Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I entered the palace at eighteen. Everyone in the capital said I looked like a dead person.

That dead person was named Shen Zhaotang. She was the childhood sweetheart bestowed upon the new Emperor, Yan Yuheng, by the late Emperor. She was also the Noble Consort who had passed away three years ago.

And I am Shen Heng.

On the day of the imperial selection, daughters of prestigious families knelt across the hall floor. The Empress Dowager sat above, clicking her prayer beads, not even bothering to lift her head. It wasn’t until I was led to the center of the vermilion steps that the hall suddenly fell silent.

I heard someone gasp.

When I looked up, Yan Yuheng had already stood up.

He stared at me as if staring at an old dream that had arrived three years late. I saw that look in his eyes countless times afterward-burning hot, yet veiled behind a mist that no one could pierce.

“What is your name?”

“Your humble daughter, Shen Heng.”

He seemed not to hear me. His Adam’s apple bobbed slightly, and only after a long silence did he speak: “Raise your head.”

I looked up.

In that moment, I saw someone else in his eyes.

Before the selection had even concluded, the decree was issued.

Bypassing all the beauties in the palace, I was directly invested as the Empress.

The Shen Family knelt outside the palace gates all night to express their gratitude. When my mother came into the palace to see me off, her hands wouldn’t stop shaking as she held mine. She said, “Ah Heng, the lives of over a hundred members of the Shen Family are tied to you alone from this day forward.”

I understood the words she left unsaid.

His Majesty is willing to elevate you not because of who you are.

But because of who you look like.

That night, I sat on the edge of the new bed in Kunning Palace. I could hear the ceremonial music still playing outside, but my heart was incredibly still. Yan Yuheng arrived very late, carrying a faint scent of wine and the chill of post-snow air. When he lifted my bridal veil, his eyes were actually red.

“Ah Tang.”

He called out softly.

My fingertips trembled, but I quickly steadied myself and prostrated in greeting. “Your servant, Shen Heng, greets Your Majesty.”

Only then did he seem to be jolted awake from a dream. After a moment of silence, he helped me up.

“Tonight, I have lost my composure.”

He spoke calmly, as if admitting a mistake, yet also as if offering an explanation.

But I knew better than anyone that this wasn’t a loss of composure.

This was him finally finding a replacement.

Everyone in the palace said His Majesty doted on me to an unreasonable degree.

On the third day after our grand wedding, he personally drew my eyebrows. When the tip of the brush stopped at the tail of my brow, he suddenly gave a small laugh. He said that in the past, Ah Tang always complained he drew them too heavy, as if he were painting someone into a resentful ghost.

I followed his lead and laughed softly, saying that your servant would not complain today.

His gaze softened instantly.

From then on, I understood.

In front of him, it was best for me to be less of Shen Heng and more of Shen Zhaotang.

After finishing the official reports late at night, he would come to Kunning Palace to read poetry to me. He read “Everlasting Longing” and “By Heaven.” I would listen until I was drowsy, but he read with such earnestness, as if afraid that if he missed a single word, he would never be able to find the past again.

I fell ill once with a persistent fever, and he stayed by my side for three days and three nights. The entire palace was shaken; even the imperial physicians didn’t dare breathe too loudly. In the middle of the night, when my fever was at its worst, I opened my eyes in a daze to see him sitting by the bed changing my cold compress, looking utterly exhausted.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “I am here.”

A sudden, sharp ache bloomed in my heart.

Were those words also meant for her?

Once I recovered, he placed a gold hairpin in my hand. The head of the pin was a begonia flower about to bloom. The craftsmanship was exquisite, but there was a very fine wear mark on the stem, as if it had been gripped in someone’s hand many times.

“This was her favorite style,” he said, looking at the pin, his voice very soft. “I give it to you now.”

I held the pin, my palm feeling cold.

I knew I should express my gratitude.

But in that moment, for the first time, a ridiculous bit of greed surfaced.

How wonderful would it be if, one day, he gave me something left behind by his old love not because “she liked it,” but because “it suits you.”

But as soon as the thought arose, I smothered it.

I didn’t enter the palace to seek a true heart.

A true heart is a luxury in the imperial family to begin with.

Moreover, I don’t even have a “self.”

The palace servants called me a “Living Memorial Tablet” behind my back.

I heard them, but I acted as if I hadn’t.

A living memorial tablet or a substitute-it didn’t matter. At least I was alive, and the Shen Family was alive. The thing to fear most in life is failing to recognize the situation. I recognized it very well, so I never made a scene and never asked questions.

But a human heart is not made of stone after all.

When he drapes a cloak over me, my heart softens.

When he forbids others from offering me cold wine at a banquet, my heart softens.

Occasionally, he stares at me in a daze and lets an “Ah Heng” slip out. I would even lose sleep for an entire night over that one name.

I knew perfectly well it wasn’t love.

Yet, I still sank into it, bit by bit.