The late autumn wind grew colder with each passing day, sweeping up the scorched yellow leaves in the imperial gardens and hurling them against the vermilion palace walls, producing a rustling sound that was like whispers, and like sighs. The tension in the court mirrored this steadily chilling weather—freezing into ice, drawn taut like a bowstring, liable to snap at any moment.
First came an urgent dispatch from the northern frontier, sent at full speed over eight hundred li. It was not military news, but word that an elite reconnaissance squad under the command of the Eighth Imperial Princess, Xiao Linyue, had been ambushed by unidentified assailants while patrolling the border. Nearly the entire unit was wiped out; only one person survived. The intelligence he brought back was vague and fragmentary, but he insisted on one point: the attackers were highly trained, certainly not ordinary bandits, and their retreat route… faintly pointed toward territory under the jurisdiction of a certain clan relative serving in a border garrison—one connected by marriage to the household of the First Imperial Princess.
Before this matter could be clarified, another disturbance erupted in the capital. An imperial censor, known for boldly impeaching powerful figures and for having relatively close dealings with the Eighth Princess's residence, died suddenly late at night in his study. There were no signs of struggle at the scene, only an unfinished memorial draft whose contents directly accused several recent "price-stabilization grain fund" transactions in the Ministry of Revenue of having questionable destinations. After investigation, the Capital Prefect closed the case as "sudden heart failure," yet the censor's family wept and protested that he had been in robust health, with no hidden illness.
Immediately afterward, as if to confirm some ominous premonition, news spread from within the palace that the First Imperial Princess, Xiao Lintian, had fallen ill and would temporarily suspend her attendance at court. Though described as merely a "minor ailment," at such a critical moment it was enough to provoke endless speculation.
A storm was gathering; the winds already filled the tower. Even I, living deep within the prime minister's residence, could sense—from Aunt Qin's increasingly grave expression, from Mother's rare decision to stay several nights in a row on duty quarters within the palace, from Father's restless pacing and his frequent, anxious glances toward the direction of the imperial palace—that a terrifying tempest capable of destroying everything was brewing above the clouds.
Aunt Qin's delivery of secret notes grew less frequent, and their contents more terse and obscure. The most recent slip bore only three characters: "Stay still."
She was telling me to remain inactive, to keep myself out of the fray. I understood her intention. The eye of the storm is the most dangerous place, and she wished to position me on a relatively safer edge. Yet this passive waiting was like a dull blade cutting into flesh—every moment was unbearable.
Within this oppressive calm, I faintly sensed that two matters—seemingly overshadowed by the greater turmoil, yet intimately tied to me—were quietly changing.
The first concerned the rumors of an arranged marriage involving the First Imperial Princess. That news, once hanging over my head like a sword, unexpectedly fell silent after the successive incidents in the palace and the First Imperial Princess's "illness." There were no new developments, no further urging. Father once cautiously tried to ask Mother about it. Mother looked at me deeply, then said in a low voice, "His Majesty has been preoccupied with affairs of state lately and has no time to attend to other matters. This issue… has been set aside for now." The words "for now" carried a layered meaning. I had an uneasy sense that this was not simply because of "affairs of state."
The second concerned the Eighth Imperial Princess. After Xiao Linyue returned from the northern frontier, her attention toward me—stemming from the so-called "life-saving favor"—seemed to grow increasingly obvious. Aunt Qin had once alluded, in veiled terms, that the Eighth Princess had, on several occasions, subtly raised the question of my "future" before His Majesty, under the pretexts of "repaying kindness" and "showing consideration to the descendants of loyal ministers." Yet once again, there was no follow-up. It was said that His Majesty merely responded indifferently at the time: "The son of Prime Minister Su is physically weak. His marriage must be considered over the long term; there is no need to rush." This "considered over the long term" echoed Mother's "set aside for now."
Who was influencing all of this from the shadows? I rubbed the phoenix-patterned jade pendant at my chest, and the answer was already on the tip of my tongue. Xiao Yuhuang… somewhere beyond my sight, she was using her own methods to block the suffocating designs coming at me from two different directions. The realization left my heart aching, yet also stirred a complex warmth that was hard to describe.
Until that day—the Descent of Frost.
The sky was as overcast as dusk, lead-gray clouds pressing low over the upturned eaves of the imperial city. That afternoon, an imperial decree was suddenly issued, summoning all officials of fourth rank and above who were in the capital, along with members of the imperial clan, noble houses, and titled families, to enter the palace at once to attend a "prayer ceremony," to pray for peace and prosperity during this "troubled season," and to offer blessings for the First Imperial Princess's health.
The decree came abruptly, yet its scale was exceptionally grand, carrying an unquestionable imperial authority. When Father received it, his hands shook so badly he nearly failed to catch the bright yellow scroll.
"At a time like this… a prayer ceremony?" Father's face was deathly pale as he looked at Mother. "Yanniang, this…"
Mother had already changed into her court attire, her expression stern as iron, her eyes heavy with understanding and resolve. "The decree has been issued. There is no refusing it." She turned to me. "Yuzhi, your health is weak; you would ordinarily not need to attend. But…" She paused. "His Majesty specifically named all imperial clansmen in the capital and the families of senior officials of third rank and above—unless bedridden with serious illness, all must be present. You… come with me."
Was His Majesty's intent to gather everyone before his eyes? Would this bring fortune or disaster?
I changed into my rain-washed-sky-blue ceremonial robe, draped myself in a thick fox-fur cloak, cradled a hand warmer, and boarded the carriage with my parents. Once the curtain fell, it shut out the bleak autumn wind outside—and also Father's anxious murmurs and Mother's prolonged silence.
The palace was under especially heavy guard today. Armored imperial guards, far more numerous than usual, stood in silence along both sides of the palace roads. Their armor and weapons glinted with cold, hard light beneath the gloomy daylight, their sharp eyes sweeping over every carriage that entered, every person. An invisible, suffocating pressure hung thick in the air.
The ceremony was held in the square before the ancestral temple. Precious incense burned in massive censers, the smoke curling upward, yet unable to dispel the chill that weighed on everyone's heart. The dense crowd stood solemnly according to rank, not a sound to be heard. Only the chanting of scriptures by the ritual masters on the high platform echoed hollowly across the vast square.
I stood in the ranks of titled ladies and sons behind Mother, eyes lowered and gaze restrained, yet I could still feel countless looks—overt and covert—sweeping past. As expected, the First Imperial Princess, Xiao Lintian, did not appear. Only a ranked female official from her palace stood in for the offering of incense. The Eighth Imperial Princess, Xiao Linyue, stood at the front among the military nobles, clad in black fitted attire, a long sword at her waist. Her posture was straight as a spear, the lines of her profile taut, her gaze sharp as a hawk's as it surveyed the entire assembly. When her eyes passed over my direction, they stalled for an almost imperceptible instant, then moved on, fixing on the empty seat of the First Imperial Princess, a flash of cold light flickering in her eyes.
Instinctively, my gaze threaded through the layers of figures and drifting incense smoke, searching for that dark cyan silhouette.
I found her.
She stood toward the rear of the princes' and princesses' ranks, still wearing that slightly worn palace dress, its color unremarkable amid the solemn crowd. Yet when I looked at her, my heart stirred faintly.