Winter, the seventh year of Yuanyou.
The Empress Dowager could no longer leave her bed.Not from unwillingness, but inability. Her legs and fingers were swollen; her hand trembled when she held a brush.Still, she reviewed memorials. Every day they were brought to her couch, and she marked each one slowly, carefully, as if fearing a mistake.
Zhao Xu came to greet her each morning.He sat beside her and watched. She would not let him help.Just watch, she said. Watch, and you will learn.
But today was different.After finishing one memorial, she pushed it toward him.
"Look at this."
He took it. A report from the Ministry of Justice: a county magistrate had embezzled relief grain. Evidence was conclusive; by law, he deserved execution.The man had been a jinshi in the second year of Yuanyou, personally selected by her.She circled his name.
"Do you know him?"
Zhao Xu thought. "I saw him in City Guard files. Fourth year Yuanyou, accused of colluding with Western Xia. No proof, so dropped."
She nodded. "I buried that case. Not because he was innocent, but because we could not investigate then. Uncovering him would have pulled a whole chain. Move them, and the court unravels." She paused. "Now we can. Do you know why?"
He did not answer at once. His fingers tapped lightly on his knee.He thought of the dossiers, the memorials he had approved, rejected, held.The Huainan drought, the coinage proposal, the impeachments, the Xia border raids.He knew when to act, when to wait.The roots she had pulled; the branches were his to cut.
"You removed the key men. Grand Councilor dismissed, Consort Liu confined, Vice Minister and Academician suspended." He paused. "Roots gone, branches fall easily."
The Empress Dowager studied him a long time, then smiled.
"You understand better than I thought."
She took back the memorial and wrote two characters:Yi lü.By law.
Her brush was steady, just as it had been ten years ago. But her hand shook—not from fear, but from age.
She set down the brush and leaned back on her pillow. Her face was pale, breath shallow, as if afraid to disturb the air.
"Your Majesty."
"Empress Dowager."
"Next year, you will take charge."
"Mm. Next year."
"From then on, you review the memorials. You decide the matters. You—" She paused. "You handle the men."
She did not say be a good emperor or hold fast.She simply handed it all to him, piece by piece, like passing a legacy.
Zhao Xu sat beside her, watching.Her hands rested on the quilt, fingers slightly curled, joints stiff.These hands had held power for eleven years—from his father's death, when he was nine, until he was seventeen.Until he had grown, learned to rule, no longer needed her to hold on.Now she laid it all down.
"Empress Dowager."
"Mm?"
"You said you would hold on until I took charge. Next year I do."
"Mm. Next year."
"You held on."
She did not speak. She looked at him a long while, then lifted a hand to touch his face.Thin, bony, cold.
"You've grown. Taller than your father."
"Mm."
"You are a good emperor."
"Mm."
"You will marry the one you love."
"Mm."
She smiled faintly, light still in her eyes.
"I held on."
Zhao Xu reached over and took her hand. It was cold. He did not let go.
"Empress Dowager."
"Mm?"
"Hold on a little longer. Until my wedding. Until—" He paused. "Until you hear her call you Empress Dowager."
Snow drifted outside, settling thin on the windowsill. The hall was warm with charcoal, but her hand remained cold.
"What is her name?"
"Shen Heng."
"From Suzhou?"
"Mm. She makes osmanthus cake. Egg fried rice. She—" He hesitated. "She waits for me."
She smiled and squeezed his hand gently.
"Very well. I will hold on. Until your wedding. Until she calls me Empress Dowager."
That night, Zhao Xu came to the Imperial Garden.The snow had stopped; the moon shone bright on the white ground.He stood under the bare osmanthus tree and took my hand.His was large, warm, completely covering mine.
"Aheng."
"Mm."
"The Empress Dowager says she will hold on until our wedding. Until you call her Empress Dowager."
"Mm."
"She will make it."
"Mm."
He held on, not letting go.Long enough for the moon to climb from the branches to the top of the tree.Long enough for two shadows on the snow to melt into one.
"Aheng."
"Mm?"
"Next year I take charge. After that, I will marry you."
"Alright."
"Wait for her. Wait for her to see. Wait for her—" He paused. "Wait for her to be at peace."
"Alright."
He smiled and squeezed tighter.His hand warm, hers cold.Together, they slowly became the same temperature.
That same night, a box arrived from Funing Hall.Old red sandalwood, carved with orchids, edges worn smooth.Inside: a stack of notes—not hers, but his.From the fifth year to the seventh of Yuanyou.Everything he had written: what she ate, how long she slept, how many times she coughed.Every single one.
On top, a fresh sheet of paper. Her writing, shaky but each stroke straight, as if she had poured all her strength into pinning the characters to the page:
Your Majesty has grown. You know how to keep records now. From now on, keep them yourself.
He stared a long time.Then pressed the note to his forehead.Cold paper, slowly warmed by his skin.He did not cry.He only sat there, holding it there, for a very long time.
He placed it back in the box, closed the lid.His fingers rested on the cool wood, heat seeping in, staying there.
That night, I wrote on my slip:
She said she will hold on.Until the wedding.Until I call her Empress Dowager.
He said she will make it.Held my hand tightly.His warm, mine cold.Then no longer cold.
She sent a box with his two years of notes.On top: From now on, keep them yourself.
He stared long.Pressed it to his forehead.Did not cry.Held the box close, for a very long time.
Snow stopped outside.Moon round and bright.
She gave back his notes.Said: now you record.
She recorded him for eleven years.From six to seventeen.From half a bowl of congee to one.From one cake to two.From His Majesty ate well to Keep them yourself.
Eleven years of her remembering him.Now it was his turn to remember her.
End of Chapter 36