In the deep darkness, cherry blossom petals drifted down.
The oncoming figure, upon recognizing me, gave a small smile.
Warmth spread through me, rippling softly—a quiet joy blooming inside.
Just as I was about to run forward, he turned away.
—…Brother…?
I chased the receding figure, but no matter how hard I ran, the distance between us only grew.
My outstretched hands—so small, like maple leaves—could never reach him.
—Why…?
Tears welled up, trembling. He was the only one I had left to rely on.
Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me!
Don’t leave me alone!
The cherry blossoms fell, turning into wisteria, silver osmanthus… and then snowflakes.
The figure vanished into the snow—gone without a trace.
Day after day, I waited.
Spring, summer, autumn, winter—endless waiting.
—Don’t leave me!
I dared not speak those words aloud.
—Don’t leave me!
Just as I was about to collapse to my knees in despair, a powerful force grasped my hand from behind.
Startled, I turned—
And suddenly, he opened his eyes. Only the familiar faces of the guards surrounded him.
"…Jing Lan…?"
"Forgive me for trespassing, Your Majesty. I heard you moaning in your sleep…"
Liu Hui slowly rose from his bed, remembering that after dining with Xiu Li, he had returned for a short nap.
He was drenched in sweat. As he wiped his forehead, he realized he was holding Jing Lan’s hand.
Seeing the king grasp her hand so firmly, Jing Lan panicked.
"Ah… because I saw Your Majesty reaching out, so I… Your Majesty, please forgive me!"
Liu Hui shook his clenched hand.
"…Your Majesty?"
He stopped, then smiled faintly.
"Jing Lan, would you like to sleep with me tonight?"
Jing Lan froze. Her expression soured instantly, as if she’d swallowed a jar of vinegar. Liu Hui tilted his head innocently.
"Don’t you want to?"
"No… well, everyone has their incompatibilities, uh…"
Seeing her flustered face, Liu Hui chuckled softly.
"I’m just joking."
He smiled again, voice light but firm.
"I’ve decided. I won’t touch Jing Lan."
"Ah…"
"Otherwise, it would be such a shame."
"…………"
Jing Lan wisely held her tongue.
Liu Hui turned to her again, his tone serious.
"Jing Lan, you truly are a perfect man, even though you’re about my age."
Faced with the king’s sincerity, Jing Lan didn’t know how to respond.
"Lately, I’ve noticed Xiu Li depends on you more than on me."
"…………"
"I know you’re a good man, and you’ve lived together for so long. But as Xiu Li’s husband, I can’t help but feel a little jealous."
"…………"
"Therefore, I’ve decided to work harder—to cultivate our bond as husband and wife."
Jing Lan blinked, hesitant.
"So, Your Majesty, what are you going to do…?"
Liu Hui tilted his head, thought for a moment, then clapped his hands.
"Right—let Xiu Li call me by my first name too!"
He released Jing Lan’s hand and leapt lightly off the bed.
"No guard duty tonight."
"Your Majesty, wait! You’ll catch a cold! Please put on some clothes, it’s still chilly!"
Liu Hui smiled.
"Jing Lan, I like Xiu Li… and I like you too."
Leaving Jing Lan speechless, he wrapped himself in a nightgown and stepped out.
The moonlight was exceptionally bright tonight.
A cool spring breeze brushed his cheeks, and Liu Hui narrowed his eyes, reflecting on the past month.
He felt calm—perhaps this was what peace truly felt like.
Even Xiu Li’s scolding made him happy. When she grew angry, he would puff his cheeks to tease her further, just to see her care.
That warmth—he loved it.
He looked down at his palms. These hands could hold so much… if only he learned to hold tightly.
Now, he had few things left: Shao Ke, the treasury, the time spent there. Small things, yet precious.
He had long abandoned grand ambitions—except for one.
It was for that wish that he reluctantly took the throne. He was never meant to rule; he sat there only to await “that person’s” return.
And so, even as king, he refused to rule.
But now, he had met Xiu Li.
Her warmth stirred a yearning he couldn’t contain.
Yet to love her meant to betray that old vow.
She was a royal concubine. Without being king, he could never have met her.
A breeze passed. He clenched his hands tightly.
Zhu Cui gazed up at the moon.
"Time flies… has it been a month already?"
Xiu Li leaned back on the bench, sighing.
"Really? I wonder if I’ve been of any use since I entered the palace?"
"Of course," Zhu Cui smiled.
"Your Majesty’s changed a lot—attends court, studies diligently, even wins respect. The ministers now speak of him with admiration."
They both chuckled softly.
"But," Zhu Cui added, "he still summons attendants to sleep beside him every night…"
That was one habit she couldn’t correct.
At that moment, hurried footsteps approached. Xiang Ling entered with tea, cheeks flushed.
"That’s right," Zhu Cui teased, "You and His Majesty dine together daily, yet still sleep apart. Everyone’s curious!"
"Yes!" Xiang Ling chimed in, blushing. "We all think His Majesty cherishes Concubine Hong deeply. Soon, perhaps a prince or princess?"
(Miss!) Xiu Li screamed inwardly.
"We’ve even made a schedule, Lady Hong!"
"A… schedule?"
Xiu Li almost dropped her teacup.
Forcing a smile, she replied,
"Xiang Ling, I appreciate your concern, but such things can’t be forced. Thank you."
Xiang Ling bowed and left—only to rush back moments later, breathless.
"Your Majesty has arrived—!"
Xiu Li turned. "It’s so late. What do you want from me?"
Liu Hui said nothing at first. Her loose hair shimmered under the lamplight.
"Uh… I’m here to close the distance."
"Huh? Close the distance?"
Then she noticed the bouquet in his hand.
"Ah—is this for me?"
He nodded eagerly.
"You didn’t pick these with your bare hands? Your palms are bleeding!"
"Why are you wearing so little? You’ll catch cold!"
Without thinking, she pulled him inside.
Her scolding tone made Liu Hui smile. Yes, it had been worth wearing thin clothes.
Inside her chamber, he noticed another bouquet.
"…Pink roses?"
"Jing Lan brought them earlier," Xiu Li said casually.
Liu Hui frowned. Always one step ahead, that man.
"Ah, I haven’t thanked you yet," Xiu Li added warmly. "I love these flowers. Thank you."
Her gentle smile soothed his jealousy.
"Come, let me see your hand."
She examined his wounded palm and sighed.
"Why pick roses barehanded? Doesn’t it hurt?"
It did—but he’d thought little of it.
"Wait here," she said, fetching the medicine box.
"I’ll remove the thorns one by one."
As she worked, she noticed his calloused skin.
"…Are you practicing swordplay?"
He stiffened.
"This is… royal family training."
She accepted the answer easily.
He exhaled quietly—then remembered his purpose.
"Xiu Li," he said.
"Hmm?"
"Call me by my name from now on."
"Your… name?"
"My name."
"Oh." She answered absently, then froze.
"What?"
"I said, you can call me by my name."
"W-why suddenly?"
"It feels unfair that you don’t."
"This has nothing to do with fairness—"
"Wouldn’t it be pitiful if my name were never used?"
"…Liu Hui?" she whispered.
He beamed.
"Okay," she sighed, "but only in private."
Satisfied, he relaxed—until a sting returned.
"Why do roses have thorns?" he grumbled.
"Because the Rose Princess fell in love with a man," Xiu Li replied softly.
He blinked.
"…What does that mean?"
"Don’t you know the story?"
Seeing his confusion, her heart softened.
She began to tell him:
"Long ago, a beautiful princess named Rose could heal all wounds. Many sought her hand…"
Her voice was like a lullaby.
As she spoke, Liu Hui’s heart eased. The nightmare faded. For once, he felt he could sleep in peace.
When she finished bandaging his hand, he was already dozing.
"I really can’t help you," she murmured fondly.
She helped him lie down and covered him with a quilt.
Then she hesitated. The bed was wide enough for three.
He was fast asleep—surely nothing would happen.
Just to be safe, she placed a long pillow between them.
And so, that night, the king and his concubine fell asleep quietly, divided only by a single pillow.
It was already late at night, and the palace had fallen silent.
Shao Ke, still buried in his work inside the treasury, raised an eyebrow when he saw the unexpected visitor at his door.
“—Lord Jiang You?”
“…Apologies for disturbing you so late, but could I stay at your mansion for the night?”
One glance at that weary face was enough. Shao Ke understood immediately, though he didn’t dare ask aloud, ‘Got lost again, didn’t you?’
“Of course,” he said politely. “Please come in. It’s a bit cramped here.”
“Sorry to trouble you… again.”
Jiang You sighed in defeat. He worked for the Ministry of Personnel, yet somehow managed to lose his way inside the Ministry itself. This time, however, he was certain it wasn’t just his poor sense of direction.
No, perhaps that scheming superior of his had cast a spell—yes, a spell—to confuse his sense of direction! The markings on the walls looked different, and—
“...Lord Jiang You.”
Shao Ke’s calm voice snapped him out of his delusions.
“Ah! W–what is it!?”
“I heard the Minister of Personnel summoned you back. Did something happen?”
Shao Ke’s tone was mild, but Jiang You felt a twinge of nervousness. He quickly plastered on a smile.
“Ah—yes, just some work-related matters. By the way, I wanted to ask Your Excellency something.”
“Please, go ahead.”
“I’ve been serving as His Majesty’s lecturer for a full month now. And, well… I’ve gathered some thoughts.”
Shao Ke’s expression shifted slightly as Jiang You continued, his face suddenly serious.
“I’ll be blunt. His Majesty… wouldn’t you say he’s—”
The next morning, Xiu Li woke up feeling unusually warm. Something heavy was pressing down on her—but strangely enough, it didn’t feel uncomfortable.
“Hmm…” she murmured. Half-asleep, she heard the faint creak of a door opening.
“Empress Hong, it’s dawn—”
That wasn’t Zhu Cui’s voice. The unfamiliar tone cut off abruptly, followed by the sound of a door closing in a panic.
“...?”
Xiu Li tried to sit up but couldn’t move. Something—or rather, someone—was holding her down.
When she managed to open her eyes, the first thing she saw was a handsome face, framed by thick, impossibly even lashes.
How unfair! Who has lashes that perfect? she thought blankly.
And then—
Wait. Wait. WAIT—!
Xiu Li had been sleeping in Liu Hui’s arms all night.
She froze, her mind a whirl of disbelief and embarrassment.
“Hey! Hey! Your Majesty! Wake up! Let me go!”
“Mm…”
Liu Hui blinked awake, saw Xiu Li in his arms, and smiled dreamily. He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, murmured softly—
“You said you’d call me by my name…”
—then promptly fell back asleep.
“WAKE UP!!!”
Her scream echoed through the palace.
By breakfast, the entire court had heard the “news.”
“His Majesty finally slept with the imperial concubine!”
Of course, it was utterly false—but Xiu Li, as one of the emperor’s consorts, was in no position to deny it.
Every servant looked at her with the same knowing sparkle in their eyes. Even Xiangling prepared breakfast three times faster than usual, tears of joy glistening as she fled the room to “give them privacy.”
Only poor Zhu Cui lingered in the corner, trying—and failing—to suppress her giggles.
Meanwhile, Liu Hui was casually eating breakfast, looking far too pleased with himself.
“…Oh come on,” Xiu Li groaned, burying her face in her hands. “You roll over once in your sleep and suddenly the whole palace loses its mind.”
“Your face is red,” Liu Hui said, amused.
“—!”
She hurled a spoon at him. He caught it easily, unfazed.
“That’s dangerous.”
“I—I’m not like you! I’ve never—ugh! How am I supposed to face anyone now!?”
She slumped over the table. “My father… Jing Lan… what if they believe this nonsense!?”
Liu Hui frowned. “What does it have to do with Jing Lan?”
“Because—because—! You wouldn’t understand the mind of a woman!”
That didn’t explain anything, but it didn’t not explain it either.
“…Hey.”
“What?”
“Nothing happened… right?”
Xiu Li blinked. Her understanding of “boudoir matters” was limited at best. Surely nothing had actually happened. After all, His Majesty was rumored to prefer men…
Seeing Liu Hui’s evasive glance, her face went pale.
“Wait—did you fall asleep and accidentally—!?”
Liu Hui chewed his pickles silently.
“You—you don’t only love men, right!?” she blurted.
Liu Hui chuckled, cupping her cheek. “You’re the one who asked me to change, remember?”
“T-That’s true! But—!”
“What’s wrong with that? You’re my concubine.”
Her brain short-circuited.
He brushed a lock of her hair and kissed it gently.
“Your hair’s soft,” he murmured.
“…!”
“Answer me honestly!” she demanded, pointing at him. “Nothing happened last night, right!?”
Liu Hui just kept eating.
Xiu Li squinted. She could read people well—especially body language.
“…Ah, so nothing happened. Thank goodness.”
She slumped in relief.
Liu Hui frowned. “Strange. Aren’t you my concubine? Why are you so concerned?”
“Don’t talk with chopsticks in your mouth,” she snapped. “And sit properly.”
Then, crossing her arms, she said seriously, “Listen. Something like that… should only happen with someone you truly like.”
Liu Hui paused. “Xiu Li… don’t you like me?”
“Huh? I—I do! But not that kind of like!”
“…What kind of like, then?”
“The kind where you care but… not like that!” she said, flustered. “Like a friend! Or a child! If your heart doesn’t race, then it’s not right!”
“…So,” Liu Hui summarized, crossing his arms, “you only want to sleep with someone who makes your heart race.”
“That’s—basically it!” she said quickly. “But I don’t judge your preferences or anything!”
She muttered, mimicking a man’s tone. “Honestly, what a mess… I can’t believe I’m saying all this…”
Liu Hui stared at her, expression unreadable.
Later that day, in the barracks—
“Jing Lan,” Qiu Ying said, smiling slyly. “Did you hear what happened last night?”
“…You mean between Her Highness and His Majesty?”
“Exactly. So? What do you think?”
“I think… nothing actually happened.”
“Oh? Confident, aren’t you? Ah, right—you were on guard duty last night.”
“Yes. His Majesty said he wanted to ‘bring couples closer.’”
Qiu Ying grinned. “There’s only one way to bring couples closer, you know.”
“…Your way of getting closer is very different from mine, General,” Jing Lan sighed.
“That calm tone of yours really ruins my fun. Hmph! Maybe you’re so calm because you and Lady Xiu Li have something going on, hm?”
“Don’t talk nonsense!” Jing Lan sputtered.
But before the teasing could continue, a sharp sound sliced through the air—shhhk!
A sword.
“…That sound…”
They turned—and froze.
“Grandmaster Song!?”
The old master turned, narrowing his eyes.
“So it’s the boy from the Lan family… and you.”
Then he raised his sword and pointed it directly at Jing Lan.
“Perfect timing. You’ll be my opponent.”
“Eh!? M-me!?”
“Of course.”
Qiu Ying stepped back, smirking. “This, I have to see.”
Grandmaster Song had once served as captain of the palace guards under the previous king—a brave general whose record of victories was as long as his patience was short. Even now, despite his gray hair, he looked far too young to be called “old.”
Ignoring Jinglan’s hesitation, Grandmaster Song stepped forward without a word.
The moment his blade flashed, Jinglan’s instincts kicked in. Metal rang sharply through the courtyard.
“—Great block!”
“General Song...!”
Jinglan barely found time to breathe. Grandmaster Song’s movements were terrifyingly fast—his sword strikes fierce, unrelenting, and precise to the last inch.
Qiuying, who stood watching from the side, could only stare in silence. Each strike whistled through the air, aimed mercilessly at Jinglan’s vital points.
While Jinglan had youth and strength on her side, the old general’s experience and intuition crushed her advantage. His technique flowed with a rhythm that only years on the battlefield could teach.
“Your name is Jinglan, right?”
“Yes, yes.”
Jinglan countered as best she could, deflecting one blow only to meet another.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Really?”
Qiuying, eavesdropping, narrowed her eyes skeptically.
“I heard you were taken in by Shao Ke thirteen years ago. What were you before that?”
“Uh, well…”
Before she could think of a good lie, her sword went flying. Grand Tutor Song’s blade pressed coldly against her throat.
“—Your swordsmanship is excellent. Your style... rather unique.”
He sheathed his weapon slowly, eyes sharp and knowing.
“However, the basic forms you learned as a child cannot be so easily changed. And those forms... are familiar to me.”
Jinglan froze. Grand Tutor Song’s gaze drifted toward Qiuying.
“...The young man from the Lan family over there should have noticed. After all, you’re a Lan—born to generals.”
Qiuying only shrugged. Jinglan lowered her head and sheathed her sword without a word.
Grand Tutor Song’s tone softened, faintly nostalgic.
“I thought I’d never see that swordsmanship again in this lifetime. Most who learned it are gone. Only one survived... and Liu Hui, whom I personally taught, was not one of them.”
The last survivor had long been exiled.
“...That Crown Prince used to call me ‘General Song,’ just like you did just now.”
His expression softened briefly, as though lost in memories, before he turned away.
Jinglan said nothing.
“—What’s the big deal?”
Shao Ke’s tone was maddeningly casual.
“We just slept together. Nothing serious. No need to make such a fuss.”
Xiuli’s fists clenched so tightly her knuckles went white.
“Dad, I’m sixteen, and he’s nineteen!”
“You still beg Jinglan to sleep beside you whenever it thunders.”
“W-What does that have to do with this?!”
Shao Ke blinked innocently. “Who was it that screamed during every thunderstorm until Jinglan agreed to stay the night?”
Xiuli’s cheeks flared bright red.
“Those are two completely different things!”
“Really?”
“Ugh, never mind! I thought you’d be worried, so I came all the way here to check!”
“Worried? His Majesty may be strange, but he’s not the type to force anyone.”
Xiuli deflated over the table. Somehow, her father seemed less concerned than she was.
“By the way,” Shao Ke said suddenly, clapping his hands, “I have something for you.”
He pulled out a small paulownia box. When he opened it, Xiuli gasped.
“...Where did you get this?”
“A friend gave it to me.”
Inside was an exquisite silver tea set, its delicate carvings shimmering under the light. Xiuli could tell at a glance it was crafted from pure silver—an extravagant treasure.
“It can’t possibly be just a ‘gift,’ right?”
Shao Ke tilted his head. “For my rich friend, maybe it’s cheap enough to give away.”
“Dad, you rarely leave the treasury—how are you even close with the wealthy?”
Her father only smiled mysteriously.
“Just make good use of it, and don’t let your imagination run wild.”
“I know, I know. I won’t sell it.”
Still, Xiuli wrapped the box carefully in a purple scarf.
“It would fetch a nice price, though…”
Shao Ke coughed pointedly. Xiuli flashed a grin.
“Just kidding! I’ll use it properly, promise. Actually, it’s perfect timing—His Majesty keeps calling me to sleep beside him. I’ll make tea before bed!”
With that cheerful declaration, she trotted out of the treasury.
Shao Ke blinked after her.
...Wait, continue summoning attendants to sleep with her?
(...Really?)
As expected, his uneasy premonition came true that very night.
Liu Hui appeared once again, led by Zhu Cui, at Xiuli’s chambers.
Xiuli’s mouth fell open.
“You—why are you here again?!”
“The Imperial Concubine and I are husband and wife. There’s no need to be so surprised.”
“That’s not what I mean! Didn’t you always have attendants to sleep with you before?”
“I finally realized that Xiuli is much better than them. A wonderful discovery.”
He said it as if announcing a scientific breakthrough—then promptly climbed into bed.
“Can you finish yesterday’s story? I fell asleep halfway through.”
Xiuli rubbed her temple. Was she really babysitting a man older than her now?
“You’re just here... to sleep here?”
Liu Hui nodded earnestly.
Xiuli gave up. The rumors were already spreading like wildfire anyway. What was one more night?
“Fine! If you’re staying, then get in bed already!”
Her voice was sharp, but her face calm.
Obediently, Liu Hui slid under the covers. His gaze caught the gleam of the silver tea set beside the bed.
“...Why is this here?”
“To calm down a child, you need the right magic,” Xiuli said slyly, holding up her erhu. “My father gave it to me. Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Liu Hui picked up one of the silver cups, studying it in the lamplight.
“Careful, don’t break it! Dad just gave me that!”
“—Come and have some tea.”
“Huh? That’s... sudden.”
Before she could protest further, Xiang Ling entered with a tray.
“Empress Hong, I’ve brought your green tea for tonight—oh!”
The sight of Liu Hui made her freeze. Her cheeks flamed red like a sunset.
Xiuli wanted to explain, but Liu Hui smoothly took the tray.
“Thank you for your hard work.”
His low, warm tone made Xiang Ling blush even deeper. They really did look like lovers caught in a romantic moment.
Xiuli, watching this, felt a pang. They looked... perfect together.
But then Liu Hui turned away coldly.
“Your Majesty… do you still need the midnight snack?” Xiang Ling asked timidly, ears pink.
“No,” he said simply. “Please step back.”
As she left, Xiuli muttered, “Wait, a midnight snack? After dinner? Be careful not to get fat.”
“Rather than a snack,” Liu Hui said, setting the tray down, “it’s more like an aphrodisiac.”
Xiuli blinked, face blank—then suddenly went crimson.
“Wh-why would you say that out loud?!”
“I don’t like it,” he added nonchalantly. “But she does.”
“Stop saying unnecessary things!!”
Xiuli gritted her teeth, gripping her erhu like a weapon.
“How could you just pour tea into someone else’s cup?!”
But Liu Hui ignored her, swirling the tea like it was fine wine.
“Ah! I wanted to be the first to use it!”
“...It’s bitter.”
Liu Hui stuck out his tongue childishly.
“Then don’t drink it!”
“I wanted to, but tea keeps me awake. Anyway, no reading tonight—you owe me the rest of your story.”
He burrowed into the blankets again.
Xiuli sighed. “You never listen to anything anyone says...”
When he noticed the erhu in her hand, his gaze softened.
“...You can play?”
“Don’t laugh. I know I’m not as good as the palace musicians.”
But the melody that followed was soft and hauntingly beautiful. Even Liu Hui’s eyes drifted closed. He reached toward her hair—then stopped, his hand falling quietly back.
The last thing he saw before sleep took him was the silver cup glinting in the moonlight.
Late that night, Jiang You stood in the treasury with Qiuying. Shao Ke was gone; only the two remained among the shelves.
Qiuying leaned lazily against a bookcase.
“So, Lord Shao Ke teaches knowledge, and Grand Tutor Song teaches martial arts. His Majesty really had the best teachers in the land, didn’t he?”
She smiled thinly. “No wonder he turned out so... unusual.”
“It’s said His Majesty often hid in the treasury as a child,” Qiuying continued. “Grand Tutor Song found him once, scolded him for crying instead of fighting back, and trained him until he nearly collapsed. I’m surprised he survived it.”
Jiang You grimaced.
Qiuying laughed softly. “Heh. You can imagine a weak prince surrounded by four older brothers. It’s no wonder he clung to Lord Shao Ke.”
(...This sly woman!) Jiang You bit back a retort.
“Did you realize from the start that His Majesty’s incompetence was an act?”
“Of course,” Qiuying said easily. “His posture, his alert eyes... all habits of a soldier. You can’t fake that. I’d wager if I handed him a sword, he’d wield it better than most. Still, I’d like to test that someday.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you’d notice. And you did, didn’t you?”
Jiang You crossed her arms, frowning.
“Obviously! No ordinary man could absorb knowledge that quickly. Xiuli’s too naïve—she really believes he’s a slow learner. I had to slow down on purpose!”
Qiuying chuckled. “So proud of yourself, aren’t you?”
“Hey, it’s true!”
Qiuying’s teasing faded, her tone turning colder.
“No matter how capable he is, if he doesn’t use that ability, it’s meaningless. A king who hides his strength is still a fool to his people. Talent unused is talent wasted.”
Her words carried a cutting truth.
Jiang You looked at her quietly. She’d seen that expression before—Qiuying, the idealist who hid behind jokes and smirks.
“So strict,” Jiang You muttered.
“That’s how loyalty works,” Qiuying replied. “Once I serve someone, I give them everything. But I decide carefully who deserves that.”
Her eyes gleamed like a blade.
“Still,” Jiang You said softly, “if you’re saying all this... maybe you see hope in him?”
“Yes,” Qiuying admitted. “Thanks to Empress Xiuli. Things are finally getting interesting.”
Jiang You hesitated. “If she learns His Majesty’s foolishness is an act, she’ll be devastated.”
“She’ll live,” Qiuying said flatly. “He deserves the scare.”
Then her tone shifted mischievously. “By the way, I heard your superior’s been looking for you.”
Jiang You stiffened. “How do you know that?”
“Oh, just saw you pacing near the Ministry of Personnel all day like a lost puppy.”
Her serious face cracked. “Th-that’s because someone moved the marker!”
Qiuying smirked. “Sure, sure. Then tell me—why does your superior want to see you?”
Jiang You went quiet. Her usual brightness dimmed.
“...He asked me to give the sterling silver tea set to Xiuli.”
Qiuying’s smile faded instantly.
“—Xiang Ling.”
“Ah, Sister Zhu Cui!”
Zhu Cui stepped into Xiang Ling’s room, halting at the sight of letters scattered everywhere.
“Well, the rumors were true.”
“Huh?”
“They say you read letters from your loved one every night before bed.”
Xiang Ling blushed furiously as Zhu Cui plucked one from the pile.
“Don’t mix them up! That one just arrived today.”
Xiang Ling’s eyes lit up as she accepted it reverently, pressing it to her chest.
Zhu Cui blinked in surprise—this wasn’t just admiration. It was love.
“So it’s true... A letter from your beloved?”
Xiang Ling nodded, her smile soft as spring sunlight.
“Then why join the palace? If he writes so often, he must be someone important.”
But Xiang Ling shook her head gently.
“His feelings aren’t the same as mine.”
“Even though he writes to you?”
“He’s just... kind. He worries about me here. I’m grateful for that kindness—that’s enough.”
Zhu Cui fell silent. She understood. It was the quiet ache of unreturned love—something she knew too well.
“Doesn’t it hurt?” she whispered.
Xiang Ling smiled faintly. “Love doesn’t always ask for something in return. Just being able to meet him... that’s happiness enough.”
Her voice trembled, but her eyes shone.
“I envy Concubine Hong,” she added softly. “To stay beside her beloved every day—that must be the greatest joy in the world.”
After leaving, Zhu Cui wandered under the moonlight, Xiang Ling’s words echoing in her mind.
Even if we can’t be together, meeting you was already a miracle.
A gentle breeze swept through the corridor. She closed her eyes, hand over her heart.
The next morning—
Xiuli woke to find Liu Hui’s face inches from hers.
“Wh—what the hell?!”
She’d gone out of her way to sleep in the corner last night! How was she back in bed—and why was he holding her again?!
“Oh, I carried you over in the middle of the night,” Liu Hui said proudly over breakfast.
Xiuli’s cheeks flamed. “You—you—you meddler—!”
“That’s your bed.”
“I can’t sleep on the floor?”
“You’ll be sore all over tomorrow.”
Technically true—but infuriating.
“Then why were you holding me?”
“Because you’re soft and comfortable. Easy to sleep with.”
Xiuli froze. Her brain short-circuited.
(Someone, please—bury this tyrant or me. Right now!)
She slammed the table, her whole face burning red.
“Out! OUT!”
And that morning, the mighty emperor went to class alone.
It was late at night, and silence cloaked the palace like a veil.
Everyone was asleep—everyone, except for Shao Ke.
Under the dim lamplight of the palace treasury, Shao Ke’s brush paused mid-stroke. The faint rustle of movement outside made his brow twitch ever so slightly. Moments later, the door creaked open.
A familiar voice broke the stillness.
“—Lord Jiang You?”
“…Forgive me for disturbing you so late at night,” came the weary reply. “But may I trouble you to let me stay here for the night?”
The exhaustion on Jiang You’s face said everything. Shao Ke, ever composed, instantly understood what had happened. Yet, in his politeness, he refrained from asking the obvious: “Did you lose your way again?”
“Of course,” Shao Ke replied mildly, setting his brush aside. “Please, come in. Though my place is rather small.”
“You’re always so gracious. Forgive me for troubling you again.”
Even though he worked at the Ministry of Personnel, Jiang You still managed to lose his way there—again. The thought made him inwardly fume. How ridiculous! To get lost in one’s own ministry!
This time, though, he was convinced it wasn’t his fault. Perhaps his sly superior had tampered with the palace’s layout or cast some sort of spell to confuse his sense of direction. The thought grew increasingly absurd until—
“…Lord Jiang You.”
Shao Ke’s calm voice pulled him back to reality.
“Ah! W–what is it!?” Jiang You stammered, caught red-handed in his daydream.
“I heard the Minister of Personnel summoned you tonight,” Shao Ke said evenly. “Might I ask what for?”
If Shao Ke noticed the flicker of tension that crossed Jiang You’s face, he gave no sign. Instead, Jiang You’s lips curved into a faint, practiced smile.
“Ah—yes, it’s about official matters.” He straightened a little, lowering his voice. “By the way, there’s something I wish to ask you.”
“Please, go ahead.”
“I’ve served as His Majesty’s lecturer for a full month now,” Jiang You began gravely, “and I’ve… formed some thoughts.”
Shao Ke’s hand paused, a slight change in his expression betraying curiosity.
“Then I’ll be direct,” Jiang You said solemnly, meeting his gaze. “Your Majesty… wouldn’t he—”
The rest of the question hung in the air, unspoken.
The next morning, Xiu Li stirred awake.
Warmth enveloped her like a blanket. Something—or rather, someone—pressed against her, heavy but oddly comfortable. For a blissful second, she didn’t question it.
“Mmm…” she murmured sleepily.
The door creaked open.
“Your Grace, it’s dawn…” a voice began, but abruptly stopped. The door slammed shut in panic.
“…?” Xiu Li blinked blearily.
Something was… wrong. She tried to move, but her limbs wouldn’t respond. Something—or someone—was holding her tightly. Forcing her eyes open, she tilted her gaze upward… and froze.
A face.
A handsome, sleeping face.
Wh–who in the world—?!
Her mind blanked. The lashes were thick, even, unfairly perfect. Her first absurd thought: How could anyone have eyelashes that perfect?
Then came the horrifying realization.
(Wait—wait a minute—!!!)
Xiu Li had slept the entire night in Liu Hui’s arms.
Her face went scarlet. She tried to wriggle free, but his hold was iron-strong.
“Your Majesty! Wake up! Let me go—Your Majesty!”
“Mm…” Liu Hui murmured, still half-asleep. His hand brushed her cheek gently, a serene smile on his lips, and then—he pulled her closer.
“You said… you’d call me by my name…”
Then, peacefully, he drifted back to sleep.
“Y–You—! Wake up!!” Xiu Li’s shriek nearly shook the rafters.
By the time the palace awoke, the news had already spread like wildfire.
“His Majesty spent the night with Lady Xiu Li!” the servants whispered with gleeful shock.
A false rumor—but who in the harem dared deny it?
Even Xiangling, who usually took her time with breakfast, served it three times faster than usual, eyes shining with tears of joy before scurrying off. The maids all shared that same expression of relieved triumph. Only Zhu Cui lingered in a corner, trying to disappear into the wall.
At the center of it all sat Xiu Li, head in her hands, glaring daggers at the Emperor—who, of course, looked far too pleased with himself as he savored his morning tea.
“…Oh—come now, how could I help it if I roll over in my sleep?” he teased.
“Your face is red,” he added with a chuckle.
“—!”
Xiu Li flung her spoon at him in sheer mortification. Liu Hui caught it midair, calm as ever.
“That’s dangerous,” he said mildly.
“I—I’m not like you!” she sputtered. “I’ve never—never gone through anything like this before! Oh, Heaven, how am I supposed to face anyone again?!”
Her despair echoed through the room.
“…I wonder what Father and Jinglan will think of this ridiculous rumor…” she groaned.
Liu Hui’s smile faltered, his brows knitting slightly. “What does it have to do with Jinglan?”
“Because—because—you wouldn’t understand! It’s a girl thing!”
Her flustered explanation made as much sense as it didn’t, but somehow, it suited her.
“…Hey,” Liu Hui said suddenly, lowering his voice. “Nothing actually happened last night, right?”
Xiu Li’s eyes widened.
“I—I don’t know!” she stammered. “You were sleeping so soundly! What if you… what if you mistakenly—”
He silently continued eating his pickles.
Her complexion turned pale. “D–Don’t tell me… you only like men!?”
Liu Hui paused, then glanced sideways at her. His lips curved into a teasing grin as he cupped her cheek.
“Didn’t you ask me to change?”
“Th–that’s not what I meant!”
“What’s wrong with that?” he murmured, eyes gleaming. “You’re my concubine.”
Her heart nearly stopped. He’d always been composed, proper—when had he become so mischievous?
She could barely breathe as he tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear and kissed it gently. Zhu Cui, watching from the corner, nearly fainted.
“Your hair is soft,” he murmured. “It feels… nice.”
Xiu Li gaped at him. Her lips trembled.
Then she slammed her hands on the table. “Answer me honestly! Nothing happened last night, right!?”
He said nothing, eating as calmly as before.
That silence—oh, she recognized it instantly.
“…So nothing did happen!” she said in relief, slumping down again. “Thank the heavens.”
Her shoulders relaxed, the tension melting from her posture. Liu Hui, however, frowned faintly.
“How strange,” he said. “Aren’t you my concubine? Why does it matter so much to you?”
“You—don’t talk with your chopsticks between your teeth!” she snapped automatically. “And sit properly!”
Then, crossing her arms, she declared sternly,
“Listen well. Something like that should only happen between people who truly like each other.”
Liu Hui’s expression grew serious. He set his chopsticks down slowly.
“Xiu Li… don’t you like me?”
“Eh? Th–that…”
His gaze was too direct—too sincere. Her heart beat wildly.
“O–of course I like you!” she blurted out. “But not that kind of like!”
“…And what kind is that supposed to be?” he asked softly.
“Well—it’s—uh—like when you like someone, but not enough to… to do that sort of thing!”
Liu Hui’s mind, unhelpfully, conjured the faces of Shao Ke and Jinglan.
“…I see,” he said dryly.
“See!? That’s what I mean!” she huffed. “There are all kinds of liking—like cherishing a friend, or loving a child, or admiring someone. But if your heart doesn’t race, if you can live without them—then you shouldn’t do that!”
Her words tumbled out faster than her thoughts.
Liu Hui looked amused and a little lost. “So,” he said slowly, “you mean you only want to sleep with someone who makes your heart race?”
“…Exactly!” she said firmly. “But I’m not judging you for your… preferences.”
She muttered the last part under her breath, alluding to his nightly “attendants.”
He arched an eyebrow, watching as she angrily stuffed rice into her mouth, muttering about “men and their shameless habits.”
Tea Taibao was the lecturer that day. A man of calm temperament and refined manners, Cha Taibao had long been known for his steady hand in politics. During the late king’s reign, his position among the civil ministers had been second only to Grand Tutor Xiao. Shrewd yet composed, he never lost his temper — a stark contrast to the stern and unyielding Grand Tutor Song. For that reason, he was deeply admired by his subordinates.
When he entered the hall and found His Majesty alone, Cha Taibao raised an eyebrow, a faint flicker of curiosity in his usually placid eyes.
“Where is Concubine Hong today?” he asked mildly.
“…She seemed a little tired,” Liu Hui replied softly. “So I’m the only one in class today.”
Cha Taibao smiled knowingly — the kind of smile only a man seasoned in both court and household affairs could wear.
“That won’t do, Your Majesty,” he chided gently. “Even though you dote upon Concubine Hong, she is still a young woman. You must be mindful of her health.”
“…I’ve tried,” Liu Hui muttered.
The words, though simple, carried a trace of helplessness — one that made Xiu Li, had she heard them, flare up in silent indignation. Tried? Tried what, exactly?
Meanwhile, the conversation between the two men, though appearing connected, drifted apart like threads unraveling in the breeze — neither of them seemed to notice that they were speaking past each other.
“Seeing that Your Majesty and Concubine Hong are getting along so well,” Cha Taibao continued with a satisfied nod, “I can finally be at ease. It seems the question of succession need not trouble us.”
If only that were true. Liu Hui gave a polite smile, though his thoughts were far from agreement.
The Taibao stroked his mustache thoughtfully, eyes glinting with mischief. “My granddaughter, you know, is every bit as lovely as Concubine Hong — gentle, virtuous, a proper lady of fine upbringing. What do you say, Your Majesty? If you ever wish to add another jewel to your harem, I shall gladly make the introduction.”
Liu Hui blinked, caught entirely off guard. Such things had never crossed his mind. With Xiu Li beside him, his world already felt complete — peaceful, quiet, and whole.
“…My concubine, Xiu Li, is all I need,” he said simply. “No one else is necessary.”
The bluntness of his confession left Cha Taibao momentarily stunned. Then, after a short silence, he let out a wry chuckle.
“It seems your servant has overstepped,” he said with an embarrassed bow of his head. “So Concubine Hong has truly captured Your Majesty’s heart.”
He shook his head and added, half in jest, “In the language of the younger generation, they would call this… being ‘bewildered.’”
Liu Hui, unfamiliar with such modern phrasing, blinked in confusion, unsure how to respond.
“—Lord Li Jiangyou! Lord Lan Qiuying!”
Two names echoed through the quiet corridor. The men so addressed stopped in their tracks and turned. A young attendant — unfamiliar, yet solemn — approached with great ceremony. Bowing low, he held forth a small parcel in both hands.
“His Majesty has instructed this humble servant to deliver this to the two esteemed lords.”
The men exchanged glances, saying nothing at first. After a long silence, Qiu Ying spoke.
“His Majesty… wants you to give this to us?”
“Yes,” replied the attendant.
Qiu Ying let out a soft laugh, caught between amusement and disbelief. “Ah, this is troublesome indeed… I truly did not expect this.”
In the attendant’s hands rested two simple stalks of calamus.
“You usually don’t send flowers directly, do you?” Qiu Ying teased lightly. “That’s rather hasty, isn’t it?”
“…His Majesty said time was short,” the attendant explained politely. “So he offered flowers in the meantime.”
“Time is short?” Qiu Ying murmured, the corner of her mouth curving upward. “Then I suppose I’ll take this opportunity to give my answer now.”
She reached forward and plucked one of the calamus stems from the attendant’s hands. Jiang You arched a brow — there was meaning behind that gesture, one that could not be taken lightly.
Accepting flowers from His Majesty was not a mere courtesy. It was a declaration — of allegiance, of trust.
Qiu Ying turned her playful gaze toward him. “So? What will you do?”
Jiang You hesitated only a moment before sighing. Finally, he reached out and took the remaining flower.
“Please tell His Majesty,” he said with quiet resolve, “that I am grateful for his grace.”
The attendant’s smile, faint yet sincere, reflected genuine warmth. He bowed deeply before departing.
“…Qiu Ying, I didn’t expect you to accept so readily,” Jiang You said.
“Why not?” she replied lightly. “I didn’t expect it to be calamus, but I’m not displeased.”
The flower’s meaning — trust — hung in the air between them, gentle and poignant. A shrewd choice, indeed. Qiu Ying tilted her head, studying the violet petals.
“And it’s purple,” she mused softly. “A single flower, two layers of meaning — clever. I rather like His Majesty’s subtlety.”
“…Whether it’s subtle or not,” Jiang You murmured, “at least he’s efficient.”
Qiu Ying’s smile widened, mischief glinting in her eyes. “Then, shouldn’t we begin at once?”
There was laughter in her tone — warm, dangerous, alive.
“Your Majesty, are you not going out this afternoon?” Xiangling asked in her soft, lilting voice.
Xiu Li forced a graceful smile, her tone smooth and practiced. “Yes… Today, I’m feeling a little unwell. I’ll stay in my room and do some embroidery.”
In truth, whenever Xiu Li’s spirits sank, she would find comfort in movement — scrubbing floors, washing linens, anything to exhaust her mind. But as a concubine within the harem, such outlets were forbidden. So she had no choice but to sit quietly, needle and thread in hand.
(Ahh—if only I could just hit it with a stick or throw it on a chopping board!)
She stabbed the needle into the fabric with a little too much force. Embroidery, delicate and slow, did nothing to ease her frustration — but Xiangling, gentle soul that she was, remained blissfully unaware.
“Would you like me to bring you some medicinal soup?”
Xiangling asked softly, a faint blush coloring her fair cheeks.
“Your Majesty’s discomfort is proof that His Majesty dotes upon you,” she added with an innocent smile.
At that, Xiu Li’s needle slipped and pricked her fingertip. The sharp sting made her flinch, but she bit her lip to hold back a cry. She was just about to lift her finger to her lips, as was her habit, when Zhu Cui caught her wrist.
“Your Majesty,” Zhu Cui said with a chuckle she tried and failed to suppress, “allow me to apply some medicine.”
Xiu Li shot her a glare, her eyes narrowing — but Zhu Cui’s barely contained laughter only deepened her irritation. Meanwhile, Xiangling hurried to fetch the medicine box, gently picking up the embroidery that had fallen to the carpet. After examining it carefully, she exhaled in relief.
“Thank goodness! There’s no blood on it… The embroidery is beautiful, Your Majesty. You’re so skilled — unlike me, who can barely tell one stitch from another.”
“Is… is that so? Perhaps it’s because I sew every day?”
Of course, what she called sewing was hardly embroidery — it was the daily mending of worn garments, an unending task from her days before entering the palace. It had been years since she’d had the leisure to pursue embroidery as a pastime.
“Xiangling, if you’d like, I can teach you,” she offered gently.
Xiangling’s eyes brightened instantly, and after a brief hesitation, she nodded eagerly.
As Xiangling threaded the silk through the needle with great care, Xiu Li watched her for a moment before asking, almost idly,
“…Are you planning to give it to someone?”
The girl’s cheeks turned crimson, red as ripened apples. Xiu Li blinked, secretly amused but outwardly serene. Ah, so that’s how it is. In the world of noblewomen, curiosity was a dangerous indulgence — especially when the heart was involved.
“You seem to hold someone very dear,” Xiu Li said softly. “I envy you.”
“Doesn’t Concubine Hong also have His Majesty?” Xiangling replied, her tone bright and pure.
“I envy you even more,” she went on with a cheerful laugh. “His Majesty is so devoted — I’m sure he’ll visit again tonight.”
“…Ah, Zhu Cui,” Xiu Li said quickly, changing the subject with forced composure. “Would you like to join us in embroidery?”
Zhu Cui froze, looking at the needle and thread with rare unease.
“N-no,” she muttered, her voice uncharacteristically timid. “I’m not very skilled with needles…”
That surprised Xiu Li greatly. She had always thought nothing could unsettle Zhu Cui.
“I didn’t expect you to have weaknesses,” Xiu Li teased. “But isn’t needlework essential for every lady of noble birth? Surely you received fine training — no, proper education — in it.”
Indeed, to become a lady-in-waiting in the imperial harem required strict selection and refinement, with family pedigree above all. Since Zhu Cui had passed such tests, she must have come from a notable lineage.
But Zhu Cui’s next words stunned her further.
“No,” she said calmly. “I was adopted.”
“Adopted?”
“Yes. I was taken in when I was very young. My benefactor…” Zhu Cui’s tone softened, a distant glimmer in her eyes. “She was a rather unusual woman. She gave me an education, taught me manners and decorum — but as for hobbies or interests, there was no time for such things.”
Xiu Li paused, startled — and then understanding dawned. No wonder Zhu Cui’s bearing was different from the pampered court ladies; her calm strength hinted at a life that had not been sheltered.
Xiangling’s eyes widened in wonder.
“Still,” Xiu Li said sincerely, “the fact that you’ve been promoted into the harem means your benefactor truly values you.”
Zhu Cui smiled faintly after a moment’s silence. “To me… she’s also a very important person.”
“Who is she?” Xiangling asked curiously — a little too curiously.
“Xiangling,” Xiu Li chided gently, “have you forgotten? Asking after others’ surnames is forbidden within the harem.”
Indeed, to prevent factions and rivalries, only officially ranked concubines were permitted to reveal their family names. Xiu Li, being a temporary concubine by title alone, chose never to exercise that right. Thus, she still did not know the true surnames of either Zhu Cui or Xiangling.
Xiangling bowed her head in embarrassment. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she murmured, then resumed her embroidery.
“What a beautiful handkerchief,” she said after a while, smiling shyly.
Though the stitches were uneven, Xiu Li still felt a quiet pride swell in her chest. She glanced toward Zhu Cui.
“Zhu Cui, why don’t you try as well?”
“Uh…”
“If you’re not good at it, that’s all the more reason to practice,” Xiu Li said firmly, her tone carrying a trace of playful challenge. “Why not embroider something for your benefactor? That way, your heart will be in it.”
Zhu Cui sighed in resignation and reached reluctantly for the sewing box.
“…Is this for me?”
When Liu Hui appeared again that night, Xiu Li was no longer surprised. She accepted his arrival with quiet composure. Remembering something, she reached for the handkerchief she had painstakingly embroidered that afternoon and handed it to him.
Liu Hui examined it as though it were a priceless artifact.
“Xiu Li, did you embroider this yourself?”
“Even if the cherry blossom pattern came to me on a whim, I still know my way around a needle,” she replied dryly.
“…Are you truly giving this to me?”
“Of course,” she said, her tone deceptively calm. “After all, I owe this handkerchief to Your Majesty.”
She had spent the entire day hearing whispers — ‘Congratulations, Your Majesty, on finally becoming a true couple!’ — and her patience had thinned considerably. The embroidery had been her outlet.
To her, the tone had been obviously sarcastic. To him — utterly oblivious.
Liu Hui gently traced the cherry blossom with his fingertips, then folded the handkerchief with reverent care.
“This is the first time anyone has ever given me something,” he murmured, emotion flickering in his voice.
“…Is that so?” Xiu Li blinked. “I seldom embroider. It’s because such things are rare that they hold value. You must cherish it.”
“Didn’t you give one to Jinglan?” he asked suddenly.
“Huh?”
“Didn’t you ever give Jinglan any embroidery?”
“Ah… well, I helped mend his clothes many times,” she said after a pause, “but I don’t recall ever gifting him embroidery.”
At that, Liu Hui’s mood visibly lifted. He immediately unfolded the handkerchief again, fingers brushing the delicate stitches.
“How did you embroider this?”
“Men like you never touch needles and thread,” she teased. “Wait, I’ll show you.”
She reached for the sewing box, but before she could open it, Zhu Cui entered, carrying a silver tray.
“Your servant brings wine, as ordered by His Majesty,” she announced.
“Wine!?” Xiu Li looked up, startled.
“It’s a light wine,” Zhu Cui reassured. “Your Majesty can drink it as well.”
Liu Hui took the wine at once and dismissed Zhu Cui, then poured it into a silver teacup — clearly meant for tea, not wine.
Xiu Li sighed. He truly has no sense of propriety sometimes.
She opened the sewing box — and frowned.
“What’s this? The needles are rusted! Have the merchants sent in counterfeit goods again?”
Liu Hui leaned over curiously, peering into the box filled with items most men couldn’t identify. He reached in — and his hand accidentally brushed against Xiu Li’s arm.
“Ah—!”
The wine cup slipped from his grasp, spilling its contents straight into the sewing box.
Xiu Li froze, her expression draining of color.
“You—you—you! What do you think you’re doing—!?”
“Ah… I-I’m sorry,” Liu Hui stammered, genuinely contrite.
“I’m furious!” Xiu Li exclaimed, glaring daggers at him. “Do you even know how valuable these things are? Even a single silk spool costs a fortune!”
Liu Hui thought her anger slightly misdirected — but wisely kept that thought to himself.
“Well… I’ll have someone send over a brand-new sewing box tomorrow,” he offered.
“Don’t be wasteful!” she scolded. “Just wash it — it’ll be fine! Here, I’ll clean the stain from the carpet. You pour out the wine from the box!”
“…Got it,” he said meekly.
Like every dutiful husband before him, Liu Hui knew better than to argue. He carefully lifted the sewing box, ensuring not another drop spilled, and walked down the corridor to empty its contents as instructed.
Following Xiuli’s instructions, he sat quietly in the hallway, drinking each cup one after another until nothing remained. When Liu Hui finally returned to his room, weariness weighing on his body, the first thing he heard was Xiuli’s irritated voice:
“The number of embroidery needles is wrong!”
“…Really…”
Xiuli stopped playing her erhu and sighed. Liu Hui, just as he had the day before, was already lying fast asleep on Xiuli’s bed—like a helpless child being fussed over by a weary guardian.
Xiuli tucked the blanket around him, her fingers brushing lightly against his face. His peaceful expression—those handsome, well-shaped features—made her want to slap him. If only his mind matched his age, if only he truly were the wise ruler she once imagined him to be, perhaps she wouldn’t be sitting here like this, half fond, half exasperated.
She was well aware of her own plainness. It never truly bothered her—until she found herself in this gilded palace, surrounded by women of stunning beauty, their delicate laughter echoing in the halls. Compared to them, she was ordinary, like a small wildflower hidden among peonies. Still, she couldn’t help but wish… perhaps, just a little, that she were prettier.
Her gaze dropped to her hands. The rough skin once hardened by work and sunlight had softened under the maids’ careful attention, turning almost as pale and smooth as she had dreamed. Almost. Her fingers, however, remained thin and bony—stubborn proof of who she was.
(...But maybe that’s fine.)
Even draped in silk and jewels, her essence wouldn’t change. She would never become a phoenix soaring among dragons. A true imperial concubine might appear flawless, but Xiuli knew: no matter how one polishes bone, it remains what it is.
Someday soon, she would return home—to her father, to Jinglan. That thought anchored her heart. And that day, she sensed, was not far away.
Xiuli looked again at Liu Hui’s sleeping face.
He was growing more regal by the day—steadier, more dignified, more distant. And she… she was already fading into irrelevance.
It wouldn’t be long before she returned home. Before the palace filled with graceful, clever young noblewomen. He would meet them, admire them, and, naturally, his heart would drift. He was not like Lord Jiang You, whose disdain for women was carved in stone. For a man as splendid as Liu Hui, it was only natural that a beautiful queen should stand beside him.
(Someone like Zhu Cui… or Xiang Ling, perhaps.)
The thought stung faintly. But she quickly brushed it aside.
(It’s fine. One day, I’ll find someone who loves me just as I am.)
Her hand moved on its own, brushing his soft bangs aside. But the moment she caught sight of her fingers, she froze—and quickly drew her hand back, tucking it into her sleeve. It wasn’t embarrassment, not exactly. It was the sudden realization of how out of place she felt—how out of place she was—in this grand palace beside such a man.
A quiet ache stirred in her chest. With a sigh, she pulled the blanket around herself and slipped into the next room, hoping to escape the restless dreams that had haunted her lately.
Moments later, a scream split the night.
Xiuli bolted upright.
The cry came from Liu Hui’s room. Still half-asleep, she ran toward it, heart pounding.
“What—what happened?!”
The room was completely dark. No light, no movement—only the echo of that terrified voice. Xiuli squinted into the shadows. For an instant, she thought there must be an intruder. But then she saw him—Liu Hui, curled in the corner of the bed, trembling and screaming uncontrollably.
She scrambled onto the bed and shook his shoulder.
“Hey! What’s wrong? What happened? Are you sick?”
At her touch, he suddenly seized her waist, clutching her tightly—his trembling hands gripping her as though she were his only lifeline.
“Wait—wait a minute! What’s wrong with you?... It hurts, it hurts, let go!”
His embrace wasn’t tender—it was crushing. Xiuli gasped as the strength of his arms threatened to break her ribs.
Moments later, Zhu Cui rushed in, alarmed by the noise.
“Empress Xiuli! Is it an intruder?!”
“Uh, no—but something’s wrong with His Majesty! It hurts—! Just now, His Majesty knocked over a vase and started screaming… So—it hurts! Tell everyone to go back to their rooms! I’ll… I’ll try to calm him down!”
Liu Hui’s grip only tightened, but his trembling body began to still.
Seeing Xiuli’s face contorted in pain, Zhu Cui frowned with concern.
“…Are you all right?”
“It hurts a lot, but I’ll live. Zhu Cui, go back to your room—ow, ow—it really hurts!”
“The image of the imperial concubine being embraced so tightly by His Majesty… is quite the scene.”
“…Zhu Cui…”
“Just kidding,” Zhu Cui said, smiling faintly. “I’ll stay in the next room. If Your Majesty feels you’re about to suffocate, call me.”
Satisfied there was no intruder, Zhu Cui left, dispersing the servants and attendants outside.
When the door closed, Xiuli frowned down at Liu Hui.
(If I don’t calm him soon, he’ll actually crush me!)
He seemed trapped in a nightmare—unhearing, unseeing, lost to reason.
(What now?)
Just as she considered punching him, her gaze fell on the erhu by the bed. It was just out of reach. She stretched for it, but Liu Hui mistook the movement for an attempt to flee and pulled her even closer.
At last, her fingers brushed the instrument. Drained of strength, she still managed to draw the bow across the strings.
Soft, trembling notes filled the room.
Gradually, the tension in his body ebbed. The trembling stilled. The crushing grip loosened.
After half a minute, Liu Hui finally stirred.
“…Xiuli…?”
She paused her playing and nodded.
“It’s me. Are you awake now?”
“…Where did you go…? I couldn’t find you anywhere…”
Xiuli blinked, taken aback by the reprimand. But seeing the tears in his eyes, she said nothing—only brushed his hair gently aside.
“I’m sorry.”
“…I’m… afraid of the dark…”
She stayed silent, stroking his back as he trembled.
After a long while, he released her. This time, instead of clinging, he rested his head on her knees, lying still.
“You—”
Her protest faded as she saw his pale face. She sighed and caressed his forehead.
He covered his eyes with one hand, trying to steady his breath.
“…I’m afraid… of being alone… in the dark…”
“Why?”
“…Because I was… often locked away… in the dark.”
Her eyes widened.
“By… who?”
“…My mother… and my half-brother.”
“—Why?”
Xiuli gripped his arm tightly.
“…Why are you angry?”
“I’m not. Keep talking.”
He shut his eyes and exhaled.
“…I was born last. My mother said it was my fault that Father favored my brothers instead. She often ignored me… Once, she locked me in the cellar for days. I only remember crying.”
“…What?”
“When I was three or four, my brothers joined in. I was small, easy to forget… easy to hit.”
Xiuli clenched her fists. “Oh, heavens…” she whispered.
“But I could bear it. As long as Brother Qingyuan was there, I was fine.”
“Qingyuan…?”
“My second brother. He taught me to read, to count. Even when he was busy, he made time for me. Whenever the others hurt me, he was the one who treated my wounds.”
“Your second brother… wouldn’t that be—”
“Yes. He was exiled when I was six. Wrongly accused of joining a rebellion… I didn’t understand. I cried for a year, wondering why he never came back. I thought… maybe it was because I wasn’t a good child.”
He smiled faintly, but it was a fragile thing—like a cracked porcelain cup.
“…I wandered the palace like a ghost. No one looked at me. Sometimes I wondered if I even existed.”
He paused.
“…Then I met Shao Ke.”
Xiuli’s eyes widened again at her father’s name.
Liu Hui’s voice softened.
“As long as I reached the treasury, I wasn’t alone.”
But that fragile peace didn’t last. Once again, he found himself in the shadows—where no light reached.
“I hate the night,” he whispered. “I hate sleeping alone. The dark brings everything back. The memories… even the ones I want to forget.”
That was why he always had someone sleep beside him. Why he had brought Xiuli into his bed—not for lust, but for warmth.
She hadn’t known. And yet… she had stayed.
When a drop of warmth fell onto his cheek, Liu Hui looked up.
“…Why are you crying?”
“Don’t ask. I’m just angry at myself.”
He gently brushed away her tears.
“Don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying!”
Xiu Li gently pushed Liu Hui’s hand away and wiped her tears. At that moment, Liu Hui’s gaze fell upon the erhu resting quietly beside him.
“...Xiu Li, I want to hear you play the erhu.”
Without a word, Xiu Li lifted the instrument and began to play. Soft, lingering notes floated through the air—each tone tender, like whispered emotions unspoken. The melody wound around them gently, its rhythm steady and calm. Liu Hui’s eyelids slowly grew heavy, lulled by the soothing sound.
“...Xiu Li’s erhu sounds like scattered pearls...” he murmured drowsily.
The flowing notes were like pearls slipping from a broken string, scattering across the floor, glimmering faintly in the candlelight—each sound clear and pure, like jade striking softly.
Xiu Li played one tune after another until a quiet, rhythmic breathing reached her ears. She smiled faintly, setting aside the bow. Then, tenderly, she draped the quilt over him and shifted his head onto the pillow.
Liu Hui’s hand still clung tightly to her sleeve, as if unwilling to let her go. Xiu Li didn’t pull away. Instead, she lay down beside him, letting drowsiness overtake her until she too drifted into sleep.
The next morning, Xiu Li made her way to her father’s treasury.
“Xiu Li, it’s rare to see you up so early today,” Shao Ke said with his usual gentle smile.
“Good morning, Father.”
Xiu Li sat quietly in front of him. When she remained silent, Shao Ke closed his book, waiting patiently for her to speak.
After a long pause, Xiu Li lifted her gaze and met his eyes.
“...Father, you already knew about His Majesty’s affairs, didn’t you?”
Shao Ke didn’t ask why she suddenly brought it up. He merely listened as she recounted everything that had happened the night before.
“...I met His Highness Liu Hui not long after I began working at the treasury.”
When she finished, Shao Ke sighed softly, his tone filled with memory.
“At that time, a young boy came to the treasury covered in bruises. I was shocked and hurried to bandage him. From that day onward, he came every day—quiet, expressionless—like a shadow wandering through the palace. For a long while, I didn’t even know who he was.
“As time passed, he slowly began to speak—of his mother, his brothers, and especially his second brother, the only one who ever showed him love.”
“……”
“He never cried, no matter how cruelly his mother and brothers treated him, because he didn’t know how to feel sadness. He had been hurt so deeply, he no longer recognized pain. All he knew was that his second brother protected him... and when that brother never returned, it broke something inside him.”
Shao Ke’s voice grew distant, as though he were watching the ghost of that lonely child wander before his eyes again.
“He searched everywhere for Prince Qingyuan,” Shao Ke continued quietly. “Each disappointment left a scar upon his heart. Yet he never stopped—until the day I told him the truth. A year felt like a lifetime for a boy like him.”
He closed his eyes briefly, his tone steeped in sorrow.
“Every time he came to see me, he was covered in fresh wounds—cuts, bruises, scrapes. Even after the queen passed, the other princes didn’t let him go. Perhaps they felt triumphant in his suffering. I couldn’t go to the Central Palace to help him, so all I could do was tend to his injuries and speak to him when he came.”
A sigh escaped him—heavy, filled with compassion.
“Xiu Li, not everyone blessed with rank and riches is truly fortunate. He has a noble title, a grand palace, splendid robes, endless delicacies—yet he lacks the simplest things: a mother’s love, a tender touch, a gentle hand to comfort him. Those are what truly sustain a heart.”
He reached out and wiped away the tears that had welled up in his daughter’s eyes.
“I believe he summons someone to sleep beside him each night because he fears the dark. His mother once locked him in an underground barn for days. His brother abandoned him in the gardens at night. Such cruelties leave scars that never fade. He may appear accustomed to solitude, but deep inside, he still trembles in the dark—because those old wounds never healed.”
Xiu Li had never tried to see things from his heart before. Guilt pricked her deeply, and she bowed her head as tears fell silently down her cheeks.
Shao Ke’s voice softened. “But now, you are closer to His Majesty than anyone. His Highness Liu Hui—his heart—is in your hands now, Xiu Li.”
She closed her eyes instead of nodding.
That night—
“...Stop pacing outside. Come in.”
The voice came from above. Liu Hui, wandering the courtyard beside Xiu Li’s chamber, froze and looked up, startled.
Seeing her calm and composed as always, he relaxed slightly and stepped forward.
He hesitated a moment, then gently brushed aside a lock of her hair and pinned something onto it.
“Well? What is it?”
“Yesterday’s thank-you gift,” he replied. “Qiuying said one must return a favor when given a gift.”
“Thank-you gift...?”
Ah—so he means the embroidered handkerchief I gave him! Realization dawned in Xiu Li’s mind. Reaching up, she felt something cool nestled in her hairline. When she pulled it free, her breath caught. It was an exquisitely crafted gold-and-silver hairpin, delicate yet radiant.
Instead of delight, Xiu Li’s face turned pale.
“Wait a moment... this isn’t a national treasure, is it?”
But when she caught sight of Liu Hui’s face, all her protests melted. Her gaze softened, falling upon the hairpin that chimed faintly as it swayed.
“...It’s beautiful. Did you choose it yourself?”
Liu Hui nodded.
Xiu Li smiled, warmth flickering in her eyes. “Thank you.”
He had once said no one had ever given him a gift. So this must be the first time he had chosen something for someone else.
Tucking her hair to one side, she placed the pin back where it belonged.
“How does it look?”
Liu Hui’s lips curved into a genuine smile.
“...It’s beautiful.”
Color rushed to her cheeks. The most dangerous thing about this man, she thought helplessly, was his innocence.
Was he praising the hairpin—or her?
Flustered, Xiu Li patted her hot cheeks and tugged lightly at his sleeve.
“I truly can’t do anything about you. Come, I’ll play the erhu for you.”
And from that night on—he was no longer alone.
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