Chapter One

Chapter One

Wanbao Temple stood halfway up the mountain. Its winding, treacherous paths usually kept visitors away, leaving the grounds quiet and deserted. Today, however, it was thronged with guests; carriages from the capital blocked the temple gates completely, their arrival making the place almost unrecognizable.

The officials who had journeyed here were travel-worn, faces drawn and pale, their usual dignified manners abandoned. They clung to the pillars, panting like oxen, creating a scene both absurd and pitiable. Yet the young woman in the monk's quarters remained composed, her expression serene. Even the dignified curve at her lips did not falter, despite the wailing of the young eunuch at her feet. She seemed impervious to all entreaties.

Ji Fang’s cries grew louder, tears streaking his face as he continued, "Princess, you are far away in Dengzhou, unaware of the peril in the capital. Since Prince Yin raised the banner of 'cleansing the court' two months ago and rebelled, chaos has reigned. Open and covert struggles abound, each faction plotting, and some, seeing the emperor’s weakness, are already seeking a new master. The enemy now threatens Gongzhou, and in a few months they will reach the capital. His Majesty is exhausted and anxious, but he lacks troops, lacks supplies, and has no one he can trust. Even the Grand Tutor feigns illness and refuses to leave his home... Princess, you and His Majesty are twins born of the same mother, bound by blood since the womb. How can you bear to see your brother besieged and alone..."

Ji Fang wept with fervor, so much so that Cheng Muning had no chance to interrupt. Bored, she reached for her teacup.

Listening to the incessant lamenting, she could not help but recall Cheng Zhen—the emperor Ji Fang spoke of.

She and Cheng Zhen were indeed twins, bound by blood and affection.

Due to the late emperor’s deep love for his empress and his reluctance to take other wives, the imperial harem was sparse in heirs, fewer even than ordinary households. Under pressure from court officials, only two years after Cheng Muning and Cheng Zhen were born did a concubine join the palace, giving birth to Princess Yongzhao. Yongzhao was timid and withdrawn, rarely speaking. For a long time, the vast palace held only the twin siblings, their bond deep and unquestionable.

Yet that bond had stalled four years ago.

The late emperor passed away, and the empress soon followed. Sixteen-year-old Cheng Zhen had to shoulder the burdens of the throne.

But Cheng Zhen was not suited to rule.

He lacked talent in scholarship, had no insight into statecraft. In childhood, Cheng Muning often accompanied him during lessons, coaxing him to focus, and it was only under her supervision that he managed to complete assignments set by the Grand Tutor. Perhaps there was something in their sibling bond that compelled him to heed her. Day after day, she, though merely a princess, became more adept at handling state affairs than her brother, the heir. So, early in his reign, faced with overwhelming matters, Cheng Zhen always turned to her for help.

Over time, Cheng Muning grew accustomed to her own seat in the Hall of State Affairs.

She knew the new emperor’s limitations and intervened frequently, believing her brother still needed her guidance, forgetting that while siblings may be close, ruler and subject must remain distinct.

At the time, she focused solely on consolidating power to stabilize the regime, never considering what thoughts might stir in the young emperor’s heart. Perhaps she sensed something but dismissed it. Years of conflict and rivalry wore their bond thin, until finally, another dispute over foreign policy pushed Cheng Zhen to his limit. He declared that women of the palace must not interfere in governance and confined her within the palace.

That time, Cheng Zhen insisted that fifteen-year-old Yongzhao be sent away for a diplomatic marriage.

He also dismissed and exiled a group of officials close to Cheng Muning. Some censors remonstrated, only to be charged with insolence before the throne and imprisoned.

The court’s mood shifted abruptly, with much debate.

Cheng Muning understood clearly: Cheng Zhen wished to force her out. Seeing the situation, she gave in, requested to leave the capital, and went to Wanbao Temple to pray for the late emperor and empress.

She still remembered the night before she left the capital. The young emperor drank himself senseless, sitting on the steps, mumbling, "We are twins, you were born only moments before me, but you have always been smarter, more learned. During lessons, you answered fluently, even the harsh Grand Tutor praised you, Father favored you, saying you were most like him... I know nothing, and needed you to teach me in secret... Now I am emperor, the old ministers flatter me in public but call me useless behind my back. Sister, you must think the same, so you gather allies, cling to power, watch over me, forbid this and that. You all wish to make me a puppet!"

"But I am emperor, the Son of Heaven! I am the one who rules Da Zhou, you are only a princess!" He grew agitated, staring at Cheng Muning for a long moment before murmuring in defeat, "As long as you are here, they will never see me as the true emperor..."

"Go, and never return to the capital."

...

"Not long after the princess left, His Majesty regretted it. He lost his appetite, fell ill, but was too proud to admit his fault to the princess... Princess, for the sake of the late emperor and empress, please forgive His Majesty just this once, I beg you..."

The wailing at her feet grew sharper, and Cheng Muning’s teacup lid slipped, scraping against the rim with a harsh sound. She returned to herself, smiled, and, too lazy to discern truth from falsehood in Ji Fang’s words, sipped her tea and feigned hesitation. "But I am but a woman. How could I possibly help His Majesty?"

Ji Fang cried anxiously, "How can you be like ordinary women, Princess? You have a mind for statecraft. When the late emperor was ill, you drafted edicts; when His Majesty ascended, you assisted tirelessly. All the court officials saw this. If you return to the capital now, even without doing anything, your presence alone would steady their hearts."

Cheng Muning smiled lightly, setting down her teacup with deliberate grace, sighing, "Serving beside His Majesty, I have learned nothing but the art of persuasion. Very well, I will do as you ask."

Ji Fang was momentarily stunned, awkwardly pulling at his lips, "Every word I spoke came from the heart, Princess—Princess, you agree?"

Cheng Muning neither confirmed nor denied. Ji Fang hesitated. When did the princess become so easy to persuade?

Everyone knew the parting between the princess and the emperor had been bitter. Though she claimed to have left of her own will, discerning eyes saw clearly the truth. Her simple white robes spoke of hardship at the temple. For three years, not a single servant nor any jewelry from the palace reached her—His Majesty had left her to fend for herself. Were it not for this crisis, he would never have summoned her back. She surely harbored resentment.

And the matter of Yongzhao's diplomatic marriage...

Ji Fang had expected to spend ten days or more in Dengzhou, bringing a clever troupe of censors to plead with her.

Seeing his bewilderment, Cheng Muning smiled, "You have come by imperial order; I cannot defy the command, can I? Or have you grown accustomed to the palace and wish to linger in Wanbao Temple a few more days? That’s fine, tomorrow I’ll show you around. Don’t let the simplicity fool you; the scenery here is far more beautiful than the manicured gardens of the palace. Actually, why wait for tomorrow—let’s do it today—"

"No, no, no—" Ji Fang recovered, quickly interrupting, "I’ll prepare the carriages at once, we will depart for the capital tomorrow!"

He spoke, tears of gratitude streaming down his face as he bowed twice to Cheng Muning, afraid she might change her mind, and hurried away.

Once Ji Fang was gone, the attendants who had listened through the whole exchange rushed into the inner chambers.

Hongjin, flustered, opened the chest to arrange clothes. "That Ji Eunuch is too good at crying. Princess, you agreed far too quickly. You should have made them worry for a few more days, so they’d bring out a grand sedan to escort us back. With such haste, we barely have time to pack."

"The princess is eager to return; who has time for pretense?" Yin Zhu, more composed, replied, "You’ll find everything you need in the palace. No need to bring everything. But the incense must come. The journey back is long, and we’ll have to rest at inns. The princess never sleeps well."

Cheng Muning glanced over, seeing Hongjin deftly tuck the incense box into the chest.

When she left the capital, it was in haste, with only two carriages for herself and her belongings. Arriving at Wanbao Temple, she was nearly empty-handed. She had always been sensitive to beds, and suffered insomnia for half a month, until the abbot, Jingchen, sent her agarwood incense. Cheng Muning had used it since childhood, and only then could she sleep soundly.

But agarwood incense was rare and difficult to make; even in the palace, it was scarce each year, let alone in a remote place like Dengzhou.

The abbot explained it was donated by merchants and pilgrims; monks have no use for such luxuries, so it was given entirely to Cheng Muning.

Thinking back, she owed much to the abbot’s care these three years. Now, it was time to say a proper farewell, for who knew when she might return.

After a moment’s thought, Cheng Muning took a small box containing a wooden Buddha statue from her chest and walked toward the Prayer Pavilion.

Jingchen seemed to expect her visit. Rather than kneeling before the Buddha as usual, she had prepared tea, fingering the beads of her rosary as she said, "Princess, you have come."

Cheng Muning smiled. Few in this world understood her truly; the abbot was one of those rare souls. After tea, she spoke directly, "I have benefited greatly from your guidance these years. I know you dislike extravagance, so this Buddha statue is something I carved in leisure. Its craftsmanship is crude and worthless, but let it serve as a token of our acquaintance."

Jingchen replied, "The princess’s gift is priceless. I am humbled."

Cheng Muning ignored the monk’s customary humility, gazing around, "Wanbao Temple is tranquil and elegant, its scenery changing with the seasons. I have gained much from chanting and meditating here. Now that I must leave abruptly, I find myself reluctant."

Jingchen was silent for a long moment. "Though the palace is splendid, it is fraught with danger. To stay away from such turmoil is no bad thing—" Recalling the princess’s longing gaze at the cliff days ago, she paused, then said gently, "But the princess is a precious jewel; she should not be hidden away here."

Jingchen remembered their first meeting. It was a cold spring day. Wanbao Temple, remote and humble, had never hosted such a distinguished royal guest. The nuns gathered at the gates, braving the wind, hoping for a glimpse of the famed princess.

They imagined her as dazzling and regal.

But when she arrived, it was clear that true nobility was never just surface. No need for splendid garments or airs; simply standing there, she possessed the unapproachable bearing of a ruler. Yet her fair face was gentle and kind.

She greeted the abbot with a Buddhist bow, speaking warmly, "I expect to trouble you for three or five years. I will rely on your care."

Jingchen knew then: a dragon cannot remain in a pond. From the start, the princess never intended to stay at Wanbao Temple forever.

Thinking this, Jingchen pressed her palms together, murmuring a prayer, "Princess, since your mind is made up, I have nothing to offer but prayers before the Buddha. May your journey be safe, and your wishes fulfilled."

Cheng Muning pressed her palms together in return, grateful. "Then I accept your blessings."