Chapter 2

Spring rain pattered outside as my maid applied medicine before bed. I had endured many hardships beside Liu Liang when he first rebelled in Yin County, and they had left me with a host of lingering ailments.

I had eaten a little too much that evening, and drowsiness weighed heavily on me.

My maid lowered the bed curtains and said softly, “It is better that you have forgotten, my lady.”

I had only one maid, Ah Ruo. She knew that I lost another memory each day. I no longer hated Liu Liang. I no longer wept from morning to night.

I knew nothing of the suffering and humiliation I had endured—of being forced to kneel, of being abandoned, of promises once made to me.

I remembered only Yunnu.

I drifted peacefully to sleep. In my dream, I returned to the little courtyard in Yin County, where the leafy tree rustled in the wind.

I shoved open the door in a fury. The white-robed young man reading at the stone table raised one fine eyebrow and turned. I had meant to act spoiled, but instead burst into tears. “Husband, I have been terribly wronged!”

He gathered me into his arms and patiently soothed his young wife, stroking my back again and again. “Wanniang, who bullied you? I will kill him.”

His voice was gentle, but there was coldness beneath it. He meant every word.

I was easy to comfort and soon stopped crying. I looked up at him happily, only to realize that although he was right before me, I could not make out my husband’s face.

I slept soundly in my dream while the spring rain outside grew heavier and thunder cracked from time to time.

Soft, familiar footsteps approached. Someone gently lifted a corner of my bed curtain.

Thinking I was still dreaming, I rolled over and complained, “Husband, the rain is so loud!”

No answer came for a long time. When I finally opened my eyes, His Majesty stood holding up the curtain, studying my sleeping face. He had only just returned from a three-month campaign, and his usually cold expression had gone blank with surprise.

It was as if he had not seen me this innocent and artless in years and hardly dared disturb me.

I frowned, shrank back, and blurted, “Where is my husband?”

His Majesty pressed his lips together. “I am your husband.”

“You’re lying,” I snapped.

Liu Liang looked at me for a long while, his gaze traveling from my eyes to my lips. The hand gripping the curtain trembled faintly. At last, he asked, “How am I lying?”

“I know you are the emperor, and I am only your Noble Lady, not your empress,” I said triumphantly. “But my husband would never bear to make me his concubine. You cannot possibly be him.”

My husband had promised that if he ever returned to his homeland, he would come for me with matchmakers, betrothal gifts, and a bridal procession stretching ten miles.

Lightning flashed through the spring night, illuminating the young emperor’s face.

It was as pale as gilt paper.

He stared at me, unable to speak.

I did not hate him or resent him. I remembered him only as the best version of himself.

But I had forgotten that Liu Liang and Yunnu were the same man. I had forgotten His Majesty completely.

He would never receive my forgiveness for the rest of his life.

I looked calmly at him. “Do you still claim to be my husband?”

Dark blood slowly trickled from the corner of Liu Liang’s mouth. After an endless silence, he denied it softly. “I am not your husband.”

He was not worthy to be.

Rain poured beyond the window, unable to touch anything inside, yet the emperor looked as though he had just been dragged from the storm. His whole body shook, and he was wretched beyond recognition.

He let the curtain fall and turned to leave. A tremendous thud sounded outside.

I hurriedly poked my head out. Liu Liang had collapsed to the floor, too weak even to stand. He kept coughing up blood, yet he was calling something.

His voice was faint and hoarse, but I heard him.

Liu Liang was crying. He called, “Wanniang. Do not forget me.”