Today, the willows atop the tower have turned green once more.

Watching Fu Lanchen in this state, Xu Guiyi always wished he would smile more. Why did he so rarely smile? If only his brows and eyes could be a little more spirited, his expression a little more vivid; if he could shed that somber crow-blue uniform and don a robe of vermilion or purple silk, riding down Vermilion Bird Avenue, his jet-black hair fluttering in the wind, the ornaments at his waist chiming gently, his face adorned with a smile—seven parts radiant, three parts proud—as he swaggered towards her.

That was Fu Lanchen at thirteen, the brightest and most dazzling Fifth Prince of Guangling City.

On that day, as she knelt before the statue of the Bodhisattva, she did not pray for children, but for two wishes alone.

Her first wish: that the grievances of the Pei clan might be redressed, and tens of thousands of departed souls find peace.

Her second wish: that Fu Lanchen’s heart might always be fulfilled, and his spirit forever joyful.

Fu Lanchen lowered his gaze, skirted past Xu Guiyi, and pushed open the study door himself, striding out without a backward glance. In truth, he was deeply unsettled. During his days confined in the Eastern Palace, he had been plagued by dreams—repeatedly dreaming of someone from the depths of his memory. In those dreams, he saw Pei Zhaojin at thirteen, who suddenly transformed into the appearance of someone in their twenties.

But the Pei Zhaojin of twenty-something bore the exact same face as the Crown Princess. Fear gripped his heart, and so he would always wake, startled and confused, at the dream’s end.

Fu Lanchen was not afraid of Azhao visiting him in his dreams, but he feared his own heart would be thrown into disarray, leaving all things muddled.

How could the Crown Princess possibly be Azhao?

As the new year dawned, vibrant and full of life, the people were still immersed in festive joy, yet several momentous events unfolded in Guangling City.

Xu Guiyi had thought that after Fu Jingchu was demoted and sent back to his fief, the farce of that day had finally reached its conclusion. Only when the Nangong family began moving frequently in recent days did she realize that, while Fu Jingchu had indeed returned to his lands, the repercussions he left behind were far from over. Yes, Fu Jingchu was gone, but that did not mean the winds in the imperial capital had ceased.

First, the nephew of Lady Yang, consort of the Prince of Ningdu, quarreled with a young nobleman on the hunting grounds and, in a fit of rage, shot him dead on the spot.

Xu Guiyi learned of this incident on the eighth day of the first month, coinciding with Xu Da’s birthday. She and Fu Lanchen returned to the Duke of Cheng’en’s mansion for a family reunion dinner. Xu Chengzhen spoke of the slain young nobleman, who turned out to be the only son of the Assistant Minister of War—a child born late in his father’s life.

Xu Da grieved aloud, “Under the very feet of the Son of Heaven, to see such lawlessness is truly heartbreaking!” With that, he struck the table heavily, causing everyone’s chopsticks to pause, none daring to speak further.

Fu Lanchen frowned, his expression darkening, and said coldly, “Yang Jian, a mere captain, dared to kill a high official’s son in broad daylight—he must have been emboldened by the Prince of Ningdu. Who else would dare such brazenness?”

Xu Guiyi quietly set her chopsticks on the table, sighing inwardly. Yang Jian deserved to pay with his life, but the matter seemed fraught with intrigue.

This incident was merely the beginning. Over the next fortnight, the Nangong clan, taking advantage of their power, committed a series of crimes: murdering officials, secretly enabling their servants to seize good farmland, abducting women, exploiting their position for personal gain—all uncovered by the Court of Judicial Review, one after another, as if each investigation led seamlessly to the next.

The court’s search for evidence proceeded remarkably smoothly, as though someone had already dredged everything out from the depths, ready for officials to gather and place in their baskets. The Nangong house collapsed overnight, their walls pushed down by all, falling swiftly and with overwhelming force.

At the gates of Tai Ning Palace, Lady Nangong knelt for two hours before the Emperor finally granted her an audience.

“Your Majesty, it is clear someone is working against our Nangong family from behind the scenes; otherwise, why would all these matters come to light at once?” Lady Nangong had removed her jeweled hairpins before coming, and now, dressed plainly, wept as delicately as a rain-soaked blossom.

The Emperor looked upon the kneeling Lady Nangong, his favored consort of decades. The anger on his face melted into pity and compassion. Yet, memories of the Assistant Minister of War’s tear-streaked face and the youthful, fierce demeanor of the Censor-in-Chief arose, causing his brows to knit once more as he suppressed his sympathy.

“You say someone is plotting against the Nangong family, and I believe you. But flies do not land on eggs without cracks. Had the Nangong family not erred, had the Assistant Minister’s son not died, could these storms have been stirred up so suddenly?”

At this, the Emperor regained his composure, clarity returning to his eyes. “Consort, you know how I have treated the Nangong family these years. Now, with such scandals exposed, you have dragged my reputation through the mud.”

Lady Nangong, hearing this, wept even more bitterly. Crawling forward, she cried out, “Your Majesty, for the sake of our unwavering loyalty over the years, I beg you to be lenient.”

The Emperor had always believed Lady Nangong stood by him, thinking of his interests first, but her single-minded pleas for her family, without a thought for his own predicament, stoked his ire.

“You claim the Nangong family has been loyal, but have I not granted you enough power? More than the Song family, the Empress’s kin. What more could you want?”

“You plead only for your family—have you considered how, yesterday in Deqing Hall, I was beset by ministers, rebuked by the Censorate? They knelt before me, begging for justice for the Assistant Minister, while secretly cursing me as muddled and incompetent.”

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty…” Lady Nangong cried uncontrollably, yet she had no other recourse. “Even if my family’s crimes are grave, please, for the sake of Prince Qi and Prince Wei, show mercy.”

“Prince Qi is about to depart for his fief; soon I will be separated from my son by a thousand miles. Please, do not let the prince leave his parents with regrets…” Lady Nangong invoked the Emperor’s favorite son, leaving him, in his furious state, unsure where to direct his anger.

Indeed, Prince Zhao and Prince Qi were older and soon to leave for their fiefs. If the Nangong family fell, who would balance the Empress and the Eastern Palace? The fledgling young princes, or Prince Wei, now deprived of his maternal clan’s support?

He had spent years painstakingly suppressing the Empress’s Song family, bit by bit. If the Nangong family collapsed, would not the Songs rise again?

That could not be allowed!

The Emperor disliked the Nangong family, but he did not fear them. The Song family, however, he both disliked and feared.

As he pondered, the Emperor fixed his gaze on Lady Nangong, his face void of expression. “Consort, do you know why I have favored you above all others in the harem these years?”

Lady Nangong, anxious and fearful, replied with a trembling voice, “I am foolish; please enlighten me, Your Majesty.”

The Emperor’s eyes were icy, his voice chilling. “Because the Empress and Virtuous Consort always place their families above their sons and husbands. But you were different; whenever my wishes conflicted with the Nangong family, you always stood firmly with me.”

“But today, I realize you are just like them; when it comes to the critical moment, you abandon me for your family.” His tone was steady, neither loud nor soft, but it struck Lady Nangong’s heart like a thousand-pound stone, heavy and suffocating.

“Your Majesty… Your Majesty…” Lady Nangong cried out in despair. Now consigned to the same fate as the Empress, she wailed in hopelessness, yet the Emperor did not look at her again.

“Go back. Return to Orchid Pool Palace, where I have planted peonies for you. Xue’er, do not let down my last bit of affection for you.” The Emperor half-closed his eyes, feeling an exhaustion unlike any he had known.

Lady Nangong sobbed as she knelt, slowly rising to her feet. She wiped her tears, straightened her hair and attire, and walked step by step out of Tai Ning Palace. Covering her brow with both hands, she tried to hide the sorrow etched deep between her brows, but the grief in her heart pulsed endlessly.

She knew the Emperor would spare the Nangong family, but she also knew this time, it was not for her sake. After decades together, she understood him all too well. At this thought, she let out a bitter laugh, feeling cold to her very bones.

The Emperor slumped on his throne, left hand resting on his brow, right hand dangling loosely. He had resolved to spare the Nangong family this once, though he did so unwillingly; such grave errors required a stern warning. After all, imperial authority reigned supreme—he was the sole master, and none could encroach.

After the rain, the world was washed clean, spring breezes softly caressing whose gaze?

In Guangling, March, the rear courtyard of Chunhui Hall was lush with green leaves and moss. A few plants had been transplanted in the past two years, and last year’s blooms were disappointing, so Xu Guiyi had not held out hope. But this spring, perhaps accustomed to the soil, the peach blossoms flourished beautifully, much to her delight.

One morning, with nothing pressing after breakfast, Xu Guiyi went to Xiling Pavilion. Since last winter, An Ruosu had fallen ill again, her condition unchanged for months. Whenever she thought of that pale, frail woman, Xu Guiyi could not help but feel pity.

She had once sought the truth about An Ruosu’s origins from Cheng Hewei and Lu Zhirou, but neither could provide answers—even Nanny Wu knew little, only saying An Ruosu was the daughter of a disgraced official whom Fu Lanchen had rescued from a prison cell in the Court of Judicial Review.

When Fu Lanchen found her, she was weakened to her core from torture, yet he braved the Emperor’s wrath to bring her out, sheltering her in a secluded villa.

In Xiling Pavilion, An Ruosu coughed incessantly, holding an embroidery frame, upon which a lifelike crane was taking shape.

“Lady Baolin, please rest a while,” a palace maid urged softly.

An Ruosu shook her head, refusing to stop, determined to finish embroidering the crane’s last eye.

The weather had cleared, and outside, swallows darted under the eaves. An Ruosu watched their agile wings and allowed a faint smile to touch her lips.

She was Baolin of the Eastern Palace, but also the daughter of a disgraced official. Three years ago, her father was stripped of office and property, the entire family imprisoned by the Crane Guards. She never forgot—without the Crown Prince, the calamity that befell the An family would have meant their utter destruction.