Chapter 112

Edited By: Mim

In late December, the triumphant Yan army marched back into the capital, their victory resounding across the land.

Snowflakes fluttered like willow and poplar blossoms in the vast, wintry sky. The soldiers, clad in black armor, surged like a dark river down the wide avenues of the capital.

On this day, the streets of the capital were packed to the brim.

From commoners in humble garb to nobles in fine silk robes, all gathered along the roadsides to welcome the army. This was no ordinary force; it was a coalition of Yan soldiers and the newly allied nomadic tribes of the grasslands.

At the front of the procession rode Xie Lanxu, tall and proud. Beside him, veiled under a gauzy hat, was Li Zhi, her presence striking despite the thin fabric that obscured her face. Following closely behind were Li Cien and her brother Li Xiangsheng, who had played pivotal roles in the war, as well as the leaders of the Thirteen Grassland Tribes, represented by Ashaqi.

Xie Lanxu’s appearance was as flawless as ever—dignified, elegant, and reminiscent of his late father. As for his soon-to-be wife, Li Zhi, she had once again proved that women could be just as formidable as men. First in the Battle of Mingyue Tower, and now, side by side with Xie Lanxu, she had helped secure another monumental victory. Even with her face partially hidden by the veil, one could glimpse the elegance and resolve radiating from her.

The crowd was silent, awed by the imposing and solemn atmosphere. Not a single cheer was heard as the procession made its way through the streets—just reverence and respect.

When the army arrived at the gates of the Imperial Palace, they halted, awaiting their rewards. Tradition dictated that the emperor would personally receive the key figures of the war effort, listen to their account of the campaign, and assess their merits and achievements.

But instead of the expected audience, what they received was a cold imperial decree.

The decree acknowledged the campaign’s success in subjugating the Fourteen Grassland Tribes and spreading Yan’s dominance across the steppe. However, the rewards listed were shockingly underwhelming. While the leaders of the nomadic tribes and Li Cien—credited for brokering the alliance—were given ranks and honors, Xie Lanxu, the mastermind and commander of the campaign, received only a modest amount of gold and silver.

The pointed disregard for Xie Lanxu’s contributions was obvious to all.

After the decree was read aloud, the eunuch delivering it turned to Li Cien.

“You are Li Cien, the one who led the negotiations with the Thirteen Tribes?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Li Cien replied, bowing respectfully.

The eunuch’s gaze swept over her before he said coolly, “His Majesty has decreed a banquet to entertain the tribal leaders. You are to serve as the translator. Convey this to the leaders and accompany them to the palace.”

Li Cien froze, her eyes instinctively darting toward Li Zhi for guidance.

Li Zhi gave her a subtle nod.

She understood all too well what was happening. The emperor’s actions were deliberate—an effort to divide and isolate them. The Son of Heaven had clearly recognized the threat that Xie Lanxu now posed.

“…I accept the decree,” Li Cien said, steadying herself.

As Li Cien led the tribal leaders into the palace for the banquet, the rest of the army dispersed and returned to their respective homes.

There was no grand celebration, no victory ceremony, and not even the opportunity to meet the emperor face-to-face. The triumphant army, the pride of Yan, was left in an awkward and unacknowledged position.

Yet Xie Lanxu remained unperturbed. He had expected this. And he knew that in the capital, there were plenty of others who would be indignant on his behalf.

Within days, discontent swirled across the city.

The emperor’s cold treatment of Xie Lanxu, despite his monumental achievement in pacifying the grasslands, sparked outrage among the nobles and commoners alike. Many questioned the emperor’s wisdom. How could such a lukewarm response inspire loyalty among generals and officials? Even the common folk, who had poured into the streets to witness the victorious army’s return, began murmuring their dissatisfaction.

Xie Shencong’s misstep sent ripples through the capital, and those ripples were only growing stronger.

Several days later, the emperor summoned Prince Feng, Xie Fengshao, to Ziwei Palace after an explosive outburst during the morning court session.

Xie Fengshao arrived late, reeking of alcohol and in a state of disarray. His disheveled appearance only stoked the emperor’s simmering fury.

“Look at yourself!” Xie Shencong roared, hurling a heavy memorial at his son. The document struck Xie Fengshao’s chest and fell to the floor with a dull thud.

“Are you determined to throw away your chances at the throne over a woman?!”

Chief Eunuch Gao Shan stood silently to the side, his expression a perfect mask of neutrality.

Even at the mention of the crown prince position, Xie Fengshao remained listless. He didn’t so much as lift his head to meet his father’s gaze.

“Feng’er, have you heard the rumors in the capital?” Xie Shencong pressed on, his voice laced with disappointment. “Do you know how the people speak of you now? Can you imagine how heartbroken your mother would be to see you like this?”

At the mention of his mother, Xie Fengshao’s vacant eyes flickered with a trace of emotion.

“…As long as she has Father by her side, she won’t be heartbroken,” he murmured.

Xie Shencong sighed heavily. “You are her only child, and you are the son I hold in highest regard. I know I have been harsh with you in the past, but it was only because I wished for you to grow strong. Your brothers are no match for you, but they are not without ambition. While I am here, I can shield you. But when I am gone, what will you do?”

Xie Fengshao didn’t respond, his mind clearly elsewhere.

The emperor clenched his fists, his frustration barely contained. Yet he couldn’t lash out further—not when Xie Fengshao was the only son capable of rivaling Xie Lanxu.

“I know what’s troubling you,” the emperor said, softening his tone. “Since I issued that marriage decree, you’ve been brooding. I can see now that I made a mistake. Xie Lanxu’s ambitions are too great—he cannot be trusted. Li Zhi is a fine girl, and perhaps it was rash to betroth her to Xie Lanxu. However, the timing to rescind the decree is not yet right…”

Though the emperor’s words were vague, their meaning was clear.

In his eyes, Li Zhi was not a person but a possession—something that could be given or taken away as he pleased, depending on who earned his favor.

Xie Fengshao understood this all too well. The thin veneer of composure he had been clinging to shattered, his hands curling into fists beneath his sleeves. Pain and fury twisted his features.

Seeing his reaction, Xie Shencong assumed his words had finally rekindled his son’s fighting spirit.

“To balance the scales,” the emperor continued, “I now name you as Minister of the Rites. As a prince, you outrank Xie Lanxu, and this title places you on equal footing. Whether you can best him will depend on your own efforts.”

He waved dismissively. “Go clean yourself up. Don’t let the court see you like this tomorrow.”

Xie Fengshao left Ziwei Palace in silence, his shoulders heavy with suppressed anger and despair.

Watching his son’s retreating figure, Xie Shencong allowed himself a rare moment of satisfaction. In his eyes, the seeds of rivalry had been sown, and the stage was set for Xie Fengshao to challenge Xie Lanxu for dominance.

As for Li Zhi? She was nothing more than a pawn in this game of power.

If giving her to Xie Fengshao would ignite his ambition, so be it. After all, his initial intent in granting her to Xie Lanxu had been to use her as leverage.

As long as his sons fought each other, Xie Shencong believed he could sit comfortably on his throne for another decade.

What was one woman’s fate compared to that?

The emperor, Xie Shencong, believed he had everything under control. His carefully crafted plans to pit Xie Fengshao against Xie Lanxu seemed flawless, and he congratulated himself on his cleverness.

But fate often finds a way to unravel even the most meticulous schemes.

It started with a sneeze.

Despite taking every precaution since the summer—burning charcoal in every room of Ziwei Palace, wrapping himself in layers of thick furs, and carrying a hand warmer at all times—Xie Shencong found himself battling a chill.

At first, he dismissed it as a minor ailment, a simple cold.

Three days later, the cold proved to be anything but minor. The emperor fell gravely ill, confined to his bed and unable to rise.

In his weakened state, the palace’s dynamics shifted. Noble consorts competed for the honor of nursing him, hoping to secure his favor. Among them, Noble Consort Yi was the most determined. She ousted Lu Zhaoyi, the younger consort who had initially been attending to the emperor, and took her place at his bedside.

At first, Noble Consort Yi’s devotion seemed genuine. Though she was unused to such duties, she clumsily adapted, enduring the tedium and discomfort for the sake of her beloved emperor.

But then, one fateful day, everything changed.

Xie Shencong coughed violently, and a glob of phlegm splattered onto Noble Consort Yi’s fine silk gown.

For years, no one in the palace dared to show even a hint of revulsion toward the emperor. From lowly palace maids to favored consorts, they dutifully accepted his spittle or waste, hiding their disgust behind forced smiles.

Even Lu Zhaoyi had taken his phlegm into her hands without flinching, earning his favor for her apparent “dedication.”

But Noble Consort Yi?

Her reaction was visceral. She shrieked in horror, the sharp sound piercing the stillness of Ziwei Palace.

The emperor’s fragile pride shattered.

In that moment, all the anger and bitterness he had suppressed—toward his illness, his waning power, and his own mortality—erupted.

“You ungrateful woman!” he roared, his voice hoarse and trembling with rage. “All these years, I thought you loved me! But you’re nothing more than a vain, shallow snake!”

Noble Consort Yi’s pleas and tears could not soothe him. Her years of companionship, her sacrifices—none of it mattered now.

He stripped her of her title on the spot, demoting her from Noble Consort Yi to Xiuyi, a title so low it was a humiliation.

When she was dragged out of Ziwei Palace, pale and trembling, Xie Shencong didn’t spare her a second glance.

In his eyes, her loyalty had been a facade, her love a lie.

“All these years of favor,” he muttered bitterly, “wasted on a dog.”

Alone in his chamber, the emperor coughed again, a harsh, rattling sound that seemed to scrape his throat raw.

Sometimes he could cough up the phlegm, and sometimes he couldn’t. The inconsistency frustrated him to no end.

“Are all the Imperial Physicians useless?” he snarled at the trembling servants around him. “They call this a cold, but why hasn’t it improved?!”

The attendants fell to their knees, their foreheads pressed to the cold stone floor, too afraid to breathe.

“Should I summon the Chief Imperial Physician?” Gao Shan, the eunuch who had served him loyally for decades, asked cautiously.

The emperor nodded, then added, “And call for Lu Zhaoyi.”

He sighed, a flicker of exhaustion crossing his face. “Only in times of hardship can one see who is truly loyal…”

Gao Shan bowed and silently left to carry out his orders.

It didn’t take long for Lu Zhaoyi to arrive. She glided into the emperor’s chamber, a vision of youthful grace. Despite his pale, sickly appearance, she treated him as if he were still the almighty Son of Heaven.

She sat by his bedside, her movements gentle and deliberate.

Even when he spat phlegm into her outstretched hand, she didn’t flinch. Her eyes were filled with nothing but concern and tenderness.

“Zhaoyi…”

The emperor’s voice wavered as he gazed at her.

Gao Shan brought over a freshly brewed bowl of medicine. The bitter aroma of herbs filled the air, mingling with the warmth of the room.

Lu Zhaoyi took the bowl, stirred it gently, and blew on it to cool it down.

Her slender fingers, tipped with nails painted a vivid crimson, moved with practiced care. She sipped the medicine first, ensuring the temperature was just right before bringing it to the emperor’s lips.

In her, Xie Shencong saw everything he had once loved about Su Changxi [the former Noble Consort Yi, now Su Xiuyi] and more.

“Zhaoyi…” He grasped her hand, his voice tinged with emotion. “You’ve been so good to me—so patient, so loyal. I can’t bear to see you remain a mere Zhaoyi. From this day forward, I name you Consort De. You deserve nothing less.”

Lu Zhaoyi feigned surprise, her delicate features lighting up with joy. She moved to kneel in gratitude, but he stopped her.

“There’s no need for formalities,” he said. “Here, it’s just the two of us—no need for pomp and ceremony. Let us be as a common couple, free of pretenses.”

She blushed, lowering her gaze demurely as she leaned into his side.

“When I recover,” he murmured, stroking her shoulder, “we’ll have another child together. And this empire—everything I have—will belong to him.”

“Then you must get well soon,” she replied, her voice soft and sweet, as she looked up at him with doe-like eyes. “I can hardly wait.”

The emperor laughed heartily, his spirits lifted. For a moment, he felt invincible again, like a young man in his prime.

But as he reveled in her affection, he failed to notice the icy indifference that lingered in her gaze.

—–

Outside the palace, snow blanketed the city in endless white.

Xie Lanxu and Li Zhi sat by the window of their private residence, gazing out at the silent, snow-covered world.

Li Zhi was draped in Xie Lanxu’s heavy cloak, its warmth cocooning her as they watched the snowfall together.

The snowflakes swirled in the air, delicate and fleeting, like dandelion seeds carried on a spring breeze.

Each flake was a tiny promise of renewal, a hint of life waiting beneath the frost.

“Everything is about to end,” Xie Lanxu said, his tone carrying an undercurrent of finality.

Li Zhi stared at the flurry of snow, her eyes reflecting its ceaseless dance.

“…Yes,” she murmured softly.