The Empress secretly suppressed him, asking, "Who am I?"
Three days after the search, the air in the Cold Palace still carried a tense atmosphere. When Ya Huan was weaving grass insects, she couldn't help but look towards the courtyard gate. The stitches on Consort Rong's embroidered handkerchiefs would occasionally be crooked. When Consort Su was drying herbs, her gaze would unconsciously sweep over the corner of the palace wall—the direction from which the eunuchs had broken in the day before. Shallow marks left by their shoes on the bluestone slabs remained, like unhealed scars.
When delivering empty food boxes to the Imperial Kitchen, I deliberately avoided the alleys near Fengyi Palace. Passing the Laundry Department, I saw two palace maids shoving and cursing at a young eunuch: "Just a servant from the Cold Palace, daring to ask us for hot water?" The eunuch's wooden basin lay askew on the ground, cold water splashed all over his trousers, but he dared not resist, only bowing his head to pick up the scattered soap. I remembered how Ya Huan had been slapped by a eunuch last time, and my heart tightened. I was about to step forward when a servant beside me pulled me back: "Miss, don't meddle. This is the rule in the Empress's palace. Anyone associated with the Cold Palace has to suffer." He lowered his voice, his eyes filled with fear, "A few days ago, an old nanny delivered needlework to the Consort Xian, and was immediately transferred to the most arduous Laundry Department, said to have been 'tainted by bad luck'."
I gripped the food box's handle tightly, my fingertips turning white. It turned out the Empress's suppression wasn't limited to overt searches; the hidden coldness and silent punishments were the most agonizing knives of the harem. Walking back to the Cold Palace, a familiar dull pain suddenly shot through my back—like the spot where the eunuch's stick had struck me last time. But Su Fei's ointment had already been applied, so it shouldn't hurt anymore. I raised my hand to press it, but the pain washed over me like a tide. A blurry white light flashed before my eyes, and I seemed to hear a metallic clang, which vanished in an instant, leaving only the whistling wind between the palace walls.
"Sister Zhao, what's wrong?" Ya Huan's voice pulled me back to reality. She held a freshly woven grass butterfly in her hand, her face full of worry. "You were standing at the door in a daze just now, and your face was so pale." I shook my head, handed her the food box, and said with a smile, "Maybe it's just the wind, it's nothing." But I had a nagging feeling in my heart—the pain was too real, not like a recurrence of an old injury, but more like... like the feeling of being accidentally hit by a shield by a teammate on the training field a long time ago, even the feeling of tightness in my chest when I breathed was exactly the same.
The wintersweet in Consort Xian's courtyard was beginning to wither. She asked me to help collect the fallen petals, saying she wanted to pickle them into wintersweet jam. "At this time of year, the palace would be bustling with activity," she said, sitting in a wicker chair, her fingers twirling a petal, her eyes somewhat vacant. "But this year it's so quiet, even the eunuchs delivering New Year's gifts to the various palaces are fewer." I squatted down to pick up the petals when I suddenly heard faint sobbing coming from outside the wall, intermittent, mixed with the reprimands of eunuchs. Consort Xian paused, but didn't look up, only saying softly, "Don't listen. Perhaps a palace maid from one of the palaces has done something wrong and is being punished." But the fingertips holding the petal tightened slightly, her nails digging into the soft petals.
When Consort Su came to deliver the newly made calming incense pills that night, she brought even more serious news. Sitting at the table, by the light of the oil lamp, she poured the pills into a porcelain bottle, her voice extremely low: "I asked an old friend at the Imperial Pharmacy, and it seems the Empress has been seeing the Minister of Revenue recently, apparently investigating the old accounts of the Dowager Consort Xian's family." She paused, a hint of worry flashing in her eyes, "The Dowager Consort Xian's brother was in charge of the Grand Canal transport ten years ago, and I heard there's an outstanding account. The Empress probably intends to start there." My heart sank. Just as I was about to speak, the pain in my back surged again, this time accompanied by dizziness. The flame of the oil lamp flickered into a blurry orange light before my eyes, reminding me of the firelight I saw when my night vision goggles malfunctioned during a mission.
"Ah Zhao?" Su Fei's voice sounded somewhat distant. She reached out and touched my forehead. "Are you running a fever? You look so pale." I shook my head, forcing myself to sit up straight. "It's nothing, I'm probably just a little tired." Su Fei was still worried. She took a small porcelain bottle from her medicine basket and poured out a pill. "This is for reducing fever. Take it first. If you're still not feeling well tomorrow, I'll check your pulse again." The pill tasted slightly bitter, but after swallowing it, the inexplicable pain and dizziness actually lessened. I breathed a sigh of relief, but I didn't notice the doubt that flashed in Su Fei's eyes—she had clearly given me a calming pill, not a fever reducer.
On the morning of the fourth day, Qin Lan quietly visited the Cold Palace, bringing a cloth bag containing a new handkerchief that Consort Hui had given to Consort Li. "Consort Hui said that Consort Li shouldn't worry; her father's case has been submitted to the Emperor, and there should be a result in a few days." Qin Lan's voice was low, but her eyes kept glancing towards the outside of the courtyard. "However… the Phoenix Palace has been under strict surveillance lately. When I came, I saw several guards searching the various palaces' mail, saying it was 'to prevent anyone from colluding with the enemy.'" She took a tiny folded piece of paper from her sleeve and handed it to me: "This is from Consort Hui. She said to keep a close eye on the safety of the Empress Dowager, as the Empress may be planning to harm her."
I unfolded the note; the handwriting was hurried, yet betrayed my anxiety. Just as I was about to put it away, the pain in my back returned, this time more intense than before. A vivid image of ruins appeared before my eyes—among the broken walls, a figure in camouflage lay on the ground, helmet rolled aside, blood staining half his face. I snapped my eyes shut. When I opened them again, the ruins had vanished, and only Consort Rong stood before me, holding an embroidered peach blossom handkerchief, her eyes filled with worry: "You…you looked so pale just now, were you feeling unwell?"
"It's nothing," I forced a smile, stuffing the note into my pocket. "Perhaps I didn't sleep well." Consort Rong didn't leave. She handed me a peach blossom handkerchief, whispering, "This... this is for you. It has a peace charm embroidered on it. Wear it; it will keep you safe." The peace charm on the handkerchief was finely stitched, with a circle of small winter plum blossoms embroidered around the edge. I clutched the soft fabric, but my heart felt like it was being clenched—why did that strange pain and hallucination appear every time "Empress" or "danger" was mentioned? Why could Consort Su's "fever reducer" cure my inexplicable pain?
As dusk fell, I sat under the small peach tree in the corner of the courtyard, touching the handkerchief given to me by Consort Rong, the pain in my back returning faintly. I looked up at the palace walls; the setting sun had dyed the vermilion walls a dark red, like congealed blood. In the distance came the sound of the night watchman's clapper, "Dong— Dong—," the steady sound reminding me of the reveille at the training base long ago, with the same rhythm, only more urgent. The wind rustled through the peach tree branches, the buds swaying gently, yet everything before me felt somewhat unreal—the gentle smile of Consort Xian, the calm gaze of Consort Su, the shy demeanor of Consort Rong, even Ya Huan's clear laughter, all seemed veiled in a thin gauze, blurry and distant.
"Sister Zhao, dinner's ready!" Ya Huan's voice came from the corridor, carrying a bowl of steaming rice porridge. I stood up and walked towards the warm yellow light. The pain in my back gradually subsided, but the doubts in my heart grew deeper. As I passed the door of the Dowager Empress's room, I glimpsed her staring blankly at an old painting. The painting depicted a man in a dragon robe, whose features somewhat resembled a portrait in a modern history book. I rubbed my eyes, and when I looked again, the painting returned to normal, except that there seemed to be tears glistening in the corners of the Dowager Empress's eyes.
Lying in bed at night, I touched the note Consort Hui had given me, then touched Consort Rong's peach-blossom handkerchief. The pain in my back had completely disappeared, but a strange sound rang in my ears—like the beeping of a heart monitor, or the sound of the wind outside the palace walls, all mixed together, making me uneasy. I remembered what the servants had mentioned about the "Laundry Department" during the day, Consort Su's worried eyes, and those inexplicable pains and hallucinations. Suddenly, I realized that life in the Cold Palace might not be as peaceful as it seemed on the surface. And I seemed to have forgotten something very important, something about "who I am."
Moonlight streamed through the window paper, falling on the bed like a thin layer of frost. Clutching my peach blossom handkerchief, I drifted off to sleep. In my dream, I returned to those ruins. This time, I saw clearly the figure in camouflage, the scar on his forehead exactly the same as mine now.
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