Leaving the Changmen Palace - LTCP 40: Warmth and Pain

When the news arrived, Chen Jiao was serving the grand empress dowager in the Changshou Hall and had Liu Shou brought over so that the grand empress dowager could touch her great-grandson’s face.

The empress dowager watched from the side, eager to hold the child in her arms and play with him.

Although this wasn’t the grand empress dowager’s first great-grandchild, the feudal lords had left for their fiefdoms early on, and their children had all been brought to their fiefs rather than to the palace to pay their respects. Therefore, the old lady still felt quite fresh and alert.

She stroked Liu Shou’s face for a moment with her finger and then reached into his diapers to take his temperature, “He’s a child, after all, warm and cozy, like a little oven!”

Chen Jiao had just started to smile when two servants came out from outside the palace and whispered a few words into the grand empress dowager’s ear.

The old lady listened, but only groaned and continued to carry Liu Shou, “Too heavy.”

Neither the empress dowager nor Chen Jiao paid any attention.

The grand empress dowager carried her grandson and played with him for a while.

After serving lunch to the old lady, they returned to their respective palaces.

Chen Jiao entered Jiaofang Hall, and Chu Fu walked over and whispered the news into her ear.

Even with her calm expression, she couldn’t help but stop in her tracks, her brows immediately furrowing, “Was she poisoned?”

Typically, individuals who succumb to poisoning exhibit characteristic signs such as a bluish tint between the eyebrows and lips that appear blackish-purple—common indicators of such a cause of death. Alternatively, it is conceivable that she had not fully recovered from childbirth, her vitality remaining fragile, leading to her passing in this manner.

However, she found this explanation unlikely; although Jia Ji was undoubtedly weakened after childbirth, she was otherwise healthy and alive, and her death was eerily silent. This silence suggested there was more beneath the surface, a deeper meaning concealed within.

Especially after her child was safely entrusted to the Jiaofang Hall, she closed her eyes so peacefully that, to outsiders, it might have seemed she had died with an air of serenity, yet the circumstances hinted at something more complex and suspicious.

Chen Jiao’s mind immediately turned to the grand princess’s performance from the previous day.

Her brows knit together more tightly, and she softly commanded Chu Fu, “Send someone out of the palace to inform my mother—no, go there yourself—and convey my message. Ask her if she has taken any action, and whether she still believes I am not enduring enough hardship within these walls.”

As she spoke, her voice grew increasingly tentative, tinged with a trembling tone, and her expression fluttered between frustration and anxiety, “Such an important matter, and you didn’t say a word!”

Chu Fu dared not respond, lowering her gaze in fear.

She replied quietly, “I will go and deliver the message.”

However, after a few steps, Chen Jiao halted her once more.

The voice in her head curled with interest, like a soft piece of silk gently stroking her heart, “Don’t forget my lesson. You are the empress, but that doesn’t mean you can boss people around and give free rein to your temper.”

These words were like a bucket of cold water poured over her head, making her shiver all over.

When she spoke again, her tone had returned to its former coldness, but this time the coldness was no longer accompanied by aloof politeness. It was as cold as a pile of ice, with sharp edges all around, and it seemed as if she could hurt people with a single touch.

“You don’t need to ask what happened before. Just ask the grand princess where the three members of the Jia family are now.”

She clenched her fists, her breathing heavy for a while, then gradually calmed down, her eyes clear and cold, she looked at Chu Fu and said with deep meaning, “Or you don’t have to ask the grand princess, you can answer it.”

Chu Fu knelt down with a muffled thump. She prostrated with all her might, even making a muffled sound on the thick embroidered carpet.

The sound engulfed Chen Jiao’s heart, even causing pain on her forehead.

“Is it her?” she said in surprise.

Before and after Jia Ji gave birth, the only ones in the palace qualified to approach her were Chun Tuo, Chu Fu, and the old palace women sent by the empress dowager. Regardless of whether it was the grand princess who did it, judging by Chu Fu’s reaction, it seemed that she was actually somewhat involved.

She spoke slowly, looking at Chu Fu, a hint of disappointment in her eyes, “You still refuse to speak. Are you waiting to speak in the imperial prison?”

From a young age, she received the finest instruction, guided by a tutor who possessed the rare gift of foresight. This teacher discerned who was advantageous, who was of no value, who would serve as her adversary, and who might rescue her from peril.

She had always believed that, perhaps, a subtle intertwining of interests existed between her and Chu Fu—after all, in her world, no relationship was devoid of ulterior motives. Yet, amidst these calculations, there lingered a genuine sense of affection.

She was mistaken in this assumption, projecting her past sentiments onto the young Chu Fu, who was still inexperienced and unacquainted with the fallen Empress Chen, but only with her—Chen Jiao herself.

“I don’t know anything,” Chu Fu raised her head, her lips trembling slightly. “Your Majesty, I don’t know anything. The grand princess is in the palace, and all of her confidants are with her. She has never entered the palace to communicate with me. Furthermore, Chun Tuo is in charge of the palace, and there are many old palace servants who are constantly with Lady Jia. What should I do to keep it from Your Majesty? Even if the grand princess wanted it, Chu Fu would never dare agree to it!”

These words seemed to make sense. Chen Jiao’s face softened slightly.

She looked at Chu Fu and lowered her voice once more, “Then why are you so panicked? If you have nothing to hide, why do you submit to me and beg me for forgiveness?”

A flicker of panic briefly crossed Chu Fu’s face, betraying her inner indecision.

Yet Chen Jiao had already resolved her course: she was prepared to go to any lengths, even if it meant pressing upon Chu Fu’s chest to extract the words she needed.

The incident involving Jia Ji not only shattered her carefully laid plans but also provided her with a valuable leverage point in Liu Che’s future considerations.

Since Chu Fu had participated in Jia Ji’s childbirth, holding her accountable would inevitably implicate the Jiaofang Hall. Nevertheless, Chen Jiao understood that her influence, regardless of her abilities, was largely dependent on her family’s backing—families like Chu Fu’s, which was under the patronage of the Marquess of Tangyi. It was therefore not surprising that Chu Fu would submit to the grand princess’ arrangements.

As this realization dawned on her, Chen Jiao’s interest waned.

Without awaiting Chu Fu’s response, she rose gracefully and retreated alone into the quiet garden at the rear of the Jiaofang Hall, seeking clarity amidst the tranquility.

During the depths of winter, the garden lay cloaked in a shimmering blanket of ice and snow. The only refuge was a modest pavilion perched upon an artificial hill, its barriers thickly insulated to preserve warmth—an oasis cherished dearly by Chen Jiao. Within one corner of the pavilion, a steady fire flickered, offering solace amidst the cold.

She entered quietly, gently closing the door behind her, then leaned against its sturdy frame, lingering in contemplative silence.

She lowered her gaze and drew a deep, cold breath, her mind filled with a quiet longing.

At that moment, she questioned herself softly, “Is there truly no way out?”

Yet, as always, her voice remained unheard, met only by the profound stillness that enveloped her.

…

After a long time, a faint voice resounded from outside the pavilion. Chen Jiao’s body trembled slightly at the familiar voice.

She never expected that at such a moment, this person would be the one to disturb her thoughts that were as chaotic as a river.

Han Yan said in a calm tone, “Your Majesty, His Majesty is still holding court in the Xuanshi Hall and cannot leave at the moment. He requests that Your Majesty be at ease, as there is life and death in the world. Lady Jia has been weak since birth. Her death was natural. Your Majesty does not need to grieve too much over this. What is most important is taking care of the eldest prince.”

The words echoed in her ears, just like a horse trotting in a field.

She almost stopped breathing. Her body tensed, and it took a long time before she understood the meaning of Han Yan’s words.

She heard herself asking, “Where is Chun Tuo?”

Han Yan paused briefly before responding with measured calmness, “The grand empress dowager has summoned him to Changshou Hall.”

After a moment of reflection, he continued, “She also dispatched someone to call him earlier, but unfortunately, it was too late.”

One might wonder—what if this news were to become widespread? Liu Che and the grand princess had united their efforts, naturally positioning the grand empress dowager as their supporter.

As for empress dowager and Jia Ji, their relationship was not particularly close. Would she be willing to risk offending all the noble families within the palace, or even jeopardize her alliance with Chen Jiao, by making Jia Ji’s death a public spectacle—turning it into a scandal that would mock the Han Dynasty itself?

In truth, there was little that could be done to alter Jia Ji’s fate.

She inhaled deeply once more, then cast a wistful glance over her shoulder, as if still able to see that fragile figure—her slender form cloaked in heavy garments—standing silently by the door. Yet, beneath that heavy attire, the unmistakable glow of quiet joy remained, impossible to conceal.

Chen Jiao had committed no wrongdoing. She had given Jia Ji a path to heaven. Although Jia Ji might have had some unwise wishes, she maintained self-control, which was enough for Chen Jiao. Her goal was to lift Jia Ji up, advance her status, keep her word, and secure the eldest prince for herself.

But now, that child had been obtained through deception and theft, and she had ultimately become a murderer.

In the future, Chen Jiao wouldn’t have a face-to-face with her in the underworld.

Unlike that witch, Jia Ji hadn’t done anything wrong, or perhaps her only mistake was believing her promise. But where could she not believe it?

Chen Jiao’s breathing returned sharply.

She lowered her head and said after a while, “Not many know about this, right?”

“Very few,” Han Yan’s voice was light and soft, almost like a murmur in the ear through the door, “and there won’t be any more now.”

She fell silent.

She still refused to open the door and stubbornly leaned against it, as if maintaining this posture to block out reality.

That afternoon, a reply from the grand princess arrived from the Marquess of Tangyi’s mansion.

Although Chen Jiao ultimately didn’t ask a single question, no one knows a daughter like her mother. It’s likely that the news only just reached the Marquess of Tangyi’s mansion when the grand princess had already dispatched someone to the palace.

“Your Majesty, don’t worry,” the servant sent by the grand princess whispered in Chen Jiao’s ear. “The Jia family is already completely safe and will not be seen in public again. Since the emperor’s eldest son grew up in Jiaofang Hall, he is naturally Your Majesty’s son. Everything was handled very cleanly and left no trace. Even His Majesty knows this, so he cannot blame Your Majesty.”

She closed her eyes gently, producing a soft “mm” that conveyed her unspoken sentiment. She remained silent, her demeanor tranquil and refined.

When Liu Che returned from the Xuanshi Hall, she had already regained her customary grace—calm, gentle, the epitome of quiet dignity.

Their gazes met, yet she offered no words, only a subtle gesture of closeness: she slowly rose and rested her head softly on his shoulder.

He responded with a tender embrace, whispering, “You excel in every way, except perhaps in your too-soft-hearted nature.”

His tone carried reassurance as he continued, “Don’t worry, Jiaojiao. Focus on managing the harem; leave everything else to me—and to aunt. You are protected, and that protection is so steadfast it almost becomes a wall, shielding you behind its strength.”

Liu Che’s dedication to her was evident; he was willing to go to great lengths for her well-being.

Chen Jiao lowered her gaze to her toes, her voice barely above a whisper, carrying the weight of her quiet gratitude and unspoken feelings.

“Yes,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “I just feel a little sorry for her… she was still so young.”

Liu Che didn’t reply, and the emperor and empress never mentioned the subject again.

As usual, the two took Liu Shou out, teased him for a while, and then ate together.

Liu Che was thinking about the musical instruments and gambling equipment the King of Jiangdu had given him, so he slipped out to the Qingliang Hall to hang out with his attendants.

Chen Jiao spent half a day daydreaming in her bedroom, then called Chu Fu aside.

“Get rid of those around Jia Ji,” she said slowly. “Slowly, so as not to arouse suspicion. After she’s buried, we’ll move them to the various palaces first, and then we’ll dispose of them calmly.”

This would prevent their efforts from going to waste.

In the end, Liu Shou learned that his biological mother had not died a beautiful death.

Chu Fu’s eyes narrowed subtly, and she responded with a composed yet joyful acceptance.

It was evident that Chen Jiao’s unusual behavior earlier that morning had left no visible mark upon her. Only the intricate pattern of whip scars on their hands served as a quiet reminder to both of them that the master of Jiaofang Hall had momentarily lost her temper.

After bidding her farewell, Chen Jiao reclined on her bed, her gaze fixed upon the ceiling as she struggled to banish lingering thoughts. Yet, her mind was drawn irresistibly to the memory of Jia Ji standing by the hall’s entrance—either bidding farewell or awaiting someone’s arrival with quiet anticipation.

The voice, tinged with a tone of familiarity, echoed in her mind, “Liu Che truly loves you; he wouldn’t even want you to stain your hands with toil.”

A hint of jealousy still lingered in her words, but it was subdued, as if she had grown numb to such sentiments in her previous life—no longer capable of stirring any emotional upheaval within her.

Chen Jiao’s gaze drifted once more to her hands, delicate and fair as they were—untainted by dust or dirt. Yet, in her mind’s eye, she seemed to see the intricate network of bloodstains on Chu Fu’s hands, as if she had been bestowed a gift stained with crimson.

A tumult of emotions—joy intertwined with sorrow—stirred within her, leaving her incapable of a clear response.

Such is the nature of an emperor’s love: a delicate balance of sweetness tinged with blood, warmth shadowed by pain.