Chapter 17

Gu Qingheng spoke coolly to Chang He: “Have them escorted back to Shoukang Palace. I have no shortage of maids here.”

Take them all? Zhao Mingzhu glanced at Gu Qingheng—being the Empress Dowager’s prized grandson really made a difference. He didn’t even bother saving her face.

The eunuch who’d come along seemed to have anticipated this reaction. He chuckled amiably, “Your Highness, forgive this old servant’s boldness, but Her Majesty the Empress Dowager gave strict orders. The others may return to the palace, but Miss Shuang Yun must stay. She’s well-versed in music, chess, calligraphy, painting, poetry, and song. Her Majesty personally selected her for Your Highness and instructed me to bring her.”

Shuang Yun stepped forward, cheeks flushed, head bowed, “Your servant Shuangyun. I will serve Your Highness and the Crown Princess with utmost devotion.”

Gu Qingheng’s gaze fell lightly on the crown of her head. Then he turned, voice airy, “Crown Princess, what do you think?”

Zhao Mingzhu had been inspecting her hair’s split ends. Caught off guard, her lips twitched. Was Gu Qingheng trying to throw her under the carriage? What was she supposed to think—she didn’t have a big… you know.

She replied shyly, “Her Majesty is full of kindness, and Your Highness is the model of filial piety. Whatever arrangements are made, I shall obey.”

She finished with a strained smile at Gu Qingheng, silently pleading for mercy.

Gu Qingheng chuckled and told Shuang Yun to raise her head: “Chang He, take her away.”

The eunuch, seeing the girl successfully placed in the Eastern Palace, beamed: “Your Highnesses, I’ll take my leave then.”

The path split in two. Zhao Mingzhu wasted no time returning to her quarters. Once inside, she flopped onto her bed, rubbing her cheek against the silk pillow with a sigh, “Finally. Qiao’er, tonight I want grilled meat—extra chili, pepper, and vinegar.”

Qiao’er answered from outside and went off to prepare.

Jin Zhu and Yin Zhu entered carrying a copper basin. “Crown Princess, we’ve added rose essence to the water. Let us cleanse your hands.”

Zhao Mingzhu removed her jade bracelet and dipped her hands into the warm water. As she stirred, the scent of roses rose to her nose.

“Crown Princess,” Jin Zhu ventured, “forgive my boldness, but why not grow closer to His Highness… That Shuang Yun girl doesn’t seem like she came here just to be a maid.”

Jin Zhu tucked the jade bracelet into its box and replaced it with two light tourmaline chains, fastening them gently around her mistress’s wrist. Over the past few days, she’d come to see that the Crown Princess wasn’t quite as the rumors claimed—she was actually a very easygoing master. As her personal maid, Jin Zhu felt comfortable speaking a little more freely.

Zhao Mingzhu toyed with the tourmaline, lifting it toward the light. The gem shimmered in ten hues, more luminous than ever. “Even if Shuang Yun came here to be Crown Princess, it wouldn’t matter. As long as His Highness and I can treat each other with mutual respect, that’s enough.”

She hadn’t forgotten how suffocating those first few days were—the constant pressure, the lurking thought that she might die at Gu Qingheng’s hands. It had been exhausting. Now that they could coexist like this, it was already a rare blessing. What more could she ask for?

“But still…” Jin Zhu hesitated, troubled. A woman’s lifelong happiness hinges on her husband. What would become of the Crown Princess in her old age?

If Zhao Mingzhu had heard that thought, she’d probably burst out laughing. She wasn’t even sure she’d live long enough to die of old age.

“Alright, enough with the ‘but stills.’ When the boat reaches the bridge, it’ll straighten itself.”

No matter how many women came, none could rival the true heroine of love. So it didn’t matter how many women surrounded her—as long as they didn’t provoke her, peaceful coexistence was ideal.

Outside the study, Shuang Yun approached with a bowl of sweet soup made from black hoof yam and sugarcane. She wore a sheer crimson robe, her pale shoulders faintly visible as she neared the doorway.

Chang He stepped in front of her.

Shuang Yun smiled softly, “Guard Chang He, it’s late. I personally prepared this sweet soup and wanted to bring it to His Highness.”

Chang He looked her up and down, frowning. “What are you wearing? You’re here to be a maid, not a seductress. Go change, now!”

Shuang Yun was stunned. She hadn’t expected someone to say it so bluntly, and her face flushed crimson. But she couldn’t refute it. Though the Empress Dowager had sent her with certain implications, her official role was still that of a maid.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. If you slack off in your duties, His Highness won’t distinguish between male or female when it comes to punishment.”

Shuang Yun felt a bit humiliated. She thought Chang He was exaggerating. She’d seen His Highness many times in the palace—he always treated people with gentle courtesy, like a proper gentleman.

Chang He didn’t care whether she believed him or not. He waved his hand dismissively, “Go change. And don’t wear clothes like that again—they’re no good for work.”

“Yes, I understand,” Shuang Yun replied, steadying herself and adjusting her tone.

Night deepened. Zhao Mingzhu slept soundly, turning once before slipping back into her dream. Again, she found herself in the palace chamber where she’d first met Gu Qingheng. Familiar now, she wandered through it, searching for the younger version of him.

“It’s you.” The voice came suddenly from behind, ghostlike.

Zhao Mingzhu turned to see Gu Qingheng’s face, half-hidden in the dark, tinged with curiosity. He was crouched inside a cabinet, speaking to her through the narrow gap.

Zhao Mingzhu walked over and opened it. “Why are you hiding in here?”

Little Gu Qingheng glanced toward the door behind her. “Mother will rise from the dead and come looking for me.”

Zhao Mingzhu’s hand, which had been brushing dust from his robe, froze. Instinctively, she looked out the window—only to see leaves trembling in the wind. She turned back. “No. You’re mistaken.”

Gu Qingheng was silent. But he knew. Every night, she came dragging the child she’d died giving birth to, her body soaked in blood, weeping at the window. She wanted him to join them.

Zhao Mingzhu sat with him beside the Eight Immortals table, wondering where to begin. But every starting point felt like reopening a wound.

She wasn’t eloquent. So she spoke plainly, “Your Highness, would you like to talk? About anything.”

Little Gu Qingheng gazed at her through the candlelight. Another absurd dream, he thought. It would vanish upon waking, leaving no trace.

But precisely because it was a dream, he spoke, “Someone like me, who has eaten his own mother, will I go to hell when I die? To the eighteenth level, never to rise again?”

Eaten his own mother. Zhao Mingzhu watched him say it so calmly. She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “You were forced. You’ll go to heaven.”

“What is heaven?” he asked.

She rephrased: “A celestial palace in the sky, where only kind souls reside.”

“But I’m not kind. One day, I’ll kill them.” He would slice off their ears and noses, sever their limbs, and turn them into human swine.

In the dream, Gu Qingheng’s face was twisted with cruelty, his intent to slaughter laid bare.

Zhao Mingzhu didn’t urge him to be kind. She simply said softly, “Your Highness, in this life, happiness is what matters most.”

“Don’t trap yourself in endless bloodshed. There’s no escape from that.”

It would be too painful. Gu Qingheng’s life shouldn’t be like this.

Little Gu Qingheng watched her fading figure. Coldly, he thought that killing might bring him joy. But once she vanished completely, he pursed his lips and walked to the spot where she’d sat, lost in thought.

When Zhao Mingzhu awoke, she opened her eyes and stared at the patterns on the gauzy canopy. Then she got out of bed. She picked up the golden scissors from her desk, went outside to the bamboo grove, and snipped a few branches to bring back to her chamber. Sitting beside the glass lamp, she began weaving.

Before waking, she’d noticed a bamboo-woven crab on the central shelf of Gu Qingheng’s antique rack. It was yellowed and misshapen, its limbs twisted. Among all the treasures, it stood out. It must be something he cherished. She had entered the dream wearing her daytime dress and jewelry. If she kept the crab close to her body, could she bring it into the dream?