Shaosheng, First Year — Third Month, Eighteenth Day.
On the ninth day after the grand wedding, the Ministry of Rites submitted a memorial requesting that the Empress pay homage at the Ancestral Temple.
This was the final step of the marriage rites—and the most solemn one.
Only after this ritual was completed would it truly be considered that she had entered the Zhao family, becoming a member of the imperial clan.
Before dawn, the lights in Qing Shou Palace were already lit.
Not a few lamps—hundreds of them.
From the inner halls to the outer corridors, the entire palace glowed as bright as day.
Palace maids moved quietly through the corridors, carrying basins of hot water, towels, and incense burners. Their footsteps were soft. No one spoke.
I sat up from the bed.
He was already awake.
Standing by the window, his back to me.
He wore informal robes. His hair was neatly tied, a black gauze cap set in place, a pair of white jade pendants hanging at his waist.
Not court attire—just clothing for going out.
Orderly, but not grand.
As if he were going to meet someone he had been waiting for a very long time.
"Awake?"
"Mm."
"Today, I can't accompany you. Paying homage at the Ancestral Temple is the Empress's rite. The Emperor does not appear in the procession." He turned, walked over, and sat by the bed. "I'll wait for you at the temple gate."
He reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
His fingers brushed my ear—light, fleeting.
But his palm was warm.
"A-Heng."
"Mm."
"Are you afraid?"
"No."
"You're lying. Your hands are shaking."
I lowered my gaze.
They were.
Not fear—but the tremor of waiting too long, of finally arriving at the last step.
He took my hand.
His was large, warm, enclosing mine completely.
"The Empress Dowager once walked this path too. In the eighth year of Yuanfeng, she entered the temple alone and knelt before the ancestral spirits. She said, I will raise him well."
He paused.
"She did it. Today, you walk this path too. You don't need to guard it for anyone else. Walk it for yourself. I'll be waiting at the gate."
"Alright."
He smiled.
Released my hand, stood, walked to the door—and then turned back.
"A-Heng. When you come out, the first person you'll see… will be me."
He left.
The hem of his robe brushed against the stone floor—tap, tap, tap—just like when he was nine years old.
But his back was no longer the same.
Broader shoulders. Straighter waist. Steadier steps.
The black gauze cap caught the faint morning light, the jade pendants swaying gently with each step—
once,
twice,
like a heartbeat.
The palace maids entered.
Hair combed. Robes layered. Crown placed.
The ceremonial robe was heavier than on the wedding day—deep green silk embroidered with one hundred and forty-eight pairs of pheasants, each outlined in gold thread, glowing like clouds under candlelight.
The phoenix crown pressed down—nine dragons, four phoenixes—strings of pearls trembling into a haze of light.
I stood before the bronze mirror.
That was no longer Shen Heng.
It was the Empress.
The Empress who would enter the Ancestral Temple today and kneel before generations of ancestors.
Outside the curtain, the senior palace attendant spoke softly:
"Your Majesty, the auspicious hour has arrived."
From Qing Shou Palace to the Ancestral Temple, the distance was not far—but the procession was magnificent.
Six elephants, draped in colored cloth, carrying tiered structures, moved slowly forward. Each step made the stone pavement tremble faintly.
Inside the carriage, I could not see.
Only hear—
the heavy thud of elephant steps,
the snapping of banners in the wind,
the metallic clash of armored guards.
It sounded like the sea.
I sat upright.
The crown was heavy.
The robe was heavy.
My hands rested on my knees—clenching, releasing, clenching again.
The Ancestral Temple stood in the southeast of the palace city.
Nine bays wide. Upturned eaves. Green glazed tiles reflecting a cold light under the sun.
The carriage stopped.
The curtain lifted.
Sunlight flooded in.
I narrowed my eyes.
He stood below the steps.
Black gauze cap. Purple official robes. White jade pendants. Belt fastened tightly at the waist.
He stood there—so much taller than me.
I had to tilt my head to meet his eyes.
Sunlight poured from behind him, casting his shadow at my feet.
His attire was immaculate.
Every strand of hair in place.
The jade pendants hanging straight.
He was not wearing ceremonial regalia.
He was not here to perform rites.
He was here to wait.
To wait for one person.
For a lifetime.
"Here you are."
"I'm here."
He reached out.
I placed my hand in his.
He closed his fingers around mine.
His palm was warm—just like this morning.
He helped me down.
Each step felt like walking on clouds.
"I'm going in."
"Wait."
He didn't let go.
He turned to face the temple.
The doors stood wide open.
Inside, candlelight blazed. Rows upon rows of ancestral tablets stood like mountains.
He looked for a long time.
Then he led me one step forward—
not into the hall, but onto the stone steps before it.
He released my hand.
Straightened his robes.
Faced inward.
And knelt.
I froze.
"You—"
"Ancestors of the Zhao family above."
His voice was not loud—but in the vast stillness, it carried clearly.
The wind stilled.
Banners fell silent.
Guards held their breath.
Only his voice remained—
each word falling onto the stone steps, into the ancient hall.
"Today, Zhao Xu escorts Shen Heng to pay homage. From this day on, she is of the Zhao family. She is mine."
"I vow here—"
"In this lifetime, there will be only her. Never to part."
"If she is joyful, I will share her joy."
"If she is in sorrow, I will shield her."
"If she is afraid—"
He paused.
"If she is afraid, I will be there."
He bowed.
His forehead touched the stone.
Light.
But steady.
Then again.
And a third time.
Three perfect prostrations.
Each one precise.
Like the first time he made a decision in court.
Like the first case he judged.
Like the first time he reached for that osmanthus flower.
He stood.
Turned.
Looked at me.
Sunlight lit his face.
His eyes were bright.
A red mark lingered on his forehead.
He didn't wipe it away.
He reached out—
tucked my hair behind my ear again.
"Go. The Empress Dowager is waiting inside."
I walked in.
The hall was dim.
Tablets rose like mountains.
Xizu, Shunzu, Yizu, Xuanzu, Taizu, Taizong, Zhenzong, Renzong, Yingzong, Shenzong.
And the Empress Dowager.
At the front.
She had seen it.
She had heard every word.
Three incense sticks were placed in my hands.
I raised them.
Knelt.
The mat was hard.
Pain shot through my knees.
The robe weighed on me.
The crown pressed down.
Pearls swayed.
"Empress Shen, bearing the golden register and seal, reports to the ancestral spirits—"
I lifted the incense slightly higher.
His words echoed.
Only her. Never to part.
If she is afraid, I will be there.
He was there.
He had always been.
From that spring day in Yuanfeng.
From the fried rice.
From crooked notes.
From running through palace streets.
From the osmanthus tree.
From the three bows before the temple.
He had always been there.
I placed the incense.
Smoke curled upward—
thin, winding—
and disappeared.
"The rite is complete—"
I stood.
Turned.
Walked out.
Sunlight flooded in.
I narrowed my eyes.
He was still there.
Waiting.
Exactly as before.
Like a tree.
Rooted.
Unmoving.
"Here you are."
"I'm here."
He took my hand.
His palm was warm.
Damp with sweat.
Trembling—just slightly.
"A-Heng."
"Mm."
"From today on, you are of the Zhao family. You are mine."
"Alright."
He smiled.
Like wind over water.
That night, I wrote on a slip of paper:
Today, at the Ancestral Temple.
He knelt. Three bows.
He said—only her, in this lifetime.
Never to part.
If she is afraid, I will be there.
He was there.
He had always been.
From then—
until now—
and forever.
[End of Chapter 42]