Leaving the Changmen Palace - LTCP 29: One Question

Before they knew it, it was March.

It was the first month of spring, and the noble ladies of Chang’an were already donning light summer attire. Even the common people living in the fields had cast off their thick fur coats.

Outside Chang’an, on the vast green grasslands beside Shanglin Garden, people were already chatting by the river, celebrating the Shangsi Festival in advance, just before the day of the Snake.

Liu Che, returning from Shanglin Garden with Chen Jiao, was captivated by the sight. He stopped his horse in the distance and stood there, gazing at the crowds of people laughing, singing, and dancing in the distance.

He smiled and said to Chen Jiao, “It seems like people lived well last year.”

Of course, the Shangsi Festival is not so lively every year. Last year’s harvest was poor, and many people were in no mood to celebrate the festival.

If there is more rain this year, everyone’s worries about their livelihood will be even stronger. How can they dress up like this and go to the suburbs to enjoy the flowers? The people in the fields are always unkempt and live their lives day after day.

Chen Jiao has been in and out of the palace countless times, and all she has seen are timid and humble faces. Suddenly seeing this group of excited people, she couldn’t help but smile.

Seeing that Liu Che was about to rein in his horse, she stopped and teased him, “There are vines growing in the fields, the dew is heavy, and there is a beauty who is as gentle as the morning sun. Is A’ Che eager to find his own beauty?”

The empress rarely joked, so naturally her confidants would not miss the opportunity to laugh and cheer her up.

Liu Che wanted to get angry, but he couldn’t help but laugh: Chen Jiao was simply jealous, and even her jealousy was very cute.

“I’ll just go and take a look and pick a flower for my beauty.” He looked at her with feigned displeasure, “The scenery here is beautiful, but the wild peonies rarely bloom, and they are almost all picked by people.”

Before Chen Jiao could say anything, Han Yan intercepted her words with a smile and ordered Han Yue, “Go and pick a wild peony for the young master! So that the young master doesn’t have to go there himself and fall in love with a beautiful girl with big eyes, and then come back and be unable to explain anything!”

The pleasure of a spring outing on horseback was undeniably delightful, eliciting spontaneous laughter from everyone present.

Liu Che gracefully dismounted and, with a commanding yet genial tone, instructed his attendants, “If any of you wish to approach and find a maiden, feel free to dance together. I shall remain here with Jiaojiao before returning.”

Already, many young men, unable to resist the allure of the beautiful riverbank, cast covert glances at the enchanting maidens. With Liu Che’s gracious permission, they dismounted, singing and dancing joyfully, their simple melodies echoing from a distance.

Meanwhile, a few discreet eunuchs and attendants had thoughtfully laid out a brocade carpet beneath the shade of the trees, creating a tranquil space for the emperor and empress to rest and enjoy the scene in comfort.

Chen Jiao had rarely experienced such a peaceful and relaxed moment in her life.

She and Liu Che sat down on the blanket, and she pointed at the scene and said with a smile, “You see, as soon as young Han Sheren picked up the flower, he was surrounded by several girls.”

Liu Che actually opened his mouth wide and watched the scene with great interest.

Some of the companions couldn’t help but show a longing look. They crept to the riverbank, and several young, attractive boys had already taken the girls and disappeared into the mountains and forests.

Chen Jiao also watched the whole thing with great interest and couldn’t help but cover her mouth and whisper in Liu Che’s ear, “Oh, they do that in the wild? It’s so dirty, what if insects crawl in?”

Liu Che was also charmed by her rare display of childish innocence and couldn’t help but laugh.

Together, they turned their attention to Han Yue, observing him with keen interest. Han Yue, clutching a branch of exquisite wild peony, endeavored to approach from the crowd.

However, his youthful charm and handsome appearance drew the attention of several girls, who clasped his hand and serenaded him, causing his face to flush with visible redness.

As Han Yan, Han Yue’s elder brother, scrutinized his younger sibling, he felt increasingly disappointed.

Frustrated, he stamped his foot and declared, “I’ll go and bring my brother back!”

Liu Che chuckled and rose to his feet, responding, “He’s not a noble lady who needs to be rescued!” He then said with a smile, “I’ve seen him exchanging flirtatious glances with that girl in yellow. Jiaojiao, let me pick the finest peony for you myself!”

Without awaiting her response, he swiftly dashed into the lively crowd filled with singing and dancing. Young, handsome, and full of vitality, he was soon surrounded by a group of charming girls, singing songs to enchant their lovers.

The atmosphere beneath the ancient tree suddenly grew tense and unfamiliar.

Han Yan stood motionless beside Chen Jiao, his face expressionless, neither daring to step away nor to relax.

Had the attendants not already dispersed one by one, and the few young eunuchs not retreated into the mountains and forests to amuse themselves, and if there had been no one left to guard Chen Jiao’s side, he might have been tempted to pursue Liu Che.

Yet, an inward reluctance held him back, a deep aversion to the discomfort that meeting Chen Jiao’s gaze might provoke.

The tender moment shared behind the Jiaofang Hall was nearly a year past, yet Han Yan often found himself dreaming of it in the dead of night, unable to forget the coldness that lingered on his lips during that brief encounter.

He would awaken abruptly, drenched in sweat, trembling with fear before reminding himself that no one else knew of what transpired—if anyone had, he would have met his demise long ago.

Though Liu Che showered him with affection, he would never tolerate any indiscretion involving his wife.

Han Yan was acutely aware of the stark contrast between Chen Jiao and Yin Ji. In that moment, when the incident occurred, he felt no sense of wrongdoing; indeed, his entire being was stirred, and he was tempted to pursue further.

Yet, as time passed, an overwhelming sense of fear took hold. Deep within, he was haunted by the chilling, clear presence of the empress, and he dared not meet her gaze again.

Fortunately, Chen Jiao’s usual demeanor toward him was unremarkable—calm and natural, with hardly any noticeable change.

As now, even though she sat cross-legged beside him, her eyes remained fixed on Liu Che, watching as his figure disappeared into the distant mountains and forests beyond the gathering.

Surely, he had gone to pluck another peony. Indeed, while common women may be openly affectionate, the empress’ watchful presence naturally made the emperor act with restraint.

“If you persist in your timidity,” when Chen Jiao began to speak, Han Yan was momentarily taken aback, only to realize she was addressing him.

Yet, her gaze remained fixed on Liu Che, as if she was speaking to herself.

It was only midway through her words that she refocused her attention on him, “A’ Che will uncover the truth eventually; you still underestimate him too much.”

Her eyes remained clear and unwavering, untainted by regret over what had transpired.

Han Yan’s mouth grew bitter, and a hollow smile touched his lips. He, too, learned from her insight, shifting his gaze to seek Liu Che.

The Liu couple seemed to possess an almost magnetic allure; their simple presence alone effortlessly drew the gaze of onlookers, compelling eyes to linger and follow.

At times, he found himself uncertain—was he envious of Liu Che’s charm, or of Chen Jiao’s grace?

He mused dryly, “I shall be more cautious in the future, so as not to disturb the empress.”

Chen Jiao’s gaze drifted once more toward the spot where Liu Che had vanished.

She responded with a gentle “mm” before falling silent.

In stark contrast to the heated, lingering afternoon, her demeanor grew even more distant and aloof—her attitude cold as ice—rendering that fleeting moment of rapture with Han Yan seemingly insignificant in her eyes.

He thought to himself, he wanted to see if Chen Jiao knew, such an attitude would only make the man more curious, and want to prove that under her cold exterior, that fiery passion was still in full swing and had not subsided.

Maybe she knew, or maybe she didn’t care at all. He knew that she would never dare to confirm his suspicions. Even though the emperor was almost obedient to her, he didn’t dare to ask such a question. But Chen Jiao aroused his desire to conquer after all.

Although he didn’t show any physical aggression, he still suppressed her mentally.

Han Yan heard himself asking, “Your Majesty has been favored by the two palaces since childhood. Your Majesty’s father is a marquis and mother is a princess. When Your Majesty grew up, you became the mother of the country and dominated the Jiaofang Hall. But why are you always unhappy?”

The question came abruptly and without any preamble, as if a sword had suddenly pierced through the air in front of Chen Jiao.

It was not that he harbored any ill will; indeed, he had rarely seen her in a state of distress. Unless a cup were shattered before her, it seemed that no matter how grave the matter, she remained composed, her brow unruffled, her words measured.

Her remarkable poise and resilience only heightened his genuine curiosity and concern. Such sincerity and sharpness infused his question, driven by admiration for her strength and virtue.

Truly, her capable, generous, and virtuous nature was why he was so surprised—and why he earnestly wondered: despite her deep parental love, the frequent praise from the grand empress dowager and empress dowager wang for her filial piety, and her husband’s tender gestures—why was Chen Jiao feeling unhappy?

Indeed, the words had their intended effect.

In that moment, Chen Jiao’s face seemed to be veiled by a delicate, luminous gauze, casting a subtle mist that obscured her true emotions.

Han Yan strained to perceive her inner state, yet could only catch fleeting glimpses—fragile whispers of her feelings, concealed beneath layers of complexity.

Those emotions were so intricate that they blurred the boundaries between joy and sorrow, love and hate, leaving him only able to sense the bittersweet essence—the nuanced taste of her heart—without the words to fully articulate it.

Perhaps, it was because, over the recent years, unexpectedly, she finally found her answer.

Chen Jiao remained poised, her gaze fixed ahead as a gentle smile played upon her lips.

She watched Liu Che approach, a delicate flower in his hand, and her voice softened with a touch of tenderness, “In these past few years,” she murmured, “happiness has been too precious a luxury for me to even contemplate.”

Those recent years—why did she pinpoint that specific period? For some reason, Han Yan felt an inexplicable kinship with the notion of luxury. Yet, he couldn’t grasp why she chose to confine her sense of loss to merely these years.

Before he could ponder further, Liu Che’s arrival drew his attention, and instinctively, he stepped aside, yielding the stage to the young emperor.

Chen Jiao was poised to rise and greet him, yet Liu Che gently restrained her with a single, knowing glance.

He stepped forward, bending down with affectionate tenderness, and delicately placed a long-bloomed, resplendently beautiful wild peony into her hair. Then, softly whispering a few words into her ear, he elicited a warm, genuine laugh from her—a sound that seemed to dissolve any remaining chill in the air.

Leaning in close, Chen Jiao responded with a whispered reply, her voice intimate and sweet. Liu Che’s gaze lingered on her, filled with love and tender indulgence—an expression unmistakable to all who saw it.

Han Yan thought that, in that moment, even if Chen Jiao were to deny her happiness with all her heart, her joy would be undeniable. That day was truly a celebration for all.

Han Yan chose not to restrain Han Yue, allowing him to roam freely amidst the mountains and forests.

He journeyed alongside Liu Che and his wife, their spirits high, as they leisurely made their way back to the city of Chang’an.

Initially, he had intended to return home alone, but Liu Che gently urged him to accompany him to the Qingliang Hall to review the memorials.

“There are so many words; who can read them all? It’s growing late, and your presence would be appreciated.”

Yet, his request was less about needing assistance and more a subtle way of seeking respite from the burdens of political duties—perhaps an excuse to indulge in drink and merriment.

Han Yan noticed a fleeting furrow cross Chen Jiao’s brow, like a gentle ripple on spring waters, but it soon vanished, and she turned her gaze as if nothing had transpired, as if she had not heard Liu Che’s words.

At that moment, he suddenly understood why she seldom smiled.

Liu Che had treated her kindly, yet it seemed he had not loved her enough.

Not daring to refuse any longer, he followed the emperor and empress through the side gate and entered Weiyang Palace.

As soon as they entered the palace gate, they encountered a small servant. She seemed to have been waiting by the palace gate for some time.

Seeing Chen Jiao and Liu Che enter, she was instantly filled with joy. She stepped forward and hugged Chen Jiao’s legs.

Chen Jiao leaned over and listened to her whisper in her ear. Before Han Yan had time to ponder what was going on, she straightened up and suddenly broke into a smile.

Her beauty surpassed even the peony on her forehead. The joy overflowed from her heart and seemed to overflow from her eyes.

He heard Chen Jiao say, “Your Majesty, congratulations! This afternoon, an imperial physician came to Yongxiang Hall to take Lady Jia’s pulse. She’s pregnant!”

…

T/N

Shangsi Festival— a festival mainly observed by Chinese ancient or ethnic groups, including Han and Zhuang, to ward off evil spirits and natural disasters.