Story of Yanxi Palace, Chapter 103: Death Anniversary

   Zhongcui Palace.

   Noble Consort Chun carried Yongrong toward Hongli. The child in the swaddling clothes stretched out his chubby little fingers, babbling and reaching to be held.

“Yongrong has become very attached to Your Majesty lately,” Noble Consort Chun said with a gentle smile. “Every day when he opens his eyes, he looks everywhere for you.”

Hongli did not pick Yongrong up. He merely reached out and lightly flicked the boy’s nose. For some reason, his expression suddenly turned gloomy and dejected.

Noticing that Hongli seemed distracted, Noble Consort Chun signaled the wet nurse to take the child away. She probed carefully, “Your Majesty, yesterday I composed a new piece. Would you like to hear it…?”

Hongli agreed half-heartedly. The two of them played the qin together for a while, then drank several pots of wine. The flush of alcohol reddened Noble Consort Chun’s cheeks. She leaned her soft, boneless body against Hongli’s chest, her voice more intoxicating than the wine itself: “Your Majesty…”

The next moment, she was gently pushed away. Hongli said in a low voice, “…I suddenly remembered there is something I must attend to. You should rest first.”

Watching his staggering departing figure, Yuhu asked in surprise, “Your Ladyship, what’s wrong with His Majesty today? He looks so preoccupied and heavy-hearted.”

Noble Consort Chun seemed lost in thought. Suddenly she asked, “What day is it today?”

Changchun Palace.

   The Empress was about to retire for the night. In front of the rhombic flower mirror, Wei Yingluo was carefully removing the hairpins and ornaments from her head one by one. Halfway through, a voice suddenly announced from outside:

“His Majesty has arrived!”

The bedroom doors opened, and a strong scent of wine rushed in from outside.

The Empress didn’t even have time to finish fixing her hair. She rose quickly to greet him, supporting his arm as she said, “Your Majesty… why have you come?”

Hongli appeared quite drunk. He stared dazedly at the Empress for a long moment, then suddenly grasped her hand. “Empress, today is Yonglian’s death anniversary.”

The Empress froze.

“When I gave him the name Yonglian back then, it carried the meaning of inheriting the rivers and mountains.” Hongli murmured on and on. “And he did not disappoint those expectations. He was born intelligent, studied diligently without tiring. When he was only eight years old, I took him to the Mulan hunting grounds. He shot down an eagle in the sky and personally brought it to offer to me…”

He spoke of past events one by one, trivial like an tireless old nanny who never grows weary of repeating herself. As the Empress listened, her eyes gradually became misty with tears. She knew that Hongli was truly drunk; if he were sober, he would never allow himself to show such a soft and vulnerable side.

“Emperor.” She pulled him to sit at the edge of the bed, raised her hand to caress his cheek, and said tenderly, “After Yonglian died, you suspended court for five days to mourn him. That alone already makes you a rare and compassionate father in all the world…”

“Haha…” Upon hearing this, Hongli burst into loud laughter. But as he laughed, hot tears welled up in his eyes. “Is there any father in the world whose child dies young and yet sheds not a single tear?”

The Empress said with heartache, “The Emperor sheds tears only in three situations: for the painful loss of his parents, for a great calamity sent from Heaven, or for the fall of the nation and ruin of the family. Your Majesty, it is not that you do not wish to cry—you simply cannot cry…”

The tears in Hongli’s eyes were on the verge of falling, but upon hearing her words, he forcibly held them back and murmured, “Yes… I am the Son of Heaven. All the subjects of the realm are my children—not just Yonglian alone! So even if you resent me for being heartless, even if you hate me for being cold, I still cannot cry…”

The Empress sighed softly and reached out to draw him into her embrace.

For a moment, Changchun Palace fell into complete silence. Wei Yingluo stood to one side watching them, her expression exceedingly complex. She had always harbored deep prejudices against Hongli, feeling that he was flawed in every way—except for his noble birth, there was not a single thing about him worthy of the Empress.

But now, seeing this… he too had his own bitter difficulties.

The position of emperor truly was not an easy one to sit in. Even crying was not permitted. Only by borrowing the cover of drunkenness could he let a single tear fall—and it had to fall upon the shoulder of someone who could keep her mouth shut like a sealed bottle, so that no one else would see.

“Empress…” Hongli buried his face in the Empress’s shoulder and said softly, “The imperial physicians told me that this pregnancy of yours will surely be a prince.”

The Empress: “Mm.”

“I know.” Hongli continued, “It must be Yonglian coming back to us.”

The Empress was momentarily stunned. Unable to bear shattering his illusion, she simply gave another soft “Mm.”

“Yonglian was clever and handsome, one in a million. He was my most beloved son. When he left, I was heartbroken—more heartbroken with each passing day.” Hongli murmured, “Now that he is coming back, I finally don’t have to grieve anymore… Empress, are you happy? He is about to return to our side.”

Tears rolled in the Empress’s eyes. How could this not also be her own dream? Night after night she would wake up crying, always reaching out along the edge of the bed, only to touch cold, empty air—never the soft cheek of that child.

But to comfort Hongli, to comfort this man who shared the same sorrow as she did, the Empress once again said: “Mm.”

Receiving her reply, Hongli let out a childish giggle. He childishly grasped the Empress’s hand, tears glistening in his eyes like a thin ray of dawn light at the edge of the horizon: “Empress, help me ask him—back then I was so busy with state affairs that I didn’t spend a single day with him, didn’t even once hold him in my arms. Does he blame me? Is he still willing—to be my son?”

The Empress took his hand and slowly placed it on her gently rounded belly.

“Child,” she lowered her head and asked, “your Imperial Father was occupied with government affairs and never spent a single day with you, never even held you in his arms. Do you blame him? Are you still willing—to be his son?”

Their ten fingers interlocked. Beneath her palm, she felt the movement in her womb—rising and falling, the heartbeat of a new life.

The Empress smiled and lifted her head. She opened her mouth, intending to tell a few comforting lies to cheer him up, to keep him from wearing that sorrowful expression any longer.

But the words reached her lips—and suddenly stopped.

“…Empress?” Hongli looked at her. The drunken haze was gradually clearing from his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

The Empress’s face visibly grew paler and paler moment by moment. Sweat rolled from her temples. She breathed heavily for a few moments, then suddenly doubled over, clutching her belly. Her voice could no longer suppress the pain: “It hurts… my belly hurts so much…”

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