Leaving the Changmen Palace - LTCP 37: Stingy

A corner of Jiaofang Hall fell silent for a moment.

Chen Jiao glanced at Wei Zifu again. She pondered for a moment, but didn’t immediately pay attention.

Instead, she clapped her hands, “Where did Chu Fu go? She still hasn’t sent the honey water yet.”

Wei Zifu had no choice but to get up and walk into the hall to find a palace servant delivering the message, urging Chu Fu to bring the honey water.

Chen Jiao took the opportunity to sigh, “As expected of a reincarnation, with so much experience at such a young age. I forced her, and she didn’t even show any evidence.”

Once, she had reigned as an empress, her palace—the opulent Jiaofang Hall—once adorned by Wei Zifu’s own hand. Yet now, she found herself humbled before Chen Jiao, who sat amidst a sea of wealth and splendor.

The former empress, too indifferent to lift a finger, merely tilted her chin with her foot—a subtle gesture that betrayed her inner restraint. Yet, beneath that composed exterior, even the slightest trace of blood or discontent would inevitably surface.

Wei Zifu, youthful and inherently timid, had her inner fortifications finally tested by Chen Jiao.

If not for her daring request to leave the palace—an act unbefitting a young girl—Chen Jiao might have suspected her of reincarnation, or perhaps believed this was merely a cruel jest played by voices, seeking to coerce her into executing Wei Zifu swiftly, thus bringing everything to an abrupt end.

Though her voice seldom reached the depths of her thoughts, it was ever perceptive of her doubts.

Chen Jiao perceived a deep snort within her mind, and her words seemed to resonate with an echo, “Wei Zifu transformed from a singer into the empress of the nation. Certainly, fortune played a role, but her diligence was undeniable.”

Which woman residing in the Jiaofang Hall was not favored by the hand of destiny? From Empress Lu of Emperor Gaozu—who either bore children herself or knew how to select the womb of a mother—down to Chen Jiao herself, each was graced by luck.

Her uncle was the emperor, her husband the emperor; she was more noble and cherished than ordinary princesses. She possessed beauty, a serene demeanor, and intelligence—how could she not be favored by the universe? Yet, the true question was whether she knew how to seize that favor.

Ultimately, she would perish within the Changmen Palace—whose fault was it if not her own? Could she genuinely blame Liu Che for his lack of mercy?

“You just keep playing with fire.” She didn’t reply, and the voice only grew angrier, “If you lose again in this life, you really can’t blame anyone. Don’t blame me for not telling you sooner. The sooner you kill her, the better!”

Chen Jiao couldn’t help but sigh slightly.

If she didn’t change her personality, it was no wonder she and Liu Che were always incompatible and eventually grew apart, having nothing to say to each other.

“You kill one because you don’t like her, and you kill the other because you don’t feel comfortable with her. Kill Chu Fu, Han Yan, Lady Wei, and Lady Li. Why don’t you just kill all the women in Weiyang Palace? Then everyone will be better off. You kill one today and another tomorrow. Even the executioners complain about your hesitation.”

She ignored the voice’s angrily protesting, keeping it buried deep within her. Then she lay back on her pillow, watching Wei Zifu and Chu Fu leave the hall one after the other.

Chen Jiao, without a word, ordered Chu Fu, “Pour Lady Wei a cup of water.”

Chu Fu poured a cup of light yellow honey from a heavy and elegant jade jug, sprinkled it with a few petals, and handed the cup to Wei Zifu, “Why don’t you thank Her Majesty for the reward?”

Wei Zifu’s eyes widened and she looked at Chen Jiao with a hint of fear. Her eyes were filled with fear, confusion, and bewilderment.

Chen Jiao’s spirits brightened. She picked up the jug and poured herself a drink. Her light pink lips closed around the rim of the white jade cup.

She took a sip and asked, “Sweet?”

Wei Zifu hurriedly drank the honey water from the cup and said from the bottom of her heart, “It’s so sweet.”

Her cautiousness stemmed from having lived two distinct lives.

If only the Wei Zifu of this lifetime—merely a young girl of thirteen or fourteen—had been involved, how could she have conceived of poisoning simply upon receiving a cup of honey water?

It was her awareness of the immense future power awaiting her that fostered this wariness. She understood that the customs of the Jiaofang Hall diverged markedly from her previous experiences, fueling a subtle sense of doubt. Though she sensed something was amiss, certainty eluded her.

Chen Jiao found the scene quite captivating, akin to a finely staged pantomime—both parties inwardly shaken, yet outwardly feigning indifference or ignorance, each playing her role with deliberate concealment.

Thinking about this, she felt even more tired. She had to not only pretend not to notice Wei Zifu’s quirks, but also pretend she wasn’t quirky at all.

“Have you ever drunk such sweet water in the princess’ mansion?” She averted her gaze from the all-too-obvious flaw in Wei Zifu’s eyes and asked a question that came completely unexpectedly, causing the latter to suddenly become taken aback.

The girl seemed to gradually understand and answered very cautiously, “I’m a low-born servant, and I’m perfectly content with warm food and clothing. Honey water is such an expensive item that servants can’t enjoy it at their own discretion.”

Chen Jiao gently said, “Once you leave the palace, you’ll find it difficult to enjoy such exquisite delicacies again.”

She then inquired softly, “Speaking of which, when Lady Jia visited last time, she was still hoping to acquire a few jars of locust honey. Did you send it to her?”

“This morning, I received the items, and I have already coordinated for their prompt delivery,” Chu Fu nodded knowingly, replying with a subtle smile directed at Wei Zifu.

Her expression conveyed quiet encouragement.

Jia Ji’s background was only marginally more distinguished than Wei Zifu’s. Once, honeyed water was a rare luxury for her—a reward she received only fleetingly during her brief favor with the emperor, which led to her pregnancy.

All women in Liu Che’s harem were his concubines. Yet, she, Wei Zifu, have shared the emperor’s bed as well. So why is Jia Ji permitted to sit in the hall while she is relegated to the lower chambers?

A cup of honeyed water may seem a generous favor for her, Wei Zifu, but for Jia Ji, it is merely a commonplace reward.

If she were to insist on leaving the palace at this moment, it would demonstrate not only a lack of gratitude on her part but also an unreasonable stubbornness.

Wei Zifu then cast another glance at Chen Jiao.

The empress still held her jade cup delicately in hand, her slender, fair fingers nearly matching the hue of the porcelain. Her little finger was slightly lifted, revealing traces of henna on her nails. A subtle touch of light red accentuated her flawless complexion, rendering her appearance utterly captivating.

Her phoenix-like eyes, strikingly similar to the emperor’s, were gently half-closed; her lashes fluttered softly as if she was contemplating herself anew. The slight upward curve of her lips suggested a poised smile, as if she was thoughtfully assessing her own influence.

It was as though she was intricately crafting a perfect moon for herself, akin to sharpening a knife to a fine edge before entering the fray—precise, deliberate, and full of quiet intent.

Once again, a dull ache gripped We Zifu’s temples.

As her focus wavered, a tumult of voices surged within her heart—a relentless flood that threatened to overwhelm her. The furious shouts swelled like a mighty river, rising a foot in an instant, nearly drowning her in their tumult. Fear gripped her more tightly, and she clenched her teeth, determinedly forcing the tumultuous voices back into silence.

Then, in a strained whisper, she murmured, “This humble servant, of modest appearance, cannot compare to Lady Jia. I am aware that even within the palace walls, my fate may be to perish in the cold shadows. I humbly beseech Your Majesty to show mercy, allowing this servant to reunite with her family.”

Her thoughts remained fixed on leaving the palace, unacceptably unyielding, even rejecting the ladder to heaven that Chen Jiao had extended to her. Her longing for freedom was sincere, unmasked by any pretense, revealing a heart driven by genuine desire to escape the confines she endured.

Chen Jiao couldn’t help but feel a little surprised.

She carefully looked at Wei Zifu’s expression, and after a long time, she sighed softly in her heart.

It’s unknown where the Wei family came from, perhaps they are descendants of ancient princes. Otherwise, how could it be that having Wei Zifu was not enough, and she also had to have her nephew and brother. It’s a pity that if she wasn’t Wei Zifu, Chen Jiao might not necessarily treat her like this.

“Your family heard that you were favored and entered the palace, and they were very happy. Letting you out of the palace is just my temporary talk. It’s hard to say what will happen to your family in the future,” she said lightly. “Besides, the palace is as deep as the sea. How can you get in just by saying you can go out? Since you don’t know how to cherish, then just go back to Yongxiang Hall and live honestly.”

It appeared as though Chen Jiao’s interest in her had waned.

After imparting her instructions with an air of cool detachment, she extended her hand, gently pressing upon Chu Fu’s shoulder. With the aid of the formidable palace servant, she rose gracefully. Her bare feet moved silently, almost ethereally.

In a fleeting moment, the pale yellow, delicately thin gauze skirt—resembling cicada wings—faded from Wei Zifu’s sight. Yet, she continued to kneel with unwavering respect, her head pressed reverently to the ground in a solemn farewell to the empress.

Her posture was so poised and exquisite that, despite Chu Fu glancing back twice, she was unable to discern the true expression etched upon her face at that precise instant.

“Some individuals show so little gratitude,” when serving Chen Jiao to adorn herself, Chu Fu could not help but gently remark with a smile. “Watching her every movement, one can see she is well-versed in the etiquette of the palace. I believe the eldest princess has dedicated considerable effort to her training. It was no small feat to see her enter the palace, yet she still insisted on leaving. Truly, she is a naive girl.”

Whether her innocence truly qualifies her as a naive girl remains subject to debate, but her discernment for talent is undeniably extraordinary—worthy of her two lives.

Compared to her own voice, if Wei Zifu had been nurtured with a similar gentle tone from childhood, her cunning and strategic mind might not have fallen so far behind.

A rare smile spread across Chen Jiao’s face, instantly encouraging Chu Fu.

While straightening her skirt, she said, “If you ask me, Your Majesty should allow her to leave the palace to see if she is happy or sad. In the palace, she can at least eat her fill. Once she leaves the palace, her family, both young and old, won’t know how to make a living. Perhaps they’ll sell her into a brothel to exchange her body for money. It’s hard for me to say.”

“What do you mean, selling your body for money?” Liu Che entered the inner hall and overheard the end of Chu Fu’s words, “What, is there another story from the market that has spread to the palace?”

Chen Jiao looked at Chu Fu and said casually, “Chu Fu is talking about the singer the elder sister sent.”

He frowned. Thinking of Wei Zifu, he remembered the pale face of Chen Jiao when she fainted.

Although Chen Jiao looked weak, she had always been in good health and seldom fell ill. Although she herself did not blame Wei Zifu, he was naturally in a bad mood when he mentioned this matter.

“What’s wrong with her? You fainted the last time you saw her, and you saw her again this time?”

“It’s not like I haven’t seen her before. I saw her once or twice in Changle Palace, and grandmother also asked her to come and sing a few times.” Chen Jiao said nonchalantly, “I was bored when I got up this morning, so I asked her to come and sing to relieve my boredom.”

Without waiting for Liu Che to answer, she changed the subject and began to talk about the official career of the Jia family, “I thought she was pregnant, so I didn’t refuse her in person. What should I do? It depends on what you think.”

He snorted sharply, his frustration seemingly directed at Jia Ji as he remarked, “She’s pregnant with a child, yet she doesn’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl, and still she’s eager to assume a position of superiority?”

Chen Jiao, well acquainted with his temperament, gently waved her hand toward the bronze mirror and waited until Chu Fu retreated before speaking softly, “After all, it’s the first drop of blood—naturally, it’s only fitting to hold it close and cherish it a little more. However, I am not well-versed in the affairs of the previous dynasty, so I will leave the decision to you.”

The ritual of husband and wife raising a tray to their brows and playing the zither in harmony also follows a certain decorum: the wife must first raise the tray and adopt a proper posture before the husband takes an interest in accompanying her with the zither. It’s a symbolic gesture, and even if there are many such traditions, Chen Jiao would never consider any of them excessive.

Liu Che’s tone gradually softened, becoming more gentle and considerate, “Indeed, it’s also important to consider auspicious omens. Jia Ji is now pregnant, and if she becomes overly anxious or distressed, it could affect the unborn child.”

She responded with a gentle smile, “You may do as you see fit. I am merely waiting to pass along your instructions.”

From the moment he appeared, she seemed to relax anew, speaking in a series of three effortless sentences, “You can handle things as you wish; I am too indifferent to trouble myself.”

This ultimately assured Liu Che that she harbored no jealousy over the reward given to Jia Ji.

Moved by her understanding and calm acceptance, he was unable to resist drawing her into his embrace once more, whispering tender words and expressing love.

In that moment, he realized that no one else in the world knew him as deeply—understood his struggles and desires so intimately. Yet, as the Son of Heaven, the love and devotion he could offer her paled in comparison to what he bestowed upon the beauties of Yongxiang Hall.

For some inexplicable reason, his thoughts once again shifted.

He furrowed his brow in contemplation, his mind deep in thought, before turning to Chen Jiao with a measured tone, “The Jia family has only this son and daughter, correct? I must caution you—do not let any distant cousins or clan members suddenly appear, seeking to claim fief.”

The Jia household was indeed modest, with no other surviving relatives aside from the young pair.

Upon learning these details, his expression softened, and he responded thoughtfully, “Please inform Jia Ji to take good care of herself. Let us wait until the child is born and has safely passed the hundredth day before considering rewarding her brother. Rushing such matters could stir unnecessary trouble, and we must ensure the child’s safety and stability.”

Ultimately, Liu Che hesitated to relinquish the title, wary of potential risks—the possibility that the child might not survive, or that it would be a girl, which would render the deal less advantageous. His prudence was driven by a desire to protect both the lineage and the benefits at stake.

Chen Jiao found herself quite entertained this time: despite his imperial stature, he could exhibit a remarkably petty side when he chose to do so.