Love and Crown

After the palace crabapple blossoms had bloomed thirteen times, she knew it was time for her to leave.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t imagined staying by his side for a lifetime.

Nor was it that she hadn’t dreamed of losing herself in that gentle smile—thinking of nothing, asking nothing—letting time rush by until her dark hair turned to frost and her youthful beauty faded. Then, all too quickly, this life would be spent.

Yet, he hadn’t even given her that chance.

In her childhood, she hadn’t paid him much notice.

Back then, her parents were still alive, and she was the pampered young princess. Her only memory of him was from a grand ceremony, where she had glimpsed his figure from afar.

In the distance stood a somewhat frail boy, wrapped in the bright yellow court robe, quietly positioned below the Imperial Throne—so easily overlooked.

In truth, the entire court at that time treated him with near indifference. Before the late emperor’s passing, even before he took the reins of governance, almost no one believed his existence would have any significant impact on the empire.

Perhaps there are always those who must endure the tempering of time before their brilliance gradually reveals itself.

And there are always those who slowly find their way into one’s heart—through a shared laugh, a fleeting warmth, through the quiet accumulation of ordinary moments. By the time one realizes it, looking back, their smile and presence have already filled every corner of the heart, etched into the deepest dreams, impossible to erase.

That was how he had entered her heart.

At six, she suddenly lost both parents. Consort Liu, moved by pity, took her in as a foster daughter and brought her into the palace. In those early days, she was merely a lost and helpless orphan, facing unfamiliar faces and surroundings, with loneliness and fear clinging to her like shadows.

During those most unbearable days, the first to approach her was him.

It was also him who offered her a gentle smile, guiding her step by step into the stifling life of the deep palace. When she was troubled, he would make an offhand joke. When she tried her best, he would give her an encouraging, approving glance. And when she faced scorn, he would silently shield her from the whispers.

Unconsciously, she began to feel that his faint smile outshone any dazzling light, that his not-quite-warm hands, when held, became her safest refuge.

That time was so beautiful—the lonely young girl newly arrived in the palace, the mild-mannered and delicate boy, the twin lotus blossoms in the imperial garden blooming and withering together, the clear waters of the Golden Water River flowing silently past the red walls and golden tiles of the Forbidden Palace, carrying away two years of their lives.

Looking back, it was a little foolish. At first, she had thought this would be her entire life.

Who isn’t like that? The first person who shows kindness in youth is believed to reserve all their tenderness and care solely for her, and from then on, the days stretch into an endless childhood sweetheart’s tale.

What shattered her fairy tale was that little girl—the one two years younger than her, the daughter of Grand Secretary Ling, the chief minister.

During that time, rumors spread through the palace that the late emperor intended to select a crown princess for him. She paid it no mind. To her, marriage was far too distant a matter, and in her quiet, budding affections, there had never been room for any other girl besides him and herself.But that day, after he had met the late emperor in the Hall of Mental Cultivation, she saw him and was surprised to find a flush on his usually pale face.

Thinking he might have been reprimanded by the late emperor and was feeling unwell, she quickly stepped forward to ask.

He shook his head with a smile, his expression a mix of joy and sorrow: "Father said he would choose her to be my wife."

She was somewhat puzzled, so he explained with a smile: "Mr. Ling's daughter." As if afraid she wouldn’t recognize the name, he added, "A very lively and talkative little girl."

She nodded, feeling an indescribable emotion. She had never seen so many emotions on his face before. The corners of his mouth lifted unconsciously—clearly wanting to smile—yet his delicate eyebrows were slightly furrowed, and his deep black eyes seemed lit up by something, flickering with light from time to time.

With a hint of bitterness and an inexplicable expectation, she asked, "Brother Huan, do you like her as your wife?"

The answer she heard next was something she would never forget for the rest of her life.

Seeming momentarily stunned, the young man slowly lowered the corners of his raised lips, and his furrowed brows gradually relaxed. In the end, he smiled, his eyes filled with serene tenderness: "If I can make her happy, then yes, I like it."

She looked at him smiling before her and forced a smile in return, turning her head away, her chest filled with bitterness.

This was jealousy, wasn’t it? For the first time in her peaceful life, such a feeling had taken root: resentment and unwillingness, sour and bitter, piercing her heart like a needle, impossible to shake off.

She began to deeply resent that unknown girl—she had merely arrived one step earlier, just one step, and already claimed all the luck.

Something had quietly changed, yet her life in the palace continued as usual.

Before entering the palace, her intelligence had already made her famous in the capital, so the doting Consort Liu appointed her as the Crown Prince's Study Companion. Every day during lessons, she was with him.

Aside from her, the one even closer to him was Ying, his only half-sister, who clung to him like a little shadow.

Outside of lessons, he would also bring Ying to visit her residence, chatting idly and discussing poetry, books, music, and chess with her—sharp-witted and well-read as she was. Their familiarity bred a steady intimacy.

Thus, several years passed in a flash. During that time, the late emperor passed away, he ascended the throne and changed the era name, Ying no longer followed him around all day, and that Miss Ling became his betrothed, the future empress chosen by decree. Yet their relationship remained unchanged.

For a time, she secretly hoped he would turn his gaze toward her. After all, their temperaments were so aligned—even their favorite poets and beloved poems were identical—while that girl was never by his side, and they knew almost nothing about each other.

Moreover, what kind of girl was she? She had not a single redeeming quality!

She often paid attention to news about the eldest daughter of the Ling family, and all of it was bad: crude and shrewish, lacking in manners, with no talent for music, chess, calligraphy, painting, or needlework. The only thing widely known about her was her fists, always ready for a fight.

Such a girl, she thought somewhat smugly, could never be more suited to him than she was, could she?However, as they grew older, his attitude toward her remained as it had been in their youth, yet he gradually began to observe certain boundaries between men and women. The way he looked at her also lost the playful intimacy of childhood, becoming increasingly respectful and polite.

Her heart ached with a bittersweet confusion. She couldn’t discern his thoughts, nor did she know whether to feel happy or sad about it.

One day, during a leisurely moment, they were reading a Collection of Lyrics together. His gaze lingered on one particular poem, and a faint smile suddenly appeared at the corners of his lips.

She couldn’t find anything amusing about the poem, so she teased him, asking what was so funny.

His smile deepened. “It’s just that when I read this line, I was reminded of someone.”

Curious, she asked which line it was. With a chuckle, he pointed to a verse that seemed unremarkable at first glance: Not for any love of frivolous beauty, but in cold places, it stands out all the more.

Her heart twinged, yet she still managed to smile and ask, “Were you thinking of Miss Ling?”

To her surprise, he nodded without hesitation, his eyes lighting up with amusement. “This morning, Shi Yan told me she got into a fight with the son of the Vice Minister of Rites because she stood up for a street vendor.” He sighed with a smile. “This fiery temper of hers—when will she ever change?”

Her heart suddenly felt hollow, echoing with emptiness. He knew more about her affairs than she did. He had been watching her all along—never speaking of it to anyone, yet always observing her.

A bitter taste rose in her mouth. For the first time, he had shown her the taste of despair.

Noticing her prolonged silence, he finally turned to her in surprise.

She would never forget the way his gaze shifted that day—from surprise to understanding, and finally settling into a quiet apology and pity.

As if deliberately, from then on, he treated her with even more distant politeness. Even his usual visits were preceded by a messenger announcing his arrival. His manners became impeccable, yet his attitude grew colder.

Before he assumed full governance, he was compelled to study medicine under Physician Li. With little involvement in court affairs, he would periodically leave the palace with Physician Li to practice medicine and observe local customs. During these times, because of her exceptional talent for Disguise, she would take on his appearance to deceive others.

They had done this several times, always with caution, and he never stayed away for too long, so no flaws were ever exposed.

In the autumn of the year before he assumed governance, he prepared to leave the palace again as usual, coming to brief her on matters that required attention. After everything was arranged, he smiled and, for the first time, said, “If I haven’t returned by the scheduled date, I’ll have to trouble Xin’er to hold on a little longer.”

He had always returned punctually from his trips, never delaying. But this time, he was preparing for an extended absence.

She froze for a moment before quickly realizing—that girl had run away a few days prior. It was clearly an act of defiance against the impending grand wedding, stirring gossip among those in the know. Was he going out to find her?

Did he not understand that this willful girl had already humiliated him? Yet he still went after her?

Anger and resentment surged within her, and for the first time in her life, she lost control, letting out a cold laugh. “What a disgrace!”His brows furrowed slightly—for the first time in his life, his tone toward her cooled: "I've never placed importance on such things."

She froze, unsure how to respond. He remained gentle, sparing her further embarrassment by swiftly changing the subject and reminding her to take care.

When their conversation finally ended and she prepared to leave, he suddenly smiled and said, "Xin'er, thank you for everything you've done for me all this time."

She hesitated, then smiled politely and saw him out.

Watching his figure disappear behind the screen wall, she collapsed into a chair as if drained of all strength. She understood—from then on, even if he left the palace again, he would no longer seek her help.

There had always been something between them, an insurmountable distance. Just one step away, yet she could never truly reach him.

Had she ever cared about others' opinions or worldly judgments?

Had Du Tingxin ever concerned herself with the gaze of ordinary people? But he had to. He was the Son of Heaven, the ruler ordained by the heavens, reigning supreme over the land. He had to be as flawless as a god—even his companion had to be equally perfect.

Hadn't she always strived for that? Presenting her best self to the world. She so desperately wanted to be that perfect woman by his side. For someone like him, she refused to let him face even the slightest criticism because of her shortcomings.

That night, she covered her face and wept bitterly. What use was her cleverness? What meaning was there in her silent devotion?

Her efforts—he never saw them. Or perhaps, he never truly looked.

The night was cold as water, and from that day onward, she became merely an observer.

Henceforth, the laughter and charm of the girl from Jiangnan, his warmth and indulgence—none of it concerned her anymore.

Yet even then, she hadn't completely given up.

In the depths of the palace, she listened to news of his delayed return time and again, followed his arrangements to handle new situations, and in countless sleepless nights, she began lighting incense alone.

Every kind of incense—Dragon's Brain from tributary states, century-old Sandalwood from remote mountains, Tibetan Incense blended with Nectar Pills—each burner released a rich fragrance that enveloped her.

Eventually, she grew fond of a uniquely blended incense from the palace. Its scent was peculiar.

When lit, the curling smoke first carried the bright fragrance of spring flowers after rain—playful and tender, like a maiden's affection. But upon deeper inhalation, a serene undertone emerged, slowly merging with the floral notes—a steady hand cradling delicate petals, vast as the ocean. It was the clear scent of Dragon's Brain.

Dragon's Brain Incense—the fragrance that often lingered on his sleeves.

Night after night, she would inhale this incense until dawn.

In the empty room, only that scent slowly swirled: those gentle hands, lifting those fragile petals.

Again and again, like an endless dream.

The incense burned until winter that year, when she finally waited for his return.

Months later, the moment she saw him again, silent tears streamed down her face.He was awake in the imperial villa at Daiyu City, yet could only sit at the table, no longer having the strength to take even a single step.

The girl had stabbed him in the chest with her sword. The wound bled so much that half his robe was stained red, and he remained unconscious for four full days before waking.

When she rushed to see him, he had only been awake for less than a day but was already sitting by the window. Seeing her, he smiled, his voice soft yet carrying the same tone as always—gentle and warm. "Xin'er, you came all this way. You've worked hard."

She could no longer hold back. She ran to embrace him but was afraid of touching his wound. Tears streamed down, soaking the blue gown at his shoulders.

Watching her cry, he merely smiled and comforted her softly, "Don’t worry. It’s nothing."

Yet her tears wouldn’t stop, her sorrow so overwhelming she could barely breathe.

A wound that deep—how could it be nothing, especially for someone as frail as him?

She didn’t dare imagine how the girl could have done this, nor did she want to dwell on the details of what had happened. She could only be grateful, over and over, that he hadn’t suffered worse.

But such an injury was already far too severe for his body. He forced himself to return to the capital before the twelfth month. Throughout the bumpy journey, she heard him coughing incessantly in the carriage behind her. When they arrived and she went to help him down, the silk handkerchief in his hand was already stained dark red.

That winter, his condition fluctuated without any significant improvement.

From fragments of conversation with Eunuch Feng of the Hall of Mental Cultivation, she learned he had coughed up blood several more times. His already weak heart and lungs had been further damaged, and the coughing never ceased.

Yet when he was ill, he never allowed anyone near him. Every day when she visited, she still saw him at his best—nothing but paleness and thinness, with no other signs of suffering.

After the initial shock and heartbreak, a thought inevitably surfaced in her otherwise calm heart: Now that the girl has hurt him like this, will he return to me in despair?

Holding onto this hope, she waited day after day for the long winter to pass.

This was the seventh year of Virtuous Blessing, the eleventh year since she had come to his side.

After the girl stabbed him, she never heard a single word of resentment or bitterness from him—not even the slightest complaint.

His grand wedding was approaching, and the girl had finally stopped running away. The preparations were complex, and her name often came up in discussions before him. Sometimes, he would mention her too—his tone as mild and composed as ever, unchanged in the slightest.

Perhaps this was for the best, she thought. Since that girl is destined to become his empress, wouldn’t it be better if he didn’t dwell on the past?

Though saddened, she couldn’t help but feel some relief for him.

Yet one day, when she went to the Hall of Mental Cultivation to visit him, she accidentally spotted a drafted imperial edict on his desk. He was preparing to revoke the late emperor’s decree and instead appoint Xing Yiyong, Xing Yu’s daughter, as empress.

Shocked, she panicked. That was the late emperor’s edict! What would those merciless censor officials accuse him of? Defying his father’s will before even assuming full rule?

Snatching the edict from his desk, she pressed him urgently for answers. In her agitation, she said far too much.He listened to her without saying a word, waiting until she finished before smiling and taking the Imperial Edict from her hands. He spread it out on the table before him, picked up a brush, and began refining the wording.

She watched his pale profile, then finally turned away, not uttering another word.

Even in such an edict, he had silently shouldered all the blame—there was nothing wrong with the eldest daughter of the Ling family; the fault was his, for being fickle and falling in love with another woman.

Once this edict was issued, it would become a lifelong stain on his reputation.

Silently, she turned and walked out of the Hall of Mental Cultivation. Cold tears streamed uncontrollably down her cheeks. What kind of girl was she, to make him go to such lengths for her?

A sharp pang of bitterness rose in her heart—for him, but even more for herself: Why wasn’t it her? Why couldn’t it have been her?

She had asked this question a thousand times, yet there was still no answer.

Like the incense burned a thousand times, inch by inch turning to ash, it remained wordless.

In the end, the edict was never issued.

That day, she happened to be in the Hall of Mental Cultivation when he received a Secret Letter from outside the palace. Without even changing his clothes, he hastily bid her farewell and left.

She had never seen him in such a hurry before. Worried and puzzled, she stayed behind to wait for his return.

He had left in the afternoon, but it was already late at night when he returned.

The weather was still bitterly cold. He entered, carrying the chill of the night, his face unusually pale. Seeing her there, he smiled faintly and greeted her before sitting down.

The moment he sat, he slumped against the table, coughing heavily, the sound muffled and strained.

Unsure what to say, she handed him a cup of warm tea.

He thanked her and took it, but his hands trembled so much he couldn’t hold the cup steady. Tea splashed onto his hands, and finally, he leaned weakly against the table, coughing softly.

She sat beside him, watching until he managed to steady his breathing and sit up. Then she ventured, "Did you go to see her?"

He paused slightly before nodding lightly and smiling.

So, he had gone to see her. She forced a smile and asked, "What did she say?"

After a brief hesitation, he replied with a smile, "She introduced me to someone and told me she would be my empress."

"Who did she introduce you to?" What did that have to do with her becoming empress? Confused, clarity dawned on her in an instant. "She said that person… was her lover?"

Still smiling, his profile cast in faint candlelight, his expression remained gentle. "Yes. She said she loves him."

To tell him she loved another, yet still insisted on marrying him.

How could that girl be so cruel?

She stared blankly at his calm face, the slight upturn of his lips, tender and serene.

Suddenly, she wished he would look a little sad—or at least show some anger, a cold laugh, anything but this unshakable composure.

Tears streamed silently down her face, beyond her control.

Seeing her cry, he seemed startled. After a moment, he handed her a clean handkerchief. "Xin'er, don’t cry."

She clutched the handkerchief, burying her face in it, but the tears only flowed harder, until she began to sob aloud.As if hesitating for a long time, his hand reached out and lightly rested on her shoulder: "Xin'er, don't cry."

Suddenly unable to hold back any longer, she grasped his hand and wrapped her arms around him.

For the first time in her life, she burst into unrestrained sobs. Across the low table on the couch, she clung to him, burying her face in the collar of his robe, crying with none of the grace expected of a well-bred young lady.

He also reached out, gently patting her shoulder, but said nothing more. She cried until her voice was hoarse, finally lifting her head from his shoulder. Still, he remained silent, simply watching her quietly, his gaze tinged with faint compassion.

She wiped the tear stains from her face and smiled self-deprecatingly before speaking in a slightly hoarse voice, "Brother Huan, I'll be eighteen next year—old enough for an arranged marriage, right?"

He paused briefly, then nodded with a smile. "Yes, Xin'er is indeed of marriageable age now."

She laughed. "I'm used to living in the palace and don't want to leave just yet. You know how much I dislike dealing with outsiders. Why not make me a consort during your grand wedding? That way, I can stay in the palace openly. How about it?"

He looked at her, and for the first time, she saw a trace of bewilderment in those deep black eyes. The brilliance that had once sparkled like the night sky now seemed veiled in mist, as if he were gazing through her at some distant, unknown place.

He watched her silently for a long while before finally smiling and nodding slowly. "Alright, Xin'er. I'll go and request this from Mother Empress." He paused, then added with another smile, "Xin'er, if one day you meet a man you truly love, I'll do everything in my power to help you leave the palace."

Holding his hands, she laughed too. She had known this would be the outcome, hadn't she? No matter how much she pleaded, the result would be the same: he was willing to make her a consort but refused to give her any promises—not even now, at such a moment.

She had humbled herself so deeply, yet it still wasn't enough to earn even a single promise.

She kept laughing, laughing until tears welled up in the corners of her eyes again, dripping onto the back of his hand.

This time, he simply watched in silence, saying nothing more.

In the eighth year of Virtuous Blessing, on a bitterly cold February day, she became his empress.

Three months later, they shared their first night together.

Five months after that, she was abducted to Shanhai Pass. He rushed there immediately, disguising himself as a common soldier to infiltrate the enemy camp and rescue her.

One month later, they returned to the Forbidden Palace.

Thirteen days after that, he fell from the white jade railing in front of the Hall of Supreme Harmony while ensuring her safe departure from the city, his breath ceasing forever.

One day later, the Empress Dowager announced mourning to the nation and installed the Prince of Yu as the new emperor.

Seven days after that, she returned to the capital with a hundred thousand armored cavalry from the garrison at Shanhai Pass, imprisoned the Empress Dowager and the Prince of Yu, and, wielding his handwritten imperial edict, appointed Xiao Qianqing as regent.

One day later, at her request, the new year was named the ninth year of Virtuous Blessing. On that same day, she vanished from the Forbidden Palace, never to return.

In March of the ninth year of Virtuous Blessing, when the crabapple blossoms in the imperial garden filled the courtyard, she stood beneath the radiantly blooming trees with her traveling bags, the faint fragrance of the flowers drifting to her nose.

Suddenly, she thought this scent resembled the incense she used to love burning—the kind she had stopped lighting after he left. At first whiff, it was crisp and floral, like blossoms blooming after a spring rain, lively and pure. But upon inhaling deeper, another aroma emerged—rich and enduring, vast as the sea, like a pair of hands cradling delicate buds. It was his scent.

She smiled softly and turned away from the layered branches of the crabapple tree. The lingering fragrance flickered briefly at her nose before vanishing once more.

She thought to herself that this particular incense of hers need never be lit again.