Time slipped away like sand one cannot grasp, silently seeping through the gaps between my fingers. The old Imperial Physician's diagnosis from years ago proved uncannily accurate—after that calamity at the cold lake, my body had completely become a piece of thin, fragile porcelain that required painstaking care. I could not be without medicinal decoctions throughout the year.
In winter, I had to bundle myself three layers thicker than others; even in summer, I had to avoid heat and guard against chill. Coughing became a frequent visitor, and the slightest negligence would lead to days of lingering high fever. That vague, indescribable tight pain in my chest followed me like a shadow.
Grandmother and Father watched over me even more closely. My courtyard had nearly become an isolated warm pavilion, the underfloor heating burning from late autumn until deep into the following spring. Doors and windows were kept tightly shut, leaving only a narrow slit for ventilation. Aside from regular visits to the palace to pay respects, I rarely went out.
The small pleasures I once had—secretly building models and asking about medicinal principles—were replaced by stricter supervision and repeated admonitions to "rest quietly and recuperate."
Each time, it was through Second Sister's words that I pieced together fragments of the outside world.
The Eighth Imperial Princess Xiao Linyue truly lived up to the rumors. On the northern frontier battlefield, she advanced triumphantly, commanding troops independently at just seventeen and winning several impressive battles in succession. She was granted the title of "Xiaoqi General," her prestige soaring for a time. She did not appear often in the capital, but whenever she did, she carried with her the frost, wind, and killing aura of the borderlands, making it hard for people to meet her gaze directly.
Rumors about her grew ever more fantastical: some said her archery bordered on the divine, that she could pierce a target at a hundred paces; some said her temperament was violent, that she once publicly whipped the child of a powerful noble over a single disagreement; others said her standards were extremely high and that she looked down on the powdered, perfumed sons of aristocratic families in the capital.
"The Eighth Highness," Second Sister once sighed during idle conversation, "is a true military talent, but also a blade that's far too sharp. Her Majesty uses her, yet also guards against her. Her struggle with the Eldest Highness's faction is only growing fiercer."
"And… the Third Highness?" I would always ask, pretending to be casual.
"The Third Highness Xiao Yuhuang?" Second Sister pondered. "She's steady enough. She's become even more low-key in the palace. Aside from attending court on schedule and submitting some innocuous memorials, there's hardly any news of her.
Her Majesty's attitude toward her… is still neither cold nor warm. However," Second Sister lowered her voice, "the Inner Treasury deficit case from the year before last, and last year's relief measures for the southern floods—I've noticed that the final policies adopted vaguely bear traces of proposals the Third Highness made years ago. This Highness… has deep designs."
Xiao Yuhuang.
After that, we had little further contact. At palace banquets, if I attended, I could always see her from afar. She usually sat in an inconspicuous place, dressed plainly, silent and reserved. Yet occasionally, I could feel a gaze quietly resting on me. When I looked back, she would calmly avert her eyes, as if it had merely been a coincidence.
We never spoke. Other than the necessary ritual greetings, there was nothing more.
But I knew some things were different. The newly added "warm jade pillow" in my room—said to be extremely effective for cold ailments—was bestowed by Her Majesty the Empress, yet I faintly heard that it had originally been a tribute item Xiao Yuhuang had sought out.
Whenever my condition relapsed, the medicinal ingredients sent by the Imperial Medical Bureau were always especially complete and of superior quality; on several occasions, they were even rare treasures.
My body was confined, but my mind could not truly be stilled. I began to study medical texts more systematically. Father assumed I had simply become knowledgeable through long illness and was passing the time, so he allowed it, even inviting a nanny versed in medicinal principles to guide me.
I also took up "building" again, using finer wood and tools to recreate various architectural structures I had seen in my previous life—from the pavilions and towers of Jiangnan gardens to the steel-frame models of construction sites preserved in my memory. These moments became among the few in my long convalescence when I could feel that I truly existed.
Thus the days slipped by, unhurried, until my sixteenth birthday—the year of my coming-of-age.
In this world, a man's coming-of-age was akin to a woman's capping ceremony: it signified adulthood and the ability to formally discuss marriage and be wed. For the sole son of the Chancellor's residence, this was an even more significant milestone—a signal to the entire capital that "Su Yuzhi has grown up, ready to be matched."
The coming-of-age ceremony was held with solemnity yet discretion. There was no grand banquet; only the closest clan elders and allied noblewomen were invited. The venue was the main hall of the Chancellor's residence, personally presided over by Grandmother and Mother.
I wore an elaborate green coming-of-age ceremonial robe, layers upon layers embroidered with exquisite cloud patterns and immortal cranes. My hair was arranged into the formal adult male topknot and adorned with a mutton-fat jade hairpin Father had treasured for many years. A light layer of powder was applied to my face, and a touch of lip rouge added.
The person in the mirror had brows and eyes like a painting; my complexion, pale from years without sunlight, carried a fragile fairness. I indeed possessed some of the bearing of a "jade gentleman," yet the inescapable calm and distance in my eyes clashed starkly with the splendor of my attire.
Amid the officiant's ceremonial chants, I bowed to the ancestral tablets, listened to Grandmother's and Mother's admonitions, and accepted the elders' blessings. The entire process was solemn and protracted. I was like a marionette, perfectly playing the role a Su family young master was meant to embody—gentle, quiet, and respectful.
After the ceremony, the noblewomen moved to the flower hall for tea. I was allowed a brief rest, to change into lighter everyday clothes before meeting guests again.
Returning to my courtyard, I let out a long breath and tugged at my tight collar. Chunyu helped remove the heavy hair ornaments and said softly, "Young Master must be tired. Your complexion looks a bit pale."
"It's nothing," I shook my head and walked to the window, pushing it open a crack. The early summer breeze, carrying the scent of flowers, poured in and eased the suffocating heaviness in my chest a little.
"Young Master," Chunyu hesitated, then lowered her voice, "just now in the front halls, this servant heard some idle talk… about your marriage."
My fingers paused slightly. "What did they say?"
"They said… Her Majesty the Empress may soon bestow marriages upon several imperial princesses of suitable age. Our residence… is likely to become lively," Chunyu said with concern. "This servant also heard that the Eighth Highness returned to the capital the day before yesterday and seems to have… been injured, on the northern frontier."
The Eighth Imperial Princess had returned to the capital? And injured? My heart jolted inexplicably. At that moment, hurried footsteps sounded outside the courtyard, accompanied by Second Sister Su Fei's clear voice: "Yuzhi! Are you changed yet? Mother wants you there quickly—there's a distinguished guest!"
A distinguished guest? The coming-of-age ceremony had not broadly invited visitors. Who could it be at this time?
I hastily tidied my appearance and headed for the flower hall with Chunyu. Before I even entered, I heard voices inside—different from before—slightly restrained and tinged with deference and flattery.
Stepping into the flower hall, my gaze swept across the room, and I paused slightly.
Seated in the place of honor, besides Grandmother and Mother, was a middle-aged woman in indigo palace robes, dignified in bearing—none other than Aunt Yan, the chief female official attending Her Majesty the Empress. And seated below Aunt Yan, smiling as she spoke with Mother, was a guest I had not anticipated—the Fourth Imperial Princess, Xiao Linyun.
Several years had passed, and the Fourth Imperial Princess had shed her girlishness, growing into striking beauty. Yet the trace of arrogance between her brows had not diminished; if anything, age had only added to her domineering presence. Today she wore palace robes of goose-yellow embroidered with golden peonies, her hair adorned with a red-gold, kingfisher-feathered dangling ornament, her entire figure radiating opulence and splendor.
My entrance stilled the flower hall for a moment. All eyes turned toward me.
"Yuzhi is here," Mother beckoned gently. "Come quickly and greet Aunt Yan and the Fourth Highness. Her Majesty is considerate and specially sent Aunt Yan to deliver your coming-of-age gifts. The Fourth Highness has also come in person to offer congratulations."
I stepped forward as instructed and bowed to Aunt Yan and the Fourth Imperial Princess. "Yuzhi greets Aunt Yan and greets the Fourth Highness. To trouble Her Majesty and Your Highness to come in person—Yuzhi is overwhelmed."
"Quickly, no need for such formality," Aunt Yan said with a perfectly measured smile, gesturing for the palace maid behind her to present a brocade box. "Her Majesty says that Young Master Su's coming-of-age is a great joyous occasion. These are small trifles to add to your adornment. May the young master enjoy good health and smooth fortune."
The brocade box was opened, revealing a complete set of red-gold, gem-inlaid ornaments, top-grade jade bracelets, and several bolts of imperial-use rosy-cloud brocade—items of considerable value.