Shaosheng, First Year — Spring.
The tally marks on the wall had filled three whole sides.
From the windowsill to the bedhead, from the bedhead to the doorframe, from the doorframe to the wardrobe—crooked lines, one after another, like a vine that had been creeping for a very long time.
Eunuch Li had stopped commenting on them.
Every time he came to deliver tea, he would glance once more, shake his head, and leave.
Over four thousand days and nights.
Over four thousand slips of paper.
Over four thousand bowls of porridge.
His notes at nine were crooked, like a child who had just learned to walk.
At eleven, the characters began to stand upright, each stroke steady.
At thirteen, they were sharp and forceful—like the arm that drew a bow.
At fifteen, when the Grand Empress Dowager passed away, he wrote less and less—
not because he stopped writing,
but because he wrote, and then crumpled them.
Once, when I went to collect the notes, I found a wrinkled sheet in the basket.
I smoothed it open.
There was only one line:
"I am not a child anymore."
Now he was nineteen.
My husband.
The Emperor of Great Song.
The one who had waited five years—to marry me.
That morning court, he didn't wait for me in the study.
He waited in the Chui Gong Hall.
Before dawn, Kun Ning Palace stirred to life.
I woke to the soft, hurried footsteps of palace maids. When I opened my eyes, shadows were already moving beyond the curtains.
Cui'er entered with a bronze basin.
"Your Majesty," she whispered, "His Majesty said you are to go to Chui Gong Hall today."
My heart skipped.
Chui Gong Hall.
Not as a girl behind the screen taking notes—
but as Empress.
Listening to court.
Zhao Xu had mentioned this three times.
The first time was last spring, shortly after our wedding.
"A-Heng, you'll attend court with me."
I laughed, nudging him. "I'm not the Empress Dowager. What curtain would I sit behind?"
He didn't smile.
"You understand more than they do."
The second time was last autumn.
The Grand Empress Dowager, on her deathbed, had called him close.
I stood outside and heard only fragments:
"…those old ministers… while I live, I can restrain them… after I'm gone, they won't be so obedient… you married that girl… they won't let it go… you must protect her…"
When Zhao Xu came out, his eyes were red, but his mouth was set tight.
That night, he held me for a long time without speaking.
The third time was three days ago.
He broke a brush in the study.
When I entered, the broken shaft lay on the floor, ink splattered across the desk.
He stood by the window, shoulders taut.
I picked up the brush.
On the table lay a memorial.
I glanced at it—
and my heart sank.
It was from Censor-in-Chief Zheng Yong.
Every line cut like a blade:
"The Empress is of low birth, origin unknown, unfit to be mother of the realm."
"She once used culinary skills to charm the Emperor, clouding his judgment, delaying his assumption of power."
"Her conduct is improper—she has accompanied the Emperor to the training grounds, harming decorum. Such a woman cannot remain in the central palace."
My hands trembled.
Not from anger—
but because I knew Zhao Xu would be angrier than I was.
"They say you're not worthy."
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
When Zhao Xu was angry, he never shouted.
He became colder.
Like a blade slowly unsheathed.
"They say you're a kitchen girl… say you're of unknown origin… say you delayed my rule…"
He stopped.
His throat moved.
"A-Heng… I'm sorry. I didn't protect you well."
I touched his face.
"It's always been like this."
"Before, they called you a palace maid. Now they call you Empress."
He held my hand, eyes filled with anger—and something rare.
Guilt.
That night, he drafted an edict.
I read it—
and my heart skipped.
A list of dismissals.
Lü Dafang. Su Zhe. Fan Zuyu. Zheng Yong…
Each name followed by exile—
Yongzhou, Yuanzhou, Lingnan, Leizhou.
Further and harsher each time.
"Are you ready?" I asked.
"I've waited ten years."
A faint curve at his lips.
"Enough."
I held his hand.
"I'll go with you."
Before the bronze mirror, Cui'er placed the phoenix crown upon me.
Twelve hairpins. Heavy.
The pheasant robe weighed down my shoulders.
I stared at my reflection.
Same eyes.
Same mouth.
But no longer myself.
From a student in America,
to a palace maid,
to a cook,
to Empress.
Ten years.
When I stepped out, dawn was just breaking.
The moon still lingered in the west, pale as melting ice.
Zhao Xu stood at the entrance of Chui Gong Hall.
In full imperial regalia.
Dark robes embroidered with sun, moon, stars.
Twelve jade beads hanging before his face.
He stood straight—
like a drawn sword.
"Afraid?" he asked.
"No."
"You're lying. Your palms are sweating."
I looked down.
They were.
"What about you?"
He thought.
"…Not afraid. Just… waited too long."
Ten years.
He took my hand.
His palm was warm.
Calloused.
From bow, from brush, from ten years of bearing a kingdom.
We entered together.
The curtain was thin.
Not to hide me—
but to place me beside him.
Ministers stood in rows.
Silent.
Watching.
"Summon."
Lü Dafang was dragged in.
Not walking—
dragged.
Forced to kneel.
Silence.
Long.
Heavy.
"Lü Dafang."
Zhao Xu's voice echoed.
Like thunder in spring.
"Year after year… you spoke, you advised, you decided…"
His tone was flat.
Measured.
"I listened. For nine years."
The hall froze.
"Do you know your crime?"
"I… do…"
"No. You don't."
A pause.
"You think you are loyal."
"You think I am a child."
"You think the Empress is unworthy."
The air turned deadly still.
"My Empress—"
His voice sharpened.
"—I will protect."
Silence.
Absolute.
"Whoever writes another word—"
"will share his fate."
Names were called.
One by one.
Dismissed.
Exiled.
Dragged away.
At last—
half the court remained.
Zhao Xu stood there.
Then said, quietly:
"Today, I take personal rule."
No cheers.
Only silence.
Court ended.
I walked to him.
His back was to me.
Alone in the vast hall.
"Zhao Xu."
"…Mm."
"You did well."
His shoulders loosened.
Just a little.
"I waited… a long time."
"I know."
"They said I was still a child…"
His voice trembled.
Not anger.
Hurt.
"They said you weren't worthy."
"…Why?"
My tears fell.
Not for myself—
but for him.
"You are the best," he said softly.
I removed his crown.
Beads clattering.
His face appeared—
eyes red,
jaw tight.
"You are the best too," I said.
He lowered his forehead to mine.
"A-Heng."
"Mm."
"No one will dare again."
"I know."
"Whoever does—I'll exile them."
I laughed.
"You can't silence the whole world."
"Why not?"
"…I'm the Emperor."
I laughed harder.
"You were very impressive today."
"Really?"
"The ministers' legs were shaking."
He hesitated.
"…Did I scare you?"
"No."
"…I was a little harsh this morning."
I blinked.
He remembered that?
"That's not harsh," I said.
"That's… presence."
"That's handsome."
His ears turned red.
Still the same boy.
"A-Heng."
"Mm?"
"Do you remember what she said?"
"Protect me."
"…I did."
My tears fell again.
This time—
pride.
"One hundred years," I said.
"No changing."
He smiled.
Warm.
Bright.
"One hundred years."
The wind blew out a few candles.
But I wasn't cold.
Ten years.
The boy who watched ants—
now sat on the throne.
He could hold the world.
And hold me.
The moon was full.
Bright.
I closed my eyes in his arms.
He said one hundred years.
Then one hundred years it would be.
He was still that boy.
Just taller now.
When I looked up—
he looked down.
He no longer asked what it meant to grow up.
Because he already had.
And I was beside him.
One hundred years. No changing.
[End of Chapter 43]