Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Meng Zuolan had been inside for over an hour, while Pei Shao had been standing outside for just as long. Several patrolling soldiers passed by, sensing that something significant was happening that night; after exchanging respectful greetings, they all grew alert. When Meng Zuolan emerged, he immediately noticed an unusual atmosphere—dozens of eyes watching intently in the darkness, making one feel quite uneasy.

Unexpectedly, Pei Shao was still there. Meng Zuolan hesitated for a moment, then quickened his pace and said, “How careless of me! I got so focused on the medicine that I forgot everything else and kept you waiting, Commander. But it’s late now, and leaving the palace at night is inconvenient. I’ll make do with staying overnight at the Imperial Medical Bureau, so there’s no need for you to escort me back.”

Pei Shao hadn’t intended to see him off. With a faint voice, he asked, “You’ve been inside so long—was the princess’s illness particularly troublesome?”

“Oh,” Meng Zuolan had already prepared his explanation. “Not exactly. Diagnosing and prescribing the medicine wasn’t difficult, but I worried the palace attendants might not control the fire properly when boiling the herbs and ruin the efficacy of the medicine. So I had to stay and supervise personally. Alas, Commander, you must understand that there’s quite an art to preparing medicine—starting with the water, you see—”

Pei Shao interrupted, “I recall the princess’s stomach ailment improved greatly three years ago.”

Meng Zuolan calmly agreed and then detailed the explanation he had just worked out with Cheng Muning, grateful it was night; otherwise, his guilty expression when lying would have been easy to detect. He concluded, “Besides, the princess drank on an empty stomach today, so she was bound to have a relapse. However, she just took the medicine and is now out of danger.”

Pei Shao walked with his hands behind his back. “The medicine’s effect is always slow. She will likely have a rough night.”

He paused, pushed aside the willow branches overhead, and said, “The imperial physicians know well: now that His Majesty has fallen ill, if anything else happens at Fuluan Palace, chaos will erupt both inside and outside the palace. This concerns the affairs of state. Meng, your responsibilities weigh heavily—please remain vigilant and do not neglect your duties.”

Since it involved state affairs, Meng Zuolan dared not slack off as usual. He followed closely behind and said, “Please rest assured, Commander. The princess is precious beyond compare. I would never be negligent. I’ve already administered acupuncture to ease her discomfort and will ensure she suffers no pain through the night.”

“It’s not for my peace of mind,” Pei Shao glanced coldly at him. “The imperial physician worries for the emperor.”

Meng Zuolan nodded repeatedly. “Yes, yes, that’s exactly what I meant.”

Since Cheng Zheng had been mentioned, as a general close to the emperor, Pei Shao casually inquired about his recent situation, though he knew well that Cheng Zheng was safe. Meng Zuolan answered accordingly, but after the earlier conversation at Fuluan Palace, when the emperor was brought up again, both men’s minds wandered. They remained distracted until the fork in the road, where Meng Zuolan bowed and took his leave.

Pei Shao did not immediately leave for outside the palace.

The darkness concealed the displeasure furrowing his brows. A nameless, inexplicable anger had been burning inside him for many days, neither rising nor falling.

He stood still, looking back to see the eaves of Fuluan Palace.

Inside the bedchamber, two oil lamps burned dimly, their faint light illuminating a purple-gold incense burner emitting curling clouds of smoke. The mingled scents of dragon’s tongue incense and medicine filled the air. Cheng Muning, drowsy and heavy-headed, drifted into a dream.

The dream was filled with the same scent. Her thin garment was soaked with sweat as she lay listlessly among the memorials.

Her stomach ailment had been contracted years ago while managing state affairs for Cheng Zheng. At that time, Cheng Zheng was so particular—this couldn’t be done, that was not allowed—that Cheng Muning had to handle everything for him. Often, she wouldn’t finish reviewing documents until past midnight. When pain struck, she never complained but endured it silently, so none of the palace attendants noticed until it became a chronic illness.

The imperial physician prescribed medicine to be taken slowly, but fortunately, Meng Zuolan was skilled in acupuncture, which seemed to bring near-miraculous relief with just a few needles.

Yet she told Pei Shao, “Meng’s medical skills are not exceptional. Although acupuncture helps, it only eases about a third of the pain.”

Pei Shao believed her and stood up. “I have brought a physician from Shuodong, a military doctor my father has long trusted. He is highly skilled. I will have him come to the palace.”

Cheng Muning pulled him back. “Mobilizing so many people will invite gossip.”

Pei Shao frowned. “Where do all these rules come from?”

Sighing, Cheng Muning said, “This is the palace, General Pei. You’ll have to get used to it.”

Pei Shao seemed at a loss with her and gently laid her down on the couch. “Princess, please rest.”

He tucked the covers around her. His awkward, yet earnest care was rare and endearing. Cheng Muning grasped his hand and placed it on her left abdomen. His large palm hesitated, then stiffly began to massage her stomach.

She said it helped, and Pei Shao, unsure of the truth, saw her complexion improve and thereafter followed the practice without fail.

Having grown up for twenty years amid swords and spears, straightforward and direct, he never imagined there was such a treacherous place in the world, nor such a deceiver who constantly coaxed him.

The warmth of his palm seeped through her clothes. In her dream, Cheng Muning instinctively raised her hand to cover his. She murmured, “Pei Shao...”

But the warmth suddenly withdrew. Frowning, she tried to open her eyes but could not awaken. She vaguely heard a soft, cold chuckle above, laced with a faint oppressive gloom.

...

At dawn, memorials concerning the Marquis of Wude began to arrive at the Imperial Palace like snowflakes.

Cheng Zheng, already aware of the news, could guess their content without reading: either defending the Marquis or accusing the princess of abusing her authority—nothing more than the usual clichés, long familiar to him. Pretending to be ill to avoid trouble, he waved them away.

The eunuchs attending to the documents looked questioningly at Zheng Chang. Zheng Chang made no gesture but said to the emperor on the dragon bed, “Your Majesty, several ministers arrived early requesting an audience.”

Cheng Zheng was annoyed and muffled beneath the covers. “I’ve said it all must be decided by the princess. Why are they still coming? Say I’m ill and won’t see anyone!”

Zheng Chang paused and added, “Consort Zhen is also outside, worried about Your Majesty’s health and wishes to attend to you.”

Cheng Zheng remained under the covers, evidently unwilling to see her. Before he could speak, the curtain was drawn aside, and the person attending to him appeared. “Your Majesty ate little last night. Now that you are awake, please have something before sleeping again. Don’t let your body weaken from hunger.”

Hearing this, Cheng Zheng lifted the covers, his face softening as he sat up. “Where were you early this morning?”

Jiang Ting Tong set down the tray at a distance and brought a bowl of porridge. “Seeing Your Majesty’s poor appetite lately, I watched the kitchen prepare some shredded chicken porridge. It’s best eaten in the morning—appetizing but not heavy.”

“The Empress is thoughtful.” Cheng Zheng tasted a spoonful as she fed it to him, then noticed a burn on her finger. Frowning, he asked, “How did this happen? Zheng Chang, bring medicine quickly!”

Zheng Chang responded promptly, fetching the medicine and taking the hot porridge from Cheng Zheng’s hand.

Jiang Ting Tong smiled gently. “I didn’t notice and touched the stove. It’s nothing serious.”

“But it’s blistered—how can that be nothing?” Cheng Zheng applied the medicine. “From now on, have the servants do these things. I appreciate your kindness, but there’s no need to do everything yourself.”

Jiang Ting Tong murmured softly in agreement and casually remarked, “I saw Consort Zhen earlier when I came in.”

Cheng Zheng did not look up and said coldly, “She has been ill for some time. Tell her to rest well and not wander around.”

Jiang Ting Tong said nothing. Zheng Chang glanced toward the bed and tacitly acknowledged.

Since the emperor’s illness, the harem had become unpredictable. The Empress had rarely left her quarters before and seemed distant from the emperor. Even on days like the fifteenth of the lunar month, when Consort Zhen would insist on accompanying the emperor despite headaches and fevers, the Empress never intervened. Everyone knew their marriage was a formality—respectful but distant—unlike the lifelong companionship between Consort Zhen and the emperor. Yet now, with the emperor ill, the Empress was attentive day and night, their relationship subtly rekindling.

Seeing the warmth exchanged between them, Zheng Chang spoke no more and led the eunuchs away, taking the shredded chicken porridge with them. He closed the door with one hand and instructed, “Keep the porridge warm. The emperor will want it when he wakes.”

He looked outside and added, “Dismiss everyone. The emperor doesn’t want to see anyone these days.”

The eunuch asked, “What about the memorials?”

Zheng Chang waved his hand. “Send them all to Fuluan Palace.”

He paused, then said, “Have Chen Dan handle it.”

...

After several days, the desk at Fuluan Palace was piled high with documents.

The official memorials no longer went before the emperor; a dedicated messenger brought them daily. Every time Ji Fang escorted the messenger to the corridor, she exchanged courteous words before returning to help Yin Zhu and Hong Jin classify the memorials.

Half were officials’ greetings, some requesting audiences with Cheng Zheng, others with Cheng Muning. Yin Zhu flipped through and summarized the key points. “Minister Zhang submits reports daily, wishing to discuss specific matters with the princess. Will she still not see him today?”

“No.” Cheng Muning’s stomach ailment came and went swiftly. It hadn’t recurred since that night, and with Meng Zuolan’s pulse diagnosis and care, her complexion had become rosier than when she returned to the capital. Holding her medicine bowl, she glanced at the eunuch’s retreating back and said, “He’s just banging the drum for his own gain. I have no funds to give him now. There’s no point in fancy words—let’s wait a while longer.”

Then she asked, “Has the Court of Justice submitted any reports today?”

“Yes, here.” Yin Zhu handed over the files. “Minister Zhang has asked repeatedly about the Marquis of Wude’s case. He seems even more anxious than the princess.”

“Everyone is watching him closely. He’s under a lot of pressure.” Cheng Muning wiped her mouth with a handkerchief and opened the Court of Justice’s report.

Jiang Lanyun was meticulous, reporting daily progress on the case. Without investigation, the Court had listed over a dozen charges against the Marquis. Though the evidence was solid, the Marquis steadfastly denied guilt. Cheng Muning knew he was waiting for Xu Jingqing to save him. But Xu Jingqing had been silent lately. Whether the Marquis couldn’t endure prison or had resigned himself, last night he finally relented and demanded to see Cheng Muning.

After reading the files, Cheng Muning sneered. “Have the Imperial Kitchen—”

Her voice cut off abruptly, and her brow furrowed.

Among the Court’s files was a ledger from the Inner Treasury.

The national treasury managed the court’s expenses; the inner treasury handled palace expenditures. These were always separate. Now, with time pressing and tasks urgent, the Ministry of Revenue had sent only the national treasury accounts to the palace. The palace’s accounts were not included.

This was not sent by the Ministry of Revenue.

Cheng Muning paused, scanned the ledger quickly, then closed it.

Seeing her expression change, Yin Zhu hesitated. “Princess, is something wrong?”

Cheng Muning met her gaze silently, then said after a moment, “Nothing.”

She casually pressed the ledger beneath the files and turned her gaze toward the window.

In the palace courtyard, wisteria vines hung in clusters, forming a natural screen. Sparse light filtered through the branches, casting floral shadows over Cheng Muning’s face. When she pondered, she habitually curled her thumb, holding the knuckle where a ring once snugly fit—now gone.

She lowered her eyes slightly, glanced at her hand, and finished what she had been about to say: “Have the Imperial Kitchen prepare some plain porridge and simple dishes. The weather is clear today; it’s time for us to visit the prison.”