The long streets on this snowy night were deserted. Yin Zhuli hummed a tune as she stepped through the ice and snow, heading toward the western suburbs. To the west of Chang'an lay a mountain that served as the ancestral burial grounds for several great families; the Tang family’s ancestral tombs were among them.
Ever since Tang Yin had become infatuated with Yin Biwu, the Tang and Yin families had been at odds. In those days, the social hierarchy ranked scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants in descending order; merchants held the lowest status. Scholars, naturally, held themselves in high regard and looked down upon them. Because Tang Yin had ruined his life for a woman and ultimately met a violent, untimely end, the Tang family—who already had no dealings with the Yins—grew even more hostile.
Yin Zhuli did not wish to cause further unpleasantness, so she had never come to pay her respects since Tang Yin’s passing. She was unwilling to believe that the man, once as clear and bright as the moon, had truly turned to dust. But tonight, perhaps because the weather was too cold, even her courage had frozen over. She wanted to find a place to steal half a moment of peace.
She was a lover of wine. It was only after she had grabbed a jar of Daughter Red in a tavern that she remembered she had given all her money to Shen Tingyao. She was now effectively penniless. In her embarrassment, she traded her fox-fur coat for two jars of aged Shaoxing wine.
Though the shopkeeper didn't recognize the specific quality of the fur, he could tell by the touch—regardless of the grade, that fur coat was worth far more than two jars of wine. "Fat sheep" didn't come along every day, so he happily agreed to the trade.
Yin Zhuli mounted her horse, clutching the wine. Beneath her outer layer, she wore only a quilted inner garment made of Yanxia Cloud Brocade. As the cold wind blew, she tucked her head down.
On such a wind-swept, snowy night, the gravekeepers had retired early. The ancestral gardens of the great families were grand and imposing, but at their core, they were nothing more than places to bury bones. Yin Zhuli scaled the high wall. The snowy ground was slick, and she took a tumble, though fortunately, the wine jars remained intact.
Inside, there were hundreds of stone tombs. The light was poor, so she had to reach out and touch the epitaphs. After feeling her way across a dozen or so headstones, her hands were so numb with cold that she could no longer distinguish the characters, though the two jars of wine had been warmed slightly by her touch.
The snow gradually stopped. Her shoes crunched rhythmically against the ice; the graves and monuments remained silent. She walked among them, finally ceasing her search by touch. "Master? Master, where are you?"
Her voice scattered in the cold wind, seemingly freezing into frost. Yin Zhuli knew she couldn't find him. She picked a tombstone at random and sat down before it, murmuring, "You're all about the same anyway. Picking one at random won't make much difference."
She leaned against the stone tablet. The chill seeped through her quilted garment, piercing to the bone. Only the strong wine offered a flicker of warmth as it hit her stomach. She patted the tombstone and spoke affectionately, "Do you want a drink too? I didn't bring much today, so just have a little taste. Don't be greedy."
With those words, she poured some wine onto the ground, offering it to the accumulated snow.
She sat there for an unknown length of time. The snow falling on the headstone soaked through her clothes, but bolstered by the alcohol, she did not fear the cold. She closed her eyes slightly, drifting into a drowse. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps startled several roosting birds. Yin Zhuli used the tombstone to hide her figure, clutching a wine jar in one hand and her Yellow Spring Lead in the other, waiting to react to whatever came.
The snow was soft and the residual ice cracked. The person seemed to be brushing snow off the headstones as well, identifying the occupants of the graves. Yin Zhuli found it amusing—it seemed she wasn't the only unfilial soul out tonight.
Before long, more footsteps approached. Yin Zhuli felt a headache coming on. What made it worse was when the newcomer spoke: "Your Majesty, the hoofprints and footprints are very fresh. Shall I send men in to search?"
"There is no need to disturb the ancestors. All of you, withdraw."
Yin Zhuli knew that voice as well as she knew the ice and snow. Shen Tingjiao. He had arrived quickly. She remained leaning against the stone. Shen Tingjiao brushed each tablet one by one; now that he was no longer pretending, he was far more patient and meticulous than she. He identified them one by one, taking half an hour just to reach her position.
Yin Zhuli watched him silently as he drew closer. He wore a purple sable fur coat—the very sable she had hunted with her own hands, tailored by Yun Tianyi. Back then, he had been so obedient and lovely; when she held him in her arms, he was like a kitten. Now that his true colors were revealed, she felt neither sorrow nor rage—everyone was acting, each for their own ends.
No one was nobler than the other, and no one was more despicable. Why should she be angry with him?
She was merely testing his bottom line. For over a decade, Shen Tingjiao had known her inside and out, yet she knew nothing of the man beneath the mask. It isn't hard for a person to show weakness, but to feign it for ten years is somewhat pathological.
Shen Tingjiao followed the path of the headstones until he finally discovered her leaning against the base of one. His brows knit together, his voice thick with displeasure: "Yin Zhuli!!"
Yin Zhuli intended to play dumb to the end. She held out the wine jar. "The weather is so cold, yet Your Majesty has come. Here, have a sip."
Shen Tingjiao did not take the wine. He had too many questions and didn't know which to ask first. What came out was: "The owner of this grave is named Tang Xian, courtesy name Muzhi. Why are you leaning against him!"
Yin Zhuli felt a wave of dejection. "There are too many. I don't know which one is my Master."
Shen Tingjiao crouched down, only then realizing she was wearing nothing but a single quilted garment of Yanxia Cloud Brocade, which was largely soaked by melting snow. Rage flared in him, his heart feeling as though it had been pricked by a needle. "You bastard, you dare come out wearing so little!"
Yin Zhuli looked up at him. The snow reflected a faint light, making her look like a spirit of the frozen wastes. Shen Tingjiao unfastened his sable fur and draped it over her shoulders. Yin Zhuli shook her head; with the wine jar half empty, she was already feeling lightheaded. "It's cold. You won't be able to stand it."
Shen Tingjiao ignored her, leaning over to continue brushing the stone tablets.
Yin Zhuli didn't want to get up, so she continued to sip her wine. He was naturally thin of frame, and at this moment, he looked as if he might be swept away by the wind. She lay there lazily for a while. On this starless, moonless night, the wind was bone-chilling, yet she broke into a sweat.
After a short while, Shen Tingjiao came over, picked her up, and walked a distance to the right until they reached a stone tomb. Without ceremony, he spread the sable fur and pulled her into an embrace. The two of them huddled beneath the headstone to take temporary shelter from the wind and snow.
Yin Zhuli’s thumb slowly traced the two characters on the front of the stone. They were all too familiar; she couldn't bear to think of them. She thought of many tragic or sorrowful final words, even recalling irrelevant verses like "When the family performs the rites, do not forget to tell your father." She comforted herself with the thought that everyone dies eventually; she told herself she wasn't sad.
She turned her head, her cheek pressed against the cold stone. In her memory, that man’s smile was as bright as the moon: *Don't lean here, you'll catch a cold.*
She suddenly understood his despair. Years from now, his face would blur in her mind. She would no longer be able to recall the shape of his eyes or brows. She would forget his voice and the feeling of his fingertips lightly touching her cheek.
As she was lost in thought, Shen Tingjiao’s cold voice rang in her ear. "Enjoy your grief for a while. Since you let Shen Tingyao go today, I can only 'shengjian' you tomorrow."
The wind and snow had dulled her grievances. Yin Zhuli, somewhat drunk, simply reached out and felt him down below, muttering, "Live-rape is fine. It's better than necrophilia."
...
Shen Tingjiao yanked her up, fury surging to his heart. "Do you truly think I cannot touch you!"
Seeing that he was genuinely angry, Yin Zhuli quietly tried to soothe him. "Your Majesty is already the supreme sovereign. All of Daxing belongs to you. Who is there you cannot touch?"
Shen Tingjiao gave a cold snort. Though his voice was soft, his words were bone-chilling. "This is the last time, Yin Zhuli. If there is a next time," he leaned close to her ear, his voice neither angry nor happy, "I will order men to dig him up so you can see what he looks like now. Can you imagine Tang Yin as he is today? Head severed from body, flesh rotting, corpse fluids flowing, maggots crawling through the coffin..."
His voice was flat, but every word carved into her heart. Yin Zhuli’s hand gripped the short flute at her waist. For the first time in over a decade, she felt a murderous intent toward him. Her right hand clenched and released several times; a trace of blood appeared on her lips, yet she still smiled back at him. "And what of it, Your Majesty? Even if he has turned to fertile soil and dust, I love him just the same."
Shen Tingjiao froze. He felt a pang of regret; he had pushed her too far this time. She had never admitted her feelings for Tang Yin before. He loosened his grip, but Yin Zhuli had no intention of reconciling. "Is it wrong that I love him? Is it wrong that I want to be with him? In your entire life, have you never had a memory you wanted to keep? In your entire life, have you never had a feeling you couldn't bear to let go?"
Shen Tingjiao was momentarily stunned. He reached out to pull her. "We're going back!"
Yin Zhuli didn't appreciate the gesture and refused to take the exit he provided. "I know Fu Chaoying and the others won't tolerate me. I know too much; how could they possibly let me be? If you want to stabilize them, why go to all this trouble? Why not just cut off my head and send it to them?"
Shen Tingjiao still draped the fur coat over her and carried her out from under the headstone. The ground was slippery, and he held her carefully as they walked. Zhang Qing and a dozen guards were waiting outside the burial grounds. Shen Tingjiao carried her into the carriage and the curtain was lowered. He unfastened the ties of Yin Zhuli’s quilted garment and pulled the wet clothes off her, saying in a deep voice, "I have no interest in necrophilia. You should keep that head of yours on your neck for now."
He had just wrapped the fur coat around her, and his own body was freezing. Yin Zhuli stoked the charcoal brazier in the carriage until it glowed brightly before allowing him to hold her. The tiger-skin rug was very warm. He pressed down on her naked form, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the hanging pearls, the hostility in his aura fading slightly. "I have already ordered the Ministry of Rites to prepare the Empress's investiture ceremony. Her title will be Wenxu."
He had to make this clear now. After they became intimate, he might not be able to say it. Yin Zhuli sneered. "And then?"
As she spoke, her chest heaved. Shen Tingjiao’s throat moved as he began to undress. For an Emperor to take concubines was only natural; why did he feel so guilty?
"I intend to take Qu Lingyu as Consort Hui."
Yin Zhuli continued to sneer. "Your Majesty has certainly given me enough face. You have merely succeeded the throne, not started a new dynasty. By right, Qu Lingyu should be the Empress Dowager now. Even if you follow the custom of a younger brother taking his elder brother's place, how can a sister-in-law be a concubine? Why doesn't Your Majesty just follow Consort Mother He’s wishes and make her the Empress!"
Shen Tingjiao leaned down to kiss her, his voice muffled. "Doesn't your Yin family's ancestral rule state that your women shall never be concubines?"
After her laugh, Yin Zhuli’s voice turned cold. "I am but a merchant, and I never harbored ambitions of climbing the social ladder. If you wish to respect our decade of brotherhood, give me a letter of separation. If we meet in the future, I will remember the favor!"
Shen Tingjiao suddenly struck out, his fingers locking around her neck, yet his body could not hold back as he advanced his forces. His voice was vicious. "Don't even dream of it!"
Sensing her dryness, Shen Tingjiao felt a surge of annoyance—their physical intimacy had been growing more harmonious, and now this...
But the heart of an Emperor cannot consider only one person. Daxing was already riddled with wounds. If he allowed this treacherous merchant to keep causing trouble, when would the country ever become rich and powerful?
He repeatedly stormed her defenses, deciding to say everything at once. "Starting tomorrow, the taxes on merchant travel will increase by ten percent. The Pei family was successful in luring the enemy; for three years, they shall be exempt from twenty percent of their taxes."
***
**Glossary**
Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation
--- | --- | ---
女儿红 | Daughter Red | A traditional Chinese rice wine (Nu'er Hong).
绍兴酒 | Shaoxing Wine | A famous type of traditional Chinese fermented wine.
烟霞云锦 | Yanxia Cloud Brocade | A luxurious, high-quality silk fabric.
黄泉引 | Yellow Spring Lead | Yin Zhuli's signature weapon (a short flute/blade).
文煦 | Wenxu | The regnal title/posthumous-style title chosen for the Empress.
惠妃 | Consort Hui | A high-ranking imperial consort title.
休书 | Letter of Separation | A formal document of divorce/repudiation issued by a husband.
兄死弟及 | Levirate Succession | A custom where a younger brother succeeds the elder brother, often including taking his wives.
