Chapter 1

Year 3 of the Zhaocheng Era, March 15th.

At dawn, Chang’an had just been dusted by a shower of peach blossom snow, which ceased by evening. Now, the full moon was about to rise above the treetops, its silver light spilling brightly across the land. A spring breeze swept through the night, chilling to the bone.

Sang Qingyun carried a palace lantern as she stepped out from the women's quarters where the female attendants resided. The cold made her instinctively draw her cloak tighter around herself.

Spring had already arrived in Chang’an, and the palace was abloom everywhere—a splendid scene, perfect for welcoming the new beauties entering the palace. Yet this sudden peach blossom snow seemed to pull everyone back into winter’s grasp.

Regardless of the weather, tomorrow was the grand day of the palace selection, and surely the young ladies of the harem would find no peace tonight.

She withdrew her gaze calmly and slowly made her way toward the side entrance of the Hall of Diligent Governance, for it was her turn tonight to serve before His Majesty.

As she neared the door, she happened upon Zhao Yuyan, the fellow female attendant who shared her room, coming off duty.

Zhao Yuyan’s expression was uneasy, likely due to troubles with the duties before the Emperor, but she said nothing. She only glanced sideways at Sang Qingyun, hesitated as if to speak, then wordlessly departed.

Seeing her face, Sang Qingyun’s suspicions were confirmed, and she quickened her steps.

Indeed, no sooner had she entered the hall than the senior eunuch Dai Zheng pulled her aside, whispering, “Be cautious once inside. His Majesty is displeased.”

Sang Qingyun’s voice was soft: “Tomorrow is the auspicious day of the palace selection. Why is His Majesty displeased? Has something happened?”

Under the flickering lantern light, Dai Zheng sighed. “It is a good day for His Majesty, but not so for the many consorts and ladies of the harem. This is the first selection since His Majesty’s ascension. Who knows how many radiant beauties will enter? Naturally, they are anxious, each fearing the loss of favor.”

“Just now, Yan Ronghua sent someone to summon His Majesty, claiming she was unwell and requesting a visit. His Majesty refused. Shortly after, Concubine Ke did the same.”

“This year’s snowy season has been unusually long. His Majesty is displeased over mishandling the settlement of refugees on the outskirts of the capital. For these two ladies to vie for favor at such a critical moment is like stabbing a knife into an open wound. No wonder His Majesty is displeased.”

Dai Zheng shook his whisk and sighed. “Just be cautious in your service tonight. Don’t bother trying to curry favor.”

Sang Qingyun nodded in understanding, quietly thanked the chief eunuch, took up a cup of tea from the warming room, and lowered her gaze as she entered.

Inside the Hall of Diligent Governance, the lights blazed bright. Immediately upon entering, a faint fragrance reached her nose—a lingering scent of ambergris mingled with the rich aroma of ink. It was cool and solemn, evoking an unapproachable distance, lofty and remote as eternal ice atop a snow-capped mountain.

His Majesty disliked incense during court sessions; thus, this quiet signal was unmistakable.

Speak little, make no mistakes, and avoid incurring the Emperor’s displeasure.

Half the tea on the desk had already been drunk. Silently, she bowed and stepped forward, reaching to move the porcelain cup near His Majesty’s hand. The soft clink of cup and lid echoed sharply in the still space.

Xie Yanheng lifted his head.

Instantly, Sang Qingyun knelt, holding the tea tray steady, her voice clear and pure: “Your servant disturbed Your Majesty while changing the tea. Please punish me.”

At her words, he set down his brush and looked up, but did not speak.

The hall was so quiet that even a pin drop could be heard, save for the faint sound of burning candles and the howling wind outside.

She knelt in the center of the hall, head bowed, her back straight. From His Majesty’s vantage, all he saw was her black hair and the snowy white curve of her neck. From her pointed chin to the blue collar of her robes, she was like a piece of warm white jade.

In her steady hands rested the freshly brewed tea, still steaming.

After a few breaths, he spoke evenly: “I do not blame you.”

Only then did Sang Qingyun dare raise her head. As she prepared to rise, he spoke again, quietly: “Weren’t you going to change the tea?”

---

“It was my negligence,” Sang Qingyun said as she stepped forward to present the hot tea. She then prepared to take her place a meter away by the inner door, awaiting His Majesty’s orders.

But before she could move, His Majesty scraped the cup lid, releasing a faint aroma: “This tea is not good today.”

She turned back and bowed deeply once more. “The water for this tea was drawn from the snow atop the plum trees this winter, Your Majesty’s usual favorite. Perhaps my skills are lacking and it does not meet Your Majesty’s expectations. I beg Your Majesty’s pardon.”

Xie Yanheng reclined against the golden silk cushion, eyes lowered, tapping the armrest idly. “When you came in, did you see if the people of Concubine Ke had left?”

“Your Majesty, when I arrived, the front hall was empty.”

She answered only what was asked, well versed in the ways of palace survival and careful not to offend.

He knew her nature well and asked again: “Earlier, Yan Ronghua and Concubine Ke’s servants both said they were unwell and requested a visit. Which one do you think I should see?”

“Your servant dares not offer any opinion, Your Majesty.”

Xie Yanheng smiled softly. “I grant you permission to offer your opinion.”

Sang Qingyun lowered her head but spoke as objectively as she could: “Tomorrow is the palace selection, and new beauties will enter. Naturally, the young ladies are anxious. The sudden peach blossom snow may have brought colds—it’s hard to say. Yan Ronghua has always been favored by Your Majesty. Concubine Ke recently suffered a miscarriage. Whichever lady Your Majesty visits, the others in the harem dare not speak.”

“You are very straightforward.”

Having served before His Majesty for three years, Sang Qingyun could not claim deep understanding of him, but as a female attendant in his presence, she constantly attuned herself to his heart. She was more sensitive than anyone to his moods.

His tone just now seemed no different from usual—cold and indifferent, impossible to read. Yet she could discern a faint trace of unexpectedness beneath it.

That subtle unease was buried deep yet faint, so faint that she almost thought it was a trick of her mind. But she knew she had heard it clearly.

As to why he was unsettled, she had a vague understanding but did not wish to dwell on it.

They remained kneeling for a long while, long enough for her knees to ache. Xie Yanheng had stopped looking at her and was once again immersed in reading official reports. “Bring the peach blossom snow from behind the hall. Brew fresh tea.”

Sang Qingyun rose and left the hall.

Dai Zheng glanced at her with concern. She shook her head gently to show she was fine, then retrieved a thin porcelain bottle from the warming room and walked alone toward the rear hall.

When His Majesty was in a bad mood, he was indeed difficult to serve.

This difficulty was not due to thunderous anger or outbursts of abuse but the unpredictability of his temper.

One could not tell if he wanted or did not want something, if he was angry or not—only to tread carefully, pondering over and over.

Though not a stern or harsh ruler to his attendants, His Majesty carried an aura no one dared to overstep—a constant reminder that he was a sovereign whose authority could not be defied.

Such a lofty presence, with all under heaven in his grasp, was inevitably someone with whom Sang Qingyun would never truly walk side by side.

Behind the Hall of Diligent Governance stood a peach tree, its canopy like clouds, blooming like radiant sunset. It was said to be over twenty years old, planted by the late Emperor especially for the then-new Empress.

That Empress was His Majesty’s mother—the once most favored Consort Ji, now the late Empress Dowager, renowned throughout the capital.

His Majesty also greatly loved this peach tree and ordered meticulous care for it. This year, its blossoms should have been at their peak, but sadly, the snow had fallen. Once melted, the splendor would never return.

Sang Qingyun stood beneath the tree, slightly tilting her head to gaze upward. The full moon hung high in the sky, as lustrous as a jade plate. The cool moonlight filtered through the branches, quietly falling upon her face, revealing a visage more captivating than moonlit peach blossoms.

She was undeniably beautiful, with a naturally delicate face and sparkling eyes. Most remarkable was her serene, scholarly aura, which lent her an extraordinary grace.

Her beauty was objective, ethereal. Sang Qingyun knew it, and so did Xie Yanheng.

He stood by the flower-patterned window at the rear of the hall, watching her through the intricate carvings.

He saw her gaze up at the moon, saw her gather snow into the bottle, and saw her warm the snow with her breath.

Melting snow was the coldest time.

Xie Yanheng turned back into the hall and instructed Dai Zheng at the door, “Send for her to return and bring medicine for frostbite.”

Dai Zheng chuckled, “Your Majesty is kind indeed to Lady Qingyun.”

Xie Yanheng cast him a glance.

Dai Zheng immediately fell silent as His Majesty turned to fetch the requested items.

When Sang Qingyun returned, she lowered her head in report: “Your Majesty, the snow water is not yet fully collected. There may not be enough to brew a pot of tea.”

“Come here,” Xie Yanheng said coldly.

His thoughts were inscrutable; she had no choice but to approach.

After being out in the cold, her fingertips had turned slightly red. He took her hand and examined it. “I told you to fetch snow, not to go yourself.”

“Is the noble attendant unable to command the palace maids?”

His tone remained cold, impossible to discern whether it was ordinary or reproachful: “If you cannot be on duty tomorrow, it will be my fault.”

His closeness sent a chill down her spine. Sang Qingyun immediately withdrew her hand, lowered her head, and knelt again. “Your servant is lowly and dares not blame Your Majesty, nor would she dare let the cold from her hands touch Your Majesty.”

“I am grateful for Your Majesty’s gift of the medicine.”

Such open feigning of ignorance and refusal was a unique act that only Sang Qingyun could pull off in the entire harem.

To others, this might seem a game of playing hard to get, but she was sincere.

This was not the first time in three years.

He knew she truly did not wish it.

Yet whether she wished it or not did not matter.

A woman was not worth his trouble.

Xie Yanheng did not glance at her again. He stepped forward and exited, his voice faint: “Prepare the carriage. We are going to Yaohua Palace.”

Dai Zheng hurried after him, flicking his whisk and instructing subordinates to go to Consort Yuan’s palace. Then he heard His Majesty say, “Tomorrow, for the palace selection, Sang Qingyun need not attend. Replace her with Zhao Yuyan.”

The night was thick and heavy. Holding the frostbite medicine, Sang Qingyun watched His Majesty’s procession grow distant until it vanished from view. Only then did her brows knit lightly.