The weather, which had grown hotter day by day, suddenly plunged into a sharp cold snap.
Everyone said it was heaven showing no mercy. The overcast skies only deepened the mournful atmosphere of the national mourning period.
In addition to the imperial clansmen, all civil and military officials were required to observe mourning for twenty-seven days. The royal temples and Taoist halls rang their bells thirty thousand times. Commoners were forbidden from drinking alcohol or reveling for a hundred days, and no weddings or funerals could take place for a full month.
Brothels and taverns shuttered their doors, while teahouses saw a boom in business.
Though storytelling and entertainment were off-limits, groups of three or five could still gather around a table to chat about major events in the capital—a fine way to pass the time.
Lately, the capital’s gossip had revolved around just three topics.
The first was Emperor Yuanwen’s deathbed edict, in which he claimed his deepest reluctance to part with his youngest son. He wanted Prince Yu to keep vigil by his coffin for life, never to set foot outside again.
Any clear-eyed person could see that “reluctance” was just an excuse. This was house arrest in all but name. Layer that atop the second matter, and it grew even clearer: right before his death, Emperor Yuanwen had rescinded the marriage grant he’d just bestowed on Prince Yu, canceling the wedding with the Shi family.
Taken together, these two events screamed one thing: Prince Yu must have fallen from Emperor Yuanwen’s favor while he was still alive.
Some bold tongues claimed it was the new emperor—the former crown prince, now Emperor Hongjing—who feared Prince Yu and didn’t want him anywhere near the throne.
Theories abounded. Though no one had been at Emperor Yuanwen’s bedside when he passed, people spoke with vivid certainty. Some even insisted the crown prince had forced his father to draft and seal the edicts in his final moments.
The public’s image of the crown prince had always been that of a mild-mannered, kind-hearted heir plagued by frail health. Now, suddenly, he was being painted as a scheming mastermind—but that brought them to the third matter.
After Emperor Yuanwen’s passing, the civil and military ministers escorted the crown prince to the throne. Preparations were underway for the new emperor’s ascension ceremony and the empress’s enfeoffment rite when the new emperor’s very first decree stunned everyone: he announced his divorce from the Crown Princess.
The world had heard of deposed consorts and women cast into cold palaces, but a royal divorce? That was unheard of.
The Censorate submitted memorials begging him to reconsider. Duke Xie’s family were three-generation pillars of the realm, their merits unmatched. And the Crown Princess herself had no faults to her name.
The unspoken accusation was clear: the Xie family had labored to put you on the throne, and now, the moment you ascend, you cast aside their daughter?
No matter how delicately you phrase it as a “mutual divorce,” to outsiders, it was just a polite way of discarding a consort.
Yet the new emperor seemed resolute, refusing to yield an inch.
Once that imperial decree went out, Xie Zhaoran became the capital’s hottest topic—and its biggest joke.
People had just been saying how unlucky Miss Shi of the Shi family was, her marriage granted by imperial decree only to be revoked in an unprecedented snub. Then the new emperor’s edict dropped, and jaws hit the floor.
This wasn’t just unprecedented; it might never happen again. Overnight, Xie Zhaoran plummeted from her lofty perch as Crown Princess—half a step from becoming empress—to the punchline everyone snickered at.
Shi Yuning had heard it all these past few days. Even the auntie selling radishes from her own plot by the roadside had a few choice words.
They called Xie Zhaoran unlucky, figuring she must have done something unforgivably wicked in secret.
It made Shi Yuning furious on her behalf. Xie Zhaoran was such a good person.
But Shi Yuning couldn’t explain herself to every idle gossip, nor could she punch every rumormonger. These days, she was so angry she refused to step out the door.
That evening at the Shi family dinner table, the whole household sat with furrowed brows and heavy hearts. A feast lay before them, but no one had an appetite.
Tu Chunhua glared at a massive plate of braised pork knuckle and jabbed it viciously several times.
“That damned Prince Yu! He couldn’t behave himself, and now he’s dragged our Ningning down with him.”
“What kind of nonsense is this? Shi Minda, say something! What are we going to do now?”
“The whole capital’s saying Prince Yu must have committed some crime. Anyone tangled up with him—like our family—is in for trouble.”
“That’s the least of it. We never aimed for riches or glory anyway. But those wretches are saying our Ningning, having been betrothed to Prince Yu, will never find a match now!”
Shi Minda mimicked his wife, poking holes in the knuckle with his chopsticks. He was no less furious than she was.
Tu Chunhua was a housewife who rarely ventured out, but Shi Minda had heard far worse on the streets these past days—words too vile to repeat.
“Why don’t we just go back to the countryside?” Shi Minda slammed his chopsticks into the meat, steeling his resolve as he turned to Shi Yuning. “What do you think, Ningning? You’ve always wanted to go back.”
“Huh? What did you say?” Shi Yuning snapped out of her daze at the sound of her father’s voice. She hadn’t caught a word.
Shi Minda assumed his daughter was heartsick from the rumors. He lowered his voice gently. “Father means, should we return to Jiangnan?”
Shi Yuning nodded absently. “Sure, we should go back and visit Grandma sometime.”
Tu Chunhua and Shi Minda exchanged a glance. Pointless—they’d wasted their breath. The girl wasn’t listening at all.
They ignored her and huddled together to brainstorm countermeasures. For once, they were perfectly in sync, both thinking of the Lu family who’d come to the capital with them—and Lu Wenzhou.
Shi Yuning paid no mind to their discussion. Her thoughts lingered on the vicious things she’d overheard about Xie Zhaoran that day.
She knew she’d been the capital’s laughingstock not long ago. She still couldn’t fathom why the crown prince had made such a public spectacle of the divorce decree.
It felt so rushed, so blunt—like there was no room for maneuver, no preparation at all.
She was one of the few who knew Xie Zhaoran and the crown prince had signed a divorce writ privately. Even she had been shocked by the public edict. How much more so the common folk?
She wondered how Xie Zhaoran was faring now. Lately, the talk was all about how her future marriage prospects were ruined.
Truth be told, Shi Yuning wasn’t worried about herself at all. She had no desire to marry, so this saved her the trouble of excuses.
But Xie Zhaoran? Shi Yuning’s heart churned with unease. Back then, she’d only asked if Xie Zhaoran liked the crown prince. She’d forgotten to ask if Xie Zhaoran had anyone else she truly cared for.
Maybe Xie Zhaoran did want to marry—just not the crown prince.
In that case, her current situation spelled disaster for any future match. Shi Yuning had no idea what kind of man might catch Xie Zhaoran’s eye.
For some reason, the thought of Xie Zhaoran marrying made her chest tighten uncomfortably.
She wolfed down dinner and retreated to her room, tossing and turning on the bed. She racked her brains but couldn’t pinpoint why she felt so wretched.
Maybe it was because she and Xie Zhaoran were friends now. As a friend, it was natural to care about her romantic future, right?
Yes, that must be it. Shi Yuning recalled her village friend whose family had arranged a marriage. She’d fretted endlessly: Was the man decent? Would he mistreat her? Would her friend be happy?
At the wedding, Shi Yuning had even warned the groom not to bully her dear friend.
If Xie Zhaoran fancied some man and planned to wed, Shi Yuning resolved to give him the same stern talking-to.
She wondered what sort of fellow could win Xie Zhaoran’s heart.
Since Xie Zhaoran was willing to forsake the empress’s throne, power clearly meant little to her. If power didn’t matter, nor did wealth.
Perhaps she preferred a man who was healthy and strong? Broad-shouldered and sturdy?
Shi Yuning prodded her own arm. Her muscles weren’t as toned as Xie Zhaoran’s.
No, what good was her own sturdiness? She wasn’t a man.
Troubled thoughts swirled. She hadn’t seen Xie Zhaoran since Emperor Yuanwen’s death. How was she holding up?
Shi Yuning gazed up through the window lattice at the moon outside. Tonight, it was half-hidden, its glow dim.
Drifting clouds swept by, occasionally veiling it entirely.
She watched for a moment, then sat bolt upright. If the moon was hidden, couldn’t she go find Xie Zhaoran herself?
Shi Yuning hurried to the pear wood wardrobe and dug out a neatly folded set of night clothes from the back.
These were the ones Xie Zhaoran had prepared for her on their last nocturnal outing.
She recalled first meeting Xie Zhaoran, the jolt she’d felt at the sight of that copper head mask. On Xie Zhaoran’s face, it had been downright frightening.
Perhaps she could get one like it. Then, when they sneaked out together, everyone would know they were a pair at a glance.
She’d ask Xie Zhaoran where she’d had it made. That was a solid excuse—at least, that’s what she’d tell her when they met.
At Xie Duke’s Mansion, Xie Zhen had returned from the border defenses with his wife to observe the national mourning.
The men had all entered the palace to attend the new emperor, leaving only Xie Zhaoran and her mother, Lin Feiying, whom she rarely saw.
Lin Feiying had followed Xie Zhen to the Northern Borderlands after giving birth to Xie Zhaoran, and she felt deep guilt toward the daughter left in the capital.
But circumstances had left her no choice. Besides, the Xie family had long arranged with the empress that Xie Zhaoran would wed the crown prince one day.
Sending her into the palace young was meant to help her adapt to court life.
She never imagined Xie Zhaoran would secretly divorce the crown prince behind their backs, catching them all off guard.
“Zhaoran, you’ve always been so clever, never once worrying your family. How could you be so foolish this time?”
“Do you really think the emperor calling it a ‘divorce’ means you’ll part as easily as common folk, no strings attached?”
“What nonsense! Even if the world accepts it as a divorce, you were once the emperor’s woman. Do you think any other man in this realm would dare marry you?”
The more Lin Feiying spoke, the more her heart ached. How could Xie Zhaoran have blundered so badly?
Xie Zhaoran finished her last bite of rice, took a sip of tea, and only then seemed to notice the person across from her. She looked up.
Lin Feiying met those calm, emotionless eyes and flinched, her gaze darting away.
She didn’t know when it had started, but Xie Zhaoran’s looks toward her had become so polite and detached—no trace of a daughter’s dependence on her mother.
Lin Feiying regretted it deeply. Perhaps she should have paid more attention to her daughter back then. But the Northern Borderlands had been in crisis; she had no choice.
Xie Zhaoran must resent her. Lin Feiying had waited for her daughter to question why she’d been abandoned, to cry, to rage, to vent. But Xie Zhaoran never had.
It was as if she’d accepted it effortlessly, never mentioning it—not even once.
That left Lin Feiying unable to broach an explanation.
Once Xie Zhaoran grew older and the border stabilized, allowing them to return to the capital, Lin Feiying had tried to make amends.
She remembered when Xie Zhaoran was seven. When she’d asked about her studies to show concern, what had her daughter said?
Right: Since you’d already left me behind from the start, what happens to me now has little to do with you.
Even if she failed at her lessons, no one would blame Lin Feiying’s poor teaching—because she’d never taught her at all.
The memory stabbed at Lin Feiying’s heart. She wanted to say more, but Xie Zhaoran’s impassive expression choked the words in her throat.
Xie Zhaoran noticed her mother’s reddening eyes but felt no ripples in her heart. She was long past the age of needing a mother’s comfort.
Seeing her fall silent, Xie Zhaoran drained her tea and rose to take her leave.
From childhood, this vast duke’s mansion had held only her as its mistress. Her father, mother, and brothers were all at the border. She was accustomed to deciding everything alone.
It wasn’t so bad—total freedom, no need to explain herself to anyone.
Though it was a little lonely…
Leaving the main courtyard, Xie Zhaoran headed toward her own when she spotted Qiangdi hurrying over before she reached the gate.
“What is it?” Xie Zhaoran halted and asked.
Qiangdi glanced around, then leaned in to whisper so only they could hear.
“The shadow guards watching Miss Shi report movement. Miss Shi has slipped out in night clothes.”
Xie Zhaoran’s heart skipped. Where was she going at this hour?
“Keep eyes on her. I’ll be right there.”
After instructing Qiangdi, Xie Zhaoran hurried back to her room. She donned her own night clothes, unlocked the double buckle chest, and retrieved the beast head mask. As she moved to put it on, Qiangdi returned with another report.
“Mistress, the shadow guards say Miss Shi seems to be heading straight for our duke’s mansion…”
Xie Zhaoran’s hand froze mid-motion.
She stood stunned for a moment, then her lips curved into a smile in the darkness, mirroring the crescent moon outside.
Shi Yuning cursed her own impulse. She’d forgotten she’d never been to Xie Duke’s Mansion before. How was she supposed to find Xie Zhaoran in a place this huge?
“Hey, careful—that’s all for the young miss’s night snack. Don’t spill any.”
Shi Yuning startled at the sound of footsteps and ducked behind a garden rockery. Two maids entered through the moon gate, each carrying a black-lacquered gold-trimmed tray laden with covered bowls and dishes—clearly something tasty.
They mentioned the young miss’s night snack, and Shi Yuning’s eyes lit up. Who else could that be but Xie Zhaoran?
Talk about perfect timing. Her luck had been stellar tonight: no one on the approach, and she’d scaled the wall just as the guards changed shifts—again, no one spotted her.
She was on a roll.
The maids proceeded along the covered walkway with their trays. Shi Yuning trailed after them.
After a stretch, she pouted in dismay. She’d worried Xie Zhaoran was too upset to eat, but apparently her appetite was fine. It wasn’t even that late—already craving a night snack?
Shi Yuning punched a pillar in frustration, misjudging her strength. Pain shot through her knuckles, making her grimace.
Fearing discovery, she darted behind the pillar and peeked out. Seeing no alarm, she exhaled in relief.
The maids were nearly out of sight. Shi Yuning steeled herself, crouched low, and crept after them with care.
