IMPERIAL FAVOUR - CHAPTER 1

Autumn in the Great Jin Dynasty was bitterly cold. Unlike the piercing gales of winter, it was a desolate chill that sent withered leaves swirling; a mournful, sobbing wind that wound around the heart, making one feel utterly wretched.

Today was overcast and dreary, making the Cold Palace appear even more bleak and forsaken. Aside from a few skeletal trees rustling in the wind before the gates, not even a crow would deign to fly here.

Tang Zhuozhuo lay upon a dilapidated couch. After staring blankly out the window for only a few moments, she was seized by a violent fit of coughing. An Xia, who had just stepped out to fetch water, hurried back into the room at the sound. Upon seeing her mistress's state, the maid’s heart hammered with alarm.

The woman lying on the thick wooden planks was as pale as paper. Her already thin face had wasted away until it was barely the size of a palm. Her long hair lay scattered in disarray across her shoulders and the pillow, yet her gaze had softened with an unprecedented gentleness.

An Xia hastily handed her a handkerchief, her face etched with worry.

Tang Zhuozhuo felt a churning upheaval in her stomach, a mixture of searing pain and dull numbness. Once her breathing leveled out, she pulled the silk cloth away. The plain white fabric, washed thin from use, was now stained with a pool of black blood, containing clotted fragments.

An Xia immediately covered her mouth to stifle a sob. Sinking to the floor before Tang Zhuozhuo, she took the handkerchief from her hand and pleaded in a low, broken voice, "My Lady, you are so ill... please, lower your pride and seek the Emperor’s forgiveness. I beg of you."

Hearing this, Tang Zhuozhuo’s eyes, clear as spring water, remained tranquil. She made a taxing effort to lift an arm as thin as a withered branch and patted An Xia’s head, whispering, "These past few years... cough... you have suffered alongside me."

An Xia’s grip on the handkerchief turned her knuckles white. Wiping her tears, she shook her head. "My Lady has always been kind to me. I do not suffer."

Finishing her words, she hurried out to wash the cloth before returning with a basin of fresh water. "My Lady, please rinse your mouth."

Tang Zhuozhuo’s lips quirked slightly as she gave a faint, nodding smile.

Dark clouds soon swallowed the sky above the Cold Palace; it looked as though a tempest was imminent. Tang Zhuozhuo’s expression tightened in pain as the damp chill deep in her bones began to ache again. Her dark, lustrous hair at her temples grew damp from her silent endurance, and every breath she drew felt like a sharp, startling sting.

"An Xia, stop fussing. Come and talk with me for a while." Tang Zhuozhuo’s voice was frail. Submissively, An Xia moved a small stool, missing half a leg, to the bedside to keep watch.

Thunder rumbled outside. Tang Zhuozhuo glanced toward the sound, pointing at the barren tree outside the window. "I remember when we first arrived, that jujube tree flourished beautifully. To think it has come to this."

The stars had shifted and the world had turned; three years had truly changed so much.

An Xia followed her gaze, feeling sentimental. "I remember Your Ladyship once took me to pick the jujubes. They were so sweet and crisp."

Tang Zhuozhuo’s gaze dimmed. When she had first entered the Cold Palace, her temperament was not one that could settle into silence; she had found many ways to seek joy amidst the bitterness. But as time wore on, her restless passion and agitation had all settled like sediment, until she seemed a different person entirely.

She was born to a life of pampered nobility. As soon as she reached her hair-pinning ceremony, the late Emperor had betrothed her to the Crown Prince, the current Emperor Chongjian. When the late Emperor passed, she became the Mother of the Realm, the Mistress of the Central Palace. Her status was beyond reproach.

Yet, despite such noble standing, she had ended up in the Cold Palace.

Recalling something, Tang Zhuozhuo tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and smiled with a hint of bashfulness. "I wonder... how he is doing."

This long, haunting sigh carried a peculiar emotion, causing An Xia to lower her eyes and press her lips together.

She naturally knew who the "he" in Tang Zhuozhuo’s heart was. It was precisely because of that Young General of the Wang family that Her Ladyship had quarreled so bitterly with His Majesty and been sent here.

What was most hateful was that General Wang; he clearly knew Her Ladyship's feelings, yet he continued to provoke and entice her. Despite being a married man, he had misled Her Ladyship into committing such follies. He was truly detestable.

It was no wonder His Majesty had banished him to a remote frontier to guard the imperial tombs. He deserved it!

That night, the torrential rain arrived. The quilt covering Tang Zhuozhuo was damp and thin; droplets of rain even leaked through, splashing onto her face and hair.

The Cold Palace roofs leaked. She had endured such hardships more than once, and there was no choice but to suffer through it.

Only this time, she could hold on no longer. A copper-sweet taste surged into Tang Zhuozhuo’s throat. Her fingers twitched slightly, but she could not make a sound. Her vision gradually faded into darkness.

--

In Qianqing Palace, Emperor Chongjian had just set down his brush. The incense burner in the hall was scented with Western pine, a fragrance both soothing and crisp. Leaning back against the large red sandalwood chair, he listened to the pitter-patter of rain outside and asked indifferently, "Is it raining?"

The Head Eunuch of the Imperial Presence had served him for many years and was an expert at reading his moods. He replied softly in the affirmative.

Emperor Chongjian pressed his well-defined fingers against his temples. Zhang Desheng immediately hurried over on tiptoe to massage his shoulders. Noticing the exhaustion etched between the Emperor’s stern brows, he asked tentatively, "Is Your Majesty worried about Her Ladyship?"

The Emperor’s slender fingers stilled. The ice in his voice was more biting than the rain outside. "Your courage has certainly grown of late."

Zhang Desheng’s breath hitched. He immediately slapped his own mouth in penance, lowering his head and daring not to speak further.

With His Majesty's iron-willed temperament, any mention of the one in the Cold Palace would turn even the best of moods into a violent rage. She was a forbidden subject.

Zhang Desheng gazed at the pouring rain outside, thinking he should tell the servants in the Palace Household Department, those sycophants who stepped on the fallen, to send some supplies over. After all, that Lady still held the position of the Central Palace, even if she resided in the Cold Palace.

As long as the Emperor had not issued an edict to depose the Empress, she remained the most noble of mistresses.

Zhang Desheng had served Emperor Chongjian since childhood, yet he found himself increasingly unable to fathom the sovereign’s mind.

If His Majesty still cared for her, he stubbornly refused to admit it. Yet, if one were to say there was no affection left, why was he willing to sit atop the walls of the Cold Palace night after night?

But then he thought of how the one in the Cold Palace had her heart entirely set on another man, and he couldn't help but fall into a chilling silence.

Just then, some noise drifted in from outside, mingled with the sound of sobbing.

Emperor Chongjian’s eyes snapped open, a wave of irritability rising in his chest. "Go see what is happening."

Sensing the impatience in his voice, Zhang Desheng flicked his horsetail whisk and hurried to the outer hall.

"What is this? How dare you make such a racket before the Emperor? Have you no regard for your lives?"

At his shrill reprimand, the two people in dispute stopped.

One was Su'er, the head maid of Consort Zhong of Yili Palace. She held a food container in her hand. One look and Zhang Desheng understood, she was under orders to deliver snacks to His Majesty.

The other woman was dressed in rags. Her thin outer garment was drenched through by the rain, and water dripped from her hair. She looked utterly wretched. She didn't speak, but simply knelt there with a deathly stillness. It was An Xia.

Su'er glanced at An Xia with disdain before quickly switching to a smiling face. "Eunuch Zhang, my Mistress, asked me to bring some handmade snacks for His Majesty."

With a look from Zhang Desheng, a young eunuch stepped forward to take the container. Zhang Desheng smiled meaningfully. "I shall present them to His Majesty."

Only then did Su'er take her umbrella and depart.

Zhang Desheng sighed, helping the kneeling An Xia up. "Those from the Palace of Yili Palace have such tempers. Why have you come? Did Her Ladyship give you instructions?"

His attitude toward An Xia was decent; they were both old servants from the Crown Prince’s Estate, after all. Furthermore, Tang Zhuozhuo had shown him many kindnesses in the past, so he had to show her some face.

Seeing An Xia bite her lip in silence, Zhang Desheng could only stand and say, "I fear you cannot enter the hall today. If Her Ladyship has a message, I can relay it to His Majesty."

An Xia’s voice was so low it almost vanished into the sound of the rain.

"My Lady is gone," she choked out, tears streaming down her face. "The roof was leaking just now... I lit a lamp to check on her, only to find..."

The wrinkles on Zhang Desheng’s face twitched. He nearly dropped his whisk. Abandoning all decorum, he grabbed An Xia and dragged her into the hall to kneel.

As if sensing something, Emperor Chongjian’s eagle-sharp eyes fell upon An Xia. A sudden, cold unease bloomed in the depths of his heart.

When Tang Zhuozhuo regained consciousness, she found herself floating helplessly above her own corpse.

The version of her lying on the hard wooden bed was as pale as a ghost, her lips turning purple. Not to mention the bed was stained with blood; even she found it difficult to look at.

So. My soul has left my body

Tang Zhuozhuo gazed at her lifeless self, her eyes filled with sorrow.

A woman of the Cold Palace, even if she still held the title of Empress, was usually buried in haste and forgotten.

Just as she was thinking this, a bright yellow figure swept into the room like a gust of wind. In an instant, he saw her lying there, breathless and still. Behind him stumbled the sobbing An Xia, Zhang Desheng, and the others.

Tang Zhuozhuo’s eyes widened. She had not expected Emperor Chongjian to come to a place like the Cold Palace.

After three years apart, he was still the same cold, stern man of her memories, but his eyes were bloodshot and his powerful hands were clenched into tight fists.

His bright yellow dragon robe was stained with salty rainwater and became wrinkled. Tang Zhuozhuo followed behind him involuntarily, unable to control her movements.

Inside and outside the room, a great crowd of people knelt. Even some well-informed consorts had arrived, kneeling in the rain with mournful expressions. Tang Zhuozhuo felt nothing as she watched them.

She watched as Emperor Chongjian personally wiped her cold corpse clean, not even overlooking the black blood at the corners of her mouth. His expression was terrifying, yet his movements were as gentle as if he were handling the world's most precious treasure.

Tang Zhuozhuo felt a lump in her throat.

"We sent Wang Yi to guard the tombs. He married a wife three years ago. In the end, you still did not believe Us."

This was the first sentence Tang Zhuozhuo heard the Emperor speak. These words were like a gale that tore down the layers of self-delusion in her heart. Though she was a spirit, she felt a piercing cold throughout her being.

"We were always waiting for you to come back, yet you preferred to die in the Cold Palace."

The man’s deep voice carried a rare hint of fragility, mixed with an indescribable, doting tenderness.

Tang Zhuozhuo had never seen this side of Emperor Chongjian. He had always been a decisive, ruthless sovereign. Aside from coldness and rage, she had never seen another emotion on his face. To see it now, in such a setting...

Her soul drifted for a month. She floated to the desolate Imperial Tombs in Jiangyuan, where she saw Wang Yi cursing her in secret. She also saw the dozen or so concubines in his back courtyard.

From the death of her heart to total realization, it took only a few short days. The fantasies that three years of hardship in the Cold Palace could not erase were ground into ash. Looking back, she found her former self laughable.

Tang Zhuozhuo returned to the Imperial Palace. She drifted into Qianqing Palace, watching the man she had never cared for as he fell into a silent, despondent gloom. She saw the scroll he had painted, a portrait of her—and heard him call out an unsettled, "Jiaojiao," in his sleep.

It was true. Before they had fallen out, he loved to call her Jiaojiao in a low, husky voice during their most intimate moments.

She grew increasingly weak, unable to go anywhere else. She spent her days in Qianqing Palace watching Emperor Chongjian. When he reviewed memorials, she would lean in to look. His calligraphy was exquisite, though it was a pity she understood nothing of state affairs.

On the final day, Tang Zhuozhuo’s form was nearly transparent. She felt a lingering regret, finally understanding why she had encountered such a strange phenomenon as this.

Perhaps even the Heavens could not bear to watch. Her life had reached the pinnacle of glory, only to end in such desolation because she had failed to see people for who they truly were.

That evening, the much-thinner Emperor stood with his hands behind his back, gazing at the portrait spread across the desk. His usual piercing aura was entirely retracted.

Tang Zhuozhuo drifted to his side, catching the refreshing scent of mint. The Emperor stroked the cheek of the person in the portrait and finally spoke.

"Jiaojiao, when We die after a hundred years, shall We be buried together with you? Is that okay?"

"Though I wonder if you will lose your temper again."

The man's helpless voice reached Tang Zhuozhuo’s ears. Using every ounce of her strength, she reached out and brushed her fingers against his warm palm. Immediately after, her vision plunged into total darkness.