Chapter 1

The Thirtieth Year of Qi Yuan (Winter).  

A biting wind howled, and all things withered under its relentless chill, the cold seeping deep into the bones.  

The capital, uncommonly, had been blanketed in heavy snow for over ten consecutive days.  

Inside and outside the palace, people moved with hurried steps, especially the eunuchs and palace maids, their faces tense and unnaturally pale. In ordinary times, they might have whispered and gossiped in idle moments, but now they all held their breath, praying that the sky above them—not the heavens, but the Emperor of Daxuan, the very sky of the realm—would prove this a false alarm and emerge unscathed.  

This snowstorm had not only collapsed the flimsy homes of commoners outside the city but also weighed heavily on the hearts of officials high and low, merchants and laborers alike.  

Their wise and illustrious Emperor had been tirelessly managing the disaster for days, barely resting. In his prime, with his robust and imposing physique, such exhaustion would never have troubled him.  

Yet no one had expected that the revered and formidable Emperor, beloved by both court and commoners, would suddenly and silently fall ill.  

This illness struck with alarming ferocity, more unsettling than the snow outside.  

Since his ascension to the throne in his youth, the Qi Yuan Emperor had devoted himself to governance, laboring tirelessly for the court and the people. Who among the officials and common folk did not hold him in the highest esteem, admiring and cherishing him?  

Over the decades of his reign, his achievements were too numerous to count—peace and prosperity reigned, the people were well-fed and clothed, and even the heavens seemed to bestow their favor, granting favorable weather. The people said it was because the Son of Heaven was a true dragon emperor who genuinely cared for his subjects that he enjoyed such divine assistance.  

The only regret was that since the passing of the late Empress, the Emperor had left the rear palace empty, with neither consorts nor a new Empress.  

The entire court fretted endlessly, distressed that their sovereign remained alone. They spoke not of succession—the vast imperial clan was never lacking in royal blood.  

And the wise Emperor, with foresight, had long selected a young scion from Prince An’s lineage, the second legitimate son, to raise by his side, clearly grooming him as his successor.  

Yet the ministers could not bear to see their Emperor endure such hardship daily, with no gentle companion to ease his burdens, living a life as austere as an ascetic.  

Now, such thoughts were futile. The Emperor had lain unconscious for days, his fate unknown. No one dared speak above a whisper, lest they disturb the fragile peace.  

“Eunuch An, has His Majesty awakened?”  

The elderly eunuch, now in his fifties, was beside himself with worry. Having watched the Emperor grow up, he dared say—though it bordered on treason—that he cared for the Emperor more than his own younger brother. These past few days had turned his hair white, and he had nearly torn it out in distress.  

If the heavens had any mercy, they would take his worthless old life instead and spare the Emperor, allowing him to wake safely.  

The deep furrows on his brow seemed etched permanently, and even his once-gleaming silver horsetail whisk appeared dulled with dust.  

“Are the ministers still waiting?”  

“Yes, kneeling and kowtowing. This humble servant noticed that some of the older Masters can barely hold on. My station is too low to persuade them, Eunuch An. You must urge them to rest—what if His Majesty awakens only to find the entire court fallen ill and no one left to serve?”  

Eunuch An nodded, his frown deepening. He lifted his sleeve to wipe the tears at the corners of his eyes. Old age had left him unable to bear such blows. “Your Majesty, you must fight this!”  

As those outside the hall entered, a few cold snowflakes drifted in. Despite the constant warmth of the braziers, some of the elderly ministers kneeling at the front, their hair streaked with white, could not suppress a shiver.

Eunuch An let out a pained exclamation and hurriedly closed the palace gates, instructing the young eunuch behind him to serve the steaming ginger soup.  

“Honored Masters, why must you torment yourselves like this? With His Majesty ill, this is precisely when the pillars of the court are needed most to uphold stability. What if you fall sick as well?”  

“This old servant understands your noble intentions. So long as your hearts are sincere, the heavens and all the divine spirits will surely bless our Emperor. Please set your minds at ease, return home early, and cease kneeling here. If His Majesty knew, how distressed he would be!”  

Eunuch An helped each of these key ministers to their feet one by one, while the young eunuchs at his side presented them with steaming bowls of ginger soup.  

In the early years of the Emperor’s reign, the court had been fragmented, teeming with all manner of unsavory characters. But since His Majesty took full control, he had employed an iron-fisted approach to cleanse the court while simultaneously recruiting capable officials and implementing benevolent policies.  

Now, the court was entirely under the Emperor’s command. Those who held real power were either hereditary loyalists or talented individuals personally elevated by the Emperor. As a result, the court was exceptionally harmonious. Even if there were a few troublemakers, they remained docile, not daring to make a fuss.  

Wang Liang, a cabinet minister who had risen through the imperial examinations under the Emperor’s patronage and was now in his forties—his temples already gray from overwork—sat on a chair, his eyes reddened.  

“Eunuch An, spare us the comforting words. Tell us honestly—how is His Majesty truly faring?”  

“Every Master present here has stood by His Majesty through thick and thin. Our only wish is for His Majesty to live ten thousand years. If you withhold the truth, you’ll be the death of us! What if… what if the worst should happen?”  

“Indeed, Eunuch An. His Majesty has been unconscious for seven full days without cause. Even Master Tianyun, who has returned from his travels, said that if His Majesty does not wake within seven days, his soul may depart this world…”  

“Of course, we don’t believe such nonsense from that monk, but now…”  

The ministers crowded around the elderly eunuch, voices rising in agitation.  

“Silence.” A voice as clear and refined as jade cut through the clamor. The frantic officials immediately quieted, turning their attention to the composed middle-aged man seated at the head of the group.  

Despite nearing fifty, he retained an air of grace and elegance—once the foremost young master of the capital in his youth, and now the Emperor’s own brother-in-law.  

Nie Jue spoke calmly, “As for us, we must not panic, lest we give opportunists a chance to stir chaos. Master Wang and General Li must ensure the capital’s defenses are in order. Mobilize the Western Battalion into the city and coordinate with the Imperial Guards to guard against any unforeseen incidents.”  

With the poised man’s steady guidance, the tense officials found their anchor and began organizing themselves methodically.  

Only a young man in purple robes standing to the side remained silent, his gaze darkening as his fists clenched within his sleeves.  

——  

The following afternoon, during the hour of Shen, a blizzard of snow and hail raged outside, the sky so oppressive it seemed on the verge of collapse. The cold outside was bone-piercing.  

Not a soul walked the streets. All the officials had gathered in the council hall.  

According to Master Tianyun, whether the Emperor would pull through depended on this very afternoon. Fortunately, His Majesty had already designated his successor—An Shizi, a wise and upright young man who would surely live up to expectations.  

With Duke Nie overseeing affairs, the court remained stable, and no disorder had yet arisen.

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed—the council hall was eerily silent.

——

“The Emperor—has passed away!”

Amidst the tense and uneasy atmosphere, the shrill, grief-stricken voice of a eunuch suddenly rang out. Many, caught off guard, collapsed to their knees, legs giving way beneath them.

——

The great doors of the hall swung open, letting in a howling winter wind that scattered snow across the floor.

A clamoring crowd surged outward, civil and military officials in court robes lining up in order of rank.

With a thud, they knelt to the ground.

The snow continued to fall. Outside the hall, the ministers prostrated themselves, and within moments, each was covered in snow, trembling—whether from cold or grief—like a flock of lost lambs struggling in the icy wilderness.

These usually dignified, learned officials, who carried themselves with such authority, now wailed uncontrollably, their tears freezing into shards of ice upon their faces.

On this day, the heavens had collapsed.

The court was thrown into chaos—some fainted, others fell ill. The capital was placed under strict martial law, a storm brewing on the horizon.

The next day, the tolling of bells from temples and palaces across the capital struck deep into people’s hearts, ringing thirty thousand times, shattering their spirits.

The city was draped in mourning white.

Duke Nie’s residence swiftly followed suit, hanging white banners and shutting its gates.

The elderly lady, her temples streaked with gray, sat alone in her chamber, lost in thought, a carved cane resting beside her.

At the sound of the bells, her body trembled slightly. Thinking of her daughter, who had passed away too soon, her clouded eyes welled with tears.

“Son of Heaven, son-in-law of Heaven, may you walk well!” Her hoarse, aged voice carried a tone of lament—or perhaps remembrance.

Her aged hands trembled uncontrollably as tears streamed down her weathered face. The sandalwood prayer beads in her hands spun rapidly, her lips murmuring the Buddhist chant for the deceased.

“Namo Amitabha, Tathagata…”

——

“Records of the Grand Historian: Qi Yuan Emperor”: In the thirtieth year of Qi Yuan’s reign, on the twenty-ninth day of the twelfth month (during the hour of Shen), the Emperor passed away in the Cosmos Palace at the age of forty-six.

“Unofficial History of Qi Yuan”: The great emperor of the ages, Qi Yuan, was obsessed with power throughout his life. Why, then, did he die without a single beauty by his side? A man of such high status, yet he lived a life of solitude. Rumors say Qi Yuan had an empress…

“Modern Gossip Forums”: Discussing why Qi Yuan, the most outstanding man in history, died a virgin.

“Who could such a man possibly have loved? Would he choose power or beauty? Just thinking about it makes my heart race!”

“To the poster above: Qi Yuan fanfiction welcomes you…”

“Ugh, who’s the female lead this time? Not the overused empress trope again?”

“Fanfic writers, please spare our emperor. Hands off my idol—he’d never fall for some flashy seductress!”

…

——

Duke Nie’s residence was now filled with jubilant festivity, red lanterns hung throughout the estate, bustling with activity.

In the most well-positioned courtyard of the inner residence, flowers bloomed in abundance, and every furnishing was exquisite, every decoration flawless.

This was clearly the boudoir of the most cherished noble daughter of the household.

When Nie Long regained consciousness, she found the noise around her unbearably loud, assuming the children had come to pester her during her nap. Too lazy to open her eyes, she waved a hand dismissively and chided in a drowsy voice, “Be good, don’t make noise!”

“Young Miss, you’re awake?”

A strange, pleasantly surprised middle-aged woman’s voice reached her ears. Nie Long’s eyelids twitched, and she opened her eyes.

The middle-aged woman was dressed in a deep blue cotton gown, her expression kind and affectionate. She shifted her gaze and glanced around, then froze in surprise.

Not only was the woman unfamiliar, but even the furnishings in the room and the few young girls in their teens felt strange to her.

Was this ancient, picturesque scene, reminiscent of a period drama, just a dream she had during an idle afternoon nap?

The woman didn’t give her a chance to ponder. Seeing her young mistress looking unwell, she quickly waved a medicinal-scented handkerchief under Nie Long’s nose, instantly refreshing her.

Mama Yu immediately called out to the busy young maids nearby, “Hurry, hurry! The young mistress has regained her energy now. Go fetch the Wedding Attendant and inform the madam and Yun Niangzi. It’s getting late—it’s time to start applying the makeup.”