Pale blue smoke curled through the Buddhist hall. Consort Qin knelt upon a prayer mat, her figure frail as paper. As Li Zhaoyuan stepped across the threshold, he saw his mother sliding a gold hairpin from her hair.
He recognized that filigree phoenix hairpin. In his childhood, his mother had often told him it was a token of affection bestowed by his imperial father. Back then, he had believed it wholeheartedly. But looking back now, knowing that man's character, it had likely been nothing more than a casual reward tossed aside after a night of intimacy. Yet his pitiable mother had treasured and worn it all these years. Then again, for as long as Li Zhaoyuan could remember, she had always been this sort of person—dutiful, quiet, yielding in all things.
The prince stepping in from the snow did not disturb Consort Qin before the Buddha, but it caught the attention of the surrounding maidservants. Just as they were about to drop to their knees in greeting, Li Zhaoyuan waved his hand, dismissing them.
Only then did Consort Qin belatedly realize someone had arrived behind her. She was no mere mortal, yet her cultivation was by no means profound, so she naturally had not detected Li Zhaoyuan's soundless steps across the snow.
Turning her head instinctively, Consort Qin revealed slightly curly dark hair and a high-bridged nose that carried an exotic beauty. The Empress had always looked down upon mother and son as base-born, in part because of this heritage. Consort Qin had been sold to Di'an by slavers from the Western Desert. By all rights, she should have ended up in some pleasure house or brothel within the capital, but through a twist of fate, she was sold into the palace instead. Yet this woman from the Western Desert bore none of the frontier's fiery temper; she possessed instead the gentle grace of a water town in Jiangnan.
And so Li Zhaoyuan would occasionally think that rather than being an imperial consort in the palace, his mother ought to have lived as a sheltered young lady of a gentle family—or even a peasant woman, which would have brought far more happiness than enduring this ruthless, deep palace.
Upon seeing that the visitor was her son, Consort Qin, dressed in a plain white ruqun, immediately rose from the prayer mat. Her crescent-shaped eyes widened, sparkling with joyous surprise.
"Ah... Zhaoyuan."
Li Zhaoyuan's tone was gentle. "Imperial Mother, your son is here."
Though she was now the most powerful consort in the imperial harem, Consort Qin's youth had faded compared to the Empress of Great Yan, whose beauty could still eclipse heaven and earth. Yet time does not defeat true beauty; even without powder or rouge, the breathtaking grace of her prime remained unmistakable in the contours of her brows and eyes.
Mother and son exchanged a brief glance. Looking upon her handsome, poised son, Consort Qin's eyes overflowed with maternal love. But then she instinctively shifted her gaze aside, casting a quick look around the cold, austere Buddhist hall, and chided with a touch of embarrassment, "Why didn't you send someone ahead to announce your visit? There's nothing at all in this hall. Shall we return to Yongning Palace so I can make you some pastries?"
Incense ash drifted down softly into the gilded censer. Li Zhaoyuan shook his head with a faint smile.
"Imperial Mother, your son broke through to Body Integration long ago. I have no need for food and drink."
"Oh..."
Hearing this, Consort Qin seemed a bit crestfallen. Lowering her head, she chuckled softly. "It seems you are still busy. And you should be. It is enough that you make time between state affairs to visit me. Let us just sit here in the Buddhist hall for a while today."
As if afraid Li Zhaoyuan might decline, Consort Qin bent down as she spoke, picked up the hall's solitary prayer mat, and laid it before him.
She looked up, eyes filled with anticipation.
"..."
Watching his mother's actions in silence, Li Zhaoyuan felt an ache deep within his heart, which then softened into a smile.
"Imperial Mother, please sit."
With that, he folded his legs beneath him and knelt directly onto the stone floor.
Seeing this, Consort Qin instinctively cautioned, "Yuan'er... the ground is cold in winter."
Her voice was as soft as it had been during his childhood, yet it pierced his chest like a knife. Li Zhaoyuan subconsciously clenched his fist beneath his python robe, offering no reply.
The eternal lamp before the Buddha flickered in the cold draft.
After a quiet moment, Consort Qin belatedly realized that the Yuan'er of the past had already grown to stand unrivaled beneath heaven.
Smoothing the folds of her plain white ruqun, Consort Qin sat down with a gentle smile. And it was then that she noticed the paleness of Zhaoyuan's face across from her.
Her smiling eyes wavered slightly. Consort Qin reached out with a slender hand that had already begun to show wrinkles, caressing the face of the child before her.
"Yuan'er, why is your complexion so pale?"
Feeling the warmth—both familiar and distant—from his mother's fingertips, Li Zhaoyuan smiled.
"I contracted a mild affliction. It is of no consequence."
Consort Qin fell silent for a moment upon hearing this, then let out a gentle sigh.
"It's because of those struggles at court, isn't it?"
"..."
His lie seen through, Li Zhaoyuan did not deny it, nor did he dwell on the subject. Lowering his voice, he asked, "Imperial Mother, why have you taken to visiting this Buddhist hall so often lately?"
Consort Qin withdrew her hand and rested it over her lap, kneeling with graceful decorum.
"So many innocent people have died on my account these days. It leaves me constantly uneasy. I came here to chant sutras and pray, seeking only some peace of mind."
Li Zhaoyuan shook his head gently. "Mother, the sins of blood upon my hands are already beyond count. The Buddha cannot save us."
Consort Qin's eyes remained smiling, gentle as a spring breeze. "One must always have something to hold onto."
Beneath the eaves of the Buddhist hall, the bronze wind chimes chimed in the breeze.
Li Zhaoyuan gazed at the compassionate face of the Bodhisattva within the niche beside them, his voice slow and soft:
"Imperial Mother, there are no gods or Buddhas in this world, and there is no moral karma or retribution. There are only the victors who rule and the vanquished who fall."
Her smile faded. Consort Qin pressed her red lips together and lowered her eyelids, clutching tightly to the gold hairpin bestowed by the Emperor. Looking somewhat at a loss, her voice was faint as the hum of a mosquito:
"I'm sorry, Yuan'er. Mama is useless, just an ordinary person. This was the only way I knew."
"..."
Li Zhaoyuan whipped his head back, his mouth opening, but no words would come.
Humble of birth, she had prayed to gods and Buddhas that did not exist, just wanting to help him...
After a long, long silence,
Li Zhaoyuan finally spoke with a smile:
"Mother, the Crown Prince was placed under house arrest by the Emperor today. His deposition is only a matter of this month...
"Just now, your son went to Kunning Palace as well. I went to see that Empress... to bestow poisoned wine upon her...
"Heh... only today did I realize that the person who once struck terror into me was so pathetic. When faced with death, she made such an ugly spectacle of herself...
"So, Mother, you truly need not do this. Throughout my life, you have already helped me so, so much."
Consort Qin listened intently, waiting until he finished before asking softly,
"Is the Empress dead?"
"..."
The instant he heard that question, Li Zhaoyuan's eyes instinctively dodged hers, as though he had reverted to the child of yesteryear.
Seeing this look on his face, Consort Qin understood almost everything in her heart. She gently exhaled a breath of white mist that slowly dispersed. The tenderness in her eyes seemed ready to overflow, and her clear, crisp voice echoed:
"Zhaoyuan, do it."
"..." Li Zhaoyuan felt as though he could not breathe.
"I'm sorry... Mama is useless."
Consort Qin smiled faintly. Clutching that old gold hairpin, she looked in the direction of Weiyang Palace, her smile soft and full of sorrowful sighing.
"He is as heartless as ever. Even having decided to pass the throne to you, he still leaves such a cruel test at a time like this..."
Her voice was clear, resonant, and calm. The motherly affection gradually receded from the woman with the crescent-moon smile, replaced by the resolve of Consort Qin. Using that gold hairpin—a token of love from long ago—she pinned up her slightly curled dark locks.
"But if you wish to ascend to that throne, you must be like him: cold-blooded, heartless, unbound by hesitation, and stripped of weaknesses."
The snow fell incessantly, blanketing the moment in silence.
Glazed tiles gleamed bluish-gray in the morning light. Icicles clung to the bronze bells at the eaves, and every sweep of the north wind drew out a faint, mournful wail.
A mother's wrinkled hand lifted her son's bowed head. Her plain white ruqun caught the shadows with a glow like moonlight, yet the smile in her eyes remained as gentle as it had been when he was a boy:
"Do it. He is watching."
Chapter 762