Chapter 41: Old Memories

As soon as he stepped into the rear hall, he heard Daidai’s cheerful laughter, clear as wind chimes stirred by a spring breeze, innocent and radiant.

Unconsciously, a smile touched his lips, its traces tinged with a hint of warmth and earthiness.

She was just behind the pearl curtain, lying on the freshly cleaned floor, her fair, slender legs stretched out in leisure, playing cuju with the imperial serpent?

That must be their own version of the game; the nimble rattan ball darted back and forth above the heads of girl and snake, and it did seem truly entertaining, judging by the pure, guileless joy on her face.

Watching them like this, even the snake—ordinarily so fearsome in appearance, born to inspire dread—seemed to lose its cold and menacing air.

He stood outside the curtain, hands clasped behind his back, watching on in quiet contentment.

“My lord,” Daidai called, balancing the rattan ball, turning her head to spot him with a bright, delighted smile.

The imperial serpent, apparently wary of Ji Ye, immediately slithered away at his approach, coiling itself around the railing before settling down, still and silent.

The rattan ball tumbled from Daidai’s head. As Ji Ye knelt down, Daidai crawled into his lap.

She gazed up at him, her eyes curving with laughter, innocent as a child’s.

“So happy?” he asked, shifting his posture to sit cross-legged. Daidai, obligingly docile, rested her head on his thigh and nodded with quiet contentment.

The boundless blue sky, the endless stretch of water, the unmeasured passage of time—he gently stroked her hair, she narrowed her beautiful eyes, lying lazily across his lap like a cat. With each breath, each fragrant sigh, it was as though a thousand years had passed between them.

Breathing in his scent, the emptiness in her heart was filled.

“My lord, wherever you are, Daidai will be there too. And wherever Daidai is, you must be there as well, all right? I always hope that when I open my eyes, I’ll see you—that way, I’ll never feel afraid again.”

“We’re not twins joined at the hip,” he said with a gentle smile. “There will always be times we must part.”

Daidai shook her head, pouting theatrically, twisting restlessly in his arms, every glance and gesture radiating a coquettish charm.

He couldn’t help but laugh, but said nothing more.

“Your Majesty, the Consort Yu seeks an audience.”

After lurking outside the hall for some time and hearing nothing amiss, Li Fuquan finally dared to step in and announce the visitor.

“No!” Daidai glared at Ji Ye and snapped out a sharp refusal without even turning her head.

Li Fuquan shrank back, not daring to argue.

“Let Consort Yu in to report,” Ji Ye said mildly, showing no displeasure at Daidai’s overstepping.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Daidai’s voice was loud enough for Consort Yu, waiting outside, to hear. Though her face remained composed, inwardly she sneered with disdain.

“You all wait here; I shall go in alone,” she instructed, gathering up a thick stack of scripture-filled papers and entering with stately grace.

“Your humble concubine greets Your Majesty and the Lady of the Palace,” she intoned, kneeling respectfully before the pair behind the pearl curtain, her posture and tone full of deference, her frail form all the more pitiable for its humility.

The pearl curtain, hanging from above and stopping half a man’s height from the floor, allowed Ji Ye, sitting within, to see her fully as she knelt. When she straightened and raised her head, he saw her wan, resolute face—still unwilling to admit defeat so easily.

“Rise, and come closer to attend us.”

“Not allowed!” Only now did Daidai deign to look at Consort Yu, her gaze openly hostile.

At the same moment, the imperial serpent had somehow slithered onto Consort Yu’s body. As Daidai voiced her objection, the serpent reared, baring its fangs, ready to strike.

“Daidai!” Ji Ye shouted, and in that instant, he swept a teacup from the small table and hurled it—there was a crash as it struck the serpent, the cup wedging firmly in its throat.

Consort Yu seemed petrified, her scream caught in her throat until the serpent tumbled to the floor, coughing and slithering back to Daidai for help. Only then did her eyes roll back as she fainted dead away.

All this transpired in a single instant. Ji Ye, furious, rebuked Daidai and hurried to cradle Consort Yu, feeding her tea.

Pushed aside, Daidai sulkily scooted away, grabbing the imperial serpent and extracting the teacup from its throat with a huff, casting a sideways glance at Consort Yu, her eyes filled with disdain.

“You are far too unruly,” Ji Ye rebuked, fixing Daidai with a cold glare, all prior indulgence vanished.

Daidai ignored him, her mood utterly ruined, turning away to sulk in silence.

The serpent’s throat was injured, burning with pain, and it lay limp and dispirited. Daidai, feeling its pain herself, pried open its mouth to check the injury: swollen and red, but not too serious.

“No meat for you the next few days,” she scolded, poking its head. “Fool, your reflexes are so slow.”

Consort Yu slowly regained consciousness. Finding herself in Ji Ye’s arms, tears welled instantly as she struggled upright, choked back a sob, and kowtowed, “Forgive your concubine’s loss of composure.” Not a word of complaint or accusation passed her lips.

What a model of patient, self-effacing virtue.

“How do you feel? Shall I call for the imperial physician?”

Consort Yu shook her head, her face still pale, tears silently trailing down her cheeks. Meeting Ji Ye’s eyes, she couldn’t help sobbing. Staggering to her feet, she gathered the scattered manuscripts and presented them with a forced smile: “Your Majesty, I have finished copying all of these. Please have a look.”

“Set them aside,” Ji Ye replied gently. Then, turning cold, he addressed Daidai, “Come here and apologize to Consort Yu.”

“Hmph!” Her little head turned defiantly to the ceiling.

“Your humble concubine dares not accept the Lady’s apology. It must be I who have done something to incur your displeasure, so the fault is mine. My lady, if I have erred in any way, I beg your forgiveness. Here, let me offer my apologies first.” So saying, Consort Yu bowed deeply to Daidai, her manner both humble and sincere.

Ji Ye’s expression grew ever darker. Seizing Daidai’s wrist, he dragged her over. “Apologize.”

“Ow, ow!” Daidai, angered, bent down and bit his hand hard.

He inhaled sharply in pain. Consort Yu, witnessing this, felt chills run through her—never, even at the height of her favor, had she dared inflict the slightest harm upon the imperial person.

What right did You Daidai have?!

Jealousy flared within her, contaminating the tranquility and confidence in her eyes. With a drop of venom, she was now more poisonous than the imperial serpent itself.

“Let go of me!” Ji Ye, both stung and exasperated, found himself helpless; as emperor, he could hardly use force against a young woman.

He could not, in truth, bring himself to kick or slap her.

“My lady, if you are angry, vent it upon me, not upon His Majesty. The imperial body is sacred, tied to the well-being of the realm, and you are offending the dragon’s dignity—” She broke into tears, overcome with anxiety.

Tasting blood, Daidai abruptly released his hand, grinned at Consort Yu, and said, “You? You’re not even worth my anger.”

Consort Yu stopped short, her tears pausing. Meeting Daidai’s gaze, she was transported back to the past, remembering how the young mistress of the You family had always looked at her as if she did not exist.

Her hands clenched in her sleeves, Consort Yu lowered her head in embarrassment. “If I haven’t angered you, then that is well. But my lady, you should not injure the imperial person so lightly—it is a grave offense.”

“Is it? A grave offense?” Daidai flopped back down, using his leg as a pillow again. “If so, so be it. My lord, do with me as you wish. Better to die at your hands and have my soul vanish forever.” Daidai yawned and slowly closed her eyes.

What a shameless attitude!

Ji Ye was nearly beside himself with anger.

“Li Fuquan, bring in the ointment.”

He glared at Daidai for a while, but in the end said nothing of punishment.

Consort Yu saw all this, her heart turning cold.

She knew her time was running out.

Having been frightened so often, Li Fuquan was now unflappable, neither pleased nor upset. The ointment had long been prepared, awaiting only the emperor’s command.

“Your Majesty, let me help you,” Consort Yu said, her hands trembling as she took the small porcelain bottle.

Ji Ye took her hand to reassure her. “I am fine, Yuying. There’s no need to worry.”

A tear dropped onto the back of his hand, warm and moist. Consort Yu, choking back sobs, said, “A-Ye, are you truly angry with me? Whatever you believe, I never tampered with Ganquan Palace. Even though our child was lost because of the Lady, I never resented her, for I know it was an accident, that the Lady had no ill intent. A-Ye, I truly did nothing.”

Now she was weeping uncontrollably, her forehead pressed to the back of his hand.

“A-Ye, I was wrong, I regret ever having let you go. I thought I could do so without a trace, but you noticed, didn’t you? I really thought I could stop loving you, but when I saw how tender you are with her, I was jealous, I was in pain. A-Ye, I was wrong—could you love me again?”

Li Fuquan, ever the savvy eunuch, had slipped away long ago.

With Daidai lying across his lap and a former lover pressed against his back, Ji Ye’s face betrayed neither joy nor sorrow; he simply patted Consort Yu’s head. “I cannot give you a lifelong, exclusive love. You were right to let go—it is not your fault.”

Consort Yu’s heart broke, and she clung to his hand, unwilling to release it. Only after a long while did she finally look up, her voice bleak, “A-Ye, I truly did nothing.”

She wiped her tears, bowed deeply, and said, “Yuying will not disturb Your Majesty and the Lady’s rest any longer. I take my leave.”

She stacked the scriptures neatly, smoothed her skirts, and departed, leaving behind a silhouette steeped in sorrow.

Daidai had fallen fast asleep, motionless and silent.

Ji Ye sipped from his cup, slowly recalling events from years ago.

When Daidai first entered the palace, the Noble Consort and Consort Yu were both with child. The three met in the imperial garden, enjoying summer blooms together in a pavilion. At that time, Daidai’s jade-bead necklace snapped, the beads scattering everywhere. All three were startled; the Noble Consort tumbled down the stone steps, accusing Daidai of pushing her, while Consort Yu slipped on the beads and fell. Both miscarried, while Daidai suffered only minor injuries. All evidence pointed to Daidai, and in the aftermath, he stripped her of power, granting it to the other two. From then on, Daidai withdrew to Ganquan Palace: outwardly fierce, inwardly swallowing countless silent grievances.

That incident, though seemingly a great misfortune for the Noble Consort and Consort Yu, had in fact benefited them, while Daidai gained not the slightest advantage.

Since only the three of them had been present, the truth was never uncovered. Restrained by many considerations, he had been forced to let the matter drop unresolved.

Now, years later, Consort Yu was connecting her miscarriage to the incident with the Ganquan Palace screen, which offered him new insight: perhaps the Noble Consort had repeatedly tried to harm Daidai out of lingering resentment from that year.

But what of Consort Yu? If she bore no grudge, she would have no reason to wish Daidai dead—perhaps only minor jealousies at most.

“Are you truly asleep?” he asked, gently patting Daidai’s face.

“Let it be.”

Author’s note: This is for the 23rd.

Sorry, dear readers. These past two days I’ve had a persistent headache, but I’m finally feeling a bit better today. Love you all; the missed chapters will be made up one by one.

I’ve always suffered from headaches, but I’ve never dared to get a CT scan—guess I’m a bit superstitious about doctors.

Still, for these last couple of days, I have to shamelessly blame my mother. I was content living my own single life—why does she keep nagging me about marriage?