Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I was twenty-two the year I ascended the throne.

The late Emperor had passed away suddenly. The various princes were watching from the provinces like tigers stalking their prey, and the court was fractured into several factions. At that time, having just taken my seat on the dragon throne, the most pressing matter was not whom I loved, but whom I should marry.

Liu Zhiwei had been by my side since my time in the Prince’s Estate; she was the one I had kept in my heart since my youth. However, she came from a humble background, and her father and brother had died young. If I were to name her Empress, not only would the ministers refuse to agree, but even the Empress Dowager would have been the first to flip the imperial desk in outrage.

But the Song Family was different.

The Song Family had commanded the military for generations. General Song Lie held three hundred thousand heavy cavalry in the Northern Frontier; he was the person I needed to win over most to stabilize the political situation.

During those months, the sentence heard most often in the Imperial Study was: “We implore Your Majesty to appoint a daughter of the Song clan as Empress to set the minds of the military commanders at ease.”

Censors slammed memorials onto my desk, claiming that if I insisted on appointing Liu Zhiwei, I would be gambling the foundations of the new dynasty on a personal whim. Elder statesmen knelt in the snow, refusing to rise, arguing that the remnants of the princes’ factions had not been cleared and the military power of the Northern Frontier was not yet secure-the Empress had to come from a family capable of keeping the court in check.

In truth, I understood better than anyone that they were right.

And so, the Ministry of Rites drafted the register. The officials knelt across the floor, invoking heavy concepts like “the foundation of the state” and “the altars of the gods of soil and grain.” That day, the arguments in the Imperial Study lasted until late into the night. Finally, I lifted my brush and marked the name “Song Yunshu” in vermilion ink, effectively writing her entire life into my grand design with my own hand.

Before the grand wedding, I met her once.

She had followed Madam Song into the palace to offer her gratitude for the imperial grace. She wore a moon-white dress, devoid of piled-up gold or jade, and lacking the timid bashfulness typical of young noblewomen. Standing in the center of the hall, she looked like a stalk of green bamboo dusted with snow-her features were clear and cool, and she was excessively quiet.

I asked her, “Do you know why I am appointing you?”

She lifted her eyes to look at me, her gaze incredibly still. “Because this daughter of the Song family bears the surname Song.”

I thought she would be embarrassed or resentful, or that she would hide her emotions beneath the veneer of etiquette like other daughters of great families. But she did not. She simply spoke those words calmly, as if this marriage had nothing to do with her.

I felt a sudden, inexplicable surge of irritation and said coldly, “You certainly understand.”

She bowed her head in salute. “This daughter of the Song family would not dare not to understand.”

On the night of the grand wedding, red candles illuminated the entire hall.

When I lifted her veil and saw her face, I lost myself for a moment. She was nothing like Liu Zhiwei-not in the slightest. Liu Zhiwei was spring water, soft mist, the lingering rain over apricot blossoms in an old dream. Song Yunshu, however, was like mountain snow-cold, white, and silent. One look told you she was never the kind of woman meant to be held in the palm of one’s hand and cherished.

Yet, in that instant, I found myself thinking that if the political situation hadn’t forced my hand, perhaps…

The thought lasted only a second before I snuffed it out.

I handed her the ritual wine and spoke first. “The position of Empress is something I can give you. Anything else, I cannot.”

She took the wine cup, staring down at it for a moment before whispering, “This consort understands.”

I thought she would fall silent then, but she suddenly knelt. The beaded curtain of her phoenix crown hung down, blurring her features.

“This consort does not seek the favor of the Emperor’s heart. I only ask that one day, Your Majesty might remember this consort’s name.”

I was taken aback.

That was the first time I looked at her seriously.

“What is your name?”

“Song Yunshu.”

She looked up, enunciating each word clearly, as if afraid I wouldn’t hear her.

At the time, I only thought she was sensible and knew her place-a fine chess piece delivered to me by my ministers.

I never imagined that ten years later, this very piece would take my life with her own hands.