Aunt Qin's medicinal decoctions grew more and more bitter with each passing day, and the acupuncture sessions grew longer and longer. Whenever she applied the needles, her brows were always knit with an unresolvable worry. At times, her fingers would pause, and she would stare blankly for a moment toward the direction of the palace city outside the window.
"What is Aunt worried about?" I asked weakly after one session.
Aunt Qin put away the silver needles, her movements stalling for a brief moment. After a long silence, she finally said in a low voice, "Young Master, have you ever thought about why the former emperor passed away so… suddenly?"
My heart tightened abruptly. The former emperor—Xiao Yuhuang's mother-emperor—had suffered a sudden wind ailment during the autumn hunt. After returning to the palace, she lingered on her sickbed for barely over a month before ascending to the heavens. At the time, although there had been some discussion in court and among the people, the imperial physicians' diagnosis had been clear, and accompanying imperial relatives had borne witness. It caused no great upheaval. And now Aunt Qin suddenly brought it up…
"What does Aunt mean?"
Aunt Qin did not answer directly. She merely looked at me with those eyes that had seen far too many secrets of the inner palace, her voice pressed extremely low, nearly drowned out by the bubbling of the medicine cauldron. "This old servant has served through several reigns. Some illnesses come too conveniently, and go too quickly… and one cannot help but think more about them. Especially after His Majesty had, on several occasions, revealed thoughts of changing the heir."
A chill shot up my back. In her later years, the former emperor had indeed been repeatedly dissatisfied with the Eldest Imperial Princess. Especially after the Eighth Imperial Princess's military merits on the northern frontier grew ever more prominent, there had been faint signs of wavering. But never… never had anyone cast their gaze upon the Third Imperial Princess, who was almost transparent, who sat at the very last seats even during festival palace banquets.
"Her Highness… no, His Majesty, she at that time…" My voice was dry.
"At that time, His Majesty attended the former emperor at her sickbed more diligently than anyone," Aunt Qin said calmly, yet every word was shocking. "In the former emperor's final days, her mind would alternate between confusion and clarity. When lucid, she summoned the Eldest Highness and the Eighth Highness separately for private audiences, yet she alone… was never summoned alone—the Third Highness. And yet, the one who remained by the former emperor's side in the end, offering tea and administering medicine, was always her."
She paused, then lifted her gaze to meet mine directly. "Does Young Master know what the former emperor said on the night before her passing, during her final moment of clarity?"
I shook my head, cold sweat seeping into my palms.
"According to an old palace servant who was on duty outside the curtains that night, and who was later demoted to guarding the imperial tombs due to 'negligence,' the former emperor seemed shocked and enraged. Her voice was weak, yet every word was distinct—" Aunt Qin enunciated slowly, imitating that aged, startled tone. "'So it was… so it was you… I never… never thought…'"
Before the words could be finished, there came a bout of violent coughing and the sound of objects shattering as they fell to the ground. That very night, the former emperor's condition took a sharp turn for the worse. By dawn the next day, she had passed away.
"That old palace servant…" My throat tightened.
"Less than half a month into guarding the tombs, she slipped and fell into a mountain ravine," Aunt Qin lowered her eyes as she continued organizing the medicine pouch. "Not even her bones were recovered."
The hall fell into dead silence. Only my suppressed, broken coughing remained, and the dull, frantic pounding of my heart within my chest. The cold was like a venomous snake, crawling up from my tailbone, coiling around my neck, nearly suffocating me.
Never thought of it… The former emperor had never thought of passing the throne to her. So she took it herself? In such a… decisive and secretive way?
If so, then the assassination of the Eldest Imperial Princess, the framing of the Eighth Imperial Princess, this entire chain of bloodshed and turmoil in court—were they already destined much earlier, back when the former emperor looked upon that silent, unloved daughter of hers?
"Young Master," Aunt Qin's voice pulled me back into the cold reality, "this old servant does not say these things to ask you to judge anything. Within these palace walls, beneath the imperial throne, there has never been a clean road. The Third Highness… His Majesty, reaching this day, perhaps every step she took was taken with no other choice. This old servant only wants you to understand…"
She raised her eyes, her gaze complex and unreadable. "What kind of person you are about to face. How ruthless her heart can be; how far her hand can reach. Toward you… perhaps she truly does hold genuine feelings that are different. But within the grand design His Majesty is plotting, how much weight does this 'difference' truly carry, and how far can it make her… make concessions?"
Aunt Qin did not continue, but the unspoken meaning was like an ice awl, piercing through my last shred of wishful thinking.
Yes. A ruler who could lay hands on her own mother-emperor; one who, ignored since childhood, grew up amid cold stares and indifference, yet endured in silence for decades and ultimately calculated everyone into her grasp—how much space could that small measure of affection she held for me, that protection she offered, occupy upon her road to power paved with blood and conspiracy?
The vow beneath the plum trees still echoed in my ears, yet recalling it now, it was stained with a heavy hue of blood and chill.
"I want that position, and I want you."
The position—she had nearly seized it, by the most brutal means. Then what about "wanting you"? In what form would that take?
I began coughing violently. This time, what I coughed up was no longer streaks of blood, but a small mouthful of dark, congealed blood, splattering onto the snow-white handkerchief in a shocking sight. Aunt Qin's expression changed abruptly. She swiftly applied needles again and forced down a strong medicine before barely managing to suppress it.
This bout of illness came with ferocious force, and I was almost constantly in a stupor. In my haze, I seemed to hear faint clamor outside the residence—voices, the sound of galloping hooves, the clatter of armor colliding—and, as Mother hurried in and out, the heavy rush of wind stirred by her sleeves.