Chapter 17: Desire

Due to the Empress’s miscarriage and physical injuries, as well as her extremely unstable mood, Ganquan Palace has been closed to visitors for some time. Of course, this was only the official explanation; in truth, the four female officials were simply afraid to let the current Empress out, lest she expose herself. After all, not everyone could tolerate an Empress whose heart disregarded propriety.

On the lake, the water shimmered under the sun, lotus leaves swayed with the breeze, and beneath them, koi fish glided, flicking their tails. The spring sun was warm, perfect for a nap. At the fishing terrace, Dongcang held a blue-bound, thread-sewn book, passionately lecturing on palace etiquette with a stern expression. At her feet, the Empress Daidai slept soundly.

When a faint snoring arose from beneath her, Dongcang’s face darkened abruptly. After a deep breath, she tiptoed away.

On the wooden bridge leading to the waterside pavilion, a slender maid carried a thin blanket and approached. Upon seeing Dongcang, she bowed and whispered, “Sister Dongcang, I brought this to keep Her Highness from catching cold.”

“Give it to me,” Dongcang replied coldly.

“Yes.”

This maid, Baiyue, served under Chunmo. Her sweet words, attentiveness, and diligence had won Chunmo over, who had taken her as a younger sister. Baiyue was clever; she called not only Chunmo but also Dongcang and the other two “sister,” serving them eagerly each day. Even the rigorous Dongcang had tacitly accepted her ingratiation.

As long as one was loyal to the Empress, the four officials were not unaccommodating; they simply kept the other maids away from the Empress.

The sun grew stronger, burning the skin after prolonged exposure. Dongcang gently draped the blanket over Daidai, then opened a parasol and settled herself above Daidai’s head, determined to hold it until the Empress awoke.

Baiyue hurried forward, saying, “Sister Dongcang, this is too tiring. Let me do it.”

Dongcang shook her head. “Go back. Her Highness is fine with just me here.”

A sleeping mistress was docile and didn’t need too many attendants.

“Then I’ll come back to relieve you in half an hour.”

Dongcang nodded.

Inside Qianyuan Hall, a row of palace maids in pale moon-white skirts, their hair styled in twin buns, served dishes under the eunuch’s direction. Everything proceeded smoothly. Liu Beauty, summoned to attend the midday meal, personally set the table for Ji Ye. She was lovely, with peach-blossom cheeks, a delicate nose, and exquisite features.

“Liu Beauty, hurry, His Majesty approaches!” the eunuch reminded, hastily kneeling and calling out, “Welcome, Your Majesty!”

Liu Beauty, bashful and fragile, knelt gracefully, her voice soft and slender, “Welcome, Your Majesty.”

“Rise,” Ji Ye pinched the bridge of his nose, his tone weary.

“Yes.”

Not being personally helped up by the Emperor, Liu Beauty felt a flicker of discomfort. But she quickly composed herself, stepping forward elegantly, “Your Majesty must be hungry. Shall I serve you your meal?”

Ji Ye nodded slightly, his expression cold, brows furrowed as if displeased.

At that moment, a cry rang out from outside. “Your Majesty, your minister has a memorial!”

It was none other than Minister Yu Junshi of the Ministry of Revenue.

Ji Ye choked on a mouthful of food. Liu Beauty hurriedly offered him a cup of tea, looking as if she might burst into tears, “Your Majesty, please ignore them. Your health is paramount; you must eat.”

With the tea, Ji Ye managed to swallow his food. His face darkened, and he cast a cold glance at Liu Beauty. “Leave.”

“Your Majesty, did I say something wrong?” Liu Beauty bit her red lip in grievance, her tongue just visible.

“Leave,” Ji Ye said blandly, raising his bowl for another mouthful.

It was finally her turn to attend the meal, only to be dismissed after just a glimpse of the Emperor. Liu Beauty, unwilling, gripped her chopsticks, unsure whether to stay or go. Her fair face flushed crimson with embarrassment.

Li Fuquan stepped forward, pulling Liu Beauty out by her sleeve.

“Eunuch Li, is His Majesty unhappy with me?” Once out of Ji Ye’s sight, Liu Beauty’s eyes brimmed with tears, pitifully delicate. Even Li Fuquan, whose roots of desire had been severed, felt his heart stir. He pondered her value, then kindly reassured her, “Beauty, don’t lose heart. His Majesty isn’t angry with you. The Noble Consort and the Virtuous Consort were also gently rebuked recently. There’s no need to worry. Wait in the side hall; once His Majesty is in better spirits, I’ll summon you.”

“Thank you, Eunuch Li.” Liu Beauty smiled through her tears, hurriedly offering a pair of jade bracelets from her wrist.

But Li Fuquan was not one for petty favors. He smiled and politely declined.

Inside the hall, delicacies went untouched, gradually cooling. In the warm chamber to the right, Ji Ye sat behind the desk, expressionless, while two ministers knelt before him: Yu Junshi of the Ministry of Revenue and an Imperial Censor from the Censorate. The atmosphere was taut.

The Imperial Censor, as if risking his life, spoke passionately, his eyes red and neck thick. He impeached none other than the Empress’s father, the faraway General of Cavalry in the northwest.

First, he claimed the general was lax in discipline, wasting funds, embezzling pay, accepting bribes, and living decadently—a parasite on the nation.

Second, he accused him of jealousy and oppression, monopolizing the Imperial Guards.

Third, he called him cowardly, unwilling to pursue victory, amassing troops in the northwest with intentions of treason.

In summary, according to the memorial, the General of Cavalry was a peerless traitor, forgetting that this same “traitor” had repeatedly saved the kingdom from disaster, successfully deterring the Eastern Yi and Western Rong, preventing Great Yan from being invaded during its weakness.

Ji Ye had already seen the memorial and returned it with a single word, “Noted,” his meaning clear. The general fought bloody battles to defend the realm; Ji Ye would not chill the hearts of his men or dig his own grave.

He hadn’t expected the Imperial Censor to be so “upright.”

It would be easy to order his execution, but Ji Ye knew these censors never feared death; on the contrary, they saw dying for their remonstrance as an honor worthy of the chronicles, something to dream about.

“Fan Zhong, go home and rest for a while,” Ji Ye said calmly.

The Imperial Censor was but an eighth-rank minor official. There were fifteen in the Censorate; if one relied only on diligent work, it would take decades to reach the Emperor’s favor and ascend to the cabinet. But there was a shortcut: impeaching others, climbing over their corpses.

Clearly, Fan Zhong was not a contented man. Regardless of who directed him, Ji Ye found his character lacking.

To put it kindly, he was told to rest; in harsher terms, he was dismissed.

Fan Zhong was thick-skinned, wearing an air of righteousness, and launched into another impassioned speech. Ji Ye’s patience ran out, and he waved for the guards to drag him away.

Yu Junshi, on the other hand, was a true gentleman. He had come regarding the General of Cavalry in the northwest, not to impeach but to state facts: after two years of war, the treasury was depleted, taxes weighed heavily on the people, complaints abounded; the war could not continue. He asked the Emperor to summon the general home.

He then presented a stack of memorials. “These are regional reports sent by express courier, Your Majesty, please review them carefully.”

Opening the first page, the red characters stung his eyes: Severe drought in Shaanxi, southern mountain region!

Ji Ye gripped the memorial, veins bulging on his hand.

The air seemed to freeze. Whether seated or kneeling, neither Ji Ye nor Yu Junshi seemed to breathe. After a long silence, Ji Ye rasped, “I understand. You may go. I will consider it carefully.”

“Yes.”

Perhaps from kneeling too long, Yu Junshi staggered as he stood. Li Fuquan quickly helped him.

Ji Ye watched this loyal minister and suddenly realized how much he had aged in two years, ever since being put in charge of the Ministry of Revenue—white hairs now streaked his temples.

“You have worked hard, my valued minister. I will think it over. Li Fuquan, see Minister Yu off.”

“Yes.”

When Yu Junshi had departed, Ji Ye suddenly shouted in fury, “Summon the Empress to see me!”

The warm breeze made one drowsy; Dongcang, tired from holding the parasol, began to doze off. Daidai, restless in her sleep, let one bare foot slip into the lake. An orange-yellow koi swam beneath the lotus leaf and nipped at her toes, tickling.

The scent on today’s blanket seemed familiar to it, as if branded deep in its memory. After sniffing it, its entire body tingled, its toes curled, and an urge burst forth within. As the hissing grew closer, it suddenly opened its eyes.

Spring had come—the season of mating—just like the first time it smelled that man’s scent in bed.

The hissing came from behind, cold and sinister. Daidai narrowed her eyes, lazy and alluring.

As in mating season, the female serpent was always dominant; only if several snakes joined forces could she be subdued, otherwise she remained untamed.

Abruptly, Daidai turned, and with a hiss, the long snake behind her shot up. Facing it directly, the snake’s flickering tongue was a mere eyelash away from touching Daidai’s eye.

Just that little distance—fortunately, no one knew snakes better than Daidai, who had once been one herself. Her new arm was agile and swift; she caught it by its vulnerable throat before it could strike.

Eyeing her feigning-faint, tongue-flicking kin, Daidai flicked her own tongue, hissing in amusement as she tapped its head several times.

The snake seemed to understand, stiffening like a rod in anger.

Without a hint of decorum, Daidai rolled the golden flat-necked snake over, exposing its belly, and poked just below its vent where it was thickest, hissing again.

The snake curled its tail to cover itself, its emerald eyes glaring coldly at Daidai.

At that moment, Qiuyun entered through the moon gate, followed by a eunuch messenger from Qianyuan Hall.

From afar, Qiuyun couldn’t quite see what Daidai was holding. But as she crossed the bridge and entered the waterside pavilion, she saw the golden snake wrapped around Daidai’s wrist, her mind went blank for a moment, pupils contracting, then she cried out, “Protect Her Highness!”

Dongcang woke with a start and hurried over, only to see her mistress’s finger caught in the snake’s mouth.

Terrified, Dongcang broke into a cold sweat but still trembled as she tried to “rescue” Daidai.

“Your Highness, don’t be afraid, I’ll save you.”

“No need. It’s got a splinter stuck in its fangs and wants me to pull it out. Look.” Daidai rummaged in the snake’s mouth and indeed extracted a slender wood chip.

The snake seemed relieved, coiling around Daidai’s arm and hissing several times.

“Qiuyun, are you looking for me? Is my rice cake ready?” Before sunbathing, she’d set a pot of snowy, fragrant rice cake to steam.

“His Majesty summons you,” Qiuyun clung to the railing, barely keeping her legs from buckling, forcing a smile as she reported.

Daidai’s eyes brightened. “If he didn’t call me, I’d go find him myself.” This girl always followed her own desires.

She wanted it now, urgently. Yes, she loved spring—without magical powers, it was what intrigued her most, decided only just now.

Lay an egg, hatch it, reminisce.

A return to nature, perhaps; after so many years as a demon, she’d forgotten her duty to procreate.

She hung the snake on a tree branch, casually tying a knot, then patted its head and said to Qiuyun and the others, “This one’s mine. Don’t touch it until I’ve had my fun.”

The imperial flat-necked snake king’s eyes flashed gold, its tongue fell limp, body stiff, feigning death.