I could not fathom what Fu Tingyan was thinking, but I sat down obediently all the same.
Transcription demanded concentration. I gripped the brush and copied line after line with genuine care—but the tide of exhaustion hit before long, and my defenses crumbled. I had no memory of when my eyelids finally sank shut; all I knew was that the Buddha in my dream would not stop lecturing.
I tried to leave. The Buddha seized me by the collar. I struggled; he pushed my head down.
He droned into my ear: All appearances are illusory. All conditioned phenomena are like a dream, a phantom, a dewdrop, a flash of lightning. Regard them thus.
I grabbed the front of his robe right back and yelled, "Let me go, you bald— I'm a worldly person! The dharma has no business pointing the way in my life!"
And then I woke up.
I was on the floor, a robe draped over me. My head was resting in Fu Tingyan's lap.
An ice-cold bolt shot from the base of my skull to the crown. I jerked, scrambled off him in a tangle of limbs.
Misconduct before the throne is punished severely.
My mind was still foggy from sleep, and the shock emptied it clean. I couldn't find words.
How on earth did I end up sleeping on Fu Tingyan's leg?
There was nothing for it—I dropped to my knees first and figured the rest out later.
Perhaps my behavior was so absurd it circled back to funny, because Fu Tingyan laughed. "What were you dreaming about? You were muttering and cursing, and you had my hem in a death grip—I couldn't pull it free."
I glanced over. His hem was crumpled beyond recognition, twisted into a knot of miserable wrinkles.
He leaned in slightly. "Were you cursing me?"
"Absolutely not, Your Majesty." The denial came instantly. "It was only a dream—there were some villains, and I gave them a good thrashing."
Fu Tingyan's gaze drifted from me to the pages on the far side of the desk. He reached over and picked up what I had written.
I lifted my head a fraction. He was studying my calligraphy, lashes lowered, the straight line of his nose casting a shadow along his cheek.
"Solid brushwork. You put real effort into this."
He was complimenting me.
I hadn't expected that. Half the tension in my chest unwound, and I blurted out more than I should have. "I was a wild child. When I was small, I practiced calligraphy as a trade-off to get my father to teach me swordplay and archery."
"You can handle weapons?" A teasing edge crept into his voice.
I refused to let anyone disparage my martial honor. My spine straightened on reflex. "Not just swords—I'm an excellent rider, too. Fearless in the saddle. I once saved someone's life!"
I was still lost in the glory of that memory when I caught Fu Tingyan's gaze—dark, deep, unreadable. I snapped back to reality. A consort bragging about physical feats and entanglements with the outside world—that was crossing a line. I sealed my lips at once.
"What's wrong?" He propped his chin on one hand, looking for all the world like someone settling in for a show. "Go on. Fearless in the saddle… you saved someone. Who was it?"
I had no idea how to answer. These past exploits that I was so proud of were liabilities now.
Men in power valued a woman for poise, composure, gentleness. Any hint of a connection with another man became a loaded weapon aimed back at her.
I was cornered, with no move forward or back, when a voice from outside rescued me.
"Your Majesty, General Du and others request an audience."
The faint curve at the edge of Fu Tingyan's lips flattened. He ordered the attendant to bring them in, then glanced back at me.
"Go and stay out of sight for a moment."
I murmured my acknowledgment, gathered up the robe that had been covering me, and turned toward the folding screen at the back. Then I remembered the sutra pages I'd copied, doubled back to collect them, and finally ducked behind the screen.
* * *
The attendant moved fast. Before long, three military officers were escorted into Fenglin Palace.
Fu Tingyan read the field dispatch, then rose from his desk with it still in hand.
The garrison commander of Gaochang had been arrogant and reckless, dismissing every warning. In the end, the district fell, and the Xiongnu butchered the city.
Their forces were now bearing down on Shazhou. General Jiang Mingde had dispatched a thousand cavalry, but they arrived only in time to rescue a handful of civilians who had managed to flee. The prefect of Gaochang took his own life in atonement. The commander, meanwhile, had slipped out among the fleeing townspeople and saved his own neck.
Fu Tingyan paced back and forth, as though wrestling a decision into shape. Then he stopped, shook the dispatch at the three officers, and spoke—his voice low and lethally controlled.
"How many troops does Shazhou have?"
The three stood bowed at the waist, none daring to draw a full breath.
"Are you deaf, or have you lost your tongues?"
Fu Tingyan was the sort of man who never raised his voice even at his most furious. But that quiet, coiled pressure made the air feel ten degrees colder.
The eldest finally spoke. Five thousand men, at most.
"I want Gaochang back." Fu Tingyan's shoulders dropped an inch. He tossed the dispatch at their feet, then seemed to remember something. "If I'm not mistaken, the garrison commander of Gaochang is your nephew." He took several steps forward until he stood directly in front of the older man. "Planning to beg for leniency?"
"The law of the realm is clear. Though he is my kin, I leave him entirely to the judgment of that law. I would not presume to intervene."
The elder dropped to his knees, forehead pressed flat to the floor tiles. He was a senior official—decades of service—yet before this young Emperor he did not dare so much as tremble.
The two behind him had gone pale. They sank to their knees as well.
"Spend your time figuring out how to retake Gaochang instead of groveling." Fu Tingyan settled back behind his desk, his frame disappearing into the piles of documents. "I don't feed you so you can sit idle. The western roads need to be swept clean."
The three officers practically sprinted out of the palace. I sat still behind the screen and did not come out.
Fu Tingyan was still seething. I couldn't find the right moment to show my face.
So I stayed where I was.
Silence reclaimed the hall—so complete I could hear dust settling. Fu Tingyan sat alone in the vast, vaulted chamber, and in that moment his silhouette looked achingly solitary.
In eight years as Emperor, how many nights like this had he lived through, one after another?
Beyond the screen, his spine curved without warning. A harsh, racking cough echoed through the hall. I didn't think—I just stood and stepped out. Fu Tingyan had one hand clamped over his mouth, coughing so hard his shoulders shook. I turned, poured a cup of water, and brought it to his side.
He steadied himself, took the cup, and drained it in one swallow. The cup landed on the desk with a heavy thud.
"They're going to be the death of me…"
Fu Tingyan let out a deep, weary sigh.
* * *
General Du marched out with thirty thousand troops to retake Gaochang.
I was in the middle of designing a new hairstyle for A-Yan when the news arrived.
The moment A-Yan heard that Gaochang had fallen, she nearly launched herself out of her seat. Only my grip on her hair kept her in place.
"The Xiongnu have taken Gaochang and they're massing forces—they obviously want more. They'll go for Shazhou." She tried to twist around to see my face. "Do you think the Old Master is in danger?"
War was danger by definition. But my father was a general—this was the fate he'd accepted.
The worry sat heavy inside me, but I didn't let it reach A-Yan. I nudged her head forward with two fingers. "Sit straight. My father has a trick up his sleeve for every disaster before it happens—probably three. He'll be fine. And even if trouble comes, he'll already have a plan."
"That's true…" A-Yan sucked air through her teeth, and something dark and old flickered behind her eyes. "The Old Master's always been three steps ahead of everyone else."
The day General Du departed, Fu Tingyan saw him off at the capital gate in person. The general was probably cursing his useless nephew to an early grave—minding his own business one day, dragged off to war the next.
Then again, the nephew had it worse. By the time General Du reached the front, the man would lose his head.
While the send-off was underway, I dragged A-Yan up a watchtower to get a better view. The long column of troops wound outward like a serpent, shrinking toward the horizon.
The wind tangled A-Yan's hair. She stared into the distance. "My lady… do you miss Shazhou?"
Memory hit me like floodwater, surging up with the name itself.
Fierce sunlight and bitter wind. A Sogdian merchant's beard. The dark, luminous eyes of a Hu girl. All of it flickering before me as if I could reach out and touch it.
"Of course I do." I turned and smoothed her hair back into place. "But some longing—some love—you have to bury it deep. Let it harden into the thing that keeps you moving forward."
A-Yan's gaze wavered. She lowered her head and smiled, and when she looked up again there was something firmer in her eyes.
"See, this is why education matters. Even your pep talks have literary flair."
We lingered until the farewell crowds dispersed, then climbed down and headed straight for the imperial gardens to the south. I'd known the gardens existed but had never visited—they were too far from my quarters. Word had it that a rare moon-white flower had been transplanted there recently, each bloom as large as a human face. A-Yan had been cultivating a small plot in our courtyard, and the notion of growing our own took hold the moment we heard.
Flowers had a way of lifting the spirits. Having grown up in the dusty wilds of Shazhou, neither of us had ever seen such variety. We drifted from bed to bed, unable to pull ourselves away, until we finally found the moon-white blossoms—and our jaws dropped.
The plants stood nearly waist-high, their white petals swaying in the breeze like the hem of a dancer's skirt. A-Yan and I exchanged a single glance, the same yes written in both our eyes.
The garden attendants were generous. They gave us seeds and even walked us partway back. We were practically skipping, arms laden with treasures, when A-Yan seized my sleeve.
I looked up, dazed.
The Empress was walking toward us.
I had seen her exactly twice. The first time was the day I entered the palace and paid my formal respects. She had looked unwell even then—pallid skin, brows pinched with some private grief, as though she might burst into tears at any moment.
She looked worse now.
I handed the flowers to A-Yan, stepped forward, and curtseyed. "Your Highness."
The Empress's gaze landed on me. Her slender brows tightened slowly. After a long pause, I heard her voice—thin and soft. "Rise."
Her retinue swept past us. I kept my head lowered—and then heard a sharp, cold sniff. I looked up.
It came from the lady-in-waiting beside the Empress. If looks could wound, hers would have flayed me alive.
We didn't leave the garden until they were well out of sight. On the way back I asked A-Yan whether I had ever offended the Empress. She scoured her modest memory with genuine effort, then told me: I had only met the woman once—even if I'd wanted to give offense, the opportunity simply hadn't existed.
My recollection was the same. If the Empress and her attendant harbored that kind of hostility, I could think of only one reason: Fu Tingyan.
"My lady, why do you have goosebumps?" A-Yan pointed at my wrist.
I rubbed the skin briskly and waved her on. Walk faster.
Of course I had goosebumps. The Empress was the most powerful woman in the inner palace—second only to the Emperor himself. Cross her, and there was no good end.
Planting flowers? It would be merciful enough if I didn't end up planted in the ground.