Chapter 22 - A Beauty's Dying Breath
As the first light of dawn filtered through the windows, Yin Zhuli, the Head of the Yin Family, remained at Tang Yin’s bedside. She stayed until he finally stirred from his slumber, personally attending to him as he finished his breakfast. It was only then that she remembered the master of the Manor of Prince Fulu. As the Ninth Prince’s new bride, she was expected to enter the palace today—the day after the wedding—to offer formal thanks to the Emperor.
Tang Yin, sensing her distraction, did not try to keep her. "I am fine now," he said softly. "You have your own affairs to attend to. Go."
Yin Zhuli gave a few final, stern instructions to the physician Ke Tingfeng regarding her master’s care. On her way out, she passed through the Listening Waves Pavilion and called for Yue Gui to inquire about Madam Yin’s recent condition. Upon hearing that her mother was faring well, she decided against a formal visit to avoid further delay. Mounting her horse, she galloped straight back to the Manor of Prince Fulu.
By the time she arrived, the Ninth Prince, Shen Tingjiao, had already finished his preparations. Seeing her return in such a state, he caught her arm, his eyes searching hers. "What happened last night?"
Yin Zhuli offered no explanation. Instead, she took his hand and led him back toward the bedchamber. "Qingwan," she called out to the maid, "help me change."
Qingwan brought forth the formal court attire of a Princess Consort. Seeing that the Prince showed no intention of leaving the room, the young maid’s face flushed a delicate crimson. Yin Zhuli, however, remained entirely composed. She began unfastening her own buttons with practiced ease, standing tall and indifferent as she allowed the maid to dress her.
Once her hair was coiffed and her makeup applied, the carriage was ready at the gates. Yin Zhuli supported the young Prince as he climbed into the vehicle. Though the May weather had begun to turn warm, his hand felt unnervingly cool to the touch. Now that they were officially wed, Yin Zhuli cast aside her usual reservations and pulled him into her arms. "Are you cold?"
Shen Tingjiao shook his head. He found a comfortable position against the carriage wall, looking as though he were on the verge of drifting off. Yin Zhuli reached out to feel his forehead; finding no sign of a fever, she pulled him closer, resting his head against her chest. He looked up, and for a moment, their gazes locked. A flicker of something unreadable passed between them, but Yin Zhuli was never one to let a moment turn awkward. She leaned down, pressing a light, fleeting kiss to his brow, and patted his shoulder. "Sleep. I’ll wake you when we arrive."
Shen Tingjiao gave a slight nod and closed his eyes, surrendering to a light nap.
The carriage came to a halt outside the Imperial City. The couple entered the palace to perform the grueling series of formal thanks and rituals. By noon, Emperor Shen Tingyao had arranged a family banquet in the Magnolia Court. Qu Lingyu, now Consort Hui, possessed a straightforward and blunt temperament; she had nothing to say to Yin Zhuli. Consort Dowager He remained equally cold and distant. In contrast, Empress Dowager Fu appeared exceptionally warm, holding Yin Zhuli’s hand and chatting with her for a long time.
The atmosphere at the table was a delicate web of hidden agendas. Once the meal concluded, Shen Tingyao used the pretext of a locust plague in Shandong and Hebei to summon Yin Zhuli to the Imperial Study, claiming he needed to discuss borrowing grain from the Yin family.
Yin Zhuli could not openly refuse the sovereign. She rose and followed him. Shen Tingjiao had originally intended to accompany his mother to the Jiaoshu Palace, but Consort Dowager He was a woman of stern discipline, and there was little warmth between them. Consequently, he soon emerged from her palace and began to wander aimlessly through the imperial grounds. Though he was a "leisurely prince" with no real power, he was still royalty; no one in the palace dared to obstruct his path.
However, Shen Tingyao had not taken Yin Zhuli to the Imperial Study. It was the height of the blooming season, and the palace was a riot of color. Peonies, geraniums, and wax begonias competed for glory. The two walked along a white stone path until they reached the banks of Penglai Pond.
Shen Tingyao untied a small skiff moored beneath a banyan tree. "Will you accompany me for a row?" Though phrased as an invitation, it carried the weight of an imperial command.
Yin Zhuli stood with her hands behind her back, watching him for a long moment before she smiled. "Your Majesty has spoken; this humble subject naturally dares not disobey. However, since I am here today to give thanks for the marriage, for Your Majesty to boat with me while excluding the Ninth Prince... it seems somewhat contrary to etiquette, does it not?"
At that moment, the lotus leaves stretched toward the horizon, their buds heavy and waiting to bloom. A warm breeze skimmed the surface of the water, carrying the faint, sweet scent of flowers. Shen Tingyao looked back at her, the smile fading from his face. His dark eyes were like deep, bottomless pools. "We have finally found a moment to be together. Can we not mention such disappointing things?"
Yin Zhuli fell silent and stepped onto the boat. His expression softened instantly. He took up the oars himself, rowing them toward the thickest clusters of lotus leaves. "That formal dress is an eyesore," he remarked, his voice turning somber. "In the future, do not wear it unless you must."
Yin Zhuli sensed the underlying darkness in his tone and chose not to provoke him. "As you wish, Your Majesty."
Seeing her detached expression, a flash of genuine pain finally surfaced in Shen Tingyao’s eyes. "Zhuli, trust me once. Just this once, alright?"
Yin Zhuli looked out at the vast, misty ripples beneath the boat. Her vision was filled with thousands of green stalks and a tide of lotus leaves. "Why does Your Majesty say such things? You are the Son of Heaven; how could a commoner like me ever doubt you?"
As the boat drifted further away, completely submerged in the sea of lotus leaves and far from any prying eyes or ears, Shen Tingyao stopped rowing. He leaned toward her slowly. "Zhuli, I too am at the mercy of circumstances. Your Yin family’s ancestral rule states that a daughter shall never be a concubine. It wasn't that I lacked the heart, it was just..." He reached out, his fingertips grazing her cheek. "But I have been working toward it. Believe in me."
Yin Zhuli looked at him, sensing a faint trace of something pitiful in his gaze, yet her own expression remained cold. "Did Your Majesty invite me here merely to reminisce about these things?"
"No," Shen Tingyao replied, resuming his rowing. "There is a quiet place ahead. I am certain you will like it."
Near the banks of Penglai Pond, where the flowers swayed and the dense foliage cast long shadows, a woman dressed in the finery of an imperial consort was hidden behind a cluster of crabapple trees. She peered through the branches, watching the boat disappear. As she turned to leave, she was startled to find someone standing directly behind her. The figure was watching her with a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Consort Zhuang," the newcomer said, his voice as clear and smooth as pearls striking jade. "What were you looking at just now?"
Consort Zhuang finally regained her composure, the panic on her face slowly receding. "So, it is the Ninth Prince. I have been impolite." She didn't hold much respect for this reputedly frail and useless prince. Seeing it was him, she felt a wave of relief.
Shen Tingjiao stood beneath the crabapple blossoms. His skin was translucent and pale, his features as delicate as a landscape shrouded in mist, yet his lips were full and vibrant. The purple court robes he wore only served to emphasize his slender, almost fragile frame. Consort Zhuang was young herself, and for a moment, her heart fluttered at the sight of him.
She had been in a hurry to report what she had seen to Qu Lingyu. She hadn't expected the Emperor and the Princess Consort Fulu to have such an ambiguous relationship. Qu Lingyu was straightforward and relied on her father’s military power to dominate the inner palace. If she learned of this, she would surely turn the palace upside down. If the Emperor and his consort fell out, it would create an opportunity for others...
Yet, in this moment, she found herself reluctant to leave. She stared at Shen Tingjiao amidst the sea of flowers. His beauty was like that of a fallen immortal from the nine heavens, yet it possessed an indescribable, feminine grace—a tragic, breathtaking allure that stirred a dark desire to see him broken.
Shen Tingjiao finally raised his eyes to meet hers. When he spoke, his voice was cold and untainted by the dust of the world. "Why does Consort Zhuang look at me so?"
He stepped forward slowly, his beauty captivating and soul-snatching. Consort Zhuang felt her heart race with every step he took. The young Prince seemed oblivious to her distress, leaning in close to whisper softly, "Consort Zhuang?"
Terrified, she tried to back away, but he reached out. His hand was soft, his fingers long and slender with a faint pink hue at the tips. Every joint was perfectly proportioned, devoid of any flaw. She sensed something was wrong, but her mind was clouded by his ethereal beauty. She stood frozen as he reached out and plucked the gold hairpin from her hair. Her long tresses cascaded down her shoulders like a dark waterfall.
The flush on her cheeks deepened. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, a flash of golden light blurred before her eyes. She looked up in disbelief. The Ninth Prince was still smiling, his eyes dripping with a terrifying tenderness.
"Consort Zhuang, my wife and I are newly wed; our bond is not yet stable. Lingyu is a straightforward soul. If word of today’s events were to spread, it would surely become known to all." His voice was thick with a sweetness that could not be dissolved, every word tender and lingering. "I am but a leisurely prince. I cannot afford to offend my Imperial Brother, nor can I provoke my wife. Since that is the case... why must you make things difficult for me?"
Consort Zhuang opened her mouth, but only a gurgling sound emerged. Blood erupted from her throat, soaking her fingers and dripping onto the flowers, as vibrant and red as the crabapples themselves. She collapsed to the ground, one hand clutching her throat while the other reached out toward him, trembling.
He seemed unable to bear the sight of such gore. Frowning slightly, he took a slow step back to avoid the spray. Consort Zhuang struggled amidst the blossoms—a dying beauty, possessing a tragic, visceral aesthetic in her final moments.
After a long while, the movement finally ceased. The Ninth Prince leaned down and lightly brushed a speck of dust from his pristine hem. Standing there in the sea of flowers, he looked like a malevolent spirit born of the blossoms. He waited a moment longer to ensure she had truly breathed her last, then discarded the gold hairpin. He stepped out from the thicket and began to walk along the white stone path, looking for someone as if nothing had happened.
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