11
The eighth of this month is the day the Emperor is scheduled to draw my name from the roster.
He always makes a point of spreading his favors evenly, never showing any one consort too much affection.
Few of the palace consorts complain about it, either.
Though we hadn't seen each other for several days, the Emperor still had that same dead-eyed look, his face cold all day as if someone had cuckolded him.
When he stepped into my courtyard and saw Phúc An, he paused in surprise.
He seemed to take a long while to remember he had a daughter like her.
“This is… Phúc An?”
Phúc An obediently paid her respects to him, then carefully took a step back and hid behind me.
The Emperor frowned and said displeasedly, “So timid and shy—what kind of bearing is that?”
I gently patted Phúc An’s back, soothing her.
The Emperor had never been a good father.
He took no interest in the princes’ studies and couldn’t even remember how many children he had.
I remember that the first time I met the Emperor, he was already frighteningly old-fashioned. Though he was still young, all he ever talked about was rules and proper decorum.
He was only a little over thirty, yet acted like an old man.
I quietly shifted back a little, keeping my expression blank.
He noticed nothing amiss. As usual, he sat with me for a while and drank a pot of tea.
As soon as the tea touched his lips, he frowned.
“I remember granting you some top-quality Long Tĩnh tea recently.”
“I thought it was delicious, so I finished it long ago. Do you have any more, Your Majesty?”
I blinked at him.
The Emperor fell silent.
At last, the world was quiet again.
A long while later, he suddenly looked up and said slowly, his words heavy with implication:
“Though Phúc An isn’t your own daughter, you should still take more care in raising her. Teach her the lessons for women and make sure she understands the rules.”
“Otherwise, once she’s married off, people will say I didn’t know how to raise a daughter.”
He talked to himself, while a chill suddenly spread through me.
In that moment, Phúc An seemed less like his daughter than a commodity waiting to be traded.
12
I decided Phúc An would no longer attend the palace school.
Proper schools only turn out fools like Tạ Thư Nhiên or rigid people like the Empress.
So I decided to teach Phúc An myself.
When I announced my decision, Thúy Trúc gave me a strange look, as if I were something she couldn't trust.
But Phúc An was delighted.
As expected, no child likes going to school.
I drew up an extremely strict curriculum.
But it was made up entirely of unorthodox lessons.
“Phúc An, let me ask you this: What would you do if a handsome man tried to seduce you?”
“Castrate him first, then kill him!”
“Very good. And what if a scheming woman tried to frame you?”
“Slap her ten times, then let everyone blame me!”
I nodded in satisfaction.
This little girl really did have a gift for becoming a vicious woman.
After that, Ngu, a Palace Noble, grew much closer to me—though mostly of her own accord.
You wouldn’t have guessed it, but she was shamelessly thick-skinned.
Though I’d hinted many times that I preferred solitude, she kept coming to see me. She’d bring the Third Prince and then sit around all day.
Once, she watched what I was teaching Phúc An and finally changed her expression.
“What you’re teaching Phúc An isn’t what a princess should learn.”
That actually piqued my interest.
“What should a princess learn? And what shouldn’t she learn?”
Ngu, a Palace Noble, was left speechless by my question and couldn’t answer for a long time.
After a long pause, she said seriously, “Are you sure? Are these things really good for Phúc An?”
I looked out into the courtyard, where little Phúc An held a sword, her snowy-white hands tracing an elegant arc through the air.
Whatever the princes can learn, my Phúc An can learn too.
Whatever the princes aren’t allowed to learn, my Phúc An can still learn.
The sunset streamed between the palace walls, bathing her in light.
Like the first rays of dawn.
“Look…”
“At what?”
Ngu, a Palace Noble, turned around in confusion, only to see the Third Prince chasing a butterfly before tumbling painfully to the ground.
But the chubby boy didn’t cry. He happily scrambled to his feet and kept chasing it.
“How bright and carefree they are…”
“Unlike us… trapped for so long in this shell called rules and decorum. I nearly forgot…”
“Forgot what?” Ngu, a Palace Noble, asked, blinking at me.
I tilted my head toward her and smiled, baring my bright white teeth, sharp as blades.
“I’d forgotten I was a vicious woman.”
Ngu, a Palace Noble: “…”
Actually, I wanted to say one more thing…
When the sun sets on this world, it always welcomes the dawn.
13
The year Phúc An turned thirteen, the Hung Nô invaded the border.
To put an end to the fighting, the Emperor decided to send a princess to marry into the opposing court.
Since ancient times, every dynasty has liked to use its daughters’ marriages as political bargaining chips.
There were two princesses in the palace who were old enough.
One was Princess Phúc Khang, the Empress’s daughter. The other was Princess Phúc Hựu, the daughter of Consort Hạ.
For years, the Empress had devoted herself to vegetarianism and prayer, taking little interest in palace affairs.
Truth be told, ever since Tạ Thư Nhiên died, there had been nothing interesting left in this palace.
Before, everyone had fought one another just to find a little amusement. In the end, all the lovestruck fools died.
Afterward, Tạ Thư Nhiên was the only fool in the entire harem who truly loved the Emperor.
It was as if she loved everyone equally.
No one likes fighting with someone so kind she’s practically an idiot, so little by little, they all stopped fighting.
We thought we could all go on living peacefully like that.
But the Emperor spared neither the Tạ family nor a fool like Tạ Thư Nhiên.
In truth, the plot to frame the Tạ family had been laid with extraordinary care.
But how could a family with a hundred-year reputation raise a fool like Tạ Thư Nhiên and still collude with the enemy to betray their country?
Anyone with sense could see it was an outrageous frame-up, but no one dared speak up.
From that day on, I hated the Emperor.
I was also sick of the lofty moral rhetoric he spouted: “I am the Son of Heaven. If sacrificing a princess could buy a hundred years of peace between our two countries, I would gladly offer up my most precious pearl.”
Everyone praised the Emperor for his boundless benevolence, for setting such a noble example for the realm.
But the price of his good name was a woman’s entire life of happiness and freedom.
Perhaps in his eyes, there was no question which mattered more: one woman or an entire country. But I couldn’t agree.
The Emperor cared far too much about his reputation. So he was willing to offer up his own daughter to secure it.
For the first time, the Empress lost all composure.
She collapsed before the Emperor, begging him to rescind his decree. But a sovereign’s word was worth a thousand gold pieces.
Whether what was at stake was his wife’s trust or his own daughter’s life.
On the day Princess Phúc Khang was married off, ten miles of wedding finery stretched before her, accompanied by the thunder of gongs and drums. It was an extraordinarily grand spectacle.
But no one could smile.
They said that among the Hung Nô, people drank fresh blood and ate raw meat, and were all vicious and cruel.
Ngu, a Palace Noble, sighed.
“Phúc Khang is only a seventeen-year-old girl.”
“How could the Emperor bear to do that to a girl so young?”
I gently put an arm around Phúc An beside me, my face betraying nothing. But a chill of sorrow welled up inside me.
When the hare dies, the fox grieves. And now it was the fox herself who was being sacrificed.
The Empress seemed to have aged ten years.
It was as if, in an instant, someone had drained all the spirit and vitality from her. Watching Phúc Khang leave, she laughed and cried, then cried and laughed again.
Even after everyone else had left, she remained there, staring after her.
She kept watching until the thousand-strong procession had disappeared from sight.
I stood quietly behind her and said gently, “You raised Phúc Khang very well.”
She understood propriety and was devoted to her family and country.
The girl knew she had to marry into the opposing court. She didn’t cry or make a scene; she simply bowed her head to the ground three times, thanking the Emperor for bringing her into the world.
But the Empress said hoarsely, “I’d rather not have raised her so well. I’d rather she knew how to resist, how to refuse, even if it meant defying her elders.”
“Do you know what she said to me when she knelt before me that day? That she was a princess, so of course she had to shoulder a princess’s responsibilities and prove herself worthy of the people’s support.”
I suddenly spoke up. “But marrying a princess off to secure peace has never been a princess’s duty. It only proves that our country is weak...”
The Empress abruptly turned to stare at me, her eyes wide. “Noble Consort, be careful what you say!”
I didn’t care. I brushed some dust from my sleeve, the corner of my mouth lifting in a faint smile.
“Triệu Minh Châu, you’ve spent your whole life watching your words. And what has it gotten you?”
“Aside from people praising you as a ‘virtuous Empress’ whenever they mention you, what else do you have?”
“Your virtuous reputation couldn’t even protect your own daughter.”
The Empress glared at me, but couldn’t utter a word in response.
On the way back to my palace, Phúc An gently took my hand.
She’d once been no taller than my waist. When had she grown almost as tall as me?
14
The children grew taller with each passing day, while we grew older.
The Empress’s health grew weaker and weaker. The Imperial Physician said she might not live to see the end of winter.
Perhaps because they had been husband and wife since they were young, the Emperor still remembered the Empress’s good qualities.
It was rare to see him show her even a little tenderness. He took the Empress’s hand and asked if there was anything she still wished for.
The Empress was briefly taken aback. “I... I want to see Phúc Khang again.”
Ever since Princess Phúc Khang had been sent to marry into the opposing court, few people had mentioned her.
Because every time they did, people were reminded of the Emperor’s powerlessness.
A political marriage had never been a happy story.
Sure enough, the Emperor’s expression darkened.
He gave a cold snort and said, “The Empress must truly be gravely ill to say such thoughtless things.”
With that, he swept out, his sleeves flaring.
The Empress sat there, staring after him, lost in thought.
A long while later, she called softly to me.
“Ôn Cẩn, tell me... was I really wrong?”
The Empress didn’t seem to expect an answer from me; she only murmured to herself.
“I was wrong...”
“I was wrong...”
The other consorts exchanged glances and lowered their heads, unsure what to do.
I waved for them to leave first.
Only then did I step forward and take the Empress’s hand.
“You did nothing wrong. You raised Phúc Khang very well.”
“She deserves to be called a princess.”
The Empress was silent for a long time, then said softly, “But Ôn Cẩn, if it were you... If Phúc An had been the one sent away to marry, you wouldn’t have let her be married off like that, would you?”
At her words, I tightened my grip on her hand. A glint of murderous intent flashed in my usually restrained eyes. Even my voice was edged with cold.
“Even if I had to kill the Emperor and seize the throne, I wouldn’t let anyone lay a finger on my daughter!”
“Well... well... *cough, cough*... well said!”
The Empress repeated “well said” three times, then took a jade token from beneath her pillow.
“These are the three thousand elite soldiers I secretly raised. If... I mean, if... if it’s possible...”
“Please... bring Phúc Khang home.”
The Empress’s gaze passed over me and fixed on the distant emptiness, as though she were watching someone. Then her head tilted to one side, and she never woke again.
The Empress passed away, and the whole country went into mourning.
I knelt before her memorial tablet for a full day and night.
When I first entered the palace, the Empress was already Empress.
She had always been that way—famed for her virtue, always stepping in to reconcile others.
Whenever any consorts quarreled in the palace, she urged them to prize harmony above all.
I remembered the time I argued with Tạ Thư Nhiên, all the way to the Empress’s presence.
To put it plainly, I was the one bullying her.
As always, the Empress punished us both equally.
She was always so gentle.
Except for one time at the palace school.
That was when I was teaching the princes and princesses of the various palaces. The Empress didn’t punish me that time. She even helped me put down the consorts who wanted to cause trouble. Afterward, she quietly praised me: “You taught them very well.”
In that moment, for the first time, I saw how truly alive the Empress looked.
It was then that I realized—the Empress was more than just the Empress.
She was simply trapped in the role of Empress.
Before she became Empress, she had been nothing more than Minh Châu of the Triệu family.