Ch 18: When the Wild Goose Returns

Emperor Wen He felt a chill settle deep in his chest.

Yesterday it had stormed. Today, from the break of dawn, not a cloud in the sky—clear and warm, far more pleasant than the day before. And yet, standing on the rain-washed walkway, gazing up at the endless blue above, he felt so cold he nearly shivered.

A ridiculous thought occurred to him—why must a man take three wives and four concubines?

If he’d had only one wife, and she gave birth to ten daughters, at least no one would say it was his fault. But now? He was the emperor, with a harem of three thousand women, all striving to bear his heirs—and still, ten daughters.

No, wait. Now it was eleven.

Could it still be the women’s fault? One woman, maybe. But eleven? All of them?

Impossible. Surely the whole world was laughing at his inability to produce a son.

“Your Majesty?”

Liu Zhengping, ever observant, cautiously reminded him—after all, the emperor had been standing there far too long.

“What are you shouting for?”

Liu Zhengping quickly dropped to his knees.

But Emperor Wen He wasn’t truly angry. He simply lifted his feet and made his way toward Huafeng Palace.

As he entered, the once lively Huafeng Palace was unnaturally quiet. The palace maids held their breath, and upon seeing the emperor, bowed with heads lowered so deeply they nearly touched the floor.

“Empress.”

Emperor Wen He forced a smile as he stepped into the inner chamber, approaching the bed.

The empress was pale, her expression drained and lifeless.

She didn’t rise, didn’t even attempt to get out of bed when he entered. Not that he minded.

He sat beside her, gently took her hand, and offered a warm, smiling tone. “The empress has worked hard to bear Zhen (Royal “I” for an emperor) another little princess.”

“Heh.”

The empress yanked her hand away and turned her face to the other side of the bed.

On any other day, she would’ve turned the entire palace upside down—she’d never allow Su Ruqing a moment of peace. But this? She had carried the empire’s hopes… and given birth to yet another princess.

Her heart was weighed down. She didn’t dare make a scene.

The only small comfort was that, outwardly at least, the emperor’s attitude toward her hadn’t changed. He didn’t seem dissatisfied that she’d borne a daughter.

Just then, Nanny Gu stepped in, forehead beaded with sweat. She hesitated upon seeing the emperor but steeled herself and reported, “Your Majesty, Your Grace… the little princess won’t stop crying. She simply won’t sleep.”

The empress grabbed the pillow beside her and hurled it at her head, snapping angrily, “Useless wretch! You can’t even handle a baby—what use are you wet nurses at all?!”

Nanny Gu dropped to her knees in fright. “Please spare me, Your Grace!”

“Calm down, calm down,” Emperor Wen He quickly stepped in, gently patting her back.

He coaxed her as one might a child. “Ah, it’s perfectly normal for babies to cry. Maybe she just misses her mother.”

He signaled Nanny Gu to bring the princess over. She obeyed, quickly returning with the baby in her arms.

Emperor Wen He took the child with a smile. He tried handing the little princess to the empress, but she wouldn’t even look at him, instead turning her back to face the wall.

With no other choice, he held the child himself, softly humming to soothe her.

The princess’s wailing eventually quieted, and she snuggled into her father’s arms, drifting off to sleep.

A small sense of accomplishment welled up in him.

He glanced over, eager to share his success with the empress—but all he saw was her cold back. The smile on his face slowly faded.

He carefully handed the sleeping baby back to Nanny Gu, whispering a few instructions.

Then he turned toward the empress once more and said gently, “Rest well, Empress. Take good care of your health.”

She didn’t so much as flinch.

Emperor Wen He rubbed his nose, telling himself this was understandable. Childbirth was hard, and the empress had always had a bit of a temper.

He let it go, instructed the palace staff to tend to her properly, and left Huafeng Palace.

“Your Majesty, Concubine Mei just sent word, inviting Your Majesty to rest in her quarters,” Liu Zhengping said, approaching again and watching his expression carefully.

Seeing that the emperor showed no interest, he quickly added, “Also, word is that the willows in Lady Shu’s Jinghua Palace have begun to bud. Your Majesty mentioned last winter you wanted to see the first budding branches in the palace.”

“I did?”

“Ah, then let’s go take a look,” Wen He said offhandedly.

He strolled toward Jinghua Palace, Liu Zhengping beside him. Along the way, Liu quietly arranged for someone to fetch Chang Bai.

They stopped at a quiet corner. Liu leaned in and murmured to Chang Bai, “Keep an eye on the one in Yuge Palace. Make sure the palace maids don’t slack off. Use some discretion.”

Chang Bai, with long lashes lowered, respectfully replied, “I went this morning and gave instructions. After my midday shift, I’ll bring some trinkets to keep her entertained.”

“Good child,” Liu Zhengping nodded, pleased.

This was why he favored Chang Bai—so sensible. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have saved him or raised him at his side.

The one in Yuge Palace was none other than Su Ruqing.

Since that night of favor, she had never left the palace and was now housed in Yuge Palace.

Strictly speaking, receiving imperial favor without an official title meant she shouldn’t have a palace to herself.

But she was the legitimate eldest daughter of Prince Xingyuan.

By rank alone, even the empress couldn’t compare.

As Chang Bai made his way to Yuge Palace after finishing his midday shift, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him from the shadows.

His gaze darkened slightly. As he rounded a moon gate, he stopped and turned toward a rustle in the bushes. “Come out.”

Qing’er stepped out with her head bowed, cautiously approaching him. Her voice was timid. “I… I just wanted to thank Master Chang Bai again… for your help…”

A lone palace maid, with no one to rely on, was often bullied in this deep and treacherous court.

But she felt lucky—Chang Bai had helped her several times recently.

He might be young, but he was Eunuch Liu’s adopted son. Everyone in the palace treated him with the utmost respect.

The young palace maid had no idea why Master Chang Bai helped her.
But no matter the reason, she still ought to thank him.

She shyly held out a pair of cloth shoes she had sewn overnight, her cheeks glowing red.
“Qing’er has nothing to repay Your Lordship with, s-so… I just made these…”

Chang Bai’s gaze dropped to the frostbitten patches on her hands.

His lips curled slowly into a smile—gentle as a sunny day in April.
He took the shoes and praised softly, “You did very well.”

Qing’er’s cheeks flushed even redder.
She stole a glance up at him and then quickly lowered her gaze again.

Just as Chang Bai turned to leave, she finally couldn’t hold back her question:
“Master Chang Bai… why do you help me?”

He seemed to think for a moment, then gave a clean, sincere smile.
“Because your name is beautiful.”

Qing’er blinked in confusion.
Her name? Pretty?

Qing’er was such an ordinary name—there had to be hundreds, even thousands of girls in the realm with the same one. What was so beautiful about it?

Without meaning to, she asked, “Did someone else you knew… also have the name Qing’er?”

Chang Bai gently lifted her chin, his fingers brushing the dimple at the corner of her lips.

Though his smile was still pure, the girl found herself staring into his eyes—drawn into their depths like a bottomless abyss.

She shivered.

“She was my childhood sweetheart,” he said. “And my wife.”

A strange fire kindled in his clear eyes—hot enough to burn.
But that fire quickly went out, and in its place, his dark eyes filled with a tangle of remorse and hatred.

He staggered back, his face pale as paper.

The overwhelming force of his hatred threatened to swallow him whole, as if he were trapped in the flames of hell.

He hated his own cowardice—how, on their wedding day, he had handed her over to someone else.
He hated how all he could do was watch as she was killed.

He clung to a single thread of her lingering soul, torturing himself with guilt every waking moment, shackling himself in a prison of endless suffering.

Body broken, spirit damned—he stayed alive only to keep tasting the pain.

Just like the scars that marred the fair skin beneath his fine robes, each carved there by his own hand.

Death was too easy. He hadn’t suffered enough yet.

---

“Brother Chang Bai!”

Qing Yan jolted awake from her nightmare, drenched in sweat.

Realizing whom she had called out to, she slapped herself hard across the cheek.

The blow was so forceful her soft white skin immediately turned red and swollen.

Just then, Wen Xi pushed the door open and jumped in surprise.
“What on earth happened?”

She set down a copper basin and rushed over.

Qing Yan blinked slowly, then said, “Just a bad dream.
A ghost the size of a rat was making faces on my pillow.
I was trying to slap it away.”

She turned and smiled with crescent eyes.

Wen Xi scowled. “And? Did you kill the little ghost?”

Qing Yan pointed solemnly at Wen Xi’s face. “It ran over to your face instead.”

And then she burst into laughter, carefree and silly.

Wen Xi couldn’t be bothered to entertain her nonsense.

“You’ve slept until noon again.
Are you still going to Prince Kang’s manor today?”

Qing Yan rubbed her swollen cheek, hesitating.
“The Empress didn’t want me in the palace to begin with, and she convinced the Emperor of Yi using the excuse of the coming heir.
But now that she’s given birth—and it’s a princess again—my chances of entering the palace have grown.”

She sighed.

“I was hoping to make Prince Zhan dislike me enough to reject the marriage himself.
If word didn’t reach the palace, even if it did later and the Emperor got angry, he might toss me into the Cold Palace, which would suit me just fine.
But I might’ve overplayed it. The Eldest Princess saw me…”

“If she talks to the Emperor and firmly opposes my entry into the palace, what then?”

Qing Yan groaned, tugging at Wen Xi’s fingers pitifully. “Isn’t there a third option?”

“With political marriages, it’s normal to enter the palace as a consort, not an empress.
But being married off as a secondary wife to a prince? That’s an insult to Tao.
There’s only one eligible man left—Prince Zhan.”

Qing Yan flopped onto her pillow and grumbled.

After a long pause, she muttered weakly, “Dress me ugly today… I’m going to see that bald monk again…”

---

Prince Zhan, Duan Wucuo, had also risen late today.

After waking, he spent a long time soaking in the Yunjiao Pool before finally emerging.
Now he stood by the window, lazily copying Buddhist scripture to pass the time.

His ink-black hair was half-dry, draped over his snow-satin inner robe.

Though Buddhist practice called for asceticism and coarse robes, Duan Wucuo’s inner layers were always the finest silk.

Fresh from the bath, he radiated a languid elegance—yet beneath the monk’s robes, the divine nobility he normally kept hidden shimmered through.

Duan Wuyu was wheeled in by a servant.

He asked, “Ah Jiu, your sutra study ends in six months.
What are your plans?

Your princely manor was destroyed in that fire years ago and still hasn’t been rebuilt. Is it time to start preparations?
Or will you return to your fief in Zhan Yuan?”

“So Fifth Brother’s trying to kick me out.”

Duan Wucuo didn’t look up, still casually writing scripture.

“I would never!”

Duan Wuyu gave a half-laugh, half-groan. “It’s just… I’ve never been able to guess what you’re really thinking.
But I suppose that’s true for everyone—no one can read you.”

Then, after hesitating, he added, “Do you intend to bring Tao into Yi’s borders?”

Duan Wucuo replied indifferently, “Taking Tao Kingdom is easy. Taking ten kingdoms would be no trouble.
But just because I can take them doesn’t mean my imperial brother can hold them.”

Duan Wuyu chuckled bitterly.

Only his ninth brother would dare say such a thing.

Duan Wucuo suddenly tossed aside his brush in irritation. “I’m his brother, not his wet nurse.”

Duan Wuyu almost blurted out, Do you mean to take his place?

But he didn’t. He didn’t need to.

Because he knew Duan Wucuo never would.

Still, he had to admit—“wet nurse” was an apt word. His ninth brother had always cared for the emperor like a bitter, reluctant caretaker.

After a while, Duan Wuyu laughed again.
“Ah Jiu, you ought to marry.
Hurry up and have a baby for my son Zhao Wei to bully.”

“Haven’t seen anyone I like.”

Duan Wucuo spoke offhandedly.

And it was true. He hadn’t refused marriage for some strange reason—he simply hadn’t met anyone who pleased him.

Just then, Bu Er knocked at the door.

Scratching his bald head with a distressed look, he announced,
“Your Highness… Princess Huachao is here again!”

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