Story of Yanxi Palace, Chapter 180: Regret

   Yuan Chunwang summoned all the palace maids and eunuchs serving in Changchun Palace to one place and ordered:

“From this day forward, no one is to deliver meals to Consort Ling!”

His gaze swept across the crowd before he finally raised his hand and pointed at one person:

“Everything concerning Yanxi Palace will now be handled by you!”

“Yes!” Xiaoquanzi replied meekly with lowered eyes.

After dismissing the others, Yuan Chunwang kept him behind to speak privately.

Yuan Chunwang said calmly, “In the past you constantly opposed me. Do you know why I’m giving you this chance now?”

Xiaoquanzi knelt before him, head bowed submissively, and answered:

“Because this servant betrayed Consort Ling. If she lives well, there will never be any good days left for this servant.”

Yuan Chunwang patted him on the shoulder and said earnestly, “I don’t want to hear a single word of gossip or rumor.”

In his eyes—and in the eyes of others—Xiaoquanzi had once again betrayed his former master.

This man had always been like this: constantly betraying old masters and pledging allegiance to new ones. Precisely because of that, Yuan Chunwang dared to use him. At the very least, until a better master appeared, he was the most useful dog available.

Though he used him, he never fully trusted him. Occasionally Yuan Chunwang would secretly observe him at work. For example, today he hid quietly by the doorway. Inside, Xiaoquanzi set down a bowl of extremely thin, clear-as-water congee with a sharp clack.

Wei Yingluo was startled. “It’s you?”

Xiaoquanzi remained expressionless. “Time to eat.”

Wei Yingluo glanced down at the congee and said coldly, “This is my meal? Is this congee… or just plain water?”

Xiaoquanzi dug at his ear impatiently. “Right now, besides me, who else would bother coming to this godforsaken place? If you don’t want to appreciate it, then don’t drink it—just starve!”

Outside the door, Yuan Chunwang took in the entire scene, gave a cold smile, and left satisfied.

Inside Yanxi Palace he held absolute power. Outsiders, unaware of the palace’s internal affairs, simply believed Wei Yingluo was merely undergoing quiet self-reflection; apart from that, her clothing, food, housing, and daily life supposedly continued as before.

Fuheng originally thought the same.

After morning court ended, as he was about to leave the palace, a little eunuch suddenly approached him:

“Lord Fucha! Lord Soulun has been drowning himself in wine every day. Please find a way to persuade him!”

Fuheng didn’t know who had sent the boy, but he knew what he said was very likely true. Although Hailancha usually appeared carefree and even a bit careless, he was someone who loved deeply. Once Ming Yu entered his heart, she would remain there for the rest of his life.

With Ming Yu’s death now, it was as though a piece of flesh had been brutally torn from his heart. The only reason he hadn’t followed her in death was because there was still a widowed mother at home.

But human hearts are unpredictable. No one had expected Ming Yu to take her own life that day—so how could anyone be certain today that Hailancha wouldn’t do something equally foolish?

The moment this thought arose, a thread of anxiety appeared in Fuheng’s heart. Without waiting for anyone to lead the way, he hurried familiarly to the guards’ quarters and pushed open the door:

“Hailancha!”

The person wearing the clearly ill-fitting guard uniform—sleeves and trousers too long, like a child sneaking into an adult’s clothes—turned at the sound of Fuheng’s voice, reached up, and removed the hat. A cascade of black hair poured down over the shoulders.

This was not Hailancha at all. It was clearly… Chenbi.

Fuheng froze for a second, then immediately turned to leave.

Chenbi: “Master Fucha, please stay a moment.”

But Fuheng refused to stay—or rather, did not dare stay: “Consort Rong, you openly set a trap to lure an outer-court minister here. Aren’t you afraid someone will find out and your reputation will be ruined?”

Chenbi smiled a little. One sentence was enough to halt his steps. She said softly:

“If you are willing to sit by and watch Consort Ling meet with disaster, then go.”

The door closed again. The pearl left behind, disguised as a little eunuch, stood guard at the entrance.

“Speak,” Fuheng said warily. “What exactly do you want?”

Chenbi, however, took out an embroidered handkerchief and slowly toyed with it. On the handkerchief were two dragonflies leaning against each other. In a gentle voice she said:

“Your sachet and Yingluo’s handkerchief—they turn out to be a matching pair.”

Fuheng frowned.

“Master Fucha,” Chenbi looked at him curiously, “Yingluo belonged to you. You watched with your own eyes as she was taken by someone else, and now she has been discarded like trash. Doesn’t that pain you at all?”

Fuheng’s wariness deepened. He knew very well that the power struggles in the inner palace were no less vicious than those at court. He immediately flicked his sleeve and turned to go:

“This humble official doesn’t know what you’re talking about. I take my leave!”

Behind him Chenbi called out:

“The current Wei Yingluo is merely holding on with the last breath of stubbornness!”

Fuheng’s footsteps paused.

“She has offended far too many people,” Chenbi continued calmly. “When she finally falls into ruin, there will be plenty of people ready to settle accounts. Cut off from news, given only plain water each day—how long can she really hold out?”

Fuheng could no longer hide his anger: “And all of this is thanks to you!”

Chenbi: “No—it’s thanks to you.”

Fuheng was stunned. Because of him?

“You and Yingluo were once betrothed, yet in the end you parted like flying geese. Who betrayed whom first?” Chenbi challenged him.

Fuheng was speechless.

“If she hadn’t been rejected, at her age now she should long since have become the mother of several children, shouldn’t she?” Chenbi looked at him earnestly. “Supporting her husband, raising children, mutual respect between husband and wife—that was supposed to be her life. Now… she has nothing. Who do you think is responsible for that?”

Fuheng’s fingers clenched into a fist; the knuckles cracked audibly.

“See.” Chenbi glanced at his hand and giggled. “You’re clearly furious, yet because of propriety, status, and hierarchy, you still don’t dare strike me even once.”

She slowly lifted her gaze to his face. That look—tinged with faint contempt and pity—was something no one could bear.

“Just as you, bound by propriety, status, and hierarchy, could only watch while he took the woman you loved most, yet failed to cherish her properly.” Chenbi said softly, “And in the end you still have to bow and scrape before him, obedient and submissive. Master Fucha, you really are pitiful.”

“Enough!” Fuheng could bear no more. He said stiffly, “This humble official has other matters to attend to. I’m leaving!”

Chenbi’s voice suddenly came from behind him:

“Are you running away again?”

With a whoosh.

A fist came smashing toward her with a whistling wind. Chenbi neither dodged nor evaded. Just as the fist was about to strike her face, it veered off at the last moment and slammed heavily into the wall beside her. Blood instantly bloomed like a flower. Fuheng bit down hard on his lower lip, his body trembling slightly from rage.

Looking at the nearly out-of-control Fuheng, the corners of Chenbi’s lips slowly curved upward into a chilling, mesmerizing smile.

“That’s more like it,” she said softly, her voice like an enchantment. “The Emperor has made you endure again and again, but what has he done? He harms his own brothers, steals other men’s wives… Is someone like that worthy of being your master? Fuheng, listen to my advice—for your sake, and for Yingluo’s sake—wake up!”

Wake up…

   “Water…”

In Yanxi Palace, Wei Yingluo lay weakly on the bed. She struggled for a long time but still could not open her eyes. In her half-conscious state, a single word escaped her cracked lips: “Water…”

Xiaoquanzi walked in holding a teacup, but instead of giving it to her, he handed it to Yuan Chunwang, who was seated inside the room.

Yuan Chunwang took a sip of tea and smiled slightly. “Didn’t we already finish the daily cup of plain water?”

Wei Yingluo was already ill, yet not only was she denied treatment, her food rations had been cut back severely: one bowl of thin congee and one cup of plain water a day. Often before nightfall she would grow so dizzy from hunger that she could only lie in bed and sleep—both to conserve energy and because, when asleep, she didn’t feel the hunger.

“…The Emperor only ordered me placed under house arrest. If I die, do you think you can escape responsibility?” Wei Yingluo finally managed to open her eyes. Her vision was blurred, and every word came out as faint as a thread of breath.

“If you want to eat, or want to drink water, it’s very simple—just one sentence.” Yuan Chunwang hinted meaningfully. “You know what I want to hear. Why won’t you say it?”

“Beg you?” Wei Yingluo gave a mocking laugh. “I’d rather starve to death.”

Suddenly pain exploded across her scalp. Amid Wei Yingluo’s scream of agony, Yuan Chunwang seized her by the hair and dragged her from the bed all the way to the bronze mirror.

“Look at yourself now.” Yuan Chunwang pressed her face against the mirror and smiled. “Are you still that glorious, untouchable Consort Ling?”

Disheveled and filthy, gaunt as a skeleton—less a favored consort now than a discarded consort banished to the cold palace. Her flesh and blood had been worn away inch by inch into ashes, leaving only a pair of eyes still burning with light, like flames smoldering in the cinders.

Yuan Chunwang: “Beg me.”

Wei Yingluo: “No.”

“…Call me Brother.” Yuan Chunwang seemed to compromise a step.

Wei Yingluo gave the same answer: “No.”

“…My patience has its limits.” Yuan Chunwang suddenly laughed—a gorgeous, bewitching smile that was nonetheless cruel to the bone. “I’ll give you one last chance. Tell me—do you regret leaving me?”

Wei Yingluo looked at his reflection in the mirror. His gaze was extraordinarily complex, a turbulent mix of affection and resentment, like a blizzard sweeping across the sea.

All he really wanted was one sentence—even if it was a lie, even if it was just to deceive him… Yet after waiting so long, what he received was her soft, quiet reply: “I don’t regret it.”

“…Is that so?” Yuan Chunwang’s heart suddenly felt hollow. After a long silence, he finally lifted Wei Yingluo in his arms, placed her gently back on the bed—as if performing one last brotherly duty—then took her hand and forced it, inch by inch, to trace across his own face: his jaw, his lips, his nose, his eyes…

“Remember this face,” he instructed her. “Remember it well. In your next life, come find me to settle the score.”

Then, at last, he let go.

Leaving behind Wei Yingluo, who was coughing uncontrollably, Yuan Chunwang walked out of the room without looking back. To Xiaoquanzi he said, “Starting today, skip even that bowl of plain congee.”

Xiaoquanzi sucked in a sharp breath. “That won’t do, sir—if something really happens to her—”

Yuan Chunwang smiled: “Consort Ling has a fiery temperament. After such a blow, she’s become completely dejected, fallen into depression and illness. Do you understand?”

Xiaoquanzi shivered, bowing his head deeply: “Yes, understood!”

Since they couldn’t be siblings in this life, he would simply send her on her way—and they could meet again in the next. That was what Yuan Chunwang thought, and that was exactly what he did. It wasn’t difficult at all; in the rear palace, making a disfavored consort “die of illness” was far too easy.

There was only one thing to worry about: while this could be hidden from Hongli, it could not be hidden from Step-Empress.

After a moment of thought, Yuan Chunwang returned to Chengqian Palace. Without a word, he knelt before Step-Empress: “I beg Her Majesty the Empress to forgive my offense.”

On the stand, an emerald-green parrot was pecking at the grains in Step-Empress’s hand. With her back to him, Step-Empress said, “I haven’t said anything yet, and you already know where you went wrong?”

Yuan Chunwang’s heart skipped a beat. He knew his actions couldn’t escape Step-Empress’s notice, but he hadn’t expected her to find out so quickly. Clearly, she didn’t fully trust him—she must have placed someone to watch him closely.

His mind raced, but his face showed only fear and sincerity: “This servant took it upon himself to deal with Consort Ling—not for my own sake, but to share Your Majesty’s burdens.”

He had chosen these words carefully, guessing at Step-Empress’s true thoughts. Hearing them, she laughed softly: “You bribed the imperial physicians, fabricated medical records, and arranged for Consort Ling to ‘die of illness.’ It would have been perfectly reasonable—if you hadn’t been so impatient. You left traces. Too hasty, and you’ve given others something they can hold against you.”

Yuan Chunwang was stunned: “Then what does Your Majesty mean—?”

“Consort Ling must die, but she cannot die by my hand. Prepare two things immediately. Send one to Yangxin Hall, and the other…” Step-Empress paused, then turned back to him with a mysterious smile, “…also send it to Yangxin Hall.”

STORY OF YANXI PALACE CHAPTERS HOME