The days in the Phoenix Perch Palace carried a suffocating oppression that seeped into everything.
Xiao Yuhuang—or rather, Her Majesty the Phoenix Emperor—came almost every night.
When she arrived, sometimes she carried the faint chill of morning dew, sometimes the lingering scent of ink from the imperial study, sometimes a trace of weariness between her brows after handling thorny state affairs.
She was not always talkative. At times, she would simply sit on the couch by the window, flipping through a book by the palace lamps, or reviewing a few less urgent memorials. I would usually recline on the bed or sit on a chair opposite, holding a book myself, or gazing absentmindedly out the window.
An unusual stillness flowed through the air. She no longer displayed the intense possession and scrutiny of our first meeting. Instead, there was more of a… quiet companionship, and a "gentleness" embedded within omnipresent, meticulous control. She would ask after the imperial physicians' diagnoses, note my reactions after taking medicine, order changes to the type of incense burned, and whenever I coughed, she would pause whatever she was doing and look over with a heavy gaze until the coughing subsided.
She would even remember an offhand remark I once made about a potted orchid in the hall growing particularly well, and the very next day several rare varieties would be delivered by a gardener. If she noticed that I lingered a moment longer over a certain travelogue, a few days later the author's other works—and even some related local gazetteers—would quietly appear on the bookshelf.
This attentiveness was thorough to the extreme. It was like an exquisitely soft net woven of gold and silver threads, wrapping me tightly, shutting out all storms from the outside world, and also sealing off every trace of uncertainty. Everything I ate or drank, every smile or frown, seemed to exist under her silent observation and arrangement.
There was no mistreatment, no coercion—one might even call it indulgent—so long as I did not try to touch the invisible boundary, did not try to leave the confines of the Phoenix Perch Palace, did not try to inquire about the outside world, and did not try to… harbor any thoughts beyond what she allowed.
Aunt Qin became my only remaining connection to the outside world—and even that was strictly filtered. She continued to care for my health and would occasionally bring carefully selected news of the Su family's safety: my parents were well; my eldest sister's injuries were healing and she had returned to duty at the Northern Garrison; my second sister was doing fine at the Imperial Academy; my third sister had taken first place again in recent training ground trials… All good news, stripped of any possible worry or danger, like meticulously pruned bonsai presenting just the right degree of flourishing.
I knew this was only surface calm. With a new sovereign on the throne, everything awaited renewal; court factions were being reshuffled, and the borderlands would never truly be peaceful. All of this, she faced alone, never speaking of it to me. The occasional gloom gathering between her brows, or the times she was summoned urgently to the imperial study late at night, hinted at the raging storms beyond these walls. But she never let even a trace of it touch me. In the world she built for me, there was only the slight bitterness of medicine, the scent of ink from books, the flowers and plants in the courtyard changing with the seasons, and the faintly weary aura of an emperor that arrived with her each night.
I gradually learned how to breathe within this exquisite cage. Under the combined care of the imperial physicians and Aunt Qin, my cough seemed to improve somewhat. Though not cured, the instances of coughing up blood lessened, and my spirits lifted a little. I began rereading the books she sent, occasionally picking up a brush to copy calligraphy or sketch the sparse shadows of plum branches outside the window. I even tried, using small tools and materials she tacitly allowed, to slowly construct a miniature garden model in the corner of the room, as a way to project my longing for the vast world beyond.
When she saw those models, she would sometimes pause, her gaze resting on the delicate pavilions and waterscapes, her expression deep and unreadable. Yet she never spoke to stop me or question it. Perhaps this, too, was another form of indulgence she granted.
The days flowed on in silence, like being soaked in honeyed warm water, nearly making one forget the storms outside, forget the cold chains hidden beneath this warm facade.
Until that afternoon.
I was sitting at the desk by the window, staring absently at a water conservancy treatise from a previous dynasty, trying to pick out points that might "coincidentally" catch her eye and perhaps benefit the state and the people. This had become the only way left for me to feel that I was not entirely useless within this cage. Chunyu slipped in quietly to refill my tea, but there was a panic she could not hide in her eyes, and a hesitation as if she wanted to speak but dared not.
"What is it?" I put the book down and looked at her.
Chunyu bit her lip, glanced quickly toward the outer hall, and lowered her voice, trembling as if on the verge of tears. "Young Master… this servant just went to the Internal Affairs Office to collect this month's allowance, and heard… heard several steward eunuchs whispering that… that something has happened to Elder Zhao's household!"
Elder Zhao? My heart jolted. He was a veteran of two reigns, a leader of the upright faction. Though retired, his students and old associates filled the court, and his reputation was impeccable. More importantly, the Zhao family was an old ally of the Su family. Elder Zhao's legitimate grandson had once been my senior apprentice in childhood and treated me exceedingly well. The Zhao family was also one of the few great houses that had not clearly taken sides during the previous succession struggle, maintaining relative neutrality.
"What happened?" My voice tightened.
"They say… they say that Zhao-daren, Elder Zhao's son and the current Vice Minister of Revenue, has been found to have several unclear accounts involving Jiangnan tax silver he handled during the former sovereign's reign, with… with suspicion of embezzlement!" Chunyu's voice grew lower and lower, filled with fear. "He's already… already been thrown into prison! Elder Zhao collapsed on the spot, coughing up blood when he heard the news. Now the residence is under guard by the Ministry of Justice—no one allowed in or out! Everyone outside is saying… saying that Her Majesty is using the Zhao family as an example, rectifying official conduct and killing the chicken to warn the monkeys!"
My vision darkened, and I had to brace myself against the edge of the desk to steady my body. Vice Minister Zhao? I had met him—upright, refined, with an excellent reputation. How could he suddenly be implicated in an embezzlement case? And from the former sovereign's reign, no less? In the early days of a new dynasty, investigating past corruption was common enough, but why now, and why the Zhao family? There had to be more to this than mere "rectifying official conduct." Had the Zhao family inadvertently offended someone? Or was someone… using the Zhao family's head and spotless reputation to establish authority, or to achieve some other aim?
What chilled me even more was the fate awaiting the Zhao family's men and dependents. Vice Minister Zhao's principal husband was a gentle, virtuous man of a prominent family, who had dealings with my father as well. They also had two young children… Once the head of the household was convicted and the family assets confiscated, the women might survive on account of Elder Zhao's remaining prestige, but being sold into servitude or consigned to the music bureaus would be an almost inevitable outcome. What kind of despair would that be?
A fierce impulse surged up in me. I could not stand by and watch an allied family fall into disaster, watch that gentle principal husband and those children sink into an abyss. Perhaps… perhaps I could try to plead with Xiao Yuhuang? If the Zhao family's guilt were real, punishment according to the law would be unavoidable—but could she… show some leniency, at least spare the innocent family members?
Once this thought arose, it refused to be suppressed. I knew it was dangerous, that it overstepped my duty of "quiet recuperation" and violated the invisible prohibition against "interfering in external affairs." But… those were living people, a family that had once shown me kindness.
I agonized over it for an entire day. Dinner was tasteless; I could not focus on reading. Night fell, and Xiao Yuhuang arrived as usual. She seemed to be in a good mood today; there was less gloom between her brows, and she even took the initiative to ask what I had been reading during the day.
I forced myself to remain calm and exchanged a few casual remarks with her. The moment was fleeting. Just as she was about to rise and review another memorial, I finally mustered what little courage I had left. I stood, walked to her, and knelt down.
She froze mid-motion, her gaze falling on me with a hint of surprise. "Yuzhi? What is this for?"