Held in the Lonely Castle Chapter 18

 

 Held in the Lonely Castle  

 Chapter 18

Translated by : DANMEI HEAVEN

   Guanyin

When Qiu He turned fifteen, the empress made her a palace maid in charge of the empress’s hair ornaments and makeup. Earlier, Lady Miao had told the empress how Qiu He had advised her against buying jewelry. The empress sighed, “I only knew she loved reading national history. I didn’t expect her to also consider the people’s welfare. Among the six palaces, few women have her level of insight.” Hence, she intended to promote her.

“This girl Qiu He will surely have a bright future,” Lady Miao concluded.

Hearing this, the princess asked her mother, “Sister, are you saying Qiu He might one day replace Chief Chu and take charge of the sewing department?”

Lady Miao smiled without confirming or denying.

I vaguely guessed what Lady Miao meant by “a bright future,” but I doubted it was what Qiu He wished for.

Since that time I escorted her back, she had treated me like a sibling, growing somewhat closer and speaking more freely with me. If she came to Yifeng Pavilion, I would still see her out.

On the day she was promoted to the empress’s maid, everyone in Yifeng Pavilion congratulated her. She merely smiled, not showing any particular joy.

As I walked her out, she seemed preoccupied, her head lowered, treading on fallen flowers beneath the locust trees planted along the palace walls, her mind seemingly elsewhere. I couldn’t help but ask, “Qiu He, is something troubling you?”

“Oh, no,” she replied and continued walking, her steps light as if afraid to disturb the fallen blossoms. After a long pause, she hesitantly stopped and turned to me, asking, “Huai Ji, do you have a wish?”

I was taken aback, silent for a moment before answering, “To see the princess grow up carefree... if that counts as a wish.”

This answer might have surprised her. She stared at me for a long time before finally smiling gently, “Of course. You can stay by her side forever.”

Since she brought up wishes, I recalled the emperor’s promise and asked her in turn, “Then what is your wish?”

“After last year’s Qixi Festival, many people asked me. I never answered,” Qiu He said softly. I immediately felt I had overstepped—why ask her such a private question? Unexpectedly, she was willing to tell me, “But I can tell you... Leaving the palace. One day, I will ask His Majesty to allow me to leave the palace.”

I asked her blankly, “You don’t like staying in the palace? Why not tell the emperor now?”

Qiu He didn’t answer, standing silently in the light rain of locust blossoms. After a while, she tilted her head, half-closing her eyes to gaze at the vast blue sky through the branches and flowers above, as yellow and white petals fluttered down from her black gauze hat.

Seeing her so absorbed, I also looked up and saw a formation of wild geese flying over the palace.

“Huai Ji, is... is Scholar Cui still in the capital?” she asked haltingly, her face flushing crimson as soon as the words left her mouth.

I suddenly understood—her wish was related to Cui Bai.

I frankly told her that since being transferred to the rear administration, I had little contact with the painting academy and didn’t know Cui Bai’s recent whereabouts. She then asked if I could inquire for her. I agreed and asked, “Do you have a message for him?”

She unconsciously twisted a corner of her sleeve, her voice as soft as a mosquito’s hum, “The painting he gave me last time... that ‘Autumn Pond with Honored Guests’... the wild geese on it... Please ask him... the wild geese...”

Seeing her like this and recalling the details of the painting, it dawned on me that wild geese were called “birds of virtue,” monogamous creatures that would not remarry if their mate died. The Book of Rites states, “The rites of marriage begin with the presentation of a goose.” The goose symbolized loyalty and fidelity between spouses, signifying the auspicious union of yin and yang, the wife following the husband. Thus, in our dynasty’s marriage customs, the goose remained a token of betrothal. Cui Bai’s painting featured a pair of wild geese. Given his free-spirited and unrestrained nature, gifting this painting to Qiu He might not have been without intent—at the very least, it indicated his interest in her.

Cui Bai was handsome and carried himself with the air of a talented scholar. It was no surprise that young women were drawn to him. Judging by Qiu He’s demeanor, she was clearly deeply infatuated with him. Asking about Cui Bai’s whereabouts suggested she wanted to confirm his feelings. If he indeed intended to propose, she could request to leave the palace and marry him.

Understanding this, I immediately told Qiu He, “I’ll go ask around and let you know as soon as I hear anything.”

First, I went to the painting academy to find the address Cui Bai had left in the capital. Then, I asked Zhang Chengzhao to find a eunuch from the front administration who could go out to purchase goods and make inquiries. Unfortunately, the news Zhang brought back wasn’t good: Cui Bai had long left the capital, saying he wanted to travel the famous mountains and great rivers to sketch and paint. No one knew when he would return.

When I relayed this to Qiu He, she was naturally disappointed. So I quickly promised to contact Cui Bai as soon as he returned. Qiu He repeatedly said it didn’t matter, “Staying in the palace for now is fine. I enjoy working with flowers, powders, and fragrances. If I left, where would I find so many?”

This wasn’t just an excuse. It was clear Qiu He truly loved her work in the sewing department. What we found tedious and dull, she found joy in. This made her wait seem less dreary and endless, I thought optimistically. She could spend a few years in the palace doing what she loved before leaving the imperial city to marry the man of her dreams and live out her days raising children. A kind girl like Qiu He deserved such a perfect life.

In the seventh year of the Qingli era, the thirteenth military training commissioner and Lady Gao Taotao turned sixteen. The emperor and empress, recalling their childhood betrothal jest and considering their lack of a son, were deeply moved and proposed that the emperor host the wedding for the thirteenth and the empress for Taotao, uniting them in marriage. Thus, the palace began preparing for the grand celebration of “the emperor taking a wife, the empress marrying off a daughter.”

Lady Gao had not yet had her hair-pinning ceremony. With the marriage agreed upon, it was scheduled for the day before the Cold Food Festival. On that day, the empress led the palace maids to the Gao residence to witness the ceremony. The princess had wanted to go but had caught a chill and had to stay in the pavilion to recuperate. With nothing to do, she grew restless.

In the afternoon, the palace maids followed custom by making date-filled cakes, stringing them on willow branches, and hanging them on the door lintels. The princess wanted to hang some too but was stopped by Lady Miao. Frustrated, she lay down again, looking pitiful.

Lady Han suggested to Lady Miao that they invite Miss Fan to play with the princess. Lady Miao said that since the empress was attending Lady Gao’s hair-pinning ceremony, Miss Fan had likely gone with her. But Lady Han shook her head, “I heard Miss Fan hasn’t been feeling well these past few days and couldn’t attend the ceremony.”

Lady Miao raised an eyebrow, “Her monthly courses?”

Lady Han confirmed. Lady Miao was surprised, “She’s still quite young...”

Lady Han smiled, “You see her every day, so she seems young. But Miss Fan is four years older than the princess—she’s fourteen this year.”

“Ah, time flies. These little girls are growing up without us noticing. It shows we’re getting old,” Lady Miao sighed, then called me over and instructed, “Go ask Miss Fan if she’d like to come chat with the princess.”

I accepted the order and went to the empress’s palace to find Miss Fan.

That day, with the empress away, most of the attendants had gone with her, leaving the Rouyi Palace eerily quiet. I went to Miss Fan’s chamber but didn’t find her. Her maid pointed to the main hall of Rouyi Palace, saying she was inside adding incense. So I headed there.

Strangely, there wasn’t even a eunuch guarding the main hall’s entrance. I felt a vague unease but slowly walked in.

The hall seemed empty at first glance. Brocade curtains hung low, and the walls were silent. The first things I saw were the two golden lions flanking the seven-treasure imperial throne, each over ten feet tall, with wisps of jade-green smoke lazily curling from their mouths, filling the air with a rich fragrance.

Starting the next day, the Cold Food Festival, fires would be banned in the capital for three days. So this was the last day to burn incense, and more was used than usual. Besides the two golden beasts, two walls of gilded silver incense balls hung from the painted beams. The balls were intricately carved and hollow, able to open and close, containing incense inside. The lower part of each ball held burning charcoal, suspended by thin silver chains, forming a dense layer like beaded curtains on either side of the brocade drapes, dazzlingly beautiful.

The warm, fragrant aroma wafted imperceptibly from the gilded silver balls—top-grade Ling Shui Xiang, a hundred floral scents blending luxuriantly, coiling and lingering in the silent space. I had been to Rouyi Palace many times but had never felt such an extraordinary atmosphere, as if enchanted, moving slowly through the warm, fragrant haze without a sound.

Suddenly, the left curtain stirred, and several silver balls clinked together, producing delicate, bell-like chimes, pleasant as music. I turned slightly toward the sound and peered over.

Behind the silver beaded curtains, two figures were faintly visible. I focused and first recognized Miss Fan’s silhouette. She held a box of incense in one hand and a silver spoon in the other, standing by an open silver ball, ready to add incense.

But she was no longer attending to that task.

A man was lightly holding her waist, bending to kiss her.

The earlier chimes must have been caused by this sudden event, occurring as Miss Fan was about to add incense with the spoon, so she was still mostly in that posture.

The man began by lightly pecking her lips. Miss Fan trembled slightly, likely startled but ultimately not pushing him away, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

They were hidden behind the curtains, their sides facing me. I was still some distance away and hadn’t made any noise, so they were unaware of my presence.

This scene shocked me profoundly. At that moment, I only wanted to flee as quickly as possible. I had never witnessed such intimacy between a man and a woman, much less... much less between them.

To avoid being noticed, I retreated slowly, stepping silently, though I feared they might hear my pounding heart. Finally reaching the door, I turned and hurried out, fleeing in panic.

Just outside the courtyard gate of the main hall, I suddenly saw a procession approaching—lanterns leading the way, embroidered fans shielding the figure on the palanquin—clearly the empress’s entourage. I wanted to run faster, but as soon as I turned, I heard someone scold, “How dare you! Her Majesty arrives, and you don’t bow?”

I had to stop and bow properly to the empress.

The empress had been chatting and laughing with the palace secretary accompanying her. Seeing my breach of etiquette, her expression didn’t change. Still smiling, she stepped down from the palanquin and asked, “Huai Ji, why the rush? Are you in a hurry to return?”

Unthinkingly, I said yes, then immediately realized my mistake and quickly corrected myself, though I couldn’t think of an explanation. My face burned, and sweat poured down like rain.

The empress, sensing something amiss, looked at me intently, “Were you coming from Rouyi Palace?”

I nodded. The empress then asked, “Who is inside?”

I hesitated before answering, “Miss Fan.”

“Guanyin?” the empress asked. “Guanyin” was Miss Fan’s childhood name.

I confirmed again, not daring to say more.

The empress fell silent. After a long pause, she asked, “Who else is inside?”

I was silent. Though I knew not answering the empress’s question was a grave offense, I didn’t dare speak.

The empress guessed, “His Majesty?”

I bowed deeply.

I couldn’t see the empress’s expression. All I could perceive was the hem of her robe in the corner of my vision. The people around us were equally silent, as if time had frozen, save for the birds singing in the locust trees along the path.

A drop of water fell to the ground before the empress. Was it raining? I wondered, but then the empress’s skirt swirled slightly, moving out of my sight.

“I heard... the flowers in the rear garden... are blooming beautifully...” the empress said as she walked away, her voice steady but halting.

The palace secretary quickly followed, adding, “Yes, the peach and plum blossoms, the golden moths and jade-like herbs are all in bloom. Your Majesty might as well take a look.”

Two rows of palace maids silently passed before me one by one, following the empress to the rear garden. Finally, one person stopped in front of me.

I looked up and saw Qiu He’s tear-filled eyes.

“Huai Ji,” she whispered, “go find Mr. Zhang Maoze quickly and ask him to come to the rear garden.”

I agreed. Qiu He wiped her tears and hurried after the empress’s entourage.

I ran to the Inner East Gate Office. Before leaving, I glanced at the drop of water that had seeped into the brick floor, then looked up at the sky... clear and cloudless, with no sign of rain.

Finding Mr. Zhang, I briefly recounted what had happened. When mentioning the events in Rouyi Palace, I only said, “His Majesty and Miss Fan were inside.” Yet he understood everything. Without waiting for me to finish, he stood up and strode toward the rear garden.

After a slight hesitation, I followed him. When we arrived, the empress was wandering among the flowers, her gaze drifting over the blossoms but her eyes empty, clearly seeing nothing of the garden’s beauty.

Mr. Zhang approached her and bowed softly, “Your Majesty.”

“Ah, Pingfu...” the empress said upon seeing him, her voice trembling slightly. This suddenly reminded me of the princess. Sometimes, when she felt wronged by Lady Miao, she would sulk silently. But if I went to comfort her, she would call my name in a tearful voice, often leading to a bout of crying.

“Your Majesty, the seeds of the early spring grains you and the six palaces presented to His Majesty have sprouted. Why not go to the Guan Jia Hall to see?” Mr. Zhang suggested gently.

The empress stared at him blankly, then finally smiled faintly, “Alright, to the Guan Jia Hall.”

In a corner of the rear garden stood the Guan Jia Hall, where each year in early spring, the empress and the six palaces would select nine types of grain seeds to present to the emperor. The emperor would then plow the fields below the hall, and when the seedlings sprouted, they could be admired from the hall.

The empress slowly ascended the Guan Jia Hall. I didn’t follow further but stood quietly by a rice paddy, watching her from afar.

The garden was tended by specialists, and the seedlings were lush and thriving. Viewed from the hall, the verdant fields must have been a sight to behold—as the attendants said, “The fragrant fields stretch endlessly, the auspicious acres shimmer like oil.” I thought the empress would find some joy in this.

The empress stood solemnly in the center of the hall, clad in her ceremonial robes, adorned with pheasant patterns and red hues, paired with white jade pendants. Looking down at the flourishing green sprouts, her expression gradually returned to its usual calm and serenity. A breeze lifted her deep blue sleeves, and she tilted her head slightly, the twelve hair ornaments on her nine-dragon, four-phoenix crown trembling lightly. Closing her eyes, she revealed a serene smile.

And Mr. Zhang remained hidden behind a pillar to her side, gazing at her quietly, not speaking or moving for a long time.

Dressed in black robes, he seemed like nothing more than a tall, slender shadow.

(To be continued)