She seemed to be passing by by chance, her gaze calmly sweeping over the chaos in the street. Threads of rain drifted into the carriage window, dampening the hair at her temples. She looked a little taller than a few years ago, still slender, dressed in dark teal everyday robes, her face devoid of expression, simply watching in silence.
Inside the prison cart, a middle-aged man who looked as though he had once lived a life of privilege suddenly became agitated. Clutching the wooden bars, he cried hoarsely toward the blue-cloth carriage, "Third Imperial Princess! Your Highness the Third Princess! I beg you to show mercy! This guilty official knows his wrongs! Please spare my children! They are still children—"
The crying was shrill, piercing in the autumn rain.
The escorting soldiers stepped forward to shout and whip him, yet the man struggled all the more fiercely, his eyes locked dead on the curtain of that carriage.
The gazes of all the onlookers were likewise drawn, involuntarily, to that inconspicuous blue-cloth carriage.
Inside the carriage, there was only silence. The curtain was still lifted by just a corner, the expression of the person within impossible to make out.
Time seemed to freeze. There was only the sound of rain, the wailing cries, and the murmurs of the crowd.
At last, that fair hand slowly let the curtain fall.
The blue-cloth carriage remained where it was for a moment. Only when the prison cart ahead was driven aside to clear the road did it gently move off, bypassing the chaotic crowd, unhurried, disappearing into the hazy depths of the autumn rain.
From beginning to end, the person in the carriage did not say a single word, nor did she make any gesture.
I stood just inside the doorway, one hand braced against the cold doorframe, unable to say what I was feeling.
She saw it. She heard it. And then… she chose to leave with indifference.
Was it self-preservation? A heart of stone? Or… had all excess compassion already been worn away in this devouring palace and court?
The solitary figure sinking in despair into the pool of water, and the imperial princess behind the curtain, coldly overlooking all this, gradually overlapped—and yet seemed to split into different forms.
The prison cart went far away, and the street returned to calm, leaving only damp stone slabs and a few scattered, rotting vegetable leaves. The onlookers dispersed as well, discussing the downfall of the Li family and guessing whose turn the next storm would fall upon.
I turned around in silence and went back inside.
The chill brought by the autumn rain seemed to seep into my bones. I wrapped my outer robe tighter, yet still felt cold.
That night, I received that pale-blue medicine packet again. This time it appeared directly by my pillow. Inside, besides the calming dried leaves, there was also an extra small packet carefully wrapped in oiled paper, carrying a faintly sweet scent—honeyed medicinal pills. On the paper, written in extremely fine script, was a single line of small characters: "Dissolve in the mouth when the coughing is severe."
The handwriting was neat and austere, each stroke forceful.
I held that tiny pill, studying it against the lamplight for a long while.
She remembered my cough.
She was paying attention to me.
She sent medicine.
Yet in the daylight, she could ignore those who cried and begged.
Just what kind of person was she?
I placed the pill in my mouth. The clear, sweet, slightly cool flavor spread, and the itching in my throat was indeed eased considerably. I tucked the pale-blue medicine packet back beneath my pillow, pressing it beneath layers of brocade, like a secret, warm imprint—yet one carrying countless questions.
Autumn passed and winter came. Under careful treatment, my body barely maintained a semblance of stability, but the foundation was already damaged, and the slightest misstep would cause a relapse. The cough became a chronic ailment, especially hard to endure in winter.
News came from the palace: the Eldest Imperial Princess Xiao Lintian, acting on the Emperor's wishes, had begun to assist with parts of court governance, her prestige soaring. The Eighth Imperial Princess Xiao Linyue had achieved new merits on the northern frontier and was granted the title of General. At court, the two factions grew ever more distinct, their struggle steadily approaching a boiling point.
As for the Third Imperial Princess Xiao Yuhuang, she remained silent. She seemed even more low-key. Aside from necessary official duties, she scarcely appeared in public. On the rare occasions when bits of news about her circulated, it was either that she had investigated corruption in some place, or rejected a falsified account report—tasks that offended people, yet earned her neither corresponding authority nor acclaim.
She was like a silent chess piece, placed at the edge of the board, ignored by all, yet by her very existence faintly tugging at certain hidden lines.
In the twelfth lunar month, the palace held its customary year-end banquet. This time, the Su Residence declined the invitation to enter the palace on the grounds that I was "physically weak and sensitive to the cold, unfit for travel." I was happy for the peace and quiet, yet could not help but wonder: at such an occasion, would she still be sitting alone in some inconspicuous corner, watching the hall full of splendor, with nothing to do with herself?
On New Year's Eve, the Su Residence was decorated with lanterns and ornaments, the whole family gathered around the hearth in reunion. Grandmother and Father wore smiles on their faces, Mother's expression was gentler than usual. My elder sisters spoke of their various experiences and amusing anecdotes, the atmosphere rare and warm.
Outside the window, heavy snow fell, turning the night sky red with reflected light.
Cradling a hand warmer, watching the leaping flames, I suddenly thought of that pale-blue medicine packet, and the newly added oiled-paper bundle within it, bearing her handwriting.
This New Year's Eve, where was she? Alone keeping vigil in some cold palace chamber? Or forced to attend a banquet as well, facing the open and hidden barbs of her sisters?
"Yuzhi, what are you spacing out for?" Third Sister Su Xiao came over, stuffing a plump red envelope into my hands. "New Year's money! Wishing little brother peace and health in the new year, and that you'll soon find a good wife!"
I came back to myself, smiled, and accepted it. That faint, inexplicable concern in my heart was diluted somewhat by the warmth of family.
Winter snow melted, spring grass grew anew.
I turned thirteen.
My body seemed to have adapted to this state of weakness. Though I could not stride swiftly, my daily routines were no longer a problem. Only, the medicine could not be stopped, and my sensitivity to the cold followed me like a shadow.
Nanny Yan's lessons grew ever deeper, beginning to involve more complex relationships among noble families and the ways of human interaction. Father also began taking me to attend small tea gatherings hosted by well-connected, upright noble ladies, under the pretext of "seeing more of the world."
I knew this was to "present" me, to pave the way for my future marriage. Each time, I felt as though sitting on pins and needles, striving to play the role of a quiet, reserved aristocratic young master who met expectations, listening to the ladies' appraising praise, my heart numb and blank.