Chapter 1

Chapter 1: She Cannot Stand in the Light

Two young maids were carrying wooden buckets, using old brooms to spread paste on the corners of the window lattice. Then they took a sheer, supple blue-green gauze, stretching it across the four corners, and began to stick it onto the window frame.

After the beginning of autumn, the air turned cool, and the windows needed to be sealed.

Awu reclined slightly against a cloud-patterned silk pillow, holding a bowl of silken tofu stewed with fresh water caltrops. With a delicate, translucent white jade spoon, she savored it, spoonful by spoonful.

These water caltrops were tribute from South Lake, delivered early in the morning to the Eastern Splendor Gate, then divided into several chests and sent with ice to the Crown Prince’s residence. All the best things in the Crown Prince’s household eventually found their way to her, which was why today she could taste this tender tofu with fresh water caltrops.

At White Dew, the water caltrops were at their most tender, the skin thin, the flesh plump and juicy. The kitchen’s skill was impeccable—the fresh, pale caltrop’s fragrance seeped into the soft tofu. A spoonful placed in the mouth blossomed with freshness, as if tasting the clear breeze from Tai Lake.

Awu sighed in contentment, though beneath the pleasure lay a trace of melancholy.

She feared these delicious, easy days were numbered.

Since coming to the Crown Prince’s estate, she’d been kept in the Emerald Bower, rarely stepping outside.

There was little choice; as someone who could not be seen in the light, she had to be hidden.

Who would have thought that at the banquet before the Double Ninth Festival, the Emperor would grace the Crown Prince’s residence with his presence?

Naturally, Awu knew nothing of this—she was alone in the Emerald Bower, fiddling with a puzzle ring to amuse herself.

But suddenly, a matron arrived with several maids to summon her, saying the Crown Prince had ordered her presence.

She had little worldly experience. Since entering the Crown Prince’s residence, she’d been cloistered in the Emerald Bower, oblivious to the intricate workings of the household. She believed the summons genuine, that the Crown Prince truly wished to bring her “into the open.”

So she dressed carefully and followed the matron.

When she first arrived, she’d been rushed through a side gate in a dark blue sedan chair; she’d peered out furtively, glimpsing only layers of red walls, blue tiles, and ranks of trees—she knew almost nothing of the place.

This time, following the matron, she saw embroidered doors and carved eaves, halls ablaze with lanterns, a dizzying display.

Led, half-bewildered, to the banquet, she found herself amidst imperial splendor—brilliant robes, music, and countless scrutinizing eyes. Her heart thudded wildly and her legs turned to jelly.

Born frail, with a delicate constitution, she could hardly withstand the strain—she could barely stand, swaying unsteadily.

This only made her appear more timid and alluring.

The stern Emperor, seated above all the guests, glanced down at Awu and remarked, “Moxiao, your household grows more and more unruly; you bring any manner of riffraff before me.”

With that single sentence, Awu’s fate was sealed; she would never rise again.

Moxiao was the Crown Prince.

That summer, when floods struck Songzhou, the Crown Prince had gone to oversee disaster relief by imperial command. At a temporary lodge, he’d met Awu by chance, taken a liking to her, and that very night summoned her to his bed.

After the relief effort, the Crown Prince brought Awu to the capital.

As he was on an official mission, bringing back a young woman risked damaging his reputation. So, throughout the journey, Awu was hidden away or served at his side as a mere maid.

Upon arriving at the Crown Prince’s residence, Awu was quietly installed in the Emerald Bower.

The Crown Prince believed there was no rush—he could present Awu openly once the rumors had faded.

He even promised her that, before the Emperor, he would petition for her to be granted the title of “Lady.”

Awu did not understand these things, so the Crown Prince would hold her gently and explain: in his household there was a Crown Princess, a Consort, and places for two Ladies and four Gentlewomen.

He cradled her face, his voice tender with longing: “You can be a Lady first. When one day you bear me a son or daughter, you’ll become a Consort, and one day—”

At this, he bent close to her ear, whispering promises that Awu could only half grasp.

To her, it all seemed so distant.

Between the sheets, when a man is satisfied, he utters many things—words that may be forgotten by the following day.

For her, the delicacies sent from South Lake, the mutton from Datong, the wild mushrooms from Yunnan, the pine-nut sweets from Kaifeng, and the candied lychees from Sichuan—these were tangible, real, and hers to savor.

A life apart from the Crown Prince, she would hardly taste such things again.

Every mouthful was to be treasured.

But now, with the Emperor’s single remark, these good days were surely at an end.

It had been three days since that incident, and the Crown Prince had not come to the Emerald Bower.

During these three days, Awu felt uneasy and helpless.

She scooped a generous spoonful of silky tofu, opening her lips to swallow it whole, yet her mind wandered anxiously to the future.

How would she go on, separated from the Crown Prince?

Matron Sun watched coldly from the side, scrutinizing Awu—her gaze growing ever more speechless.

This young woman—though once cherished in the Crown Prince’s hand, now, with the Emperor’s displeasure, her good days were over. Yet she still ate heartily?

She had hoped that if Awu left the tofu and caltrops untouched, she could take the dish for herself. But she watched as Awu ate mouthful after mouthful.

Such a heartless creature—she’s nothing but a pretty face!

She eyed Awu’s delicate lips—naturally rosy, needing no rouge, clear and lustrous, as if carved from jade.

She curled her lip, half-smiling, half-mocking, “Heaven is fair. Some may lack wits, but are given a lovely face.”

Awu paid her no mind and ate another mouthful with relish. “Not just a lovely face, but a good appetite too. My mother always said, riches and treasures can’t be taken with you, but what you eat is truly yours.”

Matron Sun was momentarily speechless, a little sour, but then, remembering Awu’s situation, she chuckled.

So what if she’s beautiful? In the end, she’ll be sent far away and never know happiness.

Awu lowered her gaze to the half-eaten tofu, lost in thought.

She’d known of Matron Sun’s disdain from the very beginning, but said nothing. Even in the Crown Prince’s presence, she’d never mentioned it.

Matron Sun was a gossip—one who loved to talk. Awu didn’t mind listening; it filled the silence. If she complained and the Crown Prince sent Matron Sun away, only to replace her with someone silent, who would she listen to?

She’d learned much from Matron Sun.

The Crown Princess was born into a family of rank and power. Her grandfather had served as Hanlin Lecturer and Academic in the late Emperor’s reign, then as Imperial Tutor to the Crown Prince, and upon the current Emperor’s ascension, was made Duke of England.

The Crown Princess, as the Duke’s eldest legitimate granddaughter, was exceptionally intelligent and talented from a young age. At her coming of age, she was chosen to enter the Eastern Palace, wedded the Crown Prince last autumn, and was made Crown Princess.

According to Matron Sun, the Crown Princess and the Crown Prince were deeply affectionate, a loving couple, both favored by the Emperor and Empress—a match praised by all.

Awu understood that Matron Sun told her these things to remind her of her place.

She was well aware, never having harbored ambitions to contend with anyone.

How could she, with her station? She might not even be able to keep her life.

As she pondered this, Matron Sun, watching the maids at work outside, couldn’t help but sigh. “His Highness really does care for you. Our Crown Princess is generous and virtuous. Even though His Highness hasn’t been back in three days, you haven’t lacked for anything good. Shouldn’t you be grateful for Her Highness’s kindness? For someone of humble birth like you, to enjoy these delicacies in this household is more than you could hope for—it’s what falls through the cracks of the noble’s fingernails—”

Awu began to feel irritated. Gossip was one thing, but this was too much.

She interrupted, “Perhaps His Highness and Her Highness are not on good terms?”

Matron Sun started, eyes widened, “Why would you say that? Who told you such things?”

Awu smiled and set her bowl firmly onto a lacquered tray. The crisp click drew the attention of the nearby maids.

Looking at Matron Sun, Awu said, “As you said, I am of lowly birth. What does their marital happiness have to do with me? I am just an amusing bauble, am I not?”

Matron Sun eyed her warily but agreed, “At least you know your place!”

Awu chuckled softly. “You insist on telling me these things only to warn me, to keep me from hoping for more. Surely, it’s because Her Highness herself is uneasy. Otherwise, why bother speaking to someone like me?”

Matron Sun was startled by these words.

She’d cared for Awu since her arrival at the Emerald Bower, observing her coldly. She knew the girl was frail, born with physical weakness, seemingly simple-minded, always stuffing her mouth with good food, unbothered by insults. Even when prodded, she rarely reacted.

Who would have thought she would speak such words today?

She studied Awu again—truly a beauty. Delicate bones, alluring and gentle, her eyes like autumn water, lips a thin crimson thread against flawless white skin—a devastating, enchanting charm.

The Crown Prince, on his southern inspection, had returned with such a creature, cherishing her above all, shielding her from the world, spending nearly every night with her.

Since then, he’d shunned the Crown Princess, leaving her to endure it.

So the Crown Princess had arranged that scene a few days prior, exposing Awu before everyone to put her in her place.

As expected, the Emperor despised such a temptress and publicly shamed the Crown Prince, demanding he be rid of her.

The Crown Prince was reluctant, pleading with the Emperor, trying every possible way.

Matron Sun, having watched over Awu, knew her background thoroughly—humble, uneducated, barely literate. Such a girl was easily managed; she’d boasted to the Crown Princess that she had everything under control.

Yet today, Awu had spoken unexpectedly.

Matron Sun narrowed her eyes, now on guard, and asked cautiously, “If the Crown Prince and Princess were truly at odds, what would you do?”

Awu calmly picked up a bowl of osmanthus egg flower soup. “How would I know? I only hope…”

Matron Sun pressed, “Hope for what?”

Awu blew gently on the soup. The egg flowers, shaped like golden osmanthus blossoms, floated delicately—the chef’s art flawless, looking just like a shower of autumn petals.

Awu tasted a sip, then replied, “I only hope to receive some silver, to live a few peaceful days.”

Matron Sun probed, “What do you mean by peaceful days?”

Awu answered, “Simply to find a decent husband—not caring for wealth or poverty—so long as he’s upright, to live out ordinary days together until old age.”

Matron Sun found it ever more amusing—such hypocrisy! A seductress like her, wishing for peace?

She asked deliberately, “Why not say this to His Highness?”

Awu dabbed her lips with a kerchief. “But I have.”

Matron Sun was incredulous. “You… told His Highness that?”

Awu nodded. “Yes.”

Her voice was soft and lingering, almost innocent.

Matron Sun’s mind was in turmoil. She eyed Awu warily. “And what did His Highness say?”

Awu tilted her head, thinking. “He stroked my hair and said he would be the one to grow old with me, and told me not to have any other thoughts.”

She furrowed her delicate brows, looking innocent and helpless, and muttered softly, “Matron Sun, what am I to do? The Crown Prince won’t listen to me.”

Matron Sun’s expression was dazed.

She regarded Awu deeply.

Such a disaster—if she isn’t sent away, no one will ever know peace.