Chapter 38: Zhao Guangyi is here? Excellent! Let him in!

"Your Majesty."

Seeing Zhao Kuangyin emerge from the Imperial Garden, Wang Ji'en, who had been waiting at the entrance with his attendants for some time, hurried forward. He took the heavy cloak he had been holding and draped it over Zhao Kuangyin, carefully adjusting it with the utmost attentiveness.

However, even with the thick cloak wrapped around him, Zhao Kuangyin felt no warmth; instead, he felt a deeper chill. A coldness that seemed to seep from the very depths of his soul.

If everything Li Cheng had said was true, then this Wang Ji'en was hiding his true nature remarkably well.

"Grand Eunuch Wang?" Zhao Kuangyin called out.

"Your Majesty, your humble servant is here," Wang Ji'en replied promptly.

"Next time you come, bring a hand warmer."

"I shall remember this, Your Majesty. It was my negligence that left you shivering in the cold."

Zhao Kuangyin shook his head. "Not for me. For yourself. It is freezing out here; don't let yourself catch a chill."

"I am not cold, Your Majesty, truly! With these words from you, even if the sky rained ice blades or the wind threatened to tear my ears off, I would not feel the cold! I must have cultivated virtue for several lifetimes to have the honor of serving you!"

Watching Wang Ji'en, who was bowing in gratitude and appearing genuinely moved to tears, Zhao Kuangyin smiled. He patted him on the shoulder and said, "Very well, let us go."

As he watched Zhao Kuangyin stride toward the Wansui Palace, Wang Ji'en felt an immense sense of satisfaction. When it came to being trusted by the Emperor, no one in the palace could compare to him. The Emperor was indeed a fine man, but unfortunately, he was not getting any younger. A new emperor brings new officials, and what sovereign doesn't have their own trusted aides they wish to promote and install? It would be difficult to maintain his current status after the Emperor passed, especially for a eunuch so deeply trusted by the previous reign.

How could he avoid such a fate? The answer was to place his bets early and become the trusted confidant of the next emperor. He had played his hand well: the current Emperor trusted him implicitly, and the Prince of Jin regarded him as a loyal follower. Once the current Emperor was gone, the Prince of Jin would undoubtedly ascend the throne. The Emperor’s concern for him just moments ago proved he had played his part perfectly, keeping Zhao Kuangyin completely in the dark about his true allegiances. Once the current Emperor was sent on his way and the Prince of Jin took the throne, his position would be secure for good.

***

In the Qinghui Pavilion, Princess Zhao Runniang of the State of Chu lay propped against the carved bedhead, her hands tucked under the quilt covering her legs. At that moment, she looked like a small kitten curled up on a bed in the dead of winter. A piece of paper rested upon her drawn-up knees, inscribed with a few lines of poetry.

Her gaze had been fixed on the paper for a long time.

*Life is like a wild goose alighting upon the snow; a chance mark left behind by a wandering wing...*

She had long since memorized this poem, titled "Impermanence," and it was deeply etched into her mind. She had recited it silently to herself countless times, yet she could not bear to put it away. Every time she read it, it left a lingering aftertaste and endless reflections. In just a few short lines, it captured the fleeting nature of all things, yet the final two verses carried a sense of heroic detachment, reminiscent of Li Taibai’s "the light boat has already passed ten thousand mountains."

Was her own life not the same? She was born into immense wealth, her mother an Empress, her father an Emperor. She was meant to be blessed, with all the sweetness of the world destined for her. Yet, merely two months after her birth, her mother had passed away, leaving her with no memory of her mother’s voice or face. She knew of her mother only through portraits and the stories told by her father and elder brother.

She should have been like her sisters, growing up to marry and raise children. As a princess, with her father on the throne, no husband’s family would dare mistreat her. That, too, would have been a happy, fulfilling life. But then came this illness, shattering everything. Forget a normal life; she had little time left. Her father had always hidden the truth, never letting anyone tell her, but how could such a thing be kept hidden forever?

The detachment at the end of the poem was something she feared she could never learn. How could someone with so little time left be truly detached?

Looking at the poem, the image of the young man who wrote it involuntarily surfaced in her mind. What kind of person was he? How could he write such a poem? How could someone only thirteen or fourteen years old write something so philosophical, so thought-provoking, and so resonant? When she first heard it at the "Flower Pavilion," she had been so captivated by its brilliance that her mind had been elsewhere. Now that she had returned, the more she pondered, the more curious she became. What had this youth—who seemed even younger than her—experienced to possess such profound insight? It was as if he had lived for decades.

*The old monk is dead, a new pagoda stands; the crumbling wall hides the poem I once read. Do you still remember the rugged path of the past? The long road, the weary traveler, and the braying of the tired donkey.*

Who was the old monk? What connection did they have? What poem had he written on that broken wall before? Who was he with when he passed by that Zen temple? Why did someone so young have so many experiences, so many regrets, and so much wisdom? And how could he write about them so beautifully?

Furthermore, where was he from? And why had her father imprisoned him in the Flower Pavilion?

Princess Zhao Runniang felt a surge of endless curiosity. As she lost herself in these thoughts, she unconsciously puffed out one cheek, blowing air back and forth.

And he had said he had more fine poetry to share, telling her to visit once every five days. What kind of marvels would those poems be, if he considered them worthy? Would they be even better than "Impermanence"? What kind of surprises would he have for her when she visited again?

Thinking of these things, Zhao Runniang felt her heart take flight; she wished she could go to the Flower Pavilion right this instant.

Standing quietly not far away, Nanny Hua watched the Princess. A soft, motherly smile appeared on her face. It was the first time she had ever seen the Princess in such a state.

***

In Heyang, the sky was thick with clouds, though it did not snow; instead, a cold, persistent drizzle fell. The weather was so frigid that the rain froze before it could flow away or seep into the ground. A layer of ice coated the earth, the tree branches, and the withered grass. The entire world seemed to have turned crystalline. When the wind blew, the countless icicles collided, creating a crisp, melodious sound.

In a warm room, Zhao Pu, the Jiedushi of Heyang, sat before a small red clay stove, warming wine. The room was filled with the fragrance of the spirit. In such biting cold, there was nothing more pleasant than staying indoors, huddled by the stove with a cup of warm wine. But Zhao Pu’s mind was clearly elsewhere; the wine on the stove had been simmering for a while, yet he made no move to pour a drink. He simply stared out the window, lost in thought.

An ordinary person might think he was mesmerized by the stunning scenery, but the old servant standing nearby knew that the Minister was not looking at the view at all. He was looking toward the distant, invisible Bianliang—that Bianliang to which he might never be able to return in this lifetime.

***

Inside the Wansui Palace, Zhao Kuangyin was attending to state affairs, but the many things he had heard from the young Li kept swirling in his mind, making it impossible for him to find peace. *The way of doing, the shadow of the candle and the sound of the axe, the Qianji poison...*

"Your Majesty, the Prince of Jin requests an audience."

Wang Ji'en’s voice came from afar, interrupting his thoughts.

*What?* Zhao Kuangyin’s gaze sharpened. Talk of the devil!

"Let him in!"