Chapter 1

Chapter 1

On the day she died, heavy snow blanketed the entire Imperial City.

I was in Changle Palace, drinking with Liu Zhiwei. Inside the hall, the floor heaters burned warm and the silver charcoal crackled, but outside, the wind and snow lashed against the windows. A eunuch stumbled in and collapsed onto the floor, trembling as he announced that the Empress had passed away.

I gripped my wine cup and didn’t even lift my eyelids, merely saying indifferently, “I know.”

Liu Zhiwei looked up at me, her face somewhat pale. “Your Majesty, will you not go and take a look?”

I didn’t answer, only gazing at the jar of wine on the table.

Song Yunshu had sent someone to deliver it in the afternoon, calling it a “reconciliation wine.” She had written on a slip of paper that as the year ended and the snow fell deep, she wished to let go of all past grievances with the Noble Consort, and hoped His Majesty would be free of worries from then on.

I had let out a cold laugh when I finished reading it.

Song Yunshu had been in the palace for ten years. She never fought for favor, never threw tantrums; even her hatred was quiet. Everyone said she was magnanimous and dignified, the very image of an Empress. Only I knew that there was never any submission in her eyes-only a pool of stagnant water.

I thought this wine was simply her finally bowing her head.

So, in front of Liu Zhiwei, I had drained the cup in one gulp.

As the liquid slid down my throat, there was a faint bitterness, like a plum branch snapped after a snowfall. A moment later, my chest suddenly tightened as if a hand were clutching my heart and lungs, and my internal organs began to twist inch by inch. The jade cup in my hand smashed against the floor, the sound of it shattering startling the Palace Attendants into kneeling.

Liu Zhiwei cried out my name in shock: “Chengjun!”

At that moment, I jerked my head up.

She hadn’t called me by my name in many years.

I propped myself up against the table as a metallic sweetness surged into my throat and my vision began to sway. The eunuchs were in a frenzy, some going to summon the imperial physicians, others to call the Imperial Guards, and some to ask what exactly had happened at Qiwu Palace. Someone pulled a neatly folded piece of paper from under the wine jar and handed it to me with trembling hands.

There were only six words on the paper.

“When the snow ends, old friends part forever.”

It was Song Yunshu’s handwriting.

In our ten years as husband and wife, I had seen her writing countless times. The registries for the Empress’s investiture ceremony, the ledgers for the Imperial Harem’s expenses, the reports sent to the army when the Borderlands were in peril, and the Buddhist sutras she copied and then burned in the Cold Palace-all were in this hand: thin and steady, like a blade hidden in a sleeve.

I suddenly remembered many years ago, when she stood below the vermilion steps in her phoenix crown and robes, saying to me calmly:

“This consort does not seek the favor of your heart; I only hope that one day, Your Majesty will remember my name.”

At the time, I thought she was clever, knowing exactly what she wanted.

Now, as a poisonous fire scorched my throat, I finally understood that her words weren’t a plea at all-they were a curse.

And I, until the moment she died, finally began to feel afraid.