As time slipped by and the sun dipped below the horizon, Ren rose to dine after a brief rest.
"Majesty… shall we go to the empress's quarters?" Qian asked softly, trailing behind as they reached the fork between the Living Hall and the Vermilion Pavilion.
The empress? Ren's brow creased.
He pictured her: dignified and poised, head bowed, her lovely face perpetually taut. She adhered to every rule, even with him, her husband, smiling without showing teeth, always solemn, more rigid than Ren himself.
In their youth, they'd been deeply in love, a harmonious couple admired by all.
But as years passed, that youthful passion cooled. She remained stunning, her grace intact.
Yet Ren's feelings had waned, replaced by irritation and indifference.
She met him daily with flawless etiquette, devoid of warmth, as stern as a court minister. In bed, she was worse: tense as a drawn bow, silent and stiff as a corpse.
It made Ren wonder if age had robbed him of his vigor.
They say couples face a seven-year itch; how many years had he and the empress endured? Far more than seven!
To the world, children, courtiers, they still seemed the perfect pair. Only they knew the truth: they shared a bed but dreamed apart.
Whispers had spread through the palace. Since his ascension, Ren hadn't spent a single night in the Vermilion Pavilion.
He visited her only at dawn or noon, exchanging nods before departing.
Their relationship had been strained and delicate for a long time, neither willing to tear through the fragile veneer of affection they maintained.
More crucially, the empress bore no sons.
She had two daughters: Qing, the eldest princess, and Li, Ren's beloved youngest.
Even the headstrong Li likely never imagined how icy her parents' bond had grown.
Qian, as Ren's closest eunuch, knew it all. But with master on one side and mistress on the other, silence was his only option; speaking would embarrass everyone.
He even knew who Ren favored most now, and that Ren had once considered replacing the empress.
But thoughts were just thoughts. The empress's backing was formidable: daughter of Sheng Su, a Confucian literary titan with students and influence spanning the realm.
Sheng Su held no office, but his sway over civil officials was undeniable; most were either his pupils or owed him favors from chaotic times.
That influence had helped Ren outshine the cultured Tao among scholars.
If Ren deposed her, the Imperial Academy's students would wail at the palace gates by morning, and memorials from officials would bury him in headaches.
Plus, Qing tied the court to the righteous sects.
Unless the empress died naturally, her position was unshakable.
"No need. The Living Hall will do," Ren said coolly, then added after a pause, "Summon Yu Fei."
Yu Fei, born Zhao, daughter of a pig butcher…
Qian knew she was Ren's favorite consort. Vibrant and enchanting, her eyes sparkled with life. Lacking the empress's regal beauty, she exuded a wild, open allure, her voice a sultry melody that captivated Ren.
She served him tirelessly, earning frequent visits and nights in her chambers. Her womb proved fruitful, bearing him two sons.
Of Ren's five sons, she alone birthed two; young, but her favor was clear.
"Yes, Majesty."
Ren had spoken; Qian could only obey.
In the Vermilion Pavilion of the palace, a woman sat at a desk, her elegance serene as autumn pines, proud as a blooming peony. She held a book in her slender hands, lit by a candle as dusk fell, reading with quiet focus.
Her fair face bore light makeup, brows like willow leaves, eyes like shooting stars, a delicate nose, and cherry-red lips. She resembled Qing and Li by forty percent, yet carried a unique charm. Her jade-like complexion showed no trace of age: mature at a glance, yet youthful upon closer look. Her black hair flowed like tassels, her demeanor aloof yet gentle, a silent grace.
Her figure was a ripe peach, collarbones elegant beneath ornate phoenix robes that hugged her form. A jade belt cinched her impossibly slim waist. She sat with refined poise: back straight, legs together; her ample chest rising like daunting jade peaks, firm and unyielding, tracing a breathtaking curve.
Below her willow waist, her seated posture accentuated her hips, mature and alluring, a perfect, rounded peach that could drive any man mad.
Her long, straight legs, though seated, seemed sculpted to perfection, faintly visible beneath her lavish robes: slender and towering, likely taller than half the men in the realm.
Outside the Vermilion Pavilion, a palace maid hurried across the threshold, stopping a few paces behind the woman to bow.
"Is it time for His Majesty's dinner?" the empress asked.
By court custom, the emperor dined at the same hour as the empress, and in her Vermilion Pavilion.
Glancing at the setting sun, she calculated he'd be halfway there by now.
Since his ascension, save for the coronation day and the next, when tradition demanded he dine here, he'd eaten in the Golden Dragon Hall or Living Hall.
"Perhaps he's busy with state affairs," she reassured herself.
The maid remained silent, kneeling without a word.
Sensing the silence and the maid's kneel, the empress's heart sank, though she feigned calm. "What is it? Too many duties today?"
"His Majesty… went to the Living Hall," the maid whispered.
"Oh."
Disappointment flickered through her. It was the start of the month; she'd ordered the imperial kitchen to prepare Ren's favorites, hoping to share a meal. Clearly, he had no such intent. "He must be tired. The Vermilion Pavilion is farther than the Living Hall," she rationalized.
The maid, who'd served her for years, felt a pang hearing such humble self-comfort from the still-radiant empress. Hesitating over the latest news, she faltered.
Noticing the prolonged silence, the empress asked, "What's wrong?"
"His Majesty…" The maid struggled for words, then confessed, "He summoned Yu Fei."
Suddenly, the empress's grip tightened, crumpling the pristine page in her hand.
"…Oh, is that so?"
Her chest heaved slightly, her full breasts trembling beneath the heavy phoenix robes. She smoothed the wrinkled paper, her tone flat. "I'm getting old."
"Forgive me!" The maid kowtowed, her forehead thudding against the carpet.
"It's not your fault. Get up," the empress said, rising. Her youthful figure radiated mature allure and dignity.
She approached and lifted the maid herself, self-mocking, "It's me who's displeased His Majesty, not you."
"If he won't come, have the kitchen distribute the food to the servants. I can't eat much anyway."
Another maid entered, reporting, "Your Majesty, the eldest princess is here."
"Qing!?"
Joy lit the empress's face, her daughter's arrival easing her melancholy. Her jade-like features bloomed with a smile, radiant as a peony.
Qing's tall frame stepped into the hall, bowing. "Mother, greetings."
By protocol, she should say "Mother Empress," but raised in the Xian Sect, Qing half-understood and cared little for such formalities meant to uphold rule.
Clad in phoenix robes, the empress, Mei, hurried forward to embrace her daughter, laughing, "Qing, what brings you to see me today?"
Mei felt both guilt and adoration for her eldest. Unlike Li, who grew up by her side, Qing had been sent to the sect at two or three, tearing them apart. Mei had wept bitterly, falling ill, seeing her only rarely under the sect elders' guidance.
Thus, she bore deep remorse and love for Qing, fretting most when she began her free travels.
"Come, have you eaten? I'll cook for you," Mei said warmly.
"No need, Mother." Qing smiled, holding her back.
They sat side by side on a cushioned couch in the side hall. Visually, they were nearly indistinguishable: both stunning, skin like jade, eyes youthful. Mei's ageless face bore no wrinkles, her mature grace the only hint she was older, more like a sister than a mother.
The two beauties chatted and laughed, a scene so lovely it seemed a painting too perfect to disturb.
As a mother, Mei's gentle intuition caught Qing's mood. "Is something troubling you? Can you tell me?"
"Mother…" Qing's moon-bright gaze wavered, her lovely eyes trembling, drifting to some distant point. "What… is 'love'?"
"'Love'…" Mei's heart softened. Seeing her usually aloof, immortal-like daughter so lost warmed her with pity.
Qing had reached the age of a maiden's springtime.
"'Love' is family, friendship… and romance."
"Romance?"
"Yes, romance… it's beautiful." Mei's eyes drifted, recalling her youth.
"It's when you see someone and can't stop thinking of them: their joys, their sorrows, how they're faring. You even feel an urge to stand before them."
Qing's thoughts stirred… She sometimes thought of Feng Wei, a sudden longing to know him. Was that what Mother meant?
But appearing before him unbidden… She recalled wandering twice, as if possessed, to the foul depths of Yong Row, that stinking hovel.
Did that count?
She didn't know.
"Sometimes, he'll anger you; over trifles, you'll want to snap at him, yet not truly be mad. But he's also the one who frustrates you most, even to embarrassment."
Feng Wei hadn't sparked that in her, no urge to lash out. But seeing him with other women left her uneasy.
The one who stirred her most, even to humiliated fury, was Elder Mu.
The first time she saw a man's private flesh, that massive lump, and felt scalding, sticky white fluid drench her, her body heated and softened instinctively, her rage nearly unleashing murderous intent. Just this afternoon, she'd fled his hovel in near-panic.
Was that love? Her gut said no.
Feng Wei weighed heavier in her heart than most…
Her mother's words didn't untangle Qing's confusion; they deepened it.
Mei, too, drifted into memory as she spoke, of her early days with Ren, their courteous, heartfelt bond.
How happy she'd been then…
Ren had been so understanding, indulgent, his eyes full of tenderness. As Prince Ren, he'd been witty and refined, a gallant suitor whose devotion she craved.
But now?
Why had it come to this?
Mei's gaze scattered. She couldn't pinpoint when their bond had turned so cold and distant, strangers in all but name.
Mother and daughter fell into a long, shared silence, unbroken until night fell and the candlelight flickered.