Chapter 5: Precious Darling

The legitimate imperial prince was gone, and the entire hall was filled with those pressing their hands to their foreheads in celebration. Among them, the Yu clan felt as if they had narrowly escaped calamity. As for Qingdai, the demon, she remained willfully or unwittingly kept in the dark by those around her, believing only that the body she inhabited had suffered a grave illness.

Last night had truly been agonizing.

At such a time, one could not help but acknowledge that the child’s death was as much a relief as it was a tragedy. Had the child lived, he would have been an existence no one anticipated or desired; in death, at least his father would light a lamp of passage for him at the Imperial Awakening Temple, a vessel for the young emperor’s lingering guilt and pain. If his father had spent a few more years on the throne, becoming further tempered and hardened, then upon his death, the child would have received nothing at all.

The hundred postures and expressions of others had little to do with Qingdai. At present, she was sulking with the four chief attendants. Had her powers remained, a tempest would have swept them all away by now. Humans—women—how could they be so incessantly noisy?

The great demon was thoroughly vexed, her dark brows furrowed as she stared at the bowl of inky medicine held before her. Her cherry-red lips were drawn in a line of resentment.

She was, in her way, a homebound serpent—rarely speaking unless necessary, preferring to act directly. That temperament hadn’t softened with the loss of her powers, and she neither knew nor cared to conceal her true nature. Her small mouth opened, and she stuck out her tongue with a fierce flourish. Had this been her true form—a great serpent of azure green, baring a crimson tongue—she would have terrified everyone present. Now, however, the gesture only made her seem mischievously adorable. Having entered the palace at dawn, Lady Xing sat at the bedside, amused. With a gentle tap on the demon’s brow, she said, “Good child, drink your medicine quickly. Once your health is restored, you may have as many children as you like. Be good.”

“That’s right, Your Ladyship. Please listen to Lady Xing,” Chunmo chimed in.

The demon froze, clinging to Lady Xing’s hand, curiously toying with her fingers, intently watching the purple-painted nails. Then, quite suddenly, she stuck out her tongue and licked them.

For a moment, the four attendants were stunned, and Lady Xing was momentarily petrified before giving a soft exclamation, half fond and half reproachful, “Daidai!”

“You child…” The damp, pink tip of the tongue made Lady Xing’s eyes grow moist, striking her deeply. She gathered Qingdai into her arms and wept, “My poor child…”

The four attendants joined in, weeping quietly. The mood was somber; had Qingdai been human—whether transmigrated or reborn—she might have feigned or shared in the tears. But she was no human—she was a serpent demon. Born of serpent parents who laid her egg but never raised her, she had only gained sentience through the intervention of a great monk, and had spent but a moment coiled on his lotus seat and robe. Always an indolent snake, lacking in all four virtues, she had never truly endeavored to understand the strange affections of the mortal world.

One might say she did not understand, yet she was perfectly aware of what was happening. She was the exemplar of seeing through things without being moved by them.

“Tap, tap,” the demon mumbled, pressing Lady Xing’s fingers to her own brow.

For all her thousand years, she had only ever followed her own heart. Seeing others cry, she only wished for her own comfort. She remembered only the warmth of the woman’s fingertip against her brow—a most delightful sensation.

Lady Xing, half exasperated and half amused, drew her into a protective embrace, patting her delicate back. “Enough, your aunt is not angry with you. It’s our fault for spoiling you, not yours.” She interpreted the demon’s actions as an attempt at filial playfulness, willing to be tapped on the brow to coax her aunt’s forgiveness.

Such convolutions were beyond the demon’s grasp; she simply savored her own pleasure. Nestled in Lady Xing’s soft, fragrant arms, her head turned this way and that, sniffing and nuzzling contentedly. Chunmo caught sight of her mistress’s legs swinging and twisting—one moment crossed, the next dangling, then tightly curled. It was odd enough to leave her unsettled, though she couldn’t quite say why, and so she kept quiet.

Praise is always reserved for other people’s children, but when it comes to true pain and sacrifice, other people’s children are as insignificant as grass.

Youdai was not Lady Xing’s own child, but she had raised her—an aunt more devoted than a mother. In a true mother’s eyes, a child’s every action is understandable. Watching Daidai’s tightly pressed, swaying legs, she merely sighed, “Such lack of decorum.”

Embracing her, she directed Chunmo to fetch a brocade quilt, tucking it over Daidai’s restless legs with a sigh. “Daidai, the imperial palace is not our home. At home, your brothers all dote on you and indulge your every whim. But here, things are different; the people here are not those who love you. It’s been three years—do you still not see how dangerous your situation is?”

Recalling all the messes she’d cleaned up over the past three years, Lady Xing poked Daidai’s head in frustration, though she couldn’t bring herself to do it harshly. She brushed aside the hair from her eyes and gazed at her. “I’ve told you everything, good and bad. This time, your uncle sent me to say: if you continue in this way, for the sake of the family, he will have no choice but to cut ties with you. We never wanted you to enter the palace, but you insisted on going. This young emperor is clever, using and guarding against the Yu family in equal measure. Anyone can see through your feigned sincerity.”

“Useless child!” Lady Xing poked her again, rousing a sensation akin to a gentle tickle. Qingdai, content and lazy, squinted and burrowed deeper into her embrace.

Such affectionate gestures warmed Lady Xing’s heart, dissipating her indignation completely. She whispered, “Don’t be afraid. Your uncle may talk of severing ties, but he loves you more than anyone—just like your father. At dawn, when the news arrived, he was beside himself with worry. If it weren’t improper, he would have stormed in himself. Your cousins and nephews feel the same. As long as you don’t make a grave mistake, our family will protect you. Daidai, listen to your aunt. We won’t have any more children. Even if you never bear a child in this life, no imperial consort—nor even the successor—would dare show you disrespect. Do you understand?”

The one in her arms was soon snoring softly, sending Lady Xing into a fit of exasperation. She poked Daidai’s head several times, clenching her teeth, but in the end could not bring herself to wake her. Instead, she gently patted her back and began to hum a lullaby, as though soothing a sleeping child.

The four attendants exchanged glances, each sighing inwardly. Such indulgence only emboldened their mistress, and, if it continued, would ultimately endanger the family.

If even the household servants of the Yu clan had such understanding, what of the masters?

It all came down to their inability to be truly ruthless, clinging to the hope that things could still be managed, that they could shield their beloved daughter a while longer. Until disaster was truly at the door, who among the Yu clan could bear to abandon her?

Even if they could not enter the inner palace, at court that day, every Yu official—great and small—looked at the emperor with sullen eyes and turned-up noses. Ji Ye, already burdened with guilt, could only respond with pained forbearance. He was not a willful tyrant who believed that, as emperor, he could act as he pleased—calling for heads at every slight. Not only would that risk rebellion and mutiny, but after slaughtering all who opposed him, who would be left to govern the empire? With the mechanisms of state halted, the fall of Great Yan would not be far behind.

In the solemn hall, the six chancellors argued fiercely over how to replenish the treasury. Some advocated for higher taxes, some for the registration of hidden wealth, others for increased levies on merchants. The great factions quarreled endlessly. Yu Hai found it all a headache, but looking at the emperor, saw him listening with relish. At times he would interject, subtly steering the debate toward his desired outcome. Setting aside their dispute over Daidai, Yu Hai could not help but acknowledge that this young sovereign was born for the throne. Yet, even in admiration, he was not about to risk his entire clan’s fate in service of a single ruler.

Daidai—she simply brought this upon herself!

His expression matched Lady Xing’s: exasperation without end.

Even so, after court, having received permission, he stole away to take a look, despite the jealous stares of his sons and nephews. The child was wrong, terribly so, but she was still his flesh and blood—his cherished darling for more than ten years. As a child, how sweet and lovely she had been, a delicate little dumpling, far beyond any of the unruly boys.