The 13th day of the 9th month, the eighth year of Yuanyou.The Empress Dowager's coffin rested in Funing Hall.
When Zhao Xu stepped out of the hall, dawn had broken.He had sat by her couch the entire night, holding her hand—from warm, to cold.When he emerged, his hand still held the same posture, fingers slightly curled, as if still clutching something.
He stood at the hall entrance, sunlight falling on his face, pale as paper.Dark circles lay heavy beneath his eyes, his lips chapped, a few strands of hair loose, blown up by the wind, then falling again.He did not cry. He only stood there, for a very long time.
His first edict was for the Empress Dowager.He decreed that her tomb be built as an imperial mausoleum, and appointed Chancellor Lü Dafang as its overseer.
An imperial mausoleum. Not merely a tomb, but a mountain.She was to be buried beneath earth piled high as a mountain.But the mountain would take years to build, until the next year, perhaps longer.Until then, her coffin would remain in the palace, in Jiying Hall—the very place she had once ruled from behind the curtain.
His second edict was for the realm.The Empress Dowager's final decree:The Emperor shall wear mourning, and attend to state affairs within three days.Officials shall mourn for thirteen days; regional governors above a certain rank for three days, then remove mourning garments.After the mourning period, music shall not be forbidden.
Even in death, she had calculated everything.Calculated how many days he would need to recover, how many days before ministers could return to court, how many days before the world would move on.She had arranged it all.Even after her passing, she would not let people mourn for too long.
When the edicts were proclaimed, the entire palace changed its hue.Red lanterns were taken down, replaced with white.Red curtains torn away, exchanged for plain white.Eunuchs wore coarse linen, bound with straw ropes, heads wrapped in white cloth, walking without a sound.Palace ladies also wore coarse linen, hair loose, no hairpins, no flowers.The whole palace seemed to have been covered in frost overnight.
Zhao Xu returned to Funing Hall and changed into mourning robes of unhemmed linen.Coarse, rough, frayed at the edges, stinging his skin red.He removed his crown, bound his hair with hemp rope, letting it hang down his back.A straw rope around his waist, straw sandals on his feet.
He stood before the bronze mirror, looking at himself.The man in the mirror did not look like an emperor.He looked like a grandson who had lost his grandmother.
He reached out and touched the face in the mirror.Pale, thin, eyes bloodshot.He withdrew his hand and turned to walk out.
The mourning hall was set in Funing Hall.The Empress Dowager's coffin rested in the center, with an altar before it: incense burners, candlesticks, fruit, pastries.The pastries were her favorite osmanthus cakes, made by the imperial kitchen, neatly cut, sprinkled evenly with osmanthus.
Zhao Xu glanced at them and said nothing.He knelt before the spirit tablet and lit three sticks of incense.The first, his hand steady.The second, his hand began to tremble.The third, his fingers slipped, and the incense stick snapped.
The broken piece fell to the ground, rolled twice, and stopped at the foot of the altar.The sound was soft—but the hall was so quiet that it sounded like thunder.The eunuch attending nearby paled, wanting to step forward, yet not daring.
Zhao Xu stared at the broken incense for a long time.Then he bent down, picked it up, and laid it beside the censer.He took a new stick, lit it, and placed it firmly in the censer.His hand did not tremble again.
The court officials entered to pay their respects.Lü Dafang walked at the front, dressed in coarse linen mourning garments, straw rope around his waist, white cloth wrapped around his head.He approached the altar, knelt, lit incense, and wept.He wept with proper restraint—loud when he ought to be loud, soft when he ought to be soft.
After weeping, he stood, walked to Zhao Xu, and bowed.
"Your Majesty, it is time to attend to state affairs."
Zhao Xu did not move.Lü Dafang spoke again.Still, Zhao Xu did not move.
Lü Dafang knelt and prostrated himself, his voice low.
"Your Majesty, the Empress Dowager's final decree: you shall attend to court within three days. Today is the first day."
Zhao Xu lifted his head and looked at him. For a long while.Then he stood, returned to the altar, and lit another stick of incense.The incense burned, smoke thin and curling upward.He watched for a moment, then turned and walked out.
That afternoon, Zhao Xu held court in Chongqing Hall.He wore his mourning linen, sitting behind the screen.Once, behind this screen had been another curtain, and behind that curtain had sat the Empress Dowager.Now the curtain was gone. Only he remained.
Ministers stood before the screen in mourning garments, speaking softly, as if afraid to disturb something.When they finished presenting affairs, Zhao Xu spoke three words:"So be it."
His voice was calm, steady, unchanged.But his hand was trembling.He rested it on his knee, clenched, released, clenched again.
After court, he returned to the mourning hall and knelt before her coffin.The incense on the altar still burned, smoke thin and curling.He pulled the small notebook from his sleeve and flipped it open.
On the last page was written:"The 3rd day of the 9th month, eighth year of Yuanyou.The Empress Dowager has left me.She raised me. She saw it all. She is at peace."
He stared for a long time, then added one more line:"I attended court today. She said to do so within three days. I have done so. She is at peace."
He closed the notebook and slipped it back into his sleeve.From within his sleeve, he took out something else—a single osmanthus flower.Golden, dried, thin.He had picked it at fourteen, pressed it in the notebook for three years.
He placed the osmanthus on the altar, next to the plate of osmanthus cakes she had loved.
On the 14th day of the 9th month, the coffin was moved.From Funing Hall to Jiying Hall.The distance was short, only a few hundred steps.But Zhao Xu walked before the coffin, and it felt like an eternity.
Thousands of white banners lined the palace road, fluttering loudly in the wind like snowfall.His mourning robes billowed in the wind, his hair loose, the hemp rope slack. He paid no mind.He only walked, step by step, very slowly.
When they reached Jiying Hall, the coffin was settled.The master of ceremonies called out:"Kneel—"
All officials prostrated themselves, weeping so loudly it shook the heavens.Zhao Xu stood high above, looking down at the dark sea of heads, a vast expanse of white like a snowfield.
Once, behind the throne he sat in had been a curtain, and behind that curtain had been her.Now the curtain was gone.Behind him was only emptiness.Even with hundreds of candles burning in the hall, the wind blew on his back, cold to the bone.
That night, a maid who had served the Empress Dowager brought a casket.Red sandalwood, carved with orchids, edges worn smooth from years of use.It had been hers.
The maid said: before she passed, the Empress Dowager ordered this casket be given to Your Majesty.
Zhao Xu opened it.Inside was a stack of notes.Not the ones he had written—they were hers.From the eighth year of Yuanfeng until his personal rule, one note for each year.
The last one was from this year.It read:
"Your Majesty ate two full meals today, no leftovers.Reviewed memorials until the hour of Hai.Refrained from eating sweets.Truly a good emperor now."
The characters were neat, stroke by stroke.The last stroke dipped downward, as if her hand had been shaking.
He took the note and pressed it against his forehead.The paper was cold. He held it there until it grew warm.
He stayed like that for so long that the maid thought he had fallen asleep.He was not asleep.He only sat there, pressing the note to his forehead, just as she had once pressed cooling ointment on his forehead when he was sick.
Back then, her hands had been warm, her voice soft.She had said: Sleep. When you wake, you will be better.
Now she was gone.He could not sleep.
The lamps in Jiying Hall burned all night.Zhao Xu sat beside her coffin, not leaving.He watched the night outside the hall, from black to gray, from gray to white.
The edict she had left remained in his sleeve, unopened.She had said: Present it on your wedding day.She had said: Whoever dares to oppose it defies my decree.She had said: She is not a palace maid. She is yours.
He remembered.He would remember for a lifetime.
The drum of the night watch sounded from outside.He stood and walked to the window.
Osmanthus petals lay scattered all over the ground outside, golden, unswept.They would bloom again next year.But the tree would be one year older, and one person would be missing beneath it.
He stood there, clutching the note in his hand.It was not just a note.It was the imperial seal.It was the vermilion brush.It was this empty hall, this vast white realm.
Once, someone had held it up for him.Now it was his turn to hold it alone.
He folded the note, tucked it into his sleeve, turned, and walked toward Chongqing Hall.
It was time to attend court.She had said to do so within three days.Today was the second day.
[End of Chapter 38]