Spring Remains the Same - Chapter 93

The entire hall was steeped in the sorrow of losing the emperor. After the new monarch was established, everyone prostrated themselves on the floor, weeping mournfully. Wei Xiu remained by Puyang’s side the entire time. She rarely spoke, other than to offer a handkerchief when Puyang needed one, making no other movements. A touch of sorrow floated in her clear, cold eyes; one could not say she was not sad, yet it was impossible to tell how deeply she grieved.

In the great hall, she was likely the most inconspicuous person present.

The Prince of Jin, however, glared at her with a hatred so intense it was as if he wanted to flay her skin and break her bones. If, at this point, he still didn’t know who had set him up, then he would have wasted all his years in the court!

After all that effort and anxiety, he had ended up merely paving the way for someone else. The Prince of Jin’s feelings could hardly be described by the word “hatred” alone. His gaze was somber, like a sharp arrow. As if sensing it, Wei Xiu turned her head. Seeing it was him, her gaze merely swept over his face with faint indifference, cold and detached, as if nothing had happened.

This only made the Prince of Jin grit his teeth with even greater fury.

With the late emperor’s edict announced, two major tasks lay ahead. The first was to conduct the funeral rites for the late emperor, and the second was the new emperor’s enthronement ceremony. The former was imminent and urgently required someone to preside over it. Xiao Dewen was eager to try, wanting to issue a flurry of commands and have all the court officials obey his orders. Unfortunately, he lacked prestige, and the ministers would not listen to a young emperor who was barely over ten and understood nothing. After Xiao Dewen proposed two plans, both of which were rejected by the ministers, he had no choice but to suppress his desire to consolidate power and follow the instructions of the ritual officials, hastily ascending the throne before the coffin. Then, in his capacity as the new monarch, he appointed the Chancellor as the commissioner for the imperial mausoleum, responsible for the late emperor’s funeral rites. He also followed the edict’s instructions, entrusting all state affairs to the three regent ministers.

With a pillar of leadership established, the court officials settled into their roles. The various government offices were unaffected, continuing to handle their daily affairs.

Puyang was overwhelmed with grief, kneeling numbly before the coffin, letting tears stream down her cheeks. She could not understand how a perfectly healthy person could be gone just like that. The hall was filled with weeping, the mournful sounds lingering in her ears, but Puyang seemed to hear nothing. She just knelt woodenly, staring at the coffin that held her father’s body. She was at the extremity of sorrow; her eyes held no light, only tears that flowed ceaselessly.

It would have been better if she had cried aloud. Burying her grief so silently in her heart made Wei Xiu deeply worried.

There was still much to be done. The emperor had passed away, but the affairs of the court still needed to be managed. The three regent ministers could not kneel before the coffin indefinitely. After the first wave of mourning, a eunuch came to request the princess’s presence at the Hall of Proclaimed Governance to discuss matters.

Having knelt for so long, Puyang nearly stumbled when she tried to stand. Wei Xiu quickly supported her and said to the eunuch who had come with the message, “Please trouble yourself to return first, Your Highness will be there shortly.”

The eunuch naturally bowed and agreed.

Once he left, Wei Xiu had someone bring warm water. She soaked a handkerchief and gently wiped the tear stains from Puyang’s face.

Puyang’s tears had stopped, but after such gentle and thoughtful care, her eyes grew hot again. Wei Xiu forced a smile as a form of comfort, caressed her now-clean cheek, and said softly, “Your Highness, please go. I will wait for you here.”

Puyang nodded, glanced one more time at the coffin, and then slowly walked out of the great hall.

This month would be exceedingly busy.

Of the three regents, Prince Zheng likely knew little more about state affairs than Xiao Dewen and would not be of much help, though he was quite willing to contribute if the matter involved the imperial clan.

The Chancellor was the busiest. Not only did he have to oversee the entire situation, but he was also in charge of the funeral rites. The emperor’s death could not be treated lightly; every detail had to follow protocol, with no room for error. The Chancellor was so busy he was run off his feet. Seeing Puyang arrive, he handed the court’s affairs over to her. “Your Highness is familiar with these matters. Please take charge of them, and do not let the court’s business fall into neglect.” Seeing her sorrow, he added, “Please restrain your grief. The late emperor would not wish to see you like this.”

Hearing the words “late emperor,” tears welled up in Puyang’s eyes again. This place was still the same, but overnight, this palace city had changed masters. The “Your Majesty” on everyone’s lips no longer referred to her father. The person she knew, loved, and respected had become the “late emperor.”

“I understand,” Puyang said curtly.

The Chancellor sighed and left.

The late emperor’s belongings in the Hall of Proclaimed Virtue had not yet been cleared out and could not be touched for the time being, so the seat of governance was temporarily moved to the Hall of Proclaimed Governance. Memorials and documents had all been moved here. These had been sorted by subordinates and required the emperor’s review. As the young emperor was too young, the regent ministers had to handle it on his behalf.

Prince Zheng held a memorial in his hands and had been staring at it for a long time without drafting a single comment. When Puyang arrived, he felt as if he had found his savior. “It’s good that you’re here, Seventh Lady,” he said hurriedly. “This stuff is giving me a headache.”

Puyang paid her respects before sitting down behind a desk that had clearly been placed there for her.

Prince Zheng added, “I heard the Grandson…” He caught himself and corrected, “His Majesty, that is. I heard His Majesty is still before the coffin?”

“Yes,” Puyang replied. She picked up a memorial reporting on disaster relief. On any other day, she would have tackled it with vigor, but now, the clear black characters on the white paper, though reflected in her eyes, could not penetrate her mind.

Prince Zheng did not involve himself in politics, but he was no fool; he had a keen insight into matters. Earlier, before the coffin, the new emperor had proposed two plans. Although they were rejected, it showed that this Majesty had ideas of his own. At his age, how much had he seen, and how many books had he read? He might not even be able to clearly state what each department of the court was responsible for, so the plans he proposed were naturally immature and unfeasible. But since he had the desire to participate in governance, he would likely offer many more opinions in the future.

This role of regent minister, he feared, would not be easy to fulfill.

Prince Zheng wanted to discuss with Puyang how best to proceed in the coming days, but seeing her so distracted, he could only swallow his words. He considered that the late emperor had just passed away today. As his daughter, and one who had shared a close bond with him, Puyang was probably in no mood to discuss such uninteresting and unpleasant matters.

In any case, he was merely a figurehead; he probably wouldn’t have much say in court affairs in the future. Prince Zheng decided to simply let it be. He lowered his head again, trying hard to understand the half-read memorial in his hands.

Unfortunately, while he roughly knew who the prefect of which province was, or who the head of which department was, he knew nothing of their abilities or connections. Trying to draft a comment was truly more difficult than ascending to heaven.

By the time the sky darkened, Prince Zheng had only managed to write two characters.

Dinner was prepared in the palace.

With the late emperor’s passing, it was still the mourning period, so the evening meal was not lavish, consisting entirely of vegetarian dishes. Prince Zheng let out a great sigh of relief and invited Puyang to dine with him.

Puyang set down her brush, glanced at the pitch-black night outside, and politely declined, “The Prince Consort is still waiting up front.”

Only then did Prince Zheng remember. He smiled and said, “Then you should go.”

Puyang managed a smile, paid her respects, and then walked out of the hall.

The entire day had passed in a daze. The morning had been peaceful and calm, but by the afternoon, the world had been turned upside down.

Puyang had experienced the loss of a father once before. She knew, and had long been prepared, that when people grew old, the day of their death would eventually come. But she had never imagined that the late emperor would pass away so suddenly; he clearly should have had nearly ten years of life left.

Upon first hearing the news, Puyang could barely stand. She had rushed to the palace, only to see the late emperor’s cold body. To stabilize the situation, A Xiu had first invited her, the Chancellor, and Prince Zheng into the palace, showed them the late emperor’s edict, and borrowed the Chancellor’s seal to issue orders sealing the palace gates to prevent any rebellion.

She had listened as the Chancellor and Prince Zheng discussed how to stabilize the court and ensure the Grandson’s safe ascension, but she couldn’t take any of it in. She could only think about how His Majesty could have left so suddenly, without any warning. Her mind was filled with his kindness toward her. She knew A Xiu was by her side, worrying about her, but she couldn’t control herself.

She thought, with A Xiu here, nothing would go wrong. She would just let herself cry properly for His Majesty, to fulfill this final act of filial piety. But when the moment came, she couldn’t cry. The sorrow and pain felt as if they were being crushed under a great stone in her heart. Tears streamed down her face, yet none of it felt real.

The night was cold and damp, and the north wind howled.

As Puyang walked past the front hall, she saw Wei Xiu waiting for her there. A cloak lay across her lap. When she saw Puyang appear, she wheeled herself over and handed her the cloak. “It’s cold. Put this on first.”

Puyang looked down. The cloak was of a plain, muted color, suitable for wearing during the mourning period.

“Your Highness hasn’t had dinner yet. Will you eat in the palace, or shall we return to the residence?” Wei Xiu asked.

Puyang frowned slightly. “The vigil…”

“The vigil has been arranged,” Wei Xiu said with a sigh. “You have to be up early tomorrow, and there are many things that require you. Let’s go back first.” Her Highness was not in a good state; this wouldn’t do.

After hearing her out, Puyang nodded, trusting her completely.

This made Wei Xiu feel even more distressed.

The carriage was ready. The entire world was to mourn for the late emperor, and the capital was especially strict. In a few days, envoys from neighboring states and foreign tribes would come to the Wei capital to offer condolences. During this period, the capital would be under martial law to prevent any disturbances that would make them a laughingstock to other nations.

There was not a single person on the streets. Even the residences on both sides were dark, their candles extinguished.

Wei Xiu looked at Puyang, but in the end, she didn’t know what to say.

The lanterns in front of the princess’s residence had been changed to white ones, and the candles inside were also white. Any decoration with a hint of color had been taken down. Wei Xiu felt that the princess’s residence was even more mournful and solemn than the imperial palace.

Seeing this, Puyang felt even more sorrowful. Dinner was ready, but she could only manage two mouthfuls before she couldn’t eat anymore.

Wei Xiu did not force her and returned to their room with her.

“A Xiu, did His Majesty leave any last words?” Puyang asked.

Wei Xiu replied in a gentle voice, “It happened too suddenly. His Majesty did not leave any words.”

This was expected. If there had been any words, A Xiu would have told her during the day. Even so, Puyang fell silent for a moment.

Wei Xiu led her to the bed. “Sleep early.”

Puyang lay down. She looked at Wei Xiu and said, “His Majesty has been well all this time, and he wasn’t ill. Why did it happen so suddenly? A Xiu, did you diagnose him?”

Her tone was calm, and she wasn’t crying, but it made Wei Xiu’s heart ache. She sat beside Puyang and told her, “I didn’t have time to check. It’s all my fault. I should have examined His Majesty as soon as I entered the hall.”

Puyang gave a weak smile, but tears began to stream down her face uncontrollably. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine, for not visiting him often enough. He had already written his edict and appointed the regent ministers. He must have sensed something, but I didn’t notice anything at all. I was unfilial…”

Wei Xiu embraced her, stroking her back. She wanted to comfort her, but she couldn’t utter a single word. She was guilty. Toward the princess, she was guilty.

Puyang clutched her lapels, as if she had found an embrace where she could be weak. It started with just tears, but slowly, she began to cry out loud. A person who has lost their father, no matter how old they are, has lost the most reliable support in their life. From now on, she was an orphan.

Wisps of whimpering sobs seemed to finally release the grief from the bottom of her heart. Puyang cried until she could not stop.

Wei Xiu tilted her head back, but a tear still slid from the corner of her eye. She had originally intended to tell the princess that someone had used poison, and that she had forged the edict. But now, she felt it was no longer necessary. If the princess knew that her position as a regent minister, which put her on the stage of the court, was obtained through her father’s death, she would not be happy.

Moreover, she also bore responsibility for the emperor’s death. She had seen through the Prince of Jin’s actions but had not stopped him, had not exposed him, but had let him proceed.

She could not bring herself to stop it. She could not repay evil with kindness.

The emperor was dead, and a hall full of children and grandchildren wept for him. But what about her parents? Their corpses had been left in the wilderness, with no one to even collect their bodies.

Wei Xiu gently patted Puyang. Grief and guilt mingled in her heart. A surge of bl00d and qi rushed through her chest, and a coppery taste filled her throat. She quickly grabbed a handkerchief and pressed it to her lips, letting out a muffled cough.

The scarlet bl00d was particularly striking on the plain silk.

She thought, she would not be able to spend a lifetime with Seventh Lady. Her health was poor, and besides, Seventh Lady would not love someone who had allowed another to kill her father.

Wei Xiu closed her eyes, filled with hopelessness. But then she thought, right now, Seventh Lady still needed her. She had not yet seen her reign over the world.

Wei Xiu found new motivation, gently coaxing Puyang, “Don’t cry, don’t cry anymore…”

Puyang eventually cried herself tired, falling silent in Wei Xiu’s arms.

The candle gradually burned down. Outside the window, withered branches swayed. At some point, Puyang fell asleep in Wei Xiu’s embrace.

Wei Xiu looked down at her profile. She knew this was just a moment of weakness. Tomorrow, Seventh Lady would regain her usual fortitude, stand firm in the court, and walk step by step toward her goal.

Hopefully, tomorrow would be a sunny day. Hopefully, the person she loved would be blessed by the warm sun for the rest of her life.