There wasn't even a place where we could stand, a place where the old ministers could offer milk-based sacrifices.

Yes, she is Su Jinyun, the one who accompanied Qin Qianluo from a carefree young lady of a noble family to a powerful regent.

She is an elder who watched me grow from a little princess who hid behind Qianluo and would clutch her clothes when she heard thunder, into a monarch who could rule the court alone and dare to reduce the fiefdom of the Taiyuan Wang family by 30%.

She was the only person in the court who, like me, cherished Qin Qianluo deeply and etched her memory into her very bones. How could she not understand?

But she was also the old minister who once said in court, "The emperor should put the country first and personal feelings second," and the lover who advised Qianluo back then, "The country is more important, and personal feelings can be put aside for now."

How could I let my own shameful obsession break her heart and make the world think that the emperor was indulging in personal feelings and disregarding etiquette and moral principles?

My fingertips dug into my palm, and a dull pain crept up my nerves like needles, pulling me back from my self-deceiving dream.

I finally nodded, my voice so soft it was as if I were afraid of disturbing the dust floating in the hall, my lips trembling: "As the old prime minister wishes."

When I saw Su Jinyun off, I escorted her to the Jinshui Bridge at the palace gate.

The late autumn wind carried fallen leaves from outside the palace walls, landing on the hem of her plain robe. She raised her hand to brush them away, her movements as slow as if afraid of breaking some precious treasure.

She stood on the bridge and glanced back, her gaze sweeping over the window of the Imperial Study and over the sycamore tree that Qianluo had planted herself in the corner of the palace.

Now it has grown lush and leafy, and in summer it can shade half of the courtyard.

It's as if they're searching for that figure in a blue robe who used to lean against the paulownia tree and read, or as if they're saying goodbye to the old days within these palace walls.

Then the jade staff gently tapped on the bluestone slab, the force as light as a feather falling on my heart, yet it made my eyes burn.

She leaned on her cane and slowly walked down the stone steps, the hem of her plain robe brushing against the moss on the steps, her figure shrinking small in the shadow of the palace wall.

Yet it still stands straight, like a lone pine tree that has stood in the cold wind for many years, unbent even by the wind.

I stood on the Jinshui Bridge for a long time, the wind carrying a chill that seeped into my collar and chilled my heart.

It wasn't until a eunuch gently reminded him, "Your Majesty, the wind is getting strong; it's time to return to the palace," that he turned and went back to the Imperial Study.

The water clock in the hall dripped, turning the twilight outside the window into an intense, impenetrable darkness.

The candle flame burned to its end, and the flame exploded with a "pop," splattering onto the memorial and burning a small black spot. Only then did I realize that my fingertips were frozen stiff, and even the vermilion brush I was holding was slippery.

The ink smeared on the paper, leaving crooked lines, much like the crooked "Ning" character I wrote when I cried and begged to find my father back then.

Until Haoyue came out of the system space, she repeatedly rubbed her furry head against the back of my cold hand, and her little tongue even licked the red marks between my fingers.

The string that had been taut for years finally loosened with a "hum," and my eyes suddenly welled up with tears, which fell onto the memorial, leaving a small wet patch.

The character "贡" in "西疆贡麦" was soaked until it swelled up, just like how she used to wipe my tears with a handkerchief when I cried back then.

Thankfully, it's still here in the palace, a living thing that allows me to let go of my imperial airs and hide my tears.

When discussing the location of the mausoleum, Su Jinyun and I got into an argument, which was even fiercer than when the Wang family's fiefdom was reduced. The candlelight in the hall trembled from our voices.

I insist on burying the Regent in the imperial mausoleum—that's where I'll go after I die, and a spot has already been reserved on the left side of the underground palace.

On the stone wall are the two characters "Qianluo" that I secretly had the stonemason carve. They were carved shallowly, so that no one would find them, but they are enough for me to recognize for a lifetime.

I want her to be somewhere I can see, waiting for me after I pass away, so that we can watch the sunrise over Zhaoning as it climbs up the eastern mountain peaks and warms the underground palace.

Together we listened to the camel bells from the western frontier drifting into the underground palace on the wind, as clear and bright as the nursery rhymes she taught me to sing back then.

He even planned to place a scroll of the Western Regions next to her coffin—the scroll she had drawn herself, with worn-out edges.

I kept it hidden in a secret compartment in the Imperial Study. When I couldn't sleep at night, I would take it out and touch it, my fingertips able to feel the strokes of her brush when she drew the lines.

Also included is a box of Xinjiang milk crisps, her favorite kind, packaged in the gilded box she used when she was alive.

Su Jinyun initially refused, striking the ground heavily with her jade staff, causing fine lines to appear on the bluestone slab, her tone carrying an unyielding insistence.