The eighth year of Yuanyou, autumn. The osmanthus bloomed. Clusters upon clusters, golden yellow. When the wind blew, the entire Imperial Garden was filled with sweetness.
The Empress Dowager could no longer rise. She lay on her couch, her face pale, lips without color, eyes closed as if asleep. Yet her hand still moved, fingers slightly curled, as if grasping a brush, or turning over memorials.Zhao Xu sat by her side, holding her hand. He held it for a long time—so long that the light outside shifted from east to west, so long that the lamps in the hall were lit one by one.
"Mother," he called softly.
She opened her eyes and looked at him. For a long while. Those eyes no longer held their former sharpness; they were like a candle burned too long, with only a flicker of light left. But at the sight of him, that flicker brightened.
"The osmanthus has bloomed."
"Yes. They have."
"When you were little, you couldn't reach them. Now you can."
"I can reach them now."
She smiled. The smile was faint, almost imperceptible. But her eyes did not smile. There was something in them—not sorrow, but something deeper than sorrow. It was the knowing that she was leaving, that there was still much left undone, that the young man before her would have to stand alone from now on.
Zhao Xu tightened his grip on her hand.
"Mother, don't speak. Rest a while."
"If I don't speak now, it will be too late." She looked at him, her voice soft, but each word clear. "Are Lü Dafang and Fan Chunren outside?"
Zhao Xu started slightly. "They are. Waiting."
"Let them in."
Zhao Xu stood, walked to the door, and pushed it open. The two chancellors knelt outside, having knelt for a long time. When they entered, their steps were light, as if afraid of shattering something.The Empress Dowager looked at them for a long time.
"After I die, Your Majesty will not employ you again," she said. Her voice was calm, as if speaking of something long foreknown.
Lü Dafang prostrated himself, his shoulders trembling. He pressed his forehead against the cold brick floor, fingers clutching his robe so tightly that his knuckles whitened. He was not unafraid. The Empress Dowager's words were like a knife, cutting off his retreat. He was a minister of three reigns, an elder left by the late emperor, the backbone of the Yuanyou Reforms. He had thought that when the Empress Dowager was gone, he could still hold on. He had thought the new emperor, young and inexperienced, would still need him. He had thought he could hold on for a few more years—until the New Policies were stabilized, until his disciples filled the court, until he could retire in peace. But now, the Empress Dowager told him: no more. The new emperor would not use him, would not trust him, would not let him touch the power he had wielded for half his life. He knelt there, his shoulders shaking again and again, like a wall on the verge of collapse.
Fan Chunren knelt beside him, motionless. He did not tremble, nor did he lift his head. His back was straight, like a pine tree with deep roots. Every word the Empress Dowager spoke sank into him, each one a nail driven into his heart. Yet his face showed no expression. He did not dissent—or at least, he showed none that others could see. He simply knelt motionless, like a stone. What lay beneath that stone, no one knew.
The Empress Dowager looked at them for a long time. Her gaze passed over Lü Dafang's trembling shoulders, paused for a moment on Fan Chunren's straight back. Then she smiled. The smile was faint, almost imperceptible.
"You two ought to know your place. Retreat voluntarily, so that Your Majesty may appoint others. Spare yourselves disaster." She paused. "This is my last act to protect you. And my last act—to clear the way for Your Majesty."
Lü Dafang prostrated himself lower. His forehead pressed against the ground, his trembling shifting from violent to slight, like a string stretched too tight, finally about to snap. His lips moved as if to speak, but in the end, he said nothing.Fan Chunren kowtowed. Slowly, deeply. When his forehead touched the brick, there was a very soft sound. He did not speak. His silence was heavier than any words.
The Empress Dowager no longer looked at them. She turned her head toward Zhao Xu.
"There is one more thing."
"Mother, speak."
"I will not stop you from marrying Shen Heng. But the court ministers will. They will say you are marrying a palace maid, that it violates ritual, that it violates ancestral law, that it—" She coughed softly, her shoulders shaking. "—goes against their wishes."
Zhao Xu lowered his head. "I know."
"You do not know." The Empress Dowager's voice suddenly grew firmer, as if she had squeezed out her last strength. "Marrying her is not just a matter of you loving her. You must silence those men. You must make them understand: the one you choose is not a palace maid. She is your Empress. The Empress of the Great Song. She is—" She looked at him. "—yours."
She pulled a sheet of paper from under her pillow, neatly folded, its edges frayed. She handed it to Zhao Xu.
"This is my will. On your wedding day, present it. It states clearly—Shen Heng shall be invested as Empress. Whoever dares to oppose it defies my edict."
Zhao Xu took the paper, his fingers resting on its surface for a moment. It was thin, old, the characters neat and precise, stroke by stroke. It had not been written today, nor yesterday. It had been written long ago, to be produced only after her death.
"When did you write this?"
The Empress Dowager did not answer. Her gaze moved from Zhao Xu's face to the two men kneeling on the floor. Lü Dafang no longer moved, like a stone statue kneeling for too long. Fan Chunren still held his posture, back straight, forehead to the ground. She looked at him for a long time.
"Fan Chunren."
"Your servant is here."
"You dissent in your heart."
It was not a question, but a statement. Fan Chunren's body stiffened slightly, so briefly that Lü Dafang beside him did not notice. But the Empress Dowager noticed. Zhao Xu noticed too.Fan Chunren lifted his head and looked at her. His face was expressionless, his eyes calm as still water.
"Your servant dares not."
The Empress Dowager smiled. The smile was faint, almost imperceptible. But her eyes did not smile. There was something in them—understanding. The kind of understanding that came from decades of observing men, reviewing memorials, enduring the court.
"You dare not. It is not that you do not dissent. You dare not." She paused. "It does not matter. In time, you will submit."
Fan Chunren looked at her for a long while. Then he kowtowed again, deeper than before. His forehead pressed against the brick, his back curved into an arc. What lay within that arc, no one knew. He did not speak. He simply knelt there, motionless, like a stone. What lay beneath that stone—today's silence, or something for the future—the Empress Dowager did not ask. She only glanced at him, then looked away, as if she had seen all she needed to see.
She turned back to Zhao Xu.
"Remember this."
"I will, Mother."
"Fan Chunren can be used—but you must keep him restrained. His bones are too hard. When you are soft, he will prick you. But when you are strong, he will support you."
Zhao Xu glanced at Fan Chunren. He knelt there, back straight, forehead to the ground, not lifting his head.
"I will remember."
The Empress Dowager nodded. Her fingers tapped lightly on the quilt, as if making a final mark.
"Send them away."
Zhao Xu stood, walked to the door, and pushed it open. Wind rushed in, cool, carrying the sweet scent of osmanthus.When Lü Dafang stood, his legs gave way; he steadied himself on the doorframe. He did not look back at the Empress Dowager, nor at Zhao Xu. He kept his head down, steps unsteady, the hem of his robe dragging on the ground, making a faint sound.
Fan Chunren stood. He held nothing for support, his back straight, steps steady. When he reached the door, he paused—so briefly that Lü Dafang behind him did not notice. He turned his head slightly and glanced into the hall. Not at the Empress Dowager. At Zhao Xu.The glance was so short that Zhao Xu almost missed it. But he saw it. There was no dissent, no resentment, not even emotion in it. Only one thing—assessment. The same kind of assessment he used when judging prisoners in the Imperial Secretariat. He was looking at Zhao Xu. Looking at the young emperor he had assisted for eight years, who had never truly held power. Looking at him standing before the Empress Dowager's couch, holding her hand, accepting that edict. Looking to see—what kind of man he would become.Then he looked away and turned to leave. His robe fluttered slightly, light and steady, just like the man himself.
The door closed.
The Empress Dowager looked at the closed door for a long time. Then she smiled. The smile was gentle, like wind rippling the surface of water.
"He will help you, one day."
"Who?"
"Fan Chunren." She paused. "He dissents today. But he will submit. Not to me. To you. When you make him submit, he will be of great use."
Zhao Xu looked at her. Her eyes had almost no light left, but the last flicker still burned.
"Mother."
"Yes."
"You said you would hold on until my wedding. You held on."
"Yes. I held on."
"You said you would hold on until she calls me Your Majesty. You held on."
"Yes. I held on."
"You said you would hold on until—" His voice began to tremble. "Until you could rest easy. Are you at peace now?"
The Empress Dowager opened her eyes and looked at him. Those eyes were dim now, but she looked at him as if at someone she had waited for a long time.
"I am at peace."
Her hand slipped from his grasp and fell onto the couch. Lightly, like a petal of osmanthus falling.
Zhao Xu sat there, motionless. He arranged her hand properly, tucked the quilt around her. Then he pulled a notebook from his sleeve, turned to the last page. He wrote many characters, slowly, stroke by stroke, as if afraid of making a mistake.
"The third day of the ninth month, the eighth year of Yuanyou. The Empress Dowager has left us. She raised me. She saw me become a good emperor. She saw me marry the one I love. She is at peace.She wrote a will, to be used on my wedding day. She said: she is not a palace maid. She is mine. I will remember.She said: Fan Chunren can be used, but must be restrained. His bones are too hard. I will remember.Today she looked at Fan Chunren. And Fan Chunren looked at me. That glance was brief, but I saw it. He was watching me. Waiting for me to make him submit."
He closed the notebook and slipped it back into his sleeve. He stood and walked to the window. Outside, the osmanthus bloomed, clusters upon clusters, golden yellow. He reached out and plucked one, holding it in his palm. Golden, tiny, like a sliver of the moon.
"Aheng."
"I am here."
"The Empress Dowager has passed."
"Yes."
"She saw me grow up. Saw me become a good emperor. Saw—" He paused. "Saw that I would marry the one I love. She is at peace. She left us a will, naming you Empress. She said you are not a palace maid. You are mine."
He placed the osmanthus flower in my palm.
"Keep it."
"I will."
That night, I placed the osmanthus between sheets of paper. Golden, tiny, thin. I kept it with her will. She had written it long ago, to be revealed only after her death. She feared he would be opposed, feared he would be wronged, feared the one he loved would be humiliated. She had thought of everything. She had arranged everything.She held on for eleven years. Held on until he could reach the osmanthus. Held on until he became a good emperor. Held on until he could marry the one he loved. She held on. She was at peace.Today she looked at Fan Chunren. And Fan Chunren looked at him. That glance was brief, but I saw it. He was watching him. Waiting for the new emperor to make him submit.
The moon outside the window was round and bright. The osmanthus bloomed. He plucked one and placed it in my palm. I will keep it. For a lifetime.
[End of Chapter 37]