028 A Night in the Ancestral Temple

Hongxiu quickly finished her preparations. I wrapped myself in the fox-fur cloak, took the food box in hand, and hurried off toward the Imperial Ancestral Temple under the starlit sky.

Though the palace was always bustling, day or night, it was still night, and what I was doing was hardly aboveboard. I couldn’t help but worry—if this were discovered, who knew what sort of punishment awaited me?

Lost in these thoughts, I walked with heightened vigilance.

“Who’s there?” Suddenly, a cold shout pierced the darkness. I broke out in a cold sweat, uncertain whether to quicken my pace or slow down.

“Still thinking of running?” An icy blade pressed against my throat. I clenched the food box, sweat pouring from me.

The man stepped forward, and I saw it was Long Zhan. Relief flooded me—for if it had been anyone else, I wouldn’t have known what to do. He wore a thick cloak, the hem of his crimson official robe brushing against the snow, already damp.

“Lord Long, you nearly frightened me to death.”

Long Zhan sheathed his sword and fixed his gaze on me. “Where are you headed at this hour?”

“I—I…”

“And you’re flaunting such a fine fox-fur cloak. Afraid no one will notice you?” He pointed at my cloak.

Nobody else had noticed—except those who shouldn’t.

“You needn’t tell me. I already know about the Ninth Prince. You’re from Cuiwei Palace, so you must be sneaking out to bring something to him, am I right?”

Long Zhan was sharp; I couldn’t hide the truth. “Lord Long, you’re wise indeed. I am bringing something to our young master. The temple is cold, and he hasn’t eaten, so… I hope you’ll grant me passage.”

“If you go the way you’re headed, the Imperial Guards will find you in no time. I know a shortcut rarely patrolled. Follow me.”

Long Zhan had helped me several times. Was Hongxiu’s cooking really so effective?

“Thank you, Lord Long.”

After a few steps, Long Zhan suddenly said, “You’ve been beaten?”

“The Ninth Prince was punished, so I share in the blame. But how did you notice?”

“You walk like a gorilla. And with that missing front tooth, Xiao Xiao, you’re only fit for midnight strolls.”

When did Long Zhan become so sharp-tongued?

I ignored his jab and followed him. Before I could react, he suddenly wrapped an arm around my waist and spun us up into a tree.

Still shaken, I heard him whisper, “How are you so light for a man? And your waist, so slender?”

Oh no, this could blow my cover.

“You’re a man—why are you holding me, another man?”

“Shh!” Long Zhan signaled me to be silent, so I said nothing and followed his gaze.

He held me close, hidden in the branches. Whether as a woman or a man, being so near to him made me uneasy.

Below, six Imperial Guards marched past. When they had moved on, Long Zhan dropped us back to the ground.

I distanced myself and said, “Didn’t you say this path was rarely patrolled?”

“I said rarely—not never.”

“….”

A few more steps, and Long Zhan stopped. “I’ll take you only this far. I must return to my patrol.”

I nodded. “Thank you, Lord Long.”

“Xiao Xiao.”

Just as I was about to go, he called me.

“Yes, Lord Long?”

“Don’t underestimate His Majesty.”

With that, Long Zhan turned and left.

Don’t underestimate the emperor?

Long Zhan’s timely appearance tonight… Suddenly it struck me—the emperor must know about Jiang Yun and Jiang Xuan. Jiang Yun, as heir, could not be seen disgracing the royal name, but Jiang Xuan, an unloved prince, could be punished without consequence. His Majesty knew Jiang Xuan was taking the blame for Jiang Yun—at least, Jiang Yun’s name was cleared and Jiang Xuan bore it all alone. So perhaps Long Zhan’s intervention was at the emperor’s behest; His Majesty did not wish to utterly forsake his ninth son.

But outwardly, the rituals must be maintained.

From Long Zhan’s first act as the emperor’s executioner to tonight, he was right—I must not underestimate His Majesty. Within this palace, and across the land, he was the most powerful man—he was the one I could never afford to disregard.

Arriving at the ancestral temple, I called softly through the heavy doors, “Ninth Prince, Ninth Prince…”

No response came from inside.

“Ninth Prince, I’ve brought you food. If you don’t object, I’ll come in.”

Still hearing nothing, I pushed open the door with a creak, looked around, and entered with the food box.

The interior was vast and empty. Candles burned on the altar table, casting light on portraits of successive Jin emperors and the ancestral tablets placed before them.

Jiang Xuan stood with his hands behind his back, gazing intently at them.

Not knowing what he sought, I set the food box down and took off the fox-fur cloak. As I unpacked the dishes, I spoke, “Ninth Prince, come quickly and eat. It’s still hot—soon it’ll be cold and inedible.”

Jiang Xuan remained with his back to me, speaking as if to himself, “I’ve always wanted to know what kind of person Grandfather was. How spirited he must have been, quelling Prince Rui’s rebellion, finally ascending the throne. Yet he passed away after only a few years. In those years after his death, Jin was thrown into chaos, the palace rife with strife. That was when Father became emperor. Grandfather was always healthy—what caused him to die so despondently?”

I wasn’t sure why Jiang Xuan was so interested in the late emperor. I’d heard tales—he was a wise, valiant ruler, devoted to his duties. Some said a woman broke his spirit; others blamed palace intrigue, for Lu Ning and Nan Gong Zixuan fought bitterly. In any case, the truth was lost to time.

“Ninth Prince, please eat something—you must be starving.”

Jiang Xuan finally turned, glanced at me, then at the food on the floor. “Did Mother send you?” he asked coolly. “Take it back. I don’t need it.”

“This wasn’t sent by Her Ladyship. Though she cares for you, she knows you’re being punished and dares not act. I came of my own accord—knowing the truth, I felt you shouldn’t suffer so. That’s why I’m here.” If I mentioned Yun Qing, it would be as if Zhang Bitong sent it, and Jiang Xuan would surely refuse.

“You pity me?”

“Not pity—admiration.”

“Admiration?” He seemed interested and sat opposite me.

“Ninth Prince, please put this on. It’s cold in here.” I draped the cloak over him, then said, “Forgive my foolish words, Ninth Prince.”

“Given you’ve been punished today, I’ll overlook it. Speak.”

“Yes, sir. I come from outside the palace, and often hear talk of its affairs. You mentioned the late emperor—he quelled a rebellion led by his own uncle. His Majesty ascended the throne through fraternal strife. So, to outsiders and myself, the palace is devoid of warmth—no love between husband and wife, no brotherly affection. Today, you endured humiliation and punishment to protect the Crown Prince. That’s why I admire you.”

Jiang Xuan looked at me and suddenly leaned in. I had no time to retreat.

He stared at me intently, yet I felt no fear. When had I stopped fearing this young man, as I did when I first met him?

He withdrew his gaze and sat back down, his tone nonchalant, “If you speak such words again, it could cost you your life.”

“I understand, Ninth Prince. Please eat.”

He finally began to eat. I worried someone might check the temple next morning—the place was bare and if the fox-fur cloak were found, it would compound Jiang Xuan’s punishment. I planned to leave with the cloak before dawn.

Jiang Xuan, seeing I lingered, understood. With no one about, he knelt before the portraits. I curled up in a corner to sleep, waking several times from the cold, shivering. Opening my eyes, I saw Jiang Xuan still kneeling upright.

Unable to bear the chill, I moved closer to the altar to draw warmth from the candle’s feeble glow.

“Did you not ask why I took the blame for the Crown Prince?”

Jiang Xuan spoke suddenly—I nearly thought a ghost had addressed me.

“Please speak, Ninth Prince. I’m listening.”

“When I was six, Father punished me to copy Han Liu’s essays ten times. The Crown Prince finished them for me, then brought me to a place and gave me a bowl of noodles. It turned out it was my birthday. Father didn’t remember, Mother didn’t remember, even I forgot—only Third Brother remembered. So, even if others doubt the existence of brotherly affection in the palace, I believe in it. I believe in Third Brother.”

Because of his words, I too believed in brotherly affection—not in the palace, nor in Jiang Yun, but in Jiang Xuan himself.

It was, I realized, the first time Jiang Xuan confided in me—a taciturn youth sharing his heart.

Born to royalty, he felt more loneliness than most. He couldn’t spend time with his parents as ordinary children do; his father belonged to many, his mother had to scheme for her place. In such a world, he and I were both still young, enduring so much solitude.

In this, we were kindred spirits.

I suddenly realized that by saying I admired him and had brought food, rather than Zhang Bitong sending me, perhaps Jiang Xuan felt a pang of disappointment.

Quietly, I said, “Ninth Prince, this cloak belongs to Her Ladyship.”

Hearing this, Jiang Xuan gripped the cloak, as if savoring its warmth.