Chapter 1

When Jiang Luan woke, it was dusk.

The candlelight in the Hall of the Breeze was dim, and the room was empty. The palace maids and eunuchs who usually attended her had vanished, shirking their duties somewhere. A narrow crack was left open in the intricately carved wooden window opposite her bed.

Jiang Luan’s gaze slipped through the crack, settling on a small patch of clear blue sky framed by the square vermilion palace walls.

She tried to prop herself up on her elbows but grew weak halfway through the effort, her shoulder striking the elaborately carved rosewood bedframe with a dull thud.

At the sound, faint footsteps echoed outside the hall.

Two senior palace maids, startled to find the Empress awake after sleeping most of the day, hurried over to support her and draped a robe over her frail shoulders.

Jiang Luan’s illness had worsened recently; even the simple act of rising from bed now required assistance. A fine sheen of cold sweat covered her forehead.

She moved to the window and sat down, turning toward the bronze mirror on the rosewood dressing table to scrutinize her reflection.

The mirror revealed a gaunt face. The faint baby fat once rounding her cheeks had vanished entirely. Her lips were pale, and her chin was sharpened to a point like an awl, which only made her large black eyes appear even more striking.

This pale, emaciated young woman exuded an aura of grave illness, yet she wore the five-clawed dragon robe symbolizing the supreme sovereign of the realm.

A palace maid gently gathered her long black hair from behind and carefully combed it; another brought the heavy imperial crown, intending to place it upon her head.

Jiang Luan noticed their intention and smiled wryly.

A powerless puppet Empress, what dignity could a heavy and solemn crown truly bestow upon her?

She shook her head at the bronze mirror, reached out, and opened the window, allowing the cool early autumn breeze to sweep in, teasing strands of hair at her temples.

The evening wind still carried the residual heat of the day, mingled with the fresh scent of earth.

Jiang Luan took a deep breath, savoring the long-missed breeze.

The palace maids were shocked by this simple act and hurried to close the window. “Ah, Lord Lu has instructed that the Empress must not be exposed to wind while ill.”

At the mention of “Lord Lu,” Jiang Luan frowned slightly.

She disliked Lu Jixiang.

Lu Jixiang had clung tightly to the Pei family’s influence, rising in just a few short years to become the palace’s foremost eunuch in charge, wielding power so great that his words carried more weight than hers, the Empress.

In recent years, when he met her, his manner was not only indifferent but he even changed how he addressed himself—from the submissive “your servant” when kneeling and kowtowing, to the more formal “your minister” with a mere bow.

He wore two faces, one in public and one behind closed doors—both revolting.

“Presumptuous.” Jiang Luan’s voice was always soft and low; now, weakened by illness, even her reprimand was gentle and faint.

“You are dismissed. All of you, leave.”

The two senior maids exchanged surprised glances but ultimately bowed in unison and withdrew.

Silence returned to the sumptuous yet stifling chamber. Jiang Luan sat by the window, lost in thought for a long while before realizing something.

Her hair was undone.

Her long, smooth black hair cascaded unbound from her shoulders down to her calves.

Jiang Luan did not particularly care about decorum, but others did.

A strong, firm hand extended from outside and tapped the window thrice with folded fingers, drawing her attention before gently closing the window.

Through the wooden barrier, the calm voice of Wen Jing, the Grand General of the Left Brave Guards, rang out: “I dare to advise Your Majesty to return and rest, to preserve your precious health.”

Jiang Luan furrowed her brow again.

Wen Jing was an old acquaintance.

Since her ascension, those around her—whether the chief eunuch Lu Jixiang or several female attendants—were all arranged by the Pei clan.

Only Wen Jing’s position as Grand General of the Left Brave Guards had been secured through her own painstaking efforts.

To promote Wen Jing, she had summoned Chancellor Pei three times.

Back then, Pei Xian’s temperament was not as unpredictable as it was now; when in a good mood, a faint smile lingered on his lips, and Jiang Luan still harbored some hope in him.

From polite negotiations and persistent pleading to dramatic outbursts in the hall—crying, tantrums, even threats—her tears streaming down her face, Pei Xian merely watched with a half-smile.

After more than half a month of agitation, Pei finally relented. The day Wen Jing was appointed Grand General, Jiang Luan celebrated secretly with fine wine late into the night.

Everyone believed Wen Jing was her sole trusted confidant in the palace.

Now, thinking about it, Jiang Luan smiled bitterly.

She had only recently realized there was something off about Wen Jing.

Perhaps from the very start, he had been a pawn Pei Xian planted beside her.

The more she thought, the more pointless it seemed.

On any other day, she would have said no more.

But today was different.

She furrowed her brow slightly and then spoke in a nearly pleading tone, “Wen Jing, open the window. Tonight I want to feel the breeze—just for a quarter of an hour.”

No reply came from outside.

The Hall of the Breeze was the most lavishly constructed palace chamber, with flying eaves, pavilions, and lush trees, all exquisitely crafted.

It was the Emperor’s sleeping chamber, but also a delicate cage built by the empire’s most powerful minister for his puppet Empress.

Situated at the heart of the Imperial City, it appeared noble and grand, above all others.

Yet it was a gilded cage that deeply entrapped this splendid prisoner.

The so-called Son of Heaven, the supreme ruler, could not even open a window in her own chamber at will.

The window was shut from the outside; the fresh breeze carrying the scent of earth vanished.

Tonight was different.

Jiang Luan let her long hair flow freely down her back and rose, stepping toward the door. With each step, the black ends of her hair fanned out slightly as they brushed against her calves.

Her body had been weakened by typhoid in childhood, never fully recovering. Though barely in her early twenties, she was plagued by a lingering illness, unresponsive to medicine, with only an uncertain number of days left to live.

Having been bedridden for many days, her sudden ability to rise might well be a final flicker of life.

The vermilion palace door stood half open. Wen Jing was stationed a few steps away on the white marble steps, blocking her path.

“During convalescence, Your Majesty should rest and move as little as possible.”

Jiang Luan, resolute, cast him a sidelong glance but said nothing, walking straight past the palace chamber.

As they brushed shoulders, Wen Jing’s fingers twitched, briefly touching the finely embroidered sleeve of her dragon and cloud robe before quickly withdrawing.

Just as Jiang Luan expected, he dared not forcibly drag her back in public.

Wen Jing made no move, and the surrounding imperial guards dared not intervene.

A group of people exchanged glances, watching the usually reclusive puppet Empress leave the hall without hesitation and slowly descend the stone steps.

But the courtyard outside the Hall of the Breeze was vast, and before she could step beyond, another group hurried to intercept her.

“Ah, Your Majesty, where are you going?”

Lu Jixiang, surrounded by a cluster of attendants, stood arrogantly beneath the steps. Though he addressed her respectfully as “Your Majesty,” his tone was devoid of genuine reverence.

“Since Your Majesty is still ill, please return to the hall and rest. It is good for you, good for me, good for everyone. Who, then, is it that you wish to trouble with this sudden whim?”

Jiang Luan couldn’t help but smile.

A whim, a fancy—of course it’s to trouble you, Lord Lu.

She wrapped her sable cloak tighter around herself and, without a word, leisurely strolled past Lu Jixiang, wandering the courtyard to admire flowers and watch fish.

The group followed tensely, matching her pace.

After a quarter of an hour, when her legs could no longer bear her weight and a fine sweat had broken out across her back, she stopped nonchalantly and commanded:

“I am feeling unwell today. Where is the palace steward? Summon him at once. I wish to dictate my final edict.”

Lu Jixiang: “……”

Wen Jing: “……”

Everyone present immediately dropped to their knees.

“Your Majesty, why say such things!” Wen Jing bowed his head. “Your Majesty is blessed with great fortune, transforming misfortune into blessing. Surely you will not… will not…”

Jiang Luan interrupted him and slowly sat down on the white marble steps beneath the corridor.

“Also, summon Chancellor Pei. He should still be at the council chamber, yes? Bring him as well.”

“Chancellor Pei… is not in court today; he has taken leave,” Lu Jixiang dared not be smug, watching her face carefully. “Today is the fifth day of the eighth month. By custom, Chancellor Pei retreats to his villa outside the city to recuperate.”

Jiang Luan remembered and smiled lightly. “Almost forgot. The fifth day of the eighth month is Chancellor Pei’s birthday. He dislikes noise and went out of the city to celebrate quietly. To have dragged him back myself, I do apologize.”

She calmly instructed Lu Jixiang, “Go out of the city and summon him. Tell Chancellor Pei to hurry; perhaps he might still hear my final edict in person.”

A suffocating silence fell.

After a moment, Lu Jixiang darted off like a frightened rabbit.

—

When Lu Jixiang returned to the Hall of the Breeze, Jiang Luan had already spoken most of her words.

“...The imperial bloodline is fragile. I have no heirs; the direct line ends here. Prince Wuling has two sons and a daughter, who are my nephews and niece. Choose the wisest among them to inherit the throne.”

The palace steward knelt below the steps, tears streaming as he wrote swiftly.

Wen Jing’s face turned ashen. He whispered, “Your Majesty sat on the white marble steps, refusing all counsel, speaking to herself for some time… your final edict. Lord Lu, where is Chancellor Pei now?”

Lu Jixiang answered dejectedly, “Chancellor Pei will not come.”

Pei Xian was outside the city today.

Clad simply in a sea-green robe, traveling lightly, the powerful minister, accustomed to storms and strife, calmly listened to Lu Jixiang’s lamentations and tearful descriptions of the Empress’s poor condition. His expression remained unmoved as he ordered, “Go back and relay my exact words to Her Majesty.”

So Lu Jixiang was sent back.

“Chancellor Pei has a message for Your Majesty…”

Lu Jixiang’s face fell. “The succession of the throne is the foundation of the nation, not a matter to be taken lightly. Today, all who have indulged the Empress’s whims—from Lu Jixiang on down—will be severely punished.”

The palace steward shuddered, hastily grabbing brush and ink, bowing in apology.

The eunuchs and palace maids knelt in panic throughout the courtyard. No one dared speak; all lowered their heads, silent as quails, subdued under the authority of an absent figure—an eerie and chilling scene.

Jiang Luan couldn’t help but smile again.

“That’s all? The message ordering you to be punished was not meant for me.”

“There is… one more sentence,” Lu Jixiang swallowed hard. “Chancellor Pei said: The Empress is not content and enjoys causing trouble for amusement. Today is not the first time. The court is busy; I rarely have a day of peace to celebrate my birthday quietly with my family. I regret I cannot join Her Majesty’s play.”

He glanced cautiously at Jiang Luan. “That’s all.”

Jiang Luan sat still and smiled again.

She gestured to the palace steward to rise and handed over the draft of the final edict for review, reading it carefully from beginning to end.

“Since Chancellor Pei refuses to come, I shall leave a final edict to be conveyed by you.”

She beckoned Wen Jing over. “Please inform Chancellor Pei: Regarding the next sovereign, Prince Wuling’s little niece is obedient but too young and easily frightened—unsuited to inherit the throne.

“The dragon throne in the Golden Pavilion is not easy to sit upon. The Jiang family bloodline is nearly depleted. You and Chancellor Pei should discuss seriously: for the sake of our years of service, ask him to have some humanity and not choose my little niece. Among the two boys, select one with courage and robust health to hold the realm a few years longer.”

Wen Jing was speechless, trapped between agreeing and refusing, frozen awkwardly.

Everyone once more fell to the ground in terror and silence.

“My edict is not finished; continue writing,” Jiang Luan instructed the steward.

He trembled and picked up his brush again.

Jiang Luan’s gaze fixed on the blue sky above the vermilion palace walls. Her pale lips parted slightly.

“I have wasted this life, leaving many regrets. The greatest regret of my lifetime is…”

She never finished the sentence. Bowing her head, she covered her mouth with her sleeve and began to cough violently.

After a heart-wrenching fit of coughing, she wiped the blood froth from her lips with her sleeve; a crimson streak remained on her pale lips.

Faces around her darkened.

Wen Jing knelt stiffly, his knees striking the blue bricks with a muffled thud. “Your Majesty!”

“There are three great regrets in my life, which I bear to the end,” she whispered.

Under the stunned gazes, Jiang Luan tugged at the corner of her mouth and said,

“…Forget it, since he refuses to come, I will not say it.”

Black shadows began to dance before her eyes. The sounds of wind and rustling leaves gradually faded.

The faces of all present changed in unison. Several voices shouted, “Summon the imperial physician! Where is the physician?”

Jiang Luan no longer heard them.

In the final moments of her life, her mind clouded and faint, images flickered before her eyes like a revolving lantern. Long-forgotten scenes from her past appeared in succession.

She was the youngest daughter of the late Emperor, cherished by her grandmother and doted on by her siblings. Her childhood was carefree and splendid.

Her mother was cautious and, sensing her sharp temperament, had held her hand before death to warn: “A sharp awl drawn from its sheath wounds others and draws blood, but it also harms itself. Were you a prince, it might be different. But as the youngest princess of the royal family, your path should be smooth and bright. Why hurt others and yourself?”

So from a young age, she restrained her nature, doing what a princess should do, walking the path a princess should walk.

But the world fell into chaos; moral codes unraveled. There was no “smooth and bright path.” Everyone trampled over others’ corpses, carving a bloody trail.

Bearing the royal bloodline, if she did not draw the awl herself and cause wounds, she would be grasped and dragged along by others.

Amid the dizzying darkness, Jiang Luan drifted in and out of consciousness, thinking:

If she could live again… she would certainly…