Late-winter snow fell softly upon the Liuli tiles. I knelt before the steps of the Hall of Mental Cultivation, my fingertips brushing the ice-crackled surface of the porcelain cup in my palm. The dark red mark at the bottom of the cup, resembling a cinnabar mole, was a stain of blood from the palace banquet three days ago; at this moment, in the snowy glare, it exuded an eerie chill.
"Empress, His Majesty summons you for an audience." The young eunuch's shrill voice pierced the dead silence. I gazed at the gilded plaque at the far end of the palace path, suddenly remembering when I first entered the palace twelve years ago, the roadside full of fluttering apricot blossoms, when the young Emperor had taken my hand and said: "A-heng, this palace path is too long; I shall walk with you until our hair turns white."
Now the palace path remained, yet it was too short to contain a single complete vow.
Chapter 112