Winter of the tenth year of the Minghui era. Imperial Capital, Forbidden City, Purple Forbidden Hall.
The underfloor heating radiated warmth like spring sunshine, and the incense of sandalwood wafted gently, yet it could not dispel the deep gloom that lingered between Gu Heng's brows. The fifty-two-year-old Emperor Minghui, Gu Heng, stared intently at a yellowed portrait. Within it, Emperor Jinghe, Gu Lian, stood side by side with Empress Ai Miao, both radiant and peerless, their gazes warm and tender. They were his father-emperor and father-king. Though not his biological kin, they had showered him with unconditional love and nurtured him without reserve.
"Father Emperor, Father King..." Gu Heng murmured softly, "I... have ultimately failed to live up to your expectations."
His line of heirs was thin. The legitimate Crown Prince had died young, leaving only a faint, uncertain bloodline. Now, the two sons born to concubines showed mediocre talent, unfit for the heavy responsibility. The aristocratic clans within the court watched with hungry eyes. The future of the empire seemed shrouded in a thick fog.
Wang Dequan, Chief Eunuch of the Inner Palace Bureau, slipped in quietly and reported in a hushed voice, "Your Majesty, Commander Shen Mo of the Secret Guards seeks an audience outside. He says... it is urgent."
Gu Heng perked up. "Admit him!"
Shen Mo, dusty from travel, his eyes brimming with unchecked excitement, strode into the hall. Kneeling, he presented a jade pendant wrapped in a silk pouch: "Your Majesty! We found her! In the Su family of Linzhou Prefecture in the north, we found a girl believed to be the surviving child of His Royal Highness the Crown Prince! This item was identified by former attendants of the Eastern Palace. It is indeed the pendant worn by the young princess at her first birthday, personally given to her by the late Crown Prince!"
Gu Heng sprang to his feet, taking the jade pendant—warm to the touch yet bearing the marks of time—his fingers trembling slightly. It was his eldest son's possession; he recognized it. In the portrait, his father Emperor Gu Lian seemed to wear a similar one at his waist... No, he had no time for such recollections now. A vast, tangled wave of emotion—hope mingled with sorrow—swept over him.
"The child... how is she?" His voice carried a hoarseness he hadn't noticed.
Shen Mo paused, replying cautiously, "Our investigation reveals the princess has been living as a maid in the Su household, named Gu Liang, aged twelve. Her exact circumstances... require further inquiry. To avoid alerting her and disturbing the princess, I dared not act rashly."
"A servant?!" Gu Heng's chest tightened, a sharp pang of pain piercing his heart. His precious granddaughter, raised in luxury, was now a slave in a subject's household?! He could almost see the faint disappointment in the gentle gazes of his father and father-in-law, a vision that nearly robbed him of breath.
"Prepare the carriage!" Gu Heng's voice turned abruptly cold and commanding. "No, prepare it discreetly. I shall personally retrieve my granddaughter to the palace! Investigate immediately—how has she endured these years?! And that Su family..." A fierce glint flashed in his eyes.
"Yes, Your Majesty!" Shen Mo acknowledged the order and withdrew silently.
Silence fell over the hall once more. Gu Heng clutched the jade pendant tightly, gazing out at the swirling snow outside. Yet his thoughts drifted back five years, to that equally bitter winter, drifting toward the distant Linzhou...
Winter of the fifth year of Minghui, Linzhou, the rear courtyard of the Su residence.
The north wind whipped snowflakes like razors across faces. Ten-year-old Emma hurried through the frozen corridor, carrying a half-cooled charcoal brazier she'd just received. Her small frame moved with surprising steadiness, her expression blank. Her dark eyes held a calmness and detachment far beyond her years.
The servants all called Emma a freak—never crying, never smiling, like a wooden doll. The ladies sometimes discussed her with a hint of morbid curiosity. Emma paid them no mind. She used this mask of "emotional numbness" to shield herself from unwanted attention and potential harm.
Just as she was about to enter the remote courtyard where the servants lived, a scene in the corner made her pause.
A girl who looked no older than six or seven, thin as a stick, knelt in the icy snow. She wore only a tattered quilted jacket. Her little face was frozen purple, her lips devoid of color. Her body shivered violently in the cold wind, like a withered leaf that could be blown away at any moment. The housekeeper stood under the eaves, hands tucked into her sleeves, muttering curses about broken dishes and laziness.
Emma recognized her—a young maid named Gu Liang, sold into the household months ago. Many children like her lived here, mostly silent and timid, existing like shadows. Emma had been one herself, and she had no spare sympathy to give.
She averted her gaze, ready to leave.
But in that instant, the kneeling girl seemed to sense her gaze and lifted her head.
In that instant, Emma felt as if something had struck her heart.
What eyes they were.
Black and white, clear as mountain spring water, seemingly capable of reflecting all the filth in the world. Though filled with fear, grievance, and tears, deep within those eyes lay an indescribable clarity and stubbornness. Like a tiny flame stubbornly burning in boundless ice and snow—faint, yet refusing to be extinguished.
These eyes clashed with the filthy snow, the stewardess's harsh face, and the entire suffocating Su household.
Emma's feet froze in place.
She watched the child's frail shoulders shiver in the biting wind, saw snowflakes settle on her sparse, yellowing hair, and met that gaze—a mix of helplessness and a faint, desperate plea.
The housekeeper finished her tirade, stamped her feet, and retreated to the warmth of the house, leaving Gu Liang alone to continue kneeling in the snow.
Only the howling wind and snow remained.
Emma stood silently for a long time. She should have kept walking, returning to her cold but at least quiet little room, plotting her next move—like finding a way to become the playmate of the gentle, favored Third Young Miss Su Wan. That would have been a relatively safe path.
But those eyes...
Finally, she drew a deep breath of the icy air, turned, and walked toward the small figure in the snow.
She reached Gu Liang, crouched down, set aside the half-cooled charcoal brazier she held, then removed her own worn yet thick cotton scarf. Without a word, her movements clumsy yet resolute, she wrapped it around Gu Liang's nearly frozen neck.
Gu Liang froze, lifting his tear-stained little face to stare at her blankly.
Emma said nothing, only watched him. Her face remained expressionless, yet her usually calm, still black eyes reflected Gu Liang's small, disheveled figure.
She pulled a small, still-warm multigrain steamed bun from her bosom and pressed it into Gu Liang's icy little hand.
"Eat." She uttered only one word, her voice flat and devoid of inflection.
Gu Liang stared at the steamed bun in her hand, then at Emma's expressionless face. Tears rolled down her cheeks in large drops, mingling with the snowmelt. She lowered her head and began to eat, carefully yet greedily.
Emma remained crouched there, waiting silently. The wind and snow lashed against her body, yet she seemed utterly oblivious.
From that moment on, something changed.
Perhaps it was those eyes, too clear and piercing. Perhaps it was the shared pain of their plight. Or perhaps it was simply the accidental collision of two lonely souls in this icy world.
Emma had no idea that this little girl, nearly frozen stiff in the snow, would become the imperial heir who would one day shake the very foundations of the Great Sheng Dynasty.
Gu Liang also did not know that this older sister who tied a scarf around her neck and offered her a steamed bun would become the deepest bond and shackle of her life.
The gears of fate, in that moment amidst the swirling blizzard, silently meshed together.
The snow continued to fall, blanketing the path they had come and burying their tracks. Only two faint sets of footprints remained, along with a trace of warmth—barely perceptible yet stubbornly spreading through the bitterly cold world.