Late June, the fourth year of Yuanyou.
Old Zhou's boat returned. Not in two or three months, but in one and a half.A young eunuch came rushing in while I was simmering mung bean soup. The air was sweltering like a steamer; the stove fire made me feel as if I were being roasted over flames.
"Miss! A man from the Imperial City Guard is here! Old Zhou's boat is back, docked at the North Wharf!"
The ladle in my hand froze. "Where is His Majesty?"
"His Majesty has already left. He wants you to go too. The usual place—the side gate."
I set down the ladle, wiped my hands, and ran out.By the time I reached the Imperial Garden side gate, Zhao Xu was already there. He wore dark short linen, his hair tied tightly, the short dagger at his waist. His eyes blazed—bright with the focus of a hunter who had spotted his prey: taut, quiet, ready to strike at any moment.
"Let's go."
We climbed over the low wall, cut through the narrow alley, and ran toward the North Wharf. Dawn had not fully broken, yet the streets were already stirring: pancake sellers, vegetable vendors, donkey carts hauling charcoal into the city.Zhao Xu ran fast; I had to jog to keep up.
When we reached the wharf, he halted.Several boats bobbed on the river, one large vessel piled high with porcelain, boatmen unloading cargo. Old Zhou stood at the stern, counting silver. He started when he saw Zhao Xu.
"Sir, who are you looking for?"
"You. A young man boarded your boat three months ago. Thick clothes, very thin, pale face, carrying many letters."
Old Zhou's expression changed. He stuffed the silver into his sleeve and stepped back.
"I don't recall. So many people board every day."
Zhao Xu pulled a piece of silver from his sleeve and laid it on the deck. Old Zhou glanced at it but did not move. Zhao Xu laid down another. Still no reaction. Old Zhou's mouth twitched; his eyes flicked to the silver, then quickly away. He folded his hands behind his back and lifted his chin slightly.
"Sir, I told you—I don't remember. No amount of silver will change that."
Zhao Xu stared at him, silent. His hand slowly moved toward his waist—not the dagger, but the other side. Hanging there was a bronze token, mostly hidden by his robe. He unclasped it and set it on the deck.
Moonlight glinted off the two characters carved into it: Huang Cheng — Imperial City Guard.
Old Zhou's face drained of color in an instant, as if all blood had been sucked from him. His lips trembled; his legs buckled, and he nearly fell to his knees.
"Off—Officer—" His voice was no longer tough, but weak and shaking, as if someone had seized his throat. "This lowly one had eyes but failed to recognize a mountain. I—"
"I won't trouble you." Zhao Xu's voice was flat, as if speaking of something ordinary. But his gaze never left Old Zhou's face. "Tell the truth. The token goes back to me, the silver to you. I won't speak of this to anyone."
Old Zhou stared at him for a long time, his Adam's apple bobbing as if swallowing something bitterly. He lowered his head, his hands shaking.
"Yes. Before dawn three months ago, a man boarded my boat. Wrapped up tight, clutching a bundle fiercely. He told me to take him to Liao. Said someone wanted him dead. I told him crossing the Yellow River and the border wasn't easy. He said he had a border pass—signed by the frontier army."
Zhao Xu's hand twitched. "Frontier army pass?"
"Yes. I saw it. It was genuine. Stamped with their seal. He said he'd pay me a hundred taels if I got him there. A hundred taels—I don't make that much even on a full porcelain trip."
"What did he look like?"
"Thin. Very thin. Pale face, dark circles. Around thirty, spoke with the capital accent." He thought for a moment. "Missing the tip of his right index finger."
Zhao Xu's hand moved again, almost imperceptibly. His fingers tightened, then relaxed.
"Where is he now?"
"I delivered him. He got off at the Yellow River estuary. Men on horseback were waiting for him—several of them." He paused. "Before he left, he left the bundle with me. Said if anyone came looking for him, give it to them. If not, throw it away."
"Where is the bundle?"
Old Zhou disappeared into the cabin and returned with a bundle. Small, coarse cloth, dirty and frayed at the edges. He held it out with both hands, still trembling.Zhao Xu took it and opened it. Inside was a stack of letters—dozens of them, some new, some old, some yellowed with age.
He picked up the top one and unfolded it. His face changed—not with fear, but with the tight, pale look of someone who had seen something they should not.
"What is it?"
He did not answer, just handed it to me.The letter was short, only a few lines:
The revenue ministry grain registers have been altered. They may be used for military pay. For the Liao side, add an extra twenty percent. Do not worry.
No salutation, no signature. But I recognized the handwriting—stiff strokes, straight horizontal and vertical lines, the hand of someone used to official documents. The same hand that had written the letter from Willow Alley.
"Who wrote this?" I asked.
Zhao Xu did not reply. He picked up another. Even shorter:
The Hanlin Academy edict is drafted, awaiting approval. The Liao envoy will enter the capital next month; a meeting may be arranged.
He set it down and read another, and another.At the last letter, he stopped. Only one line:
Someone close to Empress Dowager Gao.
He lowered the letters and stared at the turbid river. Boatmen's chants rose and fell as they unloaded cargo. He stood there for a long, long time.
"These letters—" Old Zhou's voice came timidly from behind. "This lowly one never read them. Truly. He said not to. I didn't."
Zhao Xu did not turn. He took three pieces of silver from his sleeve and stacked them on the deck, glinting dimly in the moonlight.
"This should cover another trip north."
"Enough, enough! Too much, too much!" Old Zhou's voice shook.
Zhao Xu stood, hoisting the bundle. He turned to look at Old Zhou. Moonlight fell on his face; something stirred deep in his eyes—not anger, not fear, but something heavier, unnameable.
"Speak of this to no one."
"I dare not. I know nothing. I saw nothing."
Zhao Xu watched him a moment longer, then retrieved his token and fastened it back at his waist. The bronze glinted once, then vanished under his robe.
"If anyone asks, say a young man in dark linen questioned you, learned nothing, and left."
"Yes, yes. I'll remember."
Zhao Xu turned and walked away. I followed. After a few steps, he suddenly stopped and glanced back. Old Zhou still knelt on the deck, clutching the silver, head bowed.Zhao Xu watched for a moment, then continued. His steps were steady, but he gripped the bundle so tightly his knuckles whitened, veins standing out on the back of his hand.
"Aheng."
"Mm."
"He was missing a finger."
"Who?"
"Chen An. The tip of his right index finger. It wasn't in the dossier. Consort Liu didn't mention it either. But I remember—when he opened the door in Willow Alley, his finger was whole."
I froze. "That wasn't Chen An?"
"No. Someone else. Someone fled in his place." He paused. "Chen An is still in the capital."
We returned the way we came: over the wall, through the alley, in through the side gate.The Imperial Garden was empty. The osmanthus tree had not yet bloomed, its leaves green and soft in the wind.He walked to the tree, set the bundle on the stone bench. Moonlight filtered through the leaves, dappling his face.
"It's the Grand Councilor," he said softly, as if afraid the wind would carry his words away.
"What?"
"The grain registers, the edicts, the Liao, the frontier passes—only one man can move all of these." He paused. "The Grand Councilor. No one else can control the Revenue Ministry, Hanlin Academy, frontier army, and Liao agents at the same time."
I stiffened.The Grand Councilor. The current head of the cabinet.The Empress Dowager's own younger brother.
"Are you sure?"
"I am." He pulled out one letter and unfolded it. "Read this: Someone close to Empress Dowager Gao. This wasn't for Consort Liu. It was for the Grand Councilor. She's just his pawn. He used her to place men in the six ministries, bribed officials with silver, used Liao gold to build his own power. He doesn't want money. He wants power. Power over the Empress Dowager."
He put the letters back and tied the bundle.
"What now?"
"Now—" He thought for a moment. "I'll go see the Empress Dowager. These letters can't only be seen by me. She must see them too."
He started toward Funing Hall, the bundle in hand. I followed.Halfway there, he suddenly stopped.
"Aheng."
"Mm?"
"Wait here. I'll go alone."
"Why?"
He did not answer. He looked at me for a long time, then reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His finger brushed my ear, light and quick, but his palm was hot, his fingertips calloused.
"There are things I don't want you to see."
He turned and left. I stood on the palace path, watching his back grow distant: straight, broad-shouldered, steady-stepped. But his hand still clutched the bundle, white-knuckled.
I waited in the Imperial Garden for a very long time.Long enough for the sun to move from overhead to the western sky, for the osmanthus tree's shadow to shift from east to west. Long enough for my palms to sweat and dry again.
As dusk fell, he returned.He walked to the osmanthus tree and sat down. His eyes were red, but he had not cried.
"Did she see them?"
"She did."
"What did she say?"
"Nothing. She read them for a long time." He paused. "Then she said: 'I understand. You may go back.'"
"That's it?"
"That's it." He stared at his hands. "She asked nothing. Not how I found them, not what I planned to do, not—" He paused. "Not why he did this."
"What about you? What do you want to do?"
He fell silent. Wind rustled the osmanthus leaves.
"I don't know. He is her younger brother. A trusted official of the late Emperor. He is—" He paused. "The Grand Councilor. What can I do?"
"You're afraid of hurting her?"
He did not speak. After a long while:
"She read every letter. Slowly. When she got to the last one, her hand was shaking." He paused. "Just like when she wrote that note. Her hand shook."
He lifted his head and looked at me. Moonlight shone in his bright, glistening eyes.
"Aheng, I don't want her to shake anymore."
"Then stop investigating."
He blinked. "Stop?"
"Mm. Stop. If she says she will handle it, let her handle it. You—" I paused. "You wait for her."
He stared at me for a long time, then lowered his head and rested the bundle on his knees.
"Aheng."
"Mm."
"What if she is gone one day?"
"What?"
"What if she is no longer here. Who will handle these things then?" He paused. "That man will still be here. His men will still be here. The letters will still exist. Who will investigate then?"
I said nothing.He was right. The Empress Dowager would grow old, fall ill, pass away. When that day came, all this would still be his burden.
"Then wait for her. Wait for her to settle it. Wait for her to teach you. Wait until—" I paused. "Wait until she thinks you are ready. Then you investigate."
He was silent. He set the bundle on the stone bench and stood, stepping before me. He was now a full head taller; I had to tilt my chin to meet his eyes.
"Aheng."
"Mm."
"What if I am gone one day?"
"You won't be."
"What if?"
"There is no 'what if.'" I looked at him. "You will be here. You will be well. You will grow up. You will be a good emperor. And you will—" I paused. "You will marry someone you like."
He stared at me for a long time, then smiled—a soft, faint smile, like wind rippling water.
"Then wait for me."
"Wait for what?"
"Wait for me to grow up. Wait for me to be a good emperor. Wait for me to—" He paused. "Wait for me to marry the person I like."
He turned and left. After a few steps, he looked back.
"Aheng."
"Mm?"
"Wait for me."
He ran off. The hem of his robe tapped the stone pavement, just like when he was nine. But his back was no longer that of a child. Broad-shouldered, straight-waisted, steady in every stride.
That night, the Empress Dowager summoned me—not to the side hall, but to her personal chamber.She sat on the couch, the letters spread across the table before her, every one unfolded. She did not cry, did not speak. She only stared at them, as if gazing at someone long dead.
By lamplight, she looked much older than by day. More white strands at her temples, deeper lines on her face, her eyelids heavy, as if something she had held up for too long was finally slipping. Her hands rested on her knees, fingers slightly curled, joints stiff. Last year, when she took the osmanthus cake from me, her hands had been steady. Now, even lifting her teacup made them tremble—not from fear, but from age. Bones old, joints worn, a hand that had held power for a lifetime could no longer grip a cup firmly.
"Shen Heng."
"This servant is here."
"He told you?"
"He did."
"What did he say?"
"He said he did not wish to see Your Highness's hands shake again."
The Empress Dowager said nothing. After a long while, she smiled—a smile so faint it was almost invisible. But her eyes did not smile. Something lay deep within them: not grief, but something heavier—the quiet weight of knowing she was old, that she could not hold on much longer, that so much remained undone.
"When he was little, he wrote me a note: Empress Dowager, I have eaten well. Have you? I kept it for seven years." She paused. "Now he is grown. He investigates cases. He reads dossiers. He chases men to the Bian River. He has learned to—" She paused. "He has learned to care."
She pulled a new note from her sleeve and laid it on the table. Neat, steady characters:
Empress Dowager, I also eat well. You should too.
"Written today," she said. "Sent to me."
She folded it carefully and slipped it back into her sleeve, her fingers lingering on the edge.
"Shen Heng."
"This servant is here."
"How long have you been here?"
"Four years."
"Four years." She repeated softly. "Four years, and he has grown up."
She stood and walked to the window. The pomegranate blossoms had fallen, leaving only green leaves. She leaned on the frame for a moment, her knuckles white not from tension, but from exhaustion. She had stood since the late Emperor's death, from Zhao Xu's ninth year to his thirteenth. Four years, and still standing. But her legs were weakening. Her back was beginning to curve. Her eyes could no longer clearly read the tiny characters on memorials.
She was old. She did not say it. She only leaned on the window a moment, then turned slowly.
"You may go back. Tomorrow, make osmanthus cake again. Less sugar."
"Yes, Your Highness."
I turned to leave.
"Shen Heng."
"This servant is here."
"If he marries you… would you agree?"
I froze. "Your Highness—"
"I am not asking if you dare. I am asking: if he marries you, will you accept?"
I stood there for a long time. No moon shone outside; thick clouds covered the sky. But her eyes were bright, steady.
"I will."
She nodded slowly, as if even that small movement cost her strength.
"Then wait for him. Wait for him to grow up. Wait for him to be a good emperor. Wait until—" She paused. "Wait until I am dead."
"Your Highness—"
"I have written a will. In a box. When I die, someone will bring it forth." She looked at me. "Wait for him. He can wait. So can you."
She turned away, no longer looking at me. Her back was thin, shoulders slightly hunched. She stood by the window like an old tree, roots still deep but leaves turning yellow. One strong wind, and they would fall.
"Go back."
I backed out. At the door, I glanced back.The Empress Dowager stood by the window, clutching the note he had written that day. Her hand trembled. Not from fear. From age.
She was old. She would not say it. But she was old.
That night, I wrote on a slip of paper:
He said: Wait for me to grow up. Wait for me to be a good emperor. Wait for me to marry the one I love.The Empress Dowager said: Wait for him. Wait for him to grow up. Wait for him to be a good emperor. Wait for the will. She said: Wait for him. He can wait. So can you.
Alright. I will wait.I have already waited four years. A little longer does not matter. No matter how long.
She is old. She will not say it. But she is old.Her hands shake. Her back curves. She stands by the window like a dying tree.She wrote a will. She said: Wait until I die.She does not fear death. She fears he will not yet be grown when she is gone. She fears no one will handle these matters. She fears he will not be able to stand alone.
So she holds on. For four years. And longer.Until he is old enough. Until he no longer needs her to hold him up.
That day will come. She will see it.I will wait too.Wait for him to grow up.Wait for him to be a good emperor.Wait for him to marry me.
He said: Wait for me.Alright. I will wait.No matter how long.
She cannot wait much longer.So she wrote her words into the will.So she told me to wait.So she holds on.Holds on, waiting for him to grow.Holds on, waiting for that day.
That day will come.She will see it.
End of Chapter 32