The day before the Agriculture-Praying Festival, Su Wanzhao was finally released from her confinement.
Zhao Yan seemed to loathe her even more than before, never once showing his face.
The Jiuzhang Platform had already been constructed, and everyone was required to spend the night at the monastery on Heming Mountain to demonstrate their sincerity. As the "Blessed Woman," Su Wanzhao had even more duties, including lighting incense, burning candles, and performing ritual ablutions.
As the door to Hongni Courtyard slowly creaked open, it revealed Su Wanzhao’s sallow, haggard face.
She rushed forward and grabbed Weimo’s hand tightly. "Has the Prince forgiven me?"
Weimo squeezed her sweat-dampened palm in return. "Rest easy, Princess Consort. The Prince has been thinking of you all this time."
"Truly?"
Weimo helped her back into the room to apply her makeup, soothing her with a gentle voice, "You are the legitimate wife; how could the Prince ever truly neglect you? Didn't he specially order someone to send you cordyceps and donkey-hide gelatin just two days ago?"
"That gelatin was sent by the Prince?"
Weimo softly answered in the affirmative as she painted Su Wanzhao's thin lips a vibrant, striking red.
A glimmer of light finally returned to Su Wanzhao’s eyes. She rummaged through her jewelry box, selecting pieces with care. Gold phoenix tassels and jade hairpins danced between her fingers until she finally chose a simple emerald step-shake.
The Empress had dispatched Imperial Noble Consort De to oversee the entire Grain-Praying ceremony, and everyone had to wait outside the palace gates for her imperial procession.
Weimo finished packing Su Wanzhao’s essentials. It was only when they were about to depart that she finally saw Zhao Yan, dressed in his black imperial crown robes.
Su Wanzhao’s eyes welled up with tears, but the man only gave her a cold, passing glance.
Before the palace gates, Su Wanzhao followed closely behind Zhao Yan, the small beads hanging from her emerald step-shake trembling with her every breath. Today, she had specifically donned the purple gauze cloud-brocade gown gifted to her by Imperial Noble Consort De, though the silver-patterned cuffs looked a fraction too short.
During her days of confinement, it was as if her very frame had withered away.
"Your Highness..." She reached up to adjust her wobbly step-shake for the third time, only to be startled by the chime of phoenix bells.
Imperial Noble Consort De’s elaborate procession slowly emerged from the palace gates; the gilded roof of her palanquin shimmered brilliantly in the setting sun.
Wen Qingyu suddenly leaned out from the carriage window, her fair face painted with elegant, arched eyebrows. She spotted Su Wanzhao in the crowd at a glance. Her gaze turned icy, and her fingers clenched tightly.
"Your son pays his respects to his Consort Mother." Zhao Yan’s voice was even more solemn than usual.
As the crowd knelt, Su Wanzhao’s nerves got the better of her, and her emerald step-shake clattered to the ground.
Inside the carriage, Imperial Noble Consort De stroked the coral beads on Wen Qingyu’s wrist. "It seems the Princess Consort is not very happy to see me."
Su Wanzhao hurriedly retrieved the ornament and pinned it back into her hair. "Seeing you, Consort Mother, brings me nothing but joy..."
"Is that so?"
Imperial Noble Consort De peered at her through the gauze curtains, her eyes filled with indescribable disgust.
Wen Qingyu took the opportunity to hook her arm through the Imperial Noble Consort’s, acting coy and spoiled. "Your Highness, you tease. Su is the legitimate wife, after all—why would she dislike her own mother-in-law and seek favor with others instead?"
When Su Wanzhao had entered the palace to offer thanks a few days prior, her newfound intimacy with the Empress had been obvious. Wen Qingyu was deliberately twisting the knife, hoping to turn the daughter-in-law and mother-in-law against each other for good.
Imperial Noble Consort De patted Wen Qingyu’s hand. "If she were even half as sensible as you, I would be at ease."
Just as Wen Qingyu was about to respond with a clever quip, Zhao Yan pulled Su Wanzhao to her feet. "The hour is late. Consort Mother, please proceed."
Sensing her son’s displeasure, Imperial Noble Consort De waved her hand, and the procession slowly began its journey toward the outskirts of the city.
The Jiuzhang Platform, known as the Yunxi Platform, was built atop Heming Mountain outside the Capital, with a tributary of the Jin River winding past the foot of the mountain. On either side of the white marble steps stood golden statues of the mythical beast Fuzhu, symbolizing a bountiful harvest.
The Qiwu State was situated in a saline-alkali region where fertile land was scarce. The ancestors had placed great importance on agriculture, making the triennial Agriculture-Praying Festival an exceptionally grand affair.
Supported by Wen Qingyu, Imperial Noble Consort De ascended the marble steps, with the officials following behind. There were over a thousand white marble stairs in total, and everyone had to reach the monastery halfway up the mountain before they could rest.
Su Wanzhao gripped the sleeve of Zhao Yan’s robe so tightly her knuckles turned white as paper. A gust of mountain wind caught the hem of her purple gauze gown, revealing her slightly trembling shoes.
Weimo supported her arm, but Su Wanzhao leaned her entire weight against her—as heavy as if she were made of lead—causing Weimo to breathe with difficulty.
Wen Qingyu deliberately hung back a step, her red silk gown embroidered with gold thread shimmering in the sunset. Her eyes swept over Weimo’s hand. "Has the Princess lost her backbone, or just her courage? If others see this, won't it bring shame to the Prince?"
Su Wanzhao bit her lip, her embroidered shoes creaking against the marble steps. "I... I am just afraid of heights."
"Afraid of heights?" Wen Qingyu raised her voice, intentionally stepping on the hem of Su Wanzhao’s trailing skirt. "If you are afraid of heights here, what will you do when you reach the top of the Jiuzhang Platform?"
She suddenly reached out to pinch Su Wanzhao’s chin, her crimson-painted nails digging into her skin, and leaned in to mock her: "If you only have this much spine, you might as well crawl back to Hongni Courtyard to do embroidery!"
"That has nothing to do with you!" Su Wanzhao violently pushed her hand away. Wen Qingyu stumbled into Cuiliu, her agate bracelet hitting the railing with a crack before shattering into fragments on the ground.
She caught sight of the cashmere pouch hanging from Cuiliu’s waist.
Surrounding officials glanced over, wondering if this was really the right occasion for these two women to be bickering.
Weimo kept her eyes lowered as she climbed, feeling Su Wanzhao’s body tense up under her hand. Wen Qingyu had a fiery temper and was a cherished daughter of a noble house; she was not someone the timid Su Wanzhao could handle.
"That bracelet was a gift from Her Highness only this morning, and you dared to break it!"
Wen Qingyu grabbed Su Wanzhao, bringing the entire group to a halt.
Su Wanzhao was yanked off balance, her emerald step-shake swaying askew. "It was clearly you who..."
"How so?" Wen Qingyu’s voice echoed through the valley, relentless. "I showed concern out of kindness, yet you deliberately destroyed my bracelet. Isn't that a slap in the face to Her Highness in public?"
"Yu’er." Imperial Noble Consort De stopped at the front and looked back. "It is just a bracelet, let it be. Come back to my side."
"But she..." Wen Qingyu’s face flushed red, refusing to budge.
"Go back." Zhao Yan suddenly flicked his sleeve, and Su Wanzhao, losing her grip, was sent staggering back.
Seeing the man’s displeasure, Wen Qingyu stamped her foot and swept past Su Wanzhao, intentionally stepping hard on her hem while whispering, "Sister, you’d better hold on tight. If you fall off the Jiuzhang Platform, I'm afraid they won't even be able to gather all your bones."
Su Wanzhao suddenly stood tall, her frame swaying slightly in the wind.
Weimo looked at her pale profile, remembering the arrogance Su Wanzhao had displayed in her past life when she stood upon the platform to receive the worship of the masses. Her current trembling seemed almost absurd and ridiculous.
As the mountain wind brushed her ears, Weimo heard a mocking sigh in the depths of her own heart. This game of two women fighting for a husband was proving to be much more interesting than in her previous life.
Zhao Yan suddenly wrapped his arm around Su Wanzhao’s waist, his palm pressing against her flowered sash as he guided her up the stone steps. Hot tears welled in Su Wanzhao’s eyes. "Your Highness..."
"Say no more." The twilight turned the man’s profile into a silhouette, igniting a raging spark in the depths of Su Wanzhao’s eyes. Her long eyelashes fluttered as a clear tear gathered, and the corners of her mouth curled into uncontrollable ecstasy.
Yet, Zhao Yan’s peripheral vision remained locked on the figure behind them. When he had turned just now, he had caught sight of her lowered brow, where fine beads of sweat clung to her stray hairs, looking as though she might shatter if she swayed even once more.
Only then did he realize that Su Wanzhao had been leaning heavily on her the entire time; with every step, she had been carrying the weight of two people.
That frame was so thin that even her shadow seemed transparent. If she were bumped one more time, he feared she would be ground into dust.