inform him.” With that, he turned to go.

Feng Qiuji seized his sleeve. “He’s already on his way. What’s wrong with Anuo?”

“He’s had a persistent high fever,” Ling Zexin replied helplessly. Anuo was still just a child. His unreliable medicine master had vanished, and the imperial physicians were all useless quacks. If this went on, the boy would be ruined.

“Let me have a look at him.” Taking another bite of her roasted potato, Feng Qiuji dusted off her hands.

“What’s this?” Ling Zexin looked her over, chuckling. “So, Sister-in-law, you’ve finally decided to put in some effort?”

Since Anuo fell ill, many concubines had tried to curry favor by sending soups and tonics to Jinxiu Palace, hoping to win a place in the emperor’s heart. But he had already forbidden them from entering, rendering their efforts futile.

“What do you mean?” Feng Qiuji chewed her food, confused. She had never considered such things, nor had she heard of the ban. Her grandfather had been a traditional physician all his life, so she thought she might be able to help. A high fever, while not a grave illness, should never be neglected; otherwise, it could do permanent harm. That much, at least, she knew.

“Nothing. But you can’t get in.”

“What do you mean, can’t get in?”

“My brother issued a ban—no concubine is allowed to set foot in Jinxiu Palace.”

“But I’m not a concubine. I’m the empress. Let’s go.” Without waiting for Ling Zexin’s reply, she dragged him out of the Cold Palace.

Jinxiu Palace was somewhat secluded, but the surroundings were beautiful. Pavilions and verandas, gardens teeming with flowers, birds, and fish—clearly, great care had been taken in its construction.

When Feng Qiuji and Ling Zexin entered, they saw a line of kneeling maids and eunuchs outside. The doors to the inner chambers were shut tight; Ling Zeytian, angered by their failure to care for Anuo, had ordered them to kneel in punishment.

Pushing open the door, they found Ling Zeytian seated at the bedside, several imperial physicians attending Anuo. Upon seeing Feng Qiuji, Ling Zeytian’s expression darkened.

“Zexin, who told you to bring her here?”

“I came to see if I could help Anuo,” Feng Qiuji said before Ling Zexin could reply. She walked to the bed, felt Anuo’s forehead, then, feigning expertise, took his pulse. Afterward, she called the imperial physicians aside to consult, and together they drafted a prescription.

When Ling Zeytian held the prescription, he frowned at Feng Qiuji. He knew nothing of medicine. Could the Prime Minister’s daughter truly be versed in the healing arts? Was she to be trusted? Still, with so many imperial physicians present, surely they weren’t all useless. He ordered the medicine to be prepared and administered to Anuo. By the time it was done, night had fallen. Feng Qiuji called for a table of food and invited Ling Zeytian to dine.

Ling Zeytian reclined at the head of the bed, watching the woman already eating with gusto, his gaze growing deeper. She was the first concubine to enter Jinxiu Palace, and the first to dine there. This woman had endured the Cold Palace without complaint for so long—indeed, worthy of being the Prime Minister’s daughter, as cunning as her father.

At the thought, a faint smile crossed Ling Zeytian’s lips.

Night deepened. Ling Zexin left for his residence, and Ling Zeytian, unwilling to leave Anuo’s side, had his memorials brought to Jinxiu Palace. Feng Qiuji, her medicine yet to show results, was not dismissed and simply moved a stool to the window to gaze at the moon.

Outside, the moon shone bright, and the palace glowed with candlelight as bright as day. From time to time, Feng Qiuji glanced at Ling Zeytian, immersed in his memorials. She recalled hearing that men were at their most handsome when focused. It was true—bathed in warm, golden candlelight, his profile was flawless. Feng Qiuji found herself thinking he was truly a striking man.

In fact, Feng Qiuji bore him no ill will.

He was the emperor, king of this era. She was his empress—one among many women in his life. She had never been raised as a proper lady and knew little of etiquette, so she was grateful for his tolerance.

When Ling Zeytian looked up, he saw Feng Qiuji slouched in her chair, dozing off, her head bobbing as she slept, both arms crossed. He frowned, but was amused.

Glancing at Anuo, whose color had improved, and feeling his forehead—finding no further cause for concern—he was finally at ease.

He walked to the window, about to carry Feng Qiuji over to the couch, when he sensed a gaze upon him from outside.

Ling Zeytian looked up to see, across from the window in the corridor, a faint, solitary figure dressed in black—slender and frail against the darkness. Their eyes met across the gloom, and after a moment the shadow turned away and melted into the night.

Ling Zeytian softly closed the window, lifted Feng Qiuji, and placed her on the couch.

—A side note— It’s been several days since I last updated. Somehow, these past few chapters feel a bit dull to me.