Chapter 22

Chapter 22

That night, Fu Huang still rested on the adjacent sleeping couch, separated from Fu Ye by only a long screen.

His sleep remained poor, and tonight, with his mind restless, he tossed and turned, finding sleep even more elusive. Yet he did not rise, lying there in his clothes until dawn before finally getting up.

Those around him had long grown accustomed to his habits and thus rose with him. Outside, the rain had stopped, but the mountain was shrouded in thick mist. Eunuch Qin accompanied him on a leisurely stroll through the spring fog of the mountain retreat.

Fu Huang enjoyed wandering aimlessly—whether in the palace or outside it. He walked in silence, rarely speaking, drifting about in a way that even Eunuch Qin could not fathom his thoughts.

The spring air in the mountain retreat carried a melancholic atmosphere. He paused before a stretch of broken walls and ruins.

Eunuch Qin recognized it as the ruins of Xiangrui Hall.

The Late Emperor, grieving the death of Lady Zhaoyang, had never returned to this place, nor had he rebuilt a new hall upon the ruins. Now, overgrown with vegetation, they had become more dilapidated than anywhere else.

Years ago, during the great fire at Lihua Mountain Retreat, he and the twelve-year-old Fu Huang had rushed into the flames of Xiangrui Hall to rescue Lady Zhaoyang and the Sixth Prince, among others. But the chaos inside the retreat had been overwhelming. Lady Zhaoyang had fallen unconscious, and after rescuing the Sixth Prince, they had hastily entrusted him to a court lady for care. Yet no one had expected the Sixth Prince to go missing in the confusion. By the time they realized it, they were already on the road fleeing Lihua Mountain Retreat.

At the time, Lady Zhaoyang had been gravely injured, hovering between life and death. Having entered the palace years earlier without bearing children, she had later given birth to the Sixth Prince, whom she cherished as her own life, indulging him completely. Now, with her beloved son’s fate unknown, she had been nearly driven mad. Since Fu Huang was to remain in the capital, this parting might have been their last—perhaps an eternal separation. Thus, before leaving, he had knelt and bowed to her in farewell. But Lady Zhaoyang, unable to let go of her resentment over the Sixth Prince’s disappearance, had covered her face with her sleeve, refusing to look at him even unto death.

The Late Emperor had been in a hurry to flee to Lianzhou, while Fu Huang, as the prince left behind to guard the capital, had to return immediately. At twelve years old, under the escort of General Li Weiming and others, he had ridden swiftly back, bid a hurried farewell to the imperial relatives, and galloped back to the capital. Midway, he had been overcome with emotion, unable to suppress his grief.

Eunuch Qin, who had cared for Fu Huang since childhood as an Inner Official, rode alongside him and could only console him by saying that the Sixth Prince might have merely been temporarily separated, and once found, Lady Zhaoyang’s heart would surely soften again. The twelve-year-old Fu Huang had remained silent, wiping away his tears before spurring his horse onward with his retinue toward the capital.

This was the last time Eunuch Qin had ever seen Fu Huang shed tears. From then on, no matter what trials he faced, he never wept again.

More than a decade later, recalling these events filled Eunuch Qin with both sorrow and solace. He said, “If Lady Zhaoyang knew that the Sixth Prince has returned safely, she would surely be greatly comforted. Had Your Majesty not risked his life to rescue the Sixth Prince back then, there would be no reunion today. In this old slave’s view, all of this was Heaven's will. Now, pitying Your Majesty’s loneliness, Heaven has brought His Highness Prince Huan back to you.”

Fu Huang stood lost in thought among the ruins. Normally, he would merely listen to such words without reaction, but today he spoke: “Is that so?”

Eunuch Qin was taken aback but quickly nodded. “Most certainly!”

The spring sunlight filtered through the mist onto Fu Huang. The shadows beneath his eyes persisted, making him appear utterly exhausted. His slender frame gave him an almost ethereal presence, often lending him a gloomy demeanor. But today, there was a quiet, unexpected gentleness about him. The morning breeze scattered the mist, and amid the ruins, the greenery returned. Fu Huang passed through the broken walls, and as the fog cleared, he suddenly instructed, “Bring him a few more of the robes I usually wear.”

Eunuch Qin paused, then smiled. “For a ruler to gift his personal clothing is indeed unparalleled honor.”

“I enjoy seeing him wear my robes,” Fu Huang said to Eunuch Qin.

Then he looked at him, his gaze inscrutable.

Fu Ye had just awoken when Eunuch Qin appeared before his couch, holding several neatly folded robes. The black brocade bore faintly visible golden dragon patterns—unmistakably Fu Huang’s.

“I’m already wearing one,” Fu Ye said.

Eunuch Qin smiled warmly. “His Majesty said he will return to the palace today and expects Your Highness to remain here temporarily with the Empress Dowager. Thus, he ordered this old servant to bring more garments for Your Highness to change into.”

Fu Huang’s robes were either plain or black—hardly to Fu Ye’s taste. But for an emperor to gift his personal robes was an honor unparalleled in the empire, and Fu Ye obediently changed into the new attire. These robes were even larger than the ones he had worn the day before. As Eunuch Qin personally helped him dress, tightening his sash, he whispered, “His Majesty summoned Minister Zhou of the Board of Punishments this morning.”

Fu Ye turned to look at him, meeting the smile lines at the corners of Eunuch Qin’s eyes. “His Majesty is quite willing to listen to Your Highness’s counsel.”

Fu Ye was momentarily stunned, then the corners of his lips lifted. Glancing down at the robes he now wore, they suddenly seemed exquisite, the subtle medicinal scent upon them as if Fu Huang had only just worn them.

When Eunuch Qin returned to Fu Huang, Chancellor Xie and others were still in the hall, so he stood silently to the side. Fu Huang glanced at him, and only after Chancellor Xie and the rest had left did he ask, “Well?”

Eunuch Qin smiled. “This old servant has just delivered the robes. His Highness was very pleased—he changed into them at once.”

Fu Huang said, “As if he wouldn't like them.”

Eunuch Qin said, "Indeed, favor and punishment are both expressions of the emperor's will. I imagine whatever His Majesty bestows upon the prince, he would be overjoyed."

Hearing this, Fu Huang's earlier imposing air faded. He lowered his head slightly, wiping his hands with a warm towel in silence, perhaps thinking of what treasures to bestow upon the prince.

Fu Huang was scheduled to return to the palace today, but as the imperial physician advised that Dowager Zhang should not be moved, Fu Ye remained at Lihua Palace with the empress dowager for the time being.

Fu Ye walked Fu Huang out to the main gate of Lihua Palace, where Chancellor Xie and the other attendants stood at attention.

Today, they were all exceptionally cautious, more attuned to every nuance than usual.

Early this morning, Fu Huang had rescinded the edict to hang heads at the temple. While this should have been good news, Chancellor Xie and the others grew even more uneasy, uncertain of the sudden shift in imperial intent.

Could it be that the emperor found mere head-hanging insufficient and was planning something even more drastic?

They were sick with worry—oh, the worry!

The worst part was that none dared to voice their concerns or offer counsel.

Past experience had taught them that when the emperor acted unusually, it was often a sign of coming bloodshed. At such times, obedience was paramount—whatever the emperor said, they must comply without question.

Only Xie Liangbi, standing among the crowd, dared a glance at Fu Ye, who was seeing them off.

The spring rain had just ceased, and as if overnight, the trees and flowers outside the palace had begun to bud with new growth. Fu Ye wore a black brocade cloak, even more lavish than the one from the day before, adorned with golden dragon patterns woven in gold thread. The dragons coiled and twisted, their forms accentuated by silver cloud motifs at the hem. As he moved, the dragons seemed to glide, and the clouds rolled—this was a robe often worn by the emperor, familiar to all the nobles and ministers. When Fu Huang wore it, he exuded an air of unapproachable majesty, but on Fu Ye, it took on an entirely different effect. The robe was slightly too large for him, nearly dragging on the ground, further emphasizing his slender, delicate beauty—like a figure carved from white jade.

He dazzled in opulent attire, but in these somber hues, he put jade and flowers to shame.

While others might not understand why His Majesty had suddenly withdrawn the edict, Xie Liangbi knew.

His Highness Prince Huan’s counsel—His Majesty had actually listened.

Now, as he watched Fu Ye, every movement seemed to radiate brilliance.

Like a gift of light sent by the heavens to the Great Zhou Dynasty.

Chancellor Xie and the others departed with the imperial carriage. Fu Ye gave Xie Liangbi a small smile before turning back.

Qing Xi, walking beside him, glanced back at Xie Liangbi and noticed that even after mounting his horse, Xie Liangbi kept looking back.

It was not until late afternoon that Dowager Zhang felt a bit better, managing to take some broth. The empress dowager, deeply worried, resolved to stay overnight at Chonghua Temple—located not far from Lihua Palace—to chant sutras and pray for Dowager Zhang’s recovery.

The last time Fu Ye had visited Chonghua Temple was during the New Year’s ancestral rites. Back then, he had only noted its grandeur—a royal temple where both architecture and statues were renowned for their magnificence. As the temple housed only nuns and he was cautious by nature, he had refrained from wandering.

But now was different.

He knew that Fu Huang’s birth mother, the Lady of Chu, also resided in this temple.

After accompanying the empress dowager in offering incense and kneeling in prayer for a while, he quietly withdrew. This time, his thoughts lingered on that lady, and he made a point to explore the temple grounds. Though early spring had arrived, the mountain’s chill seemed to delay the blooming of flowers and trees. The temple was dominated by pines, cypresses, and camphor trees, lending it a hushed solemnity. The only sound was the faint tinkling of bronze bells in the mist. Following the chimes, his gaze landed on the tallest structure behind the temple—the golden pagoda.

His first impression of the pagoda was its sheer height. When he had once looked toward Yongchang Mountain from the highest point of the palace, the sight of this gilded pagoda had awed him. Now, standing within the temple, it seemed even more colossal and exquisitely crafted. Adorned with gilded bronze chimes, the wind stirred them into an ethereal chorus.

"Perhaps because the mountain is cold, the plum blossoms in the courtyard behind the pagoda are in full bloom," Shuang Fu remarked.

Fu Ye saw them too—a few young nuns were picking blossoms. Their attire differed slightly from the other nuns in the temple; they wore Guanyin hoods, the draping caps covering their ears, with glimpses of dark hair peeking through. Spotting him, the nuns hurried away. Curious, he followed their retreating figures and saw them enter a small courtyard with armfuls of plum blossoms.

As the gate swung open, he caught a brief glimpse of a nun in a white hood, her robes pure and unadorned. Before he could see her face, the gate closed. That brief sight left him with only the faint scent of plum blossoms carried by the evening breeze—making the mysterious, noble lady seem like a celestial being.

Fu Ye froze in place until the temple’s evening drumbeats reverberated through the quiet mountain air. Shuang Fu, who had also seen her, whispered, "That must be the Lady of Chu. I’d heard she lived in Chonghua Temple, but to think she..."

As if suddenly recalling a forbidden tale about the emperor, he hastily covered his mouth.

As dusk descended, Fu Ye felt a mix of confusion and sorrow, recalling the words Eunuch Qin had shared with him late at night. On the way back, he was lost in thought, and even when he rejoined the Empress Dowager to chant scriptures, he held the sutra without truly absorbing its words—only Fu Huang's pale face flickered in his mind.

He looked up at the compassionate Buddha, dazed amidst the warm incense.

In his trance, a sudden commotion outside snapped him back to reality. Turning, he saw Shuang Fu had already stepped out, while Qing Xi retreated a step, swiftly shielding him from behind—almost like a younger counterpart to Eunuch Qin.

The Empress Dowager opened her eyes and asked, "Your Highness, what is happening?"

A Court Lady rushed in, breathless. "Your Grace, there's a fire in the temple!"

The Empress Dowager stood abruptly, but having knelt for too long, she staggered. Fu Ye caught her in his arms as Shuang Fu dashed in, shouting, "Your Highness, it's terrible—the fire's spreading fast!"

Fu Ye quickly helped the Empress Dowager out of the main prayer hall, where they were met with a wall of flames.

Shuang Fu said, "The fire seems to have started from the wing chambers in the front courtyard."

"Both wings are burning?" Fu Ye asked urgently.

No sooner had he spoken than a chorus of screams erupted. Following the gazes of Shuang Fu and the others, he saw the Yongfu Pagoda engulfed in flames.

Realizing someone had set the fire deliberately, Fu Ye shielded the Empress Dowager and hurried toward the front courtyard. But Chonghua Temple was vast, built on a steep hillside with precarious stone steps. As he steadied her, he demanded, "Where are the guards?"

"Guards are barred from the inner courtyards—they're all in the front courtyard!"

Normally, sword-bearing court ladies would accompany the Empress Dowager, but out of respect for the hallowed temple grounds, they had left their weapons behind. Now, they could only rush forward in chaos. The temple was in bedlam—wails, cries for help, people fleeing or fighting the flames. When they reached the front courtyard, they found the gates locked. Guards outside were ramming the doors, while others scaled the walls in desperation.

"Protect the Empress Dowager!" Fu Ye seized a sword from a guard and saw the Yongfu Pagoda ablaze up to its fourth and fifth floors.

The pagoda, made of wood, was now an unstoppable inferno, fanned by the mountain wind. Flames spiraled upward, and Fu Ye suddenly remembered the Lady of Chu, who lived nearby. He ordered Qing Xi and the others to guard the Empress Dowager while he raced toward the rear with his sword.

"Fu Ye, where are you going?!" the Empress Dowager called after him.

"I need to check the fire's spread!" he shouted, already running. She immediately commanded the guards, "Follow His Highness! Protect him at all costs!"

Shuang Fu and Qing Xi followed close behind. They passed through courtyard gates—the wing chambers, where the fire had first broken out, were now extinguished. Monks and nuns carried buckets of water toward the Yongfu Pagoda. Fu Ye grabbed a bucket of water and crossed into the pagoda's courtyard, only to find sparks flying as the flames surged to the seventh floor. The night was illuminated by the towering blaze, and the efforts to douse it were futile. A nun, witnessing the pagoda's destruction, collapsed to her knees, weeping.

Fu Ye panted as he stared at the blazing tower.

It was beyond saving.

The firelight reddened his face, and the mountain wind grew fiercer with the heat. He directed the evacuation as embers rained down like a storm of fire.

"Have the noble residents of this courtyard been evacuated?" he asked the Inner Official overseeing the efforts.

Tearfully, the official replied, "We've sent people to check."

Fu Ye raced toward the Lady of Chu's quarters. Behind him, the towering pagoda was now a blazing pillar, its gilt bronze wind-bells crashing down in the blaze, striking the ground with thunderous booms.

Mount Yongchang was the only peak near the capital, and the flames, visible for miles, alarmed the entire city.

Fu Huang, enduring a headache while reviewing petitions, heard shouts outside. Eunuch Qin burst in, crying, "Your Majesty, disaster—Chonghua Temple is on fire!"

Fu Huang rushed out of Qingyuan Palace to find minor Inner Officials kneeling with clasped hands, gazing upward. Beyond the palace roofs, the Yongfu Pagoda's flames lashed the night sky.