Chapter Two: The Winds of Peril Arise

After the martial tournament, Ye Qianling bid farewell to the familiar soldiers. Remembering that she had not yet visited her mother since returning to the palace, she headed straight for the Kunning Palace. Wandering alone, she strolled and paused, fiddling with anything that seemed different from before. In this meandering way, she arrived at Liuxin Lake, the largest in the imperial palace.

Beside Liuxin Lake was a small garden filled with rare and precious flowers and trees of the age. Ye Qianling loved roses most of all, and had planted many varieties and colors here. Whenever she was away on a campaign, her palace maids would tend and water them, so the roses in this little garden always flourished best.

She lingered among the roses for a while, vaguely hearing voices but paying them no mind. After a quarter of an hour, she finally left the garden.

Stepping out, she saw the shadow of a child drifting motionless on the surface of Liuxin Lake. It looked ominous.

Though Ye Qianling was not a strong swimmer, she had no doubt about her ability to save a child. Without hesitation, she plunged into the water. As soon as she reached the child and glimpsed his face, she was stunned—it was Ye Qianhao!

Ye Qianling was momentarily dazed. When she regained her senses, her limbs were numb and powerless. Who would dare such audacity, to murder a prince? With great difficulty, she brought the child ashore, but he was already not breathing.

Ignoring her own dripping body and forcing back the tears threatening to spill, Ye Qianling held Ye Qianhao in silence. This was no simple matter. Swallowing her immense grief, she forced herself to remain rational. She could only hurry to find the Emperor—who in the palace could be so bold as to commit murder?

“Haor!” A voice sounded from afar. Ye Qianling looked up sharply. Consort Lu was rushing toward them like a madwoman, utterly out of her senses. Behind her, to Ye Qianling’s astonishment, was her father—the Emperor.

Seeing who had arrived, Ye Qianling’s knees buckled, and she knelt on the pebbled ground, head bowed, struggling not to let her tears fall. Consort Lu collapsed to the ground, cradling the cold, lifeless Ye Qianhao, stroking his wet hair as tears fell ceaselessly, her pitiful appearance wrenching the heart.

“Haor, look at your mother, Haor, why are you here, Haor…” The once-beautiful features of Consort Lu were etched with years in an instant as she called her son’s name again and again, hoping to wake him.

The Emperor Guangde hurried over. When he saw Ye Qianhao’s state, his steps faltered and he nearly fell, saved only by the support of a nearby guard, who quietly murmured, “Your Majesty.”

“Father,” Ye Qianling, seeing the Emperor so stricken, reflexively tried to rise and steady him. But the Emperor grasped her wrist with force, compelling her to meet his eyes. “Ling’er, what happened?”

Guangde Emperor’s face had never before shown weakness or pain, but in that instant, Ye Qianling saw a deep sorrow. After all, nothing is harder to bear than the loss of a son in middle age.

“Father, after the tournament I wished to visit Mother. On the way, I passed by here and lingered in the rose garden. But upon coming out, I found…” Ye Qianling could not hold back her tears, anguish knotting her chest, her grief uncontainable. “I saw someone in the water, went to save them, and realized—it was my sixth brother.”

Ye Qianling flung herself into the Emperor’s arms, at last unable to restrain her tears. Her voice was hoarse and broken with sobs as she clung to him. “Father, what is going on? I came out of the garden and saw my brother in the lake. When I pulled him out, he was already gone.” Her tears soaked the Emperor’s shoulder, and silence fell.

The Emperor held Ye Qianling, stroking her head, and it was a long time before he spoke. “Ling’er, your father will find the murderer, wipe out their entire clan, and avenge this with blood. Do not be afraid.”

He released her and lifted her face, seeing the glimmer of tears on her lashes, his heart aching for her. “Be strong, Ling’er. Now is not the time for sorrow. For an assassin to openly murder a prince within the palace is no small matter. I am grieving, too, but we must uncover the truth at once. Otherwise, not just Haor, but the whole palace will be at risk.”

It was hard to understand why men could so well conceal their emotions—clearly suffering yet always putting duty first, all the more so for an emperor. Perhaps this was why men so often held positions of authority. Ye Qianling knew now was not the time for grief, but sometimes the heart was simply too heavy. This was certainly no simple matter; to mourn alone was not the way of the capable.

“Yes,” Ye Qianling replied, her demeanor subdued in sorrow, so unlike her usual casual self. She cast one final look at Ye Qianhao’s body, then fell silent.

“Mobilize the Imperial Guards at once. Search the entire palace. If there is any outsider within, bring them directly to the Council Hall. I will see the mastermind torn to pieces,” Emperor Guangde ordered Commander Xun Xun of the Imperial Guards. He knelt to touch Ye Qianhao’s face, then gently patted Consort Lu, whose expression was near despair, and comforted her in a gentle tone: “Xiaoyu, Haor’s misfortune pains me deeply as well, but I promise you, the culprit will pay the price he deserves.”

The Emperor’s features were bold and striking, his presence imposing and awe-inspiring. Yet his voice, though low and hoarse, held a magnetic warmth that always imparted a sense of security.

Watching her father comfort Consort Lu so tenderly despite his own grief, Ye Qianling felt a pang in her heart. No parent could remain unmoved at the loss of their child.

At that moment, the Empress and the Third Princess arrived, having heard the news.

Empress Mu Ziying of the Ye Kingdom, wearing her phoenix robe, hailed from a family of generals and, in her youth, had campaigned with Emperor Guangde. She was famed as both a talented general and the capital’s unrivaled beauty for decades, her title only recently claimed by her two daughters. Like the Emperor, she was skilled in both civil and martial arts, renowned across the continent as a wise empress. She had been chatting with her third daughter, Ye Qianmu, who had just returned to the palace, when she received the news. The Third Princess was considering taking the national civil examination and sought her mother’s advice—the two were weighing pros and cons. Though men and women competed equally in the bureaucracy, as a princess, it was hardly appropriate to spend seven days in the examination hall.

Ye Qianmu, Third Princess of Ye, was the foremost talent of her generation—dignified, composed, and prudent, quite unlike the lively and mischievous Ye Qianling. She was the chief disciple at the National Academy, studying under the great scholar Master Fang Heming. She so closely resembled Mu Ziying (save for her thinner lips) that they were nearly identical. Her demeanor was that of a model princess: meticulous and respected by all.

When Mu Ziying arrived, her first sight was Emperor Guangde sorrowfully comforting Lu Lingyu. Her gaze darkened—no woman could easily share her husband. But after a moment, she turned her eyes to Ye Qianling, who was searching for clues with the Imperial Guards. It had been two months since mother and daughter last met, and Mu Ziying’s heart ached.

Ye Qianling was only fifteen, yet had fought on the battlefield for two years, spending less than half of each year in the palace. Seeing that her daughter had grown thinner, Mu Ziying wanted to call out to her, but as she saw Ye Qianling busy at work, she instead walked over to stand by the Emperor and Consort Lu.

Emperor Guangde noticed someone approaching, and when he saw Mu Ziying, he paused. Because of Consort Lu, the two had not looked kindly on each other for two years. Mu Ziying, still resentful, had avoided him, and after many failed attempts at reconciliation, they had not spoken calmly in a long while.

Seeing the Emperor turn to her, Mu Ziying could not hide her sorrow. Realizing this was no time for resentment, she refrained from scrutinizing his features and instead looked at Lu Lingyu, weeping incessantly, suppressing her own sense of suffocation. “This is no simple matter. Tears are useless—finding the murderer is what matters now.”

“I know you are grieved, Your Majesty, but Ling’er is still young, and Chen’er has just escorted the envoys out of the palace. Now is not the time for sorrow,” Mu Ziying said, struggling to find words of comfort for the Emperor. After all, it was the child of her own husband.

“So, now that Xiaoyu’s child is dead, are you happy?” Emperor Guangde’s grief-twisted face reflected a cold gleam as he rose and looked complexly at Mu Ziying, stung by her detached words.

“What do you mean?” Mu Ziying retorted, equally indignant. She had refrained from argument out of pity for his sorrow, but now she could not hold back. “You’re grieving, but you can’t speak so carelessly. Why would I be happy?”

She abandoned formalities—after all, they had been husband and wife for decades and their feelings were not like those with anyone else. Her temper flared, and she no longer addressed herself as “your concubine.” “Ye Xicheng, we have been together nearly twenty years. Do you not know what kind of person I am? You brought this woman into the palace, breaking our promise of a lifetime together. I did not make a scene—not because you are the Emperor, and certainly not because I love you for that.”

Mu Ziying nevertheless restrained herself from being too harsh. “Xicheng, I truly wish you were never Emperor, that our family of seven could live an ordinary life.”

Perhaps she had suppressed these words for too long, or perhaps she was simply too disappointed by his accusation, but at last she spoke her heart.

Emperor Guangde’s heart was a tangled mess. After five years of courtship and nineteen years of marriage, how could there not be affection? A drunken mistake with the daughter of a minister had left her pregnant, and to quell gossip, he had married Consort Lu. Mu Ziying had been angry, but Lu Lingyu was gentle as water, so different from Mu Ziying’s fiery general’s spirit. The Emperor found her refreshing and treated her with special kindness, which only deepened Mu Ziying’s resentment.

“I’m sorry. I’m just—overwhelmed,” the Emperor said. In front of Mu Ziying, he was never self-deprecating, save in anger. Her words warmed him, and he reached out, embracing her, lifting her chin to place a gentle kiss on her forehead.

Touched by the rare tenderness, Mu Ziying embraced him back, laying her head on his shoulder. “It’s all right. No matter what happens, I will always be by your side.”