Lovers cannot stay together forever (Part 1)

Four years later, at the Eastern Palace.

Zhiwei sat in the small room, embroidering a pattern with a blank expression. On the embroidery was a lifelike crabapple tree with layers of petals, as if swaying in the breeze.

The only flaw was the embroiderer; her movements were somewhat trembling, and the needle moved too slowly.

Zhiwei lowered her eyes as she embroidered patterns. Her fingertips were rough, and her right wrist was bent outwards, with a noticeable deformed arc protruding from the knuckle.

Just as they were about to finish their needlework, Zhu Sheng burst into the small room.

"Auntie, Auntie, look at Sheng'er's new clothes!" The boy's clear voice rang out. Zhu Sheng rushed into the small room like a gust of hot wind.

Fine beads of sweat trickled down his temples. Zhu Sheng was wearing the new royal blue brocade robe that Zhiwei had made for him, with silver cloud patterns rolled around the collar and cuffs, which made his features appear even more refined.

Fifteen is the perfect time for a teenager to grow and develop. Zhiwei put down her embroidery hoop and smiled.

“Our Sheng’er looks good in anything.” As she spoke, she took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from Zhu Sheng’s forehead.

This is already her second year being transferred to the East Palace to take care of Zhu Sheng.

After the Li Mingjing case, she was exiled to the Xin Zhe Ku (a place for laborers), where she was accompanied only by cold well water and heavy clothing every day.

Everything else was fine, except that in the twelfth lunar month, ice water poured onto the bluestone slabs would instantly freeze into thin ice. Zhiwei knelt in a corner of the laundry department, her hands soaking in the ice water as she scrubbed her court robes, her fingers so frozen they could barely grip the fabric.

Many springs and winters passed until that day when the newly appointed head steward of the laundry department passed by. Seeing that she was somewhat beautiful, he harbored evil intentions. Zhiwei refused, so the head steward plotted to frame her for stealing his things. After a severe beating, Zhiwei's wrist bones were broken, and she could never lift heavy objects again.

Zhiwei could still recall some events from that day when she closed her eyes, though she couldn't remember the details clearly. After all, the human body is so strangely structured that it naturally erases painful memories.

All she remembered was a servant carrying an extremely long wooden stick, which came crashing down with a whooshing sound. The first blow landed on her back, the second on her arm, and the third struck her right wrist.

With a sharp crack, more jarring than the sound of ice breaking in winter, her right wrist hung limply, as if torn off.

This was the first time she had ever hated her own face so much. It wasn't beautiful enough to bring her a lifetime of wealth, but instead it had brought her misfortune.

She died.

Holding a knife and a pot, Zhiwei's once proud skill was gone just like that.

She had thought about dying, more than once.

She also thought that she couldn't let the culprit who harmed her get away with it, so she tried to find a way to destroy them all. In the days after she was injured, Zhiwei lay on her simple bed, and when she couldn't sleep all night because of the pain, she would think about this. The more she thought about it, the more numb she became to the pain in her body.

Unfortunately, she did not live to see the day when everything was destroyed. One morning, the newly appointed steward was found frozen to death at the bottom of a well, his death gruesome.

Without her confidante, Zhiwei began to suffer from insomnia again. Every night, she would wander around the courtyard of the Xin Zhe Ku (a place for servants). Perhaps it was a blessing from heaven, but occasionally, when the night was quiet, a flute would drift from outside the high walls. The flute was clear and melodious, and Zhiwei found some comfort in hearing it so often.

In short, she didn't have time to commit suicide. The following spring, after a general amnesty, Zhiwei was assigned to Kunning Palace and later sent to take care of Zhu Sheng.

It must be thanks to the Empress. Zhiwei sighed, thinking that she was lucky, always encountering benefactors during the darkest times in her life. Cheng Yuzhi was one of them, and Zhu Sheng also treated her very well.

She never saw the culprit behind it all again.

That high and mighty emperor probably had no time to care about someone as insignificant as her. Perhaps he had long forgotten her; his life was so glorious, his territorial expansion and immeasurable merits so numerous.

Zhiwei had seen that person from afar; he seemed to be living a comfortable life and was becoming increasingly distinguished.

She hadn't considered that he might feel any pity for her, but the wound on her hand constantly reminded her of past events. She deliberately avoided him; the palace was so vast, yet the two never bumped into each other. Later, the Empress fell ill and, finding the Crown Prince unruly, transferred Zhiwei to the Eastern Palace.

She became Zhu Sheng's "aunt," a title that blurred the lines between social status. This was for the best; the Eastern Palace was far removed from those old acquaintances, and Zhu Sheng was a good boy who relied on her and was close to her. When she couldn't sleep at night due to severe wrist pain, he would secretly slip the best wound medicine under her pillow.

"Aunt, try this. It's a new dish from the Imperial Kitchen. Father gave it to me today when he asked about my studies. I think it's especially delicious." As he reminisced, Zhu Shengliang's eyes sparkled, and he magically stuffed a pastry into Zhiwei's mouth.

"Is it good?" Zhu Sheng asked with a smile.

The boy had lost some of his childish roundness, and his jawline was beginning to sharpen. His eyebrows and eyes vaguely resembled those of his father, but his eyes remained clear and bright, like a stream that had never seen the world.

Zhiwei was somewhat dazed.

"What are you thinking about, Aunt?" Zhu Sheng asked, waving his hand in front of her eyes when he saw her lost in thought.

"It's nothing." Zhiwei swallowed the pastry, acting just like a dutiful maid. She pinched the soft flesh on Zhu Sheng's face: "Aren't you afraid of getting cavities?"

"I'm an adult now." Zhu Sheng grinned nonchalantly, revealing a set of white teeth, and casually grabbed Zhiwei's hand.

"If Auntie likes it, I'll bring some back from the palace tonight for Mother's birthday," he said, tightening his grip and beaming.

——

That night, the Crown Prince went to the Empress's birthday banquet, and the Eastern Palace was unusually quiet.

It wasn't too late, but Zhiwei was exhausted.

Ever since leaving the Xin Zhe Ku (a place for laborers), Zhiwei's health has deteriorated significantly, as if she had been drained of all her energy. Firstly, her wrists would ache in the winter, and secondly, she suffered from frequent dreams, sleeping more than before but never finding peace.

Zhiwei didn't care, and joked that she had caught a "rich person's disease," having enjoyed a good life, and now she couldn't accept going back to hunger and cold.

After washing up, Zhiwei had something on her mind. Without waiting for Zhu Sheng, she went into the small room connected to Zhu Sheng's bedroom, took off her outer clothes, leaving only her inner clothes, and was about to turn off the light.

Just as he picked up the scissors, the door was flung open, and Zhu Sheng stumbled in, reeking of alcohol and with bloodshot eyes.

"What's wrong?" Zhiwei stepped forward to help him up and led him to sit on the couch.

Zhiwei sniffed. Zhu Sheng's smell of alcohol wasn't strong, but unfortunately, he couldn't hold his liquor well. After just two or three drinks, he started to look dazed.

Zhu Sheng grabbed Zhiwei's hand and called her "sister" several times.

"Sister...Aunt..." he mumbled, his voice filled with anger, "Wan Zhen'er...she really is a vixen!"

"She's gone too far!" Zhu Sheng almost roared. "Today at the birthday banquet, she pretended to have a headache and called Father away from Kunning Palace. This is Mother's birthday! She's offended Mother so much. And yet she's such a heartless wretch..."

Upon hearing this, Zhiwei understood. She had long heard about the feud between Wan Zhen'er and Cheng Yuzhi.

Before Shao Zhao broke into the Imperial Medical Bureau after Sun Wei's death, she had also gone to Kunning Palace for help. However, Cheng Yuzhi refused Shao Zhao's request for help on the grounds that Sun Wei had corrupted the palace, which indirectly led to Shao Zhao's death and Sun Wei's passing.

Wan Zhen'er blamed everything on Cheng Yuzhi and harbored resentment towards her ever since.

Later, after Zhiwei left the Xin Zhe Ku (a place for palace servants), Wan Zhen'er happened to run into her when she had just started working at Chuxiu Palace. Recognizing that they were old acquaintances, she confessed her desire for revenge against Cheng Yuzhi and asked Zhiwei what her plans were.

Both sides were old acquaintances, and Zhiwei remained silent.

Wan Zhen'er snorted coldly and said she understood what Zhiwei meant. She would not make things difficult for Zhiwei, and from now on the two of them would pretend not to know each other. Zhiwei could just stand by and watch the feud between the two of them.

Looking back now, Wan Zhen'er's eyes had lost their former innocence and kindness, leaving only hatred and resentment. Zhiwei knew that this feud was irreconcilable, so she truly ignored it, figuring Wan Zhen'er was just using her petty schemes to steal favor.

"Sheng'er, these things are beyond our control," Zhiwei gently advised. "The affairs of the harem are too far removed from us. Just do your duty."

The deaths of Shao Zhao and Sun Wei were truly a cruel twist of fate. But even Zhiwei couldn't bring herself to admit that no one was involved.

Wan Zhen'er ultimately sought someone to rely on, to find love, or to hate. She chose hate and began to scheme for the Emperor's favor, a sentiment that Zhiwei understood to some extent.

It's good to be able to hate or love. Wan Zhen'er has that ability, unlike her, who has no expectations for certain things and people, yet dares not show hatred.

Zhu Sheng continued angrily, "That vixen, even after becoming a concubine, is still not satisfied. Relying on her brother's power, she acts arrogantly everywhere. She didn't even come to pay her respects this morning, showing absolutely no respect for Mother!"

Zhu Sheng was the most attached to Cheng Yuzhi. It is said that when the emperor saw that he was getting old, he asked him to move to the East Palace. Zhu Sheng refused and fasted for three days in his room. It was Cheng Yuzhi who coaxed him and accompanied him to the East Palace for half a month before he reluctantly agreed to leave the palace and live on his own.

Zhiwei knew he was just trying to protect his mother, but this was the Eastern Palace, and he was the Crown Prince.

"Your Highness!" Zhiwei shouted sharply, covering Zhu Sheng's mouth with her hand. She glanced warily at the open door and lowered her voice, "Watch your words, walls have ears."

Many people were eyeing this spot. Among them was Wan Zhen'er.

Zhu Sheng struggled a few times as she covered his mouth, his eyes, so similar to his father's, staring intently, burning with flames of humiliation.

After a while, he seemed to have all his strength drained away, his body went limp, he let out a muffled sob, his head lolled to the side, and he fell into a deep sleep leaning against Zhiwei's shoulder.

He was still a child at heart. Zhiwei took off his shoes and socks, covered him with a thin blanket, and ran her fingertips across his furrowed brow.

*

The night was as thick as ink.

Zhiwei left the East Palace silently, like a wandering soul, strolling through the streets after curfew. The night wind brushed past her ears, and following her memory, she walked towards the familiar bamboo grove by the pond in the east of the city.

The clear, melodious sound of a flute, like a lament, pierced through the night and drifted on. Jiang Qin stood with his back to her on a smooth blue stone by the water.

Zhiwei stopped in her tracks, neither approaching nor uttering a sound, but simply listening quietly.

The flute music faded, the last note disappearing into the night wind. Jiang Qin slowly turned around, the moonlight illuminating his handsome face.

He looked at Zhiwei standing in the shadows, his eyes showing little surprise, and simply nodded slightly: "Miss Yan."

Zhiwei blushed.