I held her blood-stained gold hairpin, and the pearl on its tip rolled across the dragon desk, looking just like the tears in her eyes when she first entered the palace. The imperial physician said her heartstrings had snapped and she could not be saved. Yet I always felt she was merely asleep, just like all those nights in the past when I reviewed memorials until late, and she would always doze off leaning against the heater, waiting for me to drape a cloak over her.
We first met in the covered corridor of the Imperial Garden. She was wearing a moon-white ru-skirt, squatting beneath the crabapple blossoms to pick up fallen petals, with a plain silver hairpin tucked in her hair. As I passed by with my attendants, she looked up, a petal of pinkish-white still clinging to her eyelashes like a butterfly about to flutter its wings. "This subject's daughter pays her respects to Your Royal Highness the Crown Prince," she said, bowing, her voice as light as a spring breeze skimming a lake. Yet I heard my own heart pounding like a drum; so this was what the books called love at first sight.
Only later did I learn that her heart had long held a childhood sweetheart. I had seen that scholar a few times at the Imperial Academy—lean and frail, yet standing beside her like two bamboo stalks growing side by side. I had someone investigate his family background; he was merely from an impoverished humble family. How could he possibly be worthy of my Crown Prince's consort? On the day of the Consort Selection Grand Ceremony, she knelt in the hall, the gold threads on her wedding gown stinging her eyes until they were rimmed with red. "Why must Your Highness force this subject's daughter?" Her voice trembled, yet she refused to let a single tear fall. I placed the phoenix coronet upon her head, my fingers brushing her icy earlobes: "Because in this realm, there is nothing this Crown Prince cannot have."
On our wedding night, she locked herself in the side chamber. I sat on the nuptial bed, watching the red candles weep, and suddenly remembered how she looked picking up flower petals. The next morning, as she stood before the bronze mirror inserting her hairpin, I reached out to dress her hair, but she gently stepped aside. "If Your Majesty is fond of this consort's face, you are entirely welcome to have a portraitist copy it." Her tone was flat, yet her reflection in the mirror was trembling. I gripped her chin, forcing her to look at me: "What I want is your very person, not a painting."
I built the most magnificent palaces for her and scoured the empire for rare treasures and exotic gems. Hearing that she loved litchis from Lingnan, I had couriers ride at breakneck speed so that fruit plucked at dawn could be placed on her desk by dusk. She always said, "I thank Your Majesty for your grace," but she never once consented to call me "A-Yan." Once, when I had too much to drink, I took her hand and said, "Look, all this rivers and mountains belongs to me. Why won't you just look at me?" She lowered her gaze, avoiding my eyes: "Your Majesty already possesses the realm; why obsess over a stubborn stone like this consort?"
That day, she knelt outside the Imperial Study, begging me to grant that scholar a posting outside the Capital. "He harbors great ambitions; he should not be trapped in the Capital." Her forehead pressed against the green bricks, her voice laced with entreaty. I crushed the jade paperweight in my hand, the fragments slicing open my palm, and blood dripped into her hair: "You want him to leave that badly? I will deliberately keep him right under my nose, so that every single day you are reminded of who your true husband is." She raised her head, and finally, hatred flickered in her eyes: "Someone like Your Majesty doesn't understand what love is at all."
Later, that scholar contracted consumption, coughing up blood until his entire form wasted away. She knelt at the threshold of the Imperial Hospital, begging the physicians to save him with all their might. I stood beneath the eaves watching her; the late autumn rain drenched her clothes, yet she seemed not to feel the chill, bowing again and again. I had people carry her back to her chambers and forced ginger soup down her throat, but even in her delirium, she called out another's name. At that moment, a sudden panic seized me—realizing that no matter how much favor and affection I bestowed upon her, there remained a block of ice deep within her heart, freezing a place I could never enter.
On the day of the Winter Solstice, she accompanied me to perform the grand sacrifices in her Empress's ceremonial attire. On the way back to the palace, she suddenly pointed to a wisp of smoke in the distance and said, "Look, Your Majesty, that household is steaming New Year rice cakes." I followed her gaze, seeing only thin curls of smoke drifting among blue tiles and white walls, and for a fleeting moment, it felt as though we had returned to the common folk. "Back home, whenever the Winter Solstice arrived, Father would always let me help pound the rice flour." A smile touched the corners of her mouth, only to vanish just as quickly. "Thinking of it now, it is all nothing more than past dust."
When news of the scholar's passing arrived, she was in the middle of embroidering a dragon robe for me. The embroidery frame dropped to the floor, silk threads tangling around her fingertips, but she simply stared blankly at the snow outside the window. I wanted to hold her, but she gently pushed me away: "Does Your Majesty know? Before he drew his last breath, he had someone bring me a message." I clenched my fists, hearing her say softly, "He said he wished me peace and joy for all my days to come."
Last night, after finishing the memorials, I went to see her. She was wearing that very same moon-white ru-skirt, leaning by the window drinking tea. On the table sat half a piece of uneaten osmanthus cake—her favorite pastry. Just as I was about to speak, I saw her draw the gold hairpin from her sleeve. The instant the sharp tip pierced her throat, droplets of blood splashed onto my dragon robe like blooming red plum blossoms.
Now she lay in my arms, her body gradually growing cold. I finally understood: she was not a stubborn stone, but a block of ice. And this burning heart of mine could never melt the bitter winter within her soul. So some affections are wrong right from the very start. I kept her forcibly by my side, believing I could sway her with power and affection, forgetting that love can never be won through coercion and plunder.
Palace attendants spoke softly outside the hall, reporting that preparations must begin for the Empress's funeral rites. I shook my head, gently smoothing her disheveled hair. A faint fragrance of osmanthus still lingered in her locks—a custom-blended powder I had specially made for her. It turned out that until the very end, she refused to use anything given by me; even this scent was something she had quietly changed herself.
The snow outside the window fell heavier and heavier, burying the bloodstains across the ground. I held her, just as one holds a dream from which one will never wake. A-He, it turns out that the most precious thing in this world is never imperial power or supreme wealth, but the light in your eyes when you look at someone. Yet it was only now, when I finally understood, that I had lost you forever.
The bell in Jinluan Hall tolled, and a new day began once more. But my Empress remained forever frozen in this snow-swept winter night. A-He, if there is an afterlife, I wish to be an ordinary man, to watch you smile in the bustling streets and bustle amidst the kitchen smoke, never again building this gilded cage to trap you, never again being the heartless wretch who brought you such pain.