Chapter Forty-Four: Return to the Palace

“But that hairpin is clearly a work of great care—could it not have been a gift from the Emperor of Que?” As soon as Qin Shi finished speaking, the look on Chuxue’s face froze, though her slender, jade-like fingers continued to tap irregularly against the rim of her cup. A long moment passed before she finally replied, “And if it is, what of it? Since I have already sent it away as a down payment, it no longer concerns me.”

“What if I told you the hairpin was stolen on the way?” Qin Shi said.

Chuxue’s face blanched in an instant, her fingers falling still, her usually calm gaze now tinged with fear. But the next moment, she seemed to relax unexpectedly and said, “If that’s true, he’ll probably be furious. Perhaps if this leads him to cast me aside, it would be a fitting end.”

“You needn’t worry, my lady. We encountered no trouble on the way,” Qin Shi reassured her just as Mingyue stepped out from the room, a slight furrow of confusion on her brow. Qin Shi clasped Mingyue’s hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Mingyue immediately understood this gesture and turned to ask, “My lady, how should we conceal ourselves in the coming days?”

“Just stay here,” Chuxue replied. “Later, I’ll have Zihua bring you the attire of maids and guards—you’ll have to endure some discomfort for now. From tomorrow on, I’ll be praying in the main hall most of the time. If you need me, you can find me there. Should you meet any monks, maids, or guards, simply say you’re new in my service, and there should be no problem.”

Mingyue nodded in assent and nibbled on some pastries to fill her stomach.

That afternoon, before Chuxue left, Zihua brought the promised clothes. After Mingyue and Qin Shi changed, Chuxue handed each of them a token, ensuring everything was in order before leaving for the main hall in Zihua’s company.

Mingyue originally intended to stay in the courtyard, but after less than an hour she grew bored and dragged Qin Shi to wander around the temple grounds. As luck would have it, they only encountered a few young monks—not a single proper guard or maid along the way. Unwittingly, they found themselves outside the main hall, where the chanting of scriptures never ceased and Chuxue, in her plain white robes, knelt on a prayer mat, softly murmuring sutras, her fingers ceaselessly rolling Buddhist beads—a picture of sincere devotion. Yet what reason could drive a favored consort in the bloom of youth to devote herself so wholly to Buddha? If it were simply a matter of affinity, Mingyue could not believe it. If things were that simple, why would she need to seek a love-forgetting elixir to find peace?

Mingyue did not linger long before returning to the courtyard, where she found several more kinds of pastries laid out on the table—no doubt a gesture from Chuxue via Zihua. The days that followed blurred into repetition, and since Chuxue spent her time praying and chanting, Mingyue had no opportunity to ask her or Zihua about the truth of matters. But on the final day, the Temple of the Heavenly Kingdom received an unexpected guest.

At that time, Mingyue stood outside the main hall, watching Chuxue recite scriptures—by now, it had become her habit. She was first alerted by the sound of hurried footsteps behind her. Before she could turn, she heard a chorus of obeisance, the unmistakable voices of greeting that left her in no doubt as to the identity of the visitor. She immediately pulled Qin Shi down beside her, both kneeling and bowing their heads low. But her anxiety proved unnecessary—the Emperor of Que did not look to either side, striding directly into the hall, not even bothering to command them to rise.

Chuxue, too, seemed startled by the Emperor’s arrival and asked, “Your Majesty, what brings you here?”

“Why, am I not allowed to come?” he replied.

The tension surprised Mingyue.

Chuxue answered, “Your Majesty overstates—it is your realm, there is no place you may not go.”

A long silence followed, broken by a helpless sigh. Mingyue risked a look upward. The Emperor of Que, dressed in somber black, looked much as he had in Jun Xiao’s illusion of Canglan—at least in appearance. Then, his bearing had been cold and regal, that imperial aura impossible to ignore or meet. But now, he seemed weary, his gentle gaze fixed only on Chuxue.

“May I stay the night with you?” he asked, his tone softened.

Yet this did not coax a smile from Chuxue. She replied, “Your Majesty need not consult me for your plans.”

Strangely, the Emperor seemed satisfied with this response, the corners of his lips lifting in a rare smile. With a sweep of his sleeve, he ordered, “Prepare a vegetarian feast.”

He took Chuxue’s hand, and together they walked out of the hall. As they passed, Mingyue quickly lowered her head, only daring to glance up once the Emperor’s boots had passed. She was startled—she could have sworn she saw Chuxue smile, a faint, gentle smile blooming behind the Emperor. Yet the Emperor pressed on, never seeing the smile that blossomed for him.

Do these two truly need the love-forgetting elixir? Mingyue wondered silently. Only after the Emperor and his retinue departed did she grab Qin Shi and hurriedly return to their quarters. Yet with the Emperor present, she could not be sure the courtyard was still safe. Fortunately, before long, Zihua arrived with vegetarian dishes. Without preamble, Mingyue blurted out her concern.

Zihua replied, “It’s all right—the Emperor will not come here. But my lady won’t be back tonight either. I’ll bring more food later; best if you both stay put. Before you leave tomorrow, I’ll fetch you.”

This answer greatly relieved Mingyue, and she thanked Zihua at once. After Zihua left, Mingyue tasted the vegetarian dishes and found them unexpectedly delicious; she could not help but eat her fill. Afterwards, she recalled her earlier question and raised it to Qin Shi.

“For a monarch among the four emperors to show such forbearance towards his consort, he could hardly be called heartless. Yet it’s clear there’s too much between them—so much that the lady feels she can bear it no longer and seeks the elixir for peace. As for right or wrong, or whether it’s truly needed, that’s not for us to judge. Didn’t you used to avoid such matters?”

Mingyue started, realizing she had indeed been thinking oddly of late, letting her mind wander needlessly. She nodded and said, “I’m overthinking.” With that, she lowered her head to pick up her chopsticks, missing the shadow that passed through Qin Shi’s eyes.

The next morning, after breakfast, Zihua came for them, leading them out and settling them near the carriages. About half an incense stick’s time later, Chuxue followed the Emperor out, both boarding the carriage one after the other, the entire retinue turning back toward the city. Mingyue was close enough that when the wind lifted the beaded curtain, she glimpsed the two within, leaning close to each other. Yet Chuxue’s brows were furrowed with sorrow, not shyness or joy.

“Where is the hairpin I gave you?” the Emperor asked.

Mingyue’s heart clenched as she heard Chuxue reply, “It was too precious, Your Majesty. I put it away for safekeeping.”

“If I gave it to you, it was so you might wear it every day. Why speak of its value? Do not put it away again—let me see it upon you.”

Chuxue answered no more. Mingyue began to fret—should she return the hairpin as soon as they reached the palace? If the Emperor discovered it… he likely would not listen to her explanation. It was as good as courting execution—absolutely out of the question.

The return trip was brisk, and they arrived at the palace before noon. After escorting Chuxue to her chambers, the Emperor departed for his study to attend to state affairs. Once Chuxue dismissed her few maids, Mingyue hurriedly produced the hidden hairpin from her bosom.

“My lady, I promised to craft the love-forgetting elixir for you, but I cannot keep the hairpin. I want to stay alive, and I can't pin my hopes on the Emperor never finding out.”

Chuxue’s gaze dimmed, lingering on the jade hairpin for a long time before instructing Zihua to take it. “Very well. I’ll find you something else, Mingyue. Don’t worry—just ordinary jewelry, nothing bestowed by the Emperor.”

Mingyue laughed with relief. Since the Emperor had said he would dine here at noon, she and Qin Shi hid away early in the most secluded loft of the Snowfall Palace. From there, Mingyue saw just how spacious the palace truly was, perfectly situated to overlook the entire imperial city, with both the Emperor’s study and his own chambers close at hand.