Consort Li intends to stay in the Cold Palace indefinitely.
The beeping sound lingered in my ears until late into the night before gradually subsiding. Clutching my peach-blossom handkerchief, I drifted off to sleep, my dreams filled with the image of Consort Li riding away in her carriage. I chased after her, calling out, "Don't go!" but my voice was muffled, unable to carry. Half-asleep, I kept thinking: If only Consort Li would never leave the Cold Palace, if only we could stay together like this forever, without having to face the struggles of the harem, without having to wait for that spring that will never come…
When I was woken up again by Ya Huan's voice, I thought I would hear "Consort Li is about to leave" again, but what came from outside the door was a different kind of excitement: "Sister A Zhao! Get up quickly! Consort Li said she's not leaving!"
I opened my eyes abruptly, and the peach blossom handkerchief in my hand had indeed transformed into an orchid handkerchief—the orchid pattern was finely stitched, and the familiar peach blossom marks were gone from the edges; it was the one Consort Rong had embroidered overnight. I stumbled and pushed open the door. The snow outside the courtyard was still there, but it was thinner than a few days ago, revealing the edges of the bluestone slabs. Consort Rong stood under the winter plum tree, the brocade box in her hand open, the orchid handkerchief inside. The dark circles under her eyes had faded somewhat. Seeing me come out, she smiled and said, "Consort Li… she said she's not leaving; she wants to stay in the Cold Palace to keep us company."
Consort Su walked over carrying a food box. The wood grain on the box was still familiar, but the osmanthus cakes inside had become round, with two osmanthus flowers on each piece, completely different from the diamond shape of the previous days. "Consort Li has come to her senses. She said the struggles in the palace are too tiring, and it's better to be at ease in the Cold Palace," she handed me the food box, her tone carrying a genuine smile. "I specially asked the Imperial Kitchen to make this new style of osmanthus cake as a celebration."
I followed them towards Consort Li's courtyard. My footsteps left shallow footprints in the snow—not disappearing immediately like before, but lingering for a moment before being gently covered by the fine snowflakes carried by the breeze. Reaching the courtyard gate, I heard laughter coming from inside. The Dowager Consort Xian sat on the veranda, holding a handkerchief of orchids given to her by Consort Rong. Consort Li sat beside her, holding a butterfly-shaped grass ornament from Ya Huan, and said with a smile, "I thought about it all night. I don't care for the riches and glory of the palace, and the struggles are exhausting. I'd rather be in the Cold Palace, planting flowers, making pastries, and playing the pipa with you all. That's the kind of life I'll find peace."
Ya Huan, clinging to Consort Li's arm, smiled so broadly her eyes crinkled: "I knew Your Highness wouldn't want to part with us! From now on, we can weave grass crickets together every day and wait for the peach blossoms to bloom!" Consort Rong, sitting to the side, whispered, "I... I can teach you to embroider handkerchiefs, and we can embroider the whole courtyard full of flowers and plants together." Consort Su also smiled and said, "I'll make more calming incense pills, so we can gather around the stove to brew tea in winter and enjoy the cool air in the courtyard in summer. Isn't that better than having to watch other people's faces in the palace?"
Consort Xian put down her handkerchief, her eyes full of relief: "Good, good! Finally, our Cold Palace can be lively again." She looked at me and said, "Ah Zhao, go to the Imperial Kitchen and tell them to prepare extra dishes today so we can have a good celebration tonight."
I agreed and walked out, my steps much lighter. Passing the laundry department, the two palace maids were still gossiping, but their conversation had changed: "Have you heard? Her Majesty the Empress has recalled the palace maids who were punished, saying there was 'no evidence.' It seems she really couldn't find any fault this time." The other maid nodded: "It's better in the Cold Palace; you don't have to get involved in these things. I heard even Consort Li doesn't want to go back." The number of soaps they held had changed from three to two, no longer the fixed amount.
When I returned from the imperial kitchen, I made a detour to the palace gate. The lotus-colored carriage was still there, but it was covered with a thin layer of snow. The lotus pattern on the curtain seemed to have been moved by the wind—no longer as stiff as before. Consort Hui stood beside the carriage with Qin Lan, her face no longer showing the worry she had before, but rather a sense of relief: "Consort Li is right, life in the palace is indeed tiring. It's more comfortable for you to stay in the Cold Palace, and I feel at ease." Qin Lan took my hand and said with a smile, "I will come to the Cold Palace to see you often in the future, bringing you delicious snacks."
As evening fell, we set up a small banquet in the courtyard of the Dowager Consort Xian. A petal gently drifted down from a branch of the wintersweet tree and landed in Consort Su's teacup—the wintersweet had been lush and verdant for the past few days, with no petals ever falling. The Dowager Consort Xian raised her teacup and said, "Today is an auspicious day. May we be together forever, never to be separated." We raised our cups together, the clinking of the teacups crisp and clear, no longer carrying the faint echo of before.
Consort Rong began to play the pipa, this time not the repeated "Spring River Flower Moon Night," but a new piece, its melody light and warm. Ya Huan sang along to the tune, the lyrics of which she had composed herself, about her days in the Cold Palace: "The winter plum blossoms, the snow falls, we make desserts together; the peach blossoms bloom, the wind blows gently, we wait for dawn together..."
I sat to the side, eating a round osmanthus cake. The sweet fragrance spread in my mouth, and my taste buds finally responded—it was a genuine, refreshing sweetness, carrying the aroma of osmanthus. Under the small peach tree in the corner of the yard, the weeds were no longer just sprouting, but had grown to an inch tall, their tender green leaves standing out against the snow.
At night, I lay in bed, holding a handkerchief made of orchid, the soft "drip-drip" sound in my ear like the distant wind. I knew that this cycle might not be over yet, that this was still a dream, but there were changes in the dream—Consort Li remained, footprints could stay, the osmanthus cake had changed its appearance, and even the winter plum blossoms had begun to shed petals.
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