Chapter Twelve-Four: The Brocade Letter Transmits a Message

During Yunji's trip north, Yunzhong Jinshu exchanged two letters between the capital and the inner palace every month.

Initially, Huairou, under the guise of "seeking advice," sent a letter to "Jiancheng Jun" through that special channel regarding specific matters such as the northern border trade and the establishment of schools. Her wording was cautious and humble, always beginning with "My humble daughter's humble opinion," and she discussed the matter at hand, analyzing it in detail. She combined what she had seen in her father's and brother's letters with her own thoughts, turning them into practical suggestions.

Jiancheng's reply was sincere yet authoritative. His words, like imperial edicts in vermilion ink, fell on the elegant letter paper, affirming her strategy or offering deeper considerations. The signature was always the steady "Jiancheng." However, from some point onward, the distance between the lines gradually lessened, replaced by a more approachable and sincere tone. He would call her "the gentle maiden," and after reviewing her analysis of coordinating the interests of various tribes on the grasslands, he would add, "Well-considered and very agreeable."

Swallows flew back and forth, autumn turned to winter. As communication became more frequent, the topics in their letters, like mercury seeping into the ground, quietly overflowed the boundaries of military and political affairs.

One day, Huairou received a reply. Unfolding it, she found the first half still a practical discussion about how to promote Central Plains agricultural tools on the grasslands. However, the tone suddenly shifted; Jiancheng was discussing with her the records of Xiongnu customs in the *Records of the Grand Historian*, corroborating her descriptions of the current situation on the grasslands, and asking for her opinion on the differences. Another day, at the end of a letter, he casually mentioned that he had recently read Tao Yuanming's poems, especially the line "Picking chrysanthemums by the eastern fence, I leisurely gaze at the Southern Mountains," expressing that even though he was in the imperial court, his heart still yearned for such a scene. He would even sketch, with just a few strokes, the misty rain of Jiangnan in his memory, or imagine the magnificent sunset over the long river beyond the Great Wall.

These words were like a window piercing the thick palace walls, allowing glimpses of the sky. Huairou's replies gradually transcended mere calm political commentary. She maintained the respect due to a court lady, yet between the lines, she unconsciously revealed a vision and agility that transcended her time. When he lamented the tedium of official duties, she would, after analyzing the political landscape, append a simple, elegant, and tranquil pastoral poem that resonated with his mood, or a detailed description of the newly planted orchids in her courtyard, how they sprouted and turned green after the spring rain, as if sending him a wisp of fragrance from afar. Her humor was restrained; occasionally, when discussing the words and actions of a rigid court official, she would use a subtle, ironic tone that elicited a smile without being inappropriate.

In late spring and early summer, Huairou added a slightly sentimental sentence at the end of a letter discussing the spring planting situation in the northern border, saying that in her dream last night, she seemed to have returned to her old home in Jiangnan and saw the jasmine plant that her mother had planted in the courtyard. The flowers were as white as snow and the fragrance was clear and far-reaching. When she woke up, the fragrance was still in her nose, making her feel even more nostalgic.

She wrote this sentence as a casual expression of her feelings, without expecting a response.

However, the next time the messenger brought a reply, he included a small brocade pouch carefully sewn from bright yellow brocade. Huairou curiously untied the ribbon, and a familiar, refreshing fragrance instantly wafted out—inside the pouch were several jasmine blossoms, dried but still perfectly formed, their color as pure white as jade. The petals were as thin as cicada wings, yet the fragrance was concentrated and lingering, so rich it seemed to encapsulate the essence of early summer in Jiangnan.

Inside the brocade pouch was another narrow, gold-flecked note with only four characters boldly written on it:

"To soothe my homesickness."

There was no signature, and no further explanation.

Huairou held the small brocade pouch, her fingertips feeling the smoothness of the brocade and the crispness of the flower petals. The familiar fragrance wafted around her breath, as if gently plucking the most secret string in her heart. "Is this the romance of the ancients?" Huairou smiled to herself.

However, she remembered that she had been Yunji's study companion and was also engaged to the Prime Minister's son.

After describing the scenery of the garden, she would quickly return to her worries about the border's food reserves; next to the little poem that expressed a touch of melancholy, she would deliberately add a line, "Just a casual scribble, I hope you'll forgive me, Lord Jiancheng," thus drawing a clear line again. Her respect and distance were armor protecting herself, and also protecting this rare friendship.

Jiancheng's writing, however, reveals the depth and restraint of an emperor's mind. After praising her insights as "always giving me a sense of clarity after the clouds have parted," he would quickly shift to a cold, stern instruction on specific political matters; after sharing the grandeur and desolation of a frontier poem with her, he would immediately inquire about a detail in a northern military report. Those occasional expressions of appreciation and concern that transcended the boundaries of ruler and subject were always fleeting, quickly pulled back to the composure and aloofness befitting an emperor. This struggle of "expressing feelings but stopping at propriety" played out silently in every stroke of the pen, becoming an unspoken secret between them, and the most moving and captivating tension in their correspondence.

The strongest bond that holds this special friendship together is undoubtedly Yungil, who is far away in the north.

They seemed like an unspoken alliance. Yunji, openly displaying his prowess on the grasslands, saw every step he took, every narrow escape, converge on the two of them through various channels. Huairou, with his profound understanding of Yunji's temperament and situation, could often anticipate the difficulties he might encounter and offer forward-thinking advice; while Jiancheng, holding the resources and information of the entire empire, could shield Yunji from both open and covert attacks in the court, providing the highest level of explanation and support for his seemingly "unorthodox" actions.

In their letter, they discussed in detail how to help Yunji balance the power of the various tribes on the grasslands, how to deal with the impeachment from the court regarding his "close ties with the barbarians," and how to use economic means to strengthen the border defenses. For the growth and safety of the person they both cared about, they poured their hearts and minds into it. This spiritual cooperation based on a shared goal made their bond transcend ordinary friendship, becoming stronger and deeper. They were allies in the same trench, kindred spirits, and reliable partners in the turbulent times.

However, when news arrived from the northern border that King Sutan of the steppes wished to marry Yunji, this bond, built on a delicate balance of reason and emotion, finally faced its most severe test. When Huairou wrote the letter urging Yunji to consider the marriage, her pen hesitated several times, the ink staining the letter. Meanwhile, the emperor, far away in the palace, upon receiving a copy of her seemingly calm and rational reply supporting the marriage, remained silent for a long, long time, staring at the familiar handwriting.

Outside the window, clouds gather and disperse, marking the turn of spring into summer once again. Those letters, carrying wisdom, longing, and restrained emotions, still fly through the palace walls to each other at the same time. Only, the words in those letters seem heavier than ever before.