Half the moat flows with spring water, and the city is adorned with blossoms.

Within Jiaxu Palace, the carved railings and jade balustrades gleamed, the lake rippled with emerald clarity, flowers bloomed in profusion, and willows trailed their slender branches, brushing fragrance across one's sleeves. Soft jade pendants swayed gently, as the breath of spring filled every corner of the palace gardens.

A lotus-shaped boat glided leisurely over the green waters. Madam Wu directed several light-footed palace maids, having them gather the accumulated waterweeds in preparation for cultivating fresh lotus blooms.

Xu Guiyi, draped in a spring robe of ink-green rain-silk brocade with subtle vine patterns, sat on a bench beneath the Langyuan pavilion. She twirled a jade wine cup in her hand, gazing dreamily out across the lake. The breeze teased her dark hair and feathered adornments; her snowy skin glowed, her bearing ethereal and elegant, like a fairy untouched by the dust of the mortal world.

Cheng Hewei and Lu Zhirou watched her for a long while, hesitating, before finally stepping forward to break the spell of this earthly paradise.

“Crown Princess, a letter just arrived from the Grand Princess Qingyan’s residence...” Cheng Hewei’s voice was low and plaintive. “Her Highness... has passed away...”

With a dull thud, the jade wine cup slipped from Xu Guiyi’s hand and dropped straight into the lake, sending ripples across the surface.

Xu Guiyi rose, steadying herself on the rail, her eyes empty and dazed. “When did this happen? Why are we only hearing of it now?”

Lu Zhirou’s voice was anxious. “It was this morning. The Grand Princess suffered a sudden heart attack. It was all so unexpected...”

Cheng Hewei added, “They say she was perfectly well yesterday. This morning she ate breakfast, even had some pastries from Zhenbao House. But before long, the imperial physicians were called in, and then... it was over.”

“We must go to the Grand Princess’s residence.” Xu Guiyi could not even spare a moment to wipe the tears from her face, striding out at once, with Cheng Hewei and Lu Zhirou hurrying after her.

The Empress was still at the Royal Awareness Temple praying for blessings, the Emperor was overwhelmed with affairs of state, and Fu Lancheng was far away in Liaodong. Xu Guiyi felt as if she alone was left to shoulder the burden.

Yet, whether one could bear it or not, the burden remained.

When the Grand Princess Qingyan passed away, the one who wept most bitterly was none other than Prince De—not even his wife, Princess De Wangfei Xiao Lin, grieved as deeply. For with the Grand Princess gone, Prince De had lost his last elder.

Upon receiving the news, the Empress rushed back to the palace from the Royal Awareness Temple that very day. The Emperor decreed that the Grand Princess Qingyan, throughout her life virtuous and benevolent, should have the grandest of funerals—an unspoken command that the Empress herself must oversee the arrangements.

As a matter of course, Xu Guiyi assisted the Empress in the myriad funeral preparations. Though the affairs were complicated and numerous, with the Empress in charge, Xu Guiyi only needed to follow orders.

Even so, as busy as she was each day, passing by the mourning chamber she would always hear the Fu family’s descendants wailing in grief. Xu Guiyi could not bear such sorrowful cries of parting, and her heart grew ever heavier with sadness.

Xu Zhouyan tried to comfort her, saying, “The Grand Princess lived past seventy—a long and full life. Her passing was sudden, but she did not suffer. This is a peaceful end; we need not grieve too deeply.”

Yet how could one not grieve?

Princess Roujia fainted from weeping several times, with imperial physicians on standby in a side hall. The Grand Princess’s son, Prince Bo Nan Xiao Qi, seemed to age ten years in a single night, his temples streaked with white.

At that time, the war in Liaodong was pressing, and in Jiangdong it was the season for frequent flooding; Prince Zhao had gone to the south to inspect the situation. Beset by both internal and external troubles, the Emperor nonetheless set aside time each day to visit the Grand Princess’s residence to pay his respects in person.

Xu Guiyi herself had been feeling stifled and breathless these past days. With the arrival of Prince Jiancheng and his consort, there was finally some relief, as they could lend a hand. With Xu Zhouyan present, Xu Guiyi felt much more at ease.

But peace was short-lived. Soon, word came from the palace: the Emperor had fallen ill. Xu Guiyi did not even have time for a sip of water before hurrying to Tai Ning Palace, where she found the halls already crowded with people.

As she entered, the princes—Zhao, Qi, An, and Jiancheng—stood to either side, with a dozen ministers arrayed behind them. Seeing Xu Guiyi, all bowed respectfully to the Crown Princess.

Xu Guiyi, anxious, did not slow her stride, only instructing them to rise with a clear voice: “You may dispense with ceremony.”

Eunuch Yuanhe greeted her with deference. “Your Highness, the Noble Consort is attending to His Majesty’s illness. Please, wait a moment.”

“Eunuch Yuanhe, what do the imperial physicians say?” Xu Guiyi did not intend to attend the Emperor directly, but merely to offer greetings on Fu Lancheng’s behalf.

“All the physicians have seen His Majesty. They say he has been overburdened with state affairs, and the sudden passing of the Grand Princess brought on deep sorrow and worry. That is why...”

Xu Guiyi felt a measure of relief and asked, “Where is Her Majesty the Empress?”

Yuanhe replied, “Tomorrow is the Grand Princess’s funeral. Her Majesty is likely still busy at the Grand Princess’s residence. His Majesty said she should not be disturbed—she already has enough to bear.”

Xu Guiyi lowered her eyes. “Yes. Mother Empress truly has much to endure.” At this moment, the Empress was the most exhausted of all: her son at war, her husband ill, and she herself having to manage the funeral of her elder.

Just then, news arrived from Liaodong: the Crown Prince, Fu Lancheng, had led the army to capture Pingzhou City. Yet as this report reached Guangling, the Emperor lay resting on the Luohan couch in Tai Ning Palace, the Southern Palace Noble Consort holding a bowl of warm medicinal soup. Their eyes showed neither joy nor grief.

Fortune does not come in pairs, nor misfortune alone. No sooner had the Grand Princess’s coffin been sent to the imperial mausoleum than an urgent dispatch came from Jiangdong: Prince Zhao, while inspecting Hongzhou, had contracted a plague. The governor, Lu Qiuming, petitioned the court to send imperial physicians to Hongzhou at once—it was a matter of life and death.

The Emperor’s illness, it seemed, would linger for some time...

Since the Grand Princess Qingyan’s funeral, the Empress had visibly withered. The Southern Palace Noble Consort was occupied caring for the Emperor, so management of the inner palace fell to Consort Cao De. Prince Chu, Fu Xun, would often wait outside Tai Ning Palace, and whenever he saw Xu Guiyi, he would rush over to ask first about the Emperor’s health, then about Fu Lancheng’s safety in Liaodong.

Xu Guiyi answered each question, patting his soft, black hair—a child already full of worries.

“You must study hard. Otherwise, when your Fifth Brother returns and checks your lessons, you’ll be in for a beating.”

Fu Xun, precocious beyond his years, replied, “As long as Fifth Brother returns soon, I wouldn’t mind being punished every day.” Knowing Liaodong was a thousand miles away, he was unafraid of Fu Lancheng for now.

Xu Guiyi could not help but laugh. “And if your father recovers and decides to check your studies?”

Fu Xun pouted, “Father wouldn’t punish me. I haven’t been sleeping well lately. I heard Second Brother caught the plague in Jiangdong. Sister-in-law, is it true?”

Xu Guiyi arched her brows. “Who told you this?”

Fu Xun puffed his cheeks. “See? You’re all hiding things from me. Mother keeps it from me, my nurse keeps it from me, and now you too.”

Xu Guiyi pinched his soft ear. “We’re not keeping it from you; there’s just been too much going on, and we haven’t had a chance to tell you.”

Fu Xun’s lips trembled. “Fine. I overheard the palace staff talking. So, is it true? Did Second Brother fall ill?”

Xu Guiyi replied, “He will recover. Father will get better, Prince Zhao will get better, and your Fifth Brother will be home soon. Don’t worry.”

Fu Xun nodded. “I’ll be good, but you must keep your word.”

Inside, Xu Guiyi rolled her eyes. Am I a miracle doctor or a goddess? I can neither cure illness nor command fate—how am I supposed to keep such promises?

Yet a kind lie was necessary. Xu Guiyi smiled gently. “I give you my word.”

Satisfied, Fu Xun’s little face brightened, and he skipped away, leaving Xu Guiyi standing in the wind, burdened by sorrow.

In Tai Ning Palace, the person Xu Guiyi now saw most often was the Noble Consort from the Southern Palace, who had also grown wan and weary. At first, she would still see the consorts of Prince Zhao and Prince Qi, but after Prince Zhao fell ill in Hongzhou, his consort became dispirited and despondent. Lady Tang of the Prince Qi’s household was soon to give birth, and the Princess Qi attended her day and night, rarely entering the palace.

Each morning Xu Guiyi went to Tai Ning Palace to attend the Emperor, and in the afternoons, she kept the Empress company. For more than half a month, she had practically moved into the palace.

“Is your father feeling any better today?” the Empress asked in Changqiu Palace, her brows furrowed with worry.

Xu Guiyi, holding a bowl of ginseng soup to offer the Empress, answered softly, “I went to greet Father today, and Imperial Physician Jiang said he’s a bit better than before.” In truth, these were mere words of comfort. When she had seen Physician Jiang outside Tai Ning Palace, he had only sighed deeply, face clouded with worry, and Xu Guiyi dared not ask more.

The Empress understood but did not expose her. “His Majesty refuses to let me visit these days. I suppose he does not want me to see him ill, fearing I’ll worry. But... how can I not worry?”

Tears sprang to the Empress’s eyes. After so many years as husband and wife, there was true affection between her and the Emperor.

Xu Guiyi hurriedly caught her tears with a handkerchief, comforting her, “Please don’t cry, Mother. With Father ill and the Crown Prince far away, you must take care of your own health. Otherwise, what will I do?” She truly feared the Empress might also fall ill, for then her own days as Crown Princess would become unbearably hard.

“Good child, you’ve shed too many tears these days. I won’t cry anymore. Don’t worry, I am strong and well, nothing will happen to me,” the Empress said, embracing Xu Guiyi gently.

That day, after the Empress finally managed to rest with the help of calming soup, Xu Guiyi stood on the steps of Changqiu Palace and received word from the palace maid Siqi: Lady Tang of Prince Qi’s household had safely delivered a little princess.

It was truly a season of mixed joy and sorrow.

In happier times, military victories and the birth of a royal princess would have prompted grand celebrations decreed by the Emperor.

But this spring, so much had happened. Grief and worry had long since overshadowed such ordinary joys.

In front of Changqiu Palace stood a lush phoenix tree. After the splendor of spring and the fading of all other flowers, the phoenix blossoms now opened.

“Prepare the gifts. We’re going to Prince Qi’s residence,” Xu Guiyi said calmly, closing her eyes.

“Yes, Your Highness,” the palace staff replied, bowing low.

Once, she had only wanted to be idle, to let others handle whatever could be delegated. But now, as she rode in the carriage toward Prince Qi’s residence, it occurred to her that if she were in Fu Lancheng’s place, she would be just like him—subject to the Emperor’s and the ministers’ endless demands and scoldings.

Now, as more and more troubles arose, they all finally understood—not everything could be left entirely in others’ hands.

To be born into the imperial clan, to enter these palace walls, meant that every step was fraught with hardship, every rung of the ladder bore its own glory. There was no escaping any of it.