Chapter 22:
The Shadows of Flowers and Leaves
IN THE DARK NIGHT, Chenqian Palace was brightly lit.
A woman’s piercing cries and groans reverberated through the palace. Beneath swaying lanterns, maids emerged from a chamber carrying golden basins full of blood, while others hurried in with fresh basins. The sheer volume of blood was horrific; its vivid crimson hue seared the eyes. Imperial physicians stood in a huddle outside the door, murmuring in hushed tones, their wrinkles deepening like cracks on tree bark.
For a woman, giving birth was like breaking through the gates of hell, and it was obvious that Imperial Noble Consort Ma wasn’t doing well.
Situ Jin stood motionless beneath the eaves. The drizzling rain drifted onto his face, and he blinked.
At twenty years old, he had a striking yet stern face with sharp eyebrows and a high nose that gave him an aloof air. His features, combined with his quiet nature, often led those who didn’t know him well to assume that he was unapproachable. In reality, he simply struggled with words, which left him with few friends. When the imperial guards gathered to drink or gamble, they seldom invited him. When they exchanged gossip about palace intrigues, he was never included. Though he had no real interest in such activities, he couldn’t help feeling a twinge of loneliness when he was spurned.
After almost three years of service as an imperial guard, he could only carry on a conversation with one fellow from his hometown. He had to admit that he hadn’t been very successful socially.
Sometimes, Situ Jin thought that being an imperial guard wasn’t merely about protecting the palace—it was also about drinking, boasting, and socializing with the other guards. Despite his punctuality and discipline, he still felt he was falling short.
One of his fellow guards spoke in a low voice, his face full of pity. “Ah, Imperial Noble Consort Ma has truly suffered. She managed to escape Lady Gao’s schemes but couldn’t dodge the assassin’s blade. The assassin ruined a perfectly fine birthday banquet and so terrified Imperial Noble Consort Ma that she went into early labor!”
Another guard asked, “Who do you think sent the assassin?”
“Do you think it could’ve been Wei-gonggong? Everyone knows that Imperial Noble Consort Ma despises the eunuchs and badmouths them to the emperor when they’re alone together. During the Yellow River flood, she told him that the eunuchs didn’t need to hoard wealth and that he should seize Wei-gonggong’s assets for disaster relief. I heard that Wei-gonggong was privately furious. The very next day, he gave the emperor a troupe of female musicians.”
The rain grew heavier, droplets streaming down Situ Jin’s armor and seeping into his clothes. He adjusted his stance slightly as his light-yellow uniform darkened in uneven patches.
Situ Jin was aware of that incident. The musicians had hailed from Yangzhou and had the delicate charm unique to Southern women. Situ Jin had happened to be on duty in the hall during their performance, and their every glance had oozed allure.
One guard shook his head and sighed. “You really have to admire Imperial Noble Consort Ma. Despite Wei-gonggong’s relentless attempts to curry favor, he couldn’t best her. He never succeeded. But why isn’t the emperor here for Imperial Noble Consort Ma’s labor?”
“The Tatars recently raided the border. They seized quite a few women and a lot of gold and brought them back to the desert. The emperor is at court, discussing that matter with his ministers. I suspect troops will be mobilized any day now to teach the Tatars a lesson.”
A young eunuch rushed over in the rain. He grabbed a physician and demanded, “How is the consort? The emperor has decreed that if anything happens to her or the infant prince, you’ll all be buried with them!”
The physicians trembled in fear and glanced at one another. No one dared to speak the truth.
“Speak up!” shouted the eunuch hoarsely. “The emperor is waiting!”
One elderly physician weighed his words carefully. “Imperial Noble Consort Ma’s constitution has always been naturally cold,” he said, unwilling to be blunt. “Blood and qi flourish in warmth but wither in cold; it leads to stagnation and obstruction. The consort suffers from excessive yin energy. Her hands are cold, her tongue is red, and she’s been struggling to sleep at night. We checked her pulse and found it faint and uneven, so we prescribed tonics to bolster her blood and qi. She was improving, but today’s shock drove a massive influx of yin energy into her body and disrupted the fetal qi. All our previous efforts have been...”
Only at the end of the physician’s speech did the eunuch understand his implication. He stamped in frustration, then glanced at the basins of blood the maids were carrying out. The consort seemed to be losing strength—her moans within were starting to fade. Another physician hastily instructed a maid to brew ginseng soup.
“The emperor is already in his forties,” said the eunuch, “and this prince is only the second he’s fathered. If anything happens to the child, can you bear to take responsibility?”
The child hadn’t even been born yet. How could he be so sure that it was a prince? The physicians shrank back, their expressions grim. The emperor had long struggled to produce heirs and, even in his forties, had only one son. The entire palace knew how much he treasured the child in Imperial Noble Consort Ma’s womb. He’d often patted her belly, boasting that it surely held a prince.
One physician gathered his courage and said, “There is a way to save the prince. The child is full-term. We could perform a caesarean section—” Before he could finish, the elderly physician pinched him. He immediately fell silent.