Chapter Thirty-Three: A Thousand Tears

Before Night Qianling could react, she found herself at the Royal Cemetery in the capital. Every year, when the family came to honor their ancestors during the New Year, Night Qianling never joined them. Years ago, when she was still a child, her visit to this place had left her with a prolonged fever, followed by muteness, which lasted for months before she gradually recovered. Since then, Emperor Guangde forbade Night Qianling from returning here.

Today, the guards were especially numerous, but Night Qianling had no time to ponder the reasons. These past days, she had countless matters to attend to—any delay would derail her plans, and for the next two years, training would be impossible. Those she loved might face untold dangers.

Without a moment's hesitation, Night Qianling scaled the wall with a swift leap, landing in the outer grounds of the cemetery. Her presence, as a living soul among the graves, was conspicuous; she had to act quickly. Once her task was done, she would head to the Crown Prince’s residence.

Patrols circled the grounds every half hour. By her calculation, another would begin in a quarter of an hour. Crouching low, Night Qianling made her way up the sloping edge of the cemetery. The grounds were a collection of mounds—artificial hills, each built for an emperor, while the newest mound, slightly apart from the center, was the burial site for Emperor Guangde’s generation.

Here, only one person rested: Empress Mu Ziying, revered as the mother of the nation.

As Night Qianling ascended, her strength faltered; the resilience she had mustered these days threatened to crumble once more. When she finally reached the summit, she saw a solitary figure seated beside the grave, silent and alone.

Father.

Why was her father here? How was she to face him now? Night Qianling stood quietly, unsure of what to say.

“You’re here?” Emperor Guangde spoke at last, his voice heavy with sorrow. “I heard from Keli that the students at South Garden have two days off, supposedly to decide whether there will be another round. How have you been these days?”

There was no concern, only a matter-of-fact tone, for this unchangeable circumstance had rendered father and daughter strangers.

“Thank you for your concern, Father. I am well,” Night Qianling replied, having already guessed the break was due to dwindling numbers. Hearing her father state the facts was no surprise, but she had not expected his concern for her, nor his inquiry. From his words, she felt as if every move she made was known to him.

There was no childish affection, only respectful formality, as if the warm, cheerful daughter of the past had never existed.

Emperor Guangde knew it was inevitable that things would come to this. Even being able to converse normally was more than he had hoped for. Night Qianling, meanwhile, mourned the loss of happier times; words failed her, tears threatened to fall.

The atmosphere grew tense until the emperor broke the silence. “How is it there? How is your wound? Does it hurt?”

It had only been a few days; how could it not hurt? Night Qianling thought, but replied, “It’s nothing, Father. It stopped hurting quickly, I hardly notice it now.”

Indeed, she felt little—her body had grown accustomed to pain after so many injuries. It hurt, but her heart wished it hurt more, to numb her guilt and lessen her anguish.

Night Qianling’s gaze lingered on Mu Ziying’s tombstone: The Grave of Empress Mu. A deep ache welled in her chest, and tears slid helplessly from her eyes. Her knees buckled, and she crawled slowly forward.

Emperor Guangde caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye, closed his eyes gently, and restrained his own grief until Night Qianling reached the tombstone.

The portrait engraved on the stone was crafted by artisans, perfectly resembling the Empress in her lifetime. Yet Night Qianling had no mind to admire their skill; gazing at the stone likeness, her tears flowed uncontrollably.

“Have you thought things through during your days at South Garden?” Emperor Guangde finally asked. He could not bear to see his beloved daughter endure so much suffering.

Night Qianling noticed her father had never turned to look at her. She forced a bitter smile, lowered her gaze, willing the tears to flow quickly and trying to suppress the sobs that threatened. “Father, will Mother never return? What am I to do?” Her voice was full of grievance and despair, the pain of loss stabbing at her heart, leaving no room for hope.

Emperor Guangde finally turned to her, noticing how much she had wasted away in just a few days—her face pale and sickly, devoid of the vitality and charm she once possessed. His heart twisted in agony. Why, he wondered, must fate torment his family so in his middle years?

“This matter, Father has told you many times. If you do not speak, I will never forgive you in this lifetime. You caused the death of my wife, your own mother. In every way, you are undeserving of forgiveness.” Emperor Guangde saw the sorrow and despair in Night Qianling but did not soften his words.

Night Qianling remained silent. Her tears froze at the corners of her eyes, her body rigid and unmoving. Emperor Guangde, mourning his wife these days, had taken to working and sleeping in the imperial study, never leaving the palace except for morning court. Consort Lu, having lost her child, wept daily, casting a pall of sorrow over the whole palace. Upon hearing from Keli that Night Qianling had two days off, Emperor Guangde knew she would come to the cemetery. After visiting Consort Lu, he waited here, hoping Night Qianling would confess, giving her one last chance. But she failed to grasp it.

So be it. Since each has chosen their path, there is no need for futile effort. Emperor Guangde spoke not another word, turning to leave.

Night Qianling knelt before Mu Ziying’s tombstone all night, staring at the stone-carved portrait in silence. Only at dawn, when the first rays of sunlight appeared, did she attempt to move. Her legs were numb, unable to shift at all. She slowly sat down, stretched her legs, and felt the pain of blood returning to them after so long kneeling. After some time, she managed to stand, glanced at the tombstone once more, and whispered in her heart:

Mother, forgive me.

Walking was awkward—her legs seemed unable to bend, making her steps clumsy. After a sleepless night, her spirits were weaker than ever, but she forced herself onward to the Crown Prince’s residence.

Lu Xiaoxiao was the niece of Consort Lu, Lu Lingyu. Lu Lingyu, born to a concubine, only returned to her family after the age of eighteen, so her conduct differed sharply from the rest of the Lu family. The world described Consort Lu in four words: as soft as boneless. It was with this softness and her talent for seduction that Emperor Guangde, upright and self-disciplined, developed a protective urge for her after his initial mistake, disregarding his wife’s feelings and bringing her into the palace. It was said Emperor Guangde was drunk when he was with Consort Lu; upon waking, he could not recall what had happened, but stubbornly brought her into the palace.

Few believed Consort Lu was innocent, but the consort was a master of disguise, and even now, Emperor Guangde likely saw her as a pure and virtuous woman.

Night Qianling worried—having such a woman at her father’s side meant her brothers and sisters would face endless intrigue in the palace. If Consort Lu bore a son, the danger would be immeasurable. The thought alone was terrifying.

But Night Qianling had neither the time nor the energy to intervene in so many matters. Completing the urgent tasks before her would require every ounce of her strength and wit.

Night Qianling knew nothing of medicine. Even if she managed to reach Hong'er in the Crown Prince's residence, it would be useless unless she could sneak him out and have a doctor examine him.

She knew the layout of the Crown Prince’s residence intimately, needing no preparation. Avoiding the guards, she entered the room of the young imperial grandson, Night Hong. As she stepped through the window, she saw the sleeping child in his cradle. The long-missed bond of aunt and nephew brought tears to Night Qianling’s eyes. Gently, she lifted him from the cradle and hurried to the nearest pharmacy, bursting in, “Doctor, please look at this child. It’s urgent—could you help?”

Only then did she raise her head, searching for someone. She spotted an elderly man with white hair. Though plainly dressed, he seemed extraordinary. She hurried forward, grasping his sleeve and pleading, “Sir, could you please help? I beg you.”

The old man was puzzled by Night Qianling’s urgency. The child in her arms was dressed in finery—not the type to be brought to a pharmacy for treatment. Yet her desperation moved him.

“Miss, I am not the doctor here. Their physician is out on a call. I am just here to buy medicinal herbs. My medical knowledge is shallow, but if you are in a hurry, I can take a look,” the old man offered.

He was none other than Chen Guangyuan, the renowned physician who once saved Sui Gaolang, mentor to Hu Guangshen. He was here to buy common herbs, but as a regular customer and friend to the pharmacist, he was watching the shop while the doctor was out.

Night Qianling, hearing Chen Guangyuan’s words, realized he was not a professional doctor, but had no other choice. If she searched for another, there would be no time left. She knew that every half hour, a maid would check in, and less than fifteen minutes remained.

“Thank you, please. Could you check if the child has any poison or other harmful substances in his body?” Night Qianling spoke rapidly.

Chen Guangyuan was shocked. To think such a young child—barely a year old—might have been poisoned was beyond belief. Without hesitation, he took the child from Night Qianling and began his examination.