Xiguang's name was given to her by her grandfather.
Her father told her that when she was born, it was dawn, and the first rays of the morning sun shone into the Zhang family courtyard. Since she already had three elder brothers, and all the children born in their clan branch up to her generation had been sons, her grandfather was overjoyed to learn he had a granddaughter, believing she completed the character for "good" (composed of "daughter" and "son") and brought fortune to the household. Thus, he named her Xiguang, meaning "morning light," after the rising sun.
The Zhang family was a renowned and prestigious northern clan. Since the previous dynasty, their ancestors had served as officials for generations, a scholarly lineage with deep roots. By the time of Xiguang's grandfather, Zhang Shiyong, he had risen to the position of Minister of Rites (Li Shang) and was granted the title of Supreme Pillar of State. Entrusted by the late emperor, he assisted Prime Minister Pei in governing for the young emperor, who was only seven years old at the time. His glory and influence reached their zenith—yet who could have foreseen that, over a decade later, the Zhang family would find itself in such a precarious and humiliating predicament?
Two years prior, her grandfather had been implicated in a factional dispute involving Yang Song, the Left Censor-in-Chief of the Court of Judicial Review. Forced to feign illness, he submitted a memorial resigning from office. After returning home, his heart remained troubled, and coupled with his advanced age and declining health, his condition gradually worsened until, a few months ago, he passed away suddenly.
At the time of his resignation, in recognition of his years of service in governance, an imperial decree designated the then-fourteen-year-old Xiguang as the future Empress of Great Wei. The original plan was for the grand wedding to take place two years later, once the emperor turned eighteen. The date was fast approaching—but then her grandfather died. Now sixteen, Xiguang had to observe a year of mourning, delaying the marriage.
Though the emperor did not personally attend her grandfather's funeral, he sent an envoy to posthumously confer honors and bestow a posthumous title, ensuring the rites were conducted with the utmost dignity and solemnity.
Yet Xiguang's father, Zhang Ming, was filled with dread, restless day and night.
Xiguang knew—her father was afraid.
Ever since her grandfather resigned and returned home two years ago, and she was named the future Empress, this fear had shadowed her father, who was then in mourning.
Compared to her grandfather, her father's official career had been far more modest. By nature, he was indifferent to fame and fortune. Before his mourning period, he had only risen to the position of Vice Minister of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, responsible for overseeing the court's rituals and ceremonial music.
That emperor—now only eighteen—had already ruled independently for four years. Since Prime Minister Pei left the capital two years ago to govern the frontier, the emperor had not only taken full control of court affairs but had also steadily consolidated his authority, leaving no room for officials to underestimate him.
Her father's fear stemmed from this unseen fiancé of hers—the current emperor.
Her father knew that her grandfather had fallen out of favor with the emperor. Her position as the "future Empress" might well be a hidden danger for the Zhang family and herself, rather than the glorious honor outsiders enviously assumed it to be.
Xiguang's grandfather had held high office, conducting himself with caution throughout his career. Yet in the end, he had still been brought down by one of his own prized students.
That student was Yang Song, then the Left Censor-in-Chief of the Court of Judicial Review. Locked in a political feud with a rival, Yang had secretly rallied allies to jointly impeach his opponent before the emperor.The impeached official was later confirmed guilty, dismissed from office, and punished. But before Yang Song could celebrate, he too was accused before the emperor of the crime of forming private factions. The charges were irrefutable, with detailed lists specifying the exact dates, times, locations, and participants—not a single detail was omitted.
These accusations also subtly implicated Xiguang’s grandfather, alleging that during Yang Song’s covert activities, he had repeatedly hinted to others that this was also the intention of his esteemed mentor.
Though Chancellor Pei had held regency for many years as the chief minister, by then, his three memorials of resignation had made it clear to the court that he intended to step down.
Once Chancellor Pei left the court, whether by seniority or prestige, Xiguang’s grandfather would naturally rise as the foremost minister of the realm.
Yang Song had deep ties with Xiguang’s grandfather and enjoyed his high regard—a fact well known to all court officials. It was precisely because of this connection that Yang Song had been able to persuade others to follow him.
At the time, the emperor did not personally pass judgment. Instead, he forwarded all the memorials impeaching Yang Song’s faction—including those questioning his own involvement—to Xiguang’s grandfather, entrusting him with full authority to handle the matter.
Her grandfather was conservative in governance, stubborn in his views, while over the years, the emperor had gradually begun to reveal his own reformist inclinations in military and state affairs.
In the two years since the emperor had taken personal rule, as Chancellor Pei gradually relinquished power, the rift between the young emperor and his aging chief minister had grown ever deeper.
A man who had been cautious all his life, her grandfather had ultimately failed to foresee the trap laid by his own prized disciple.
Or rather, he had fallen into the hands of that sixteen-year-old emperor.
Later, Xiguang heard another version of events—that the emperor had long received secret reports confirming that Yang Song, in his bid to topple political rivals, had falsely invoked her grandfather’s name to secretly rally factions. Yet the emperor had bided his time, waiting until the last moment to place the matter in her grandfather’s hands, all under the pretense of granting him full authority to resolve it.
The depth of his cunning was evident.
It was only then that her grandfather fully understood.
The child emperor who had ascended the throne at the age of seven had truly grown up. Even Chancellor Pei had chosen to withdraw to avoid the appearance of obstruction—how much more so should he?
The emperor no longer needed Chancellor Pei, and he no longer needed him either.
The old era had come to an end.
Xiguang still remembered clearly—that night, the lamp in her grandfather’s study burned until dawn.
The next day, her grandfather submitted a memorial recommending that the case be handed over to the Dali Temple for investigation, with punishments meted out as warranted. Shortly after, he petitioned to retire on grounds of illness.
The emperor approved. Not long after, an imperial decree declared Xiguang the future empress.
She was required to observe a year of mourning for her grandfather, so the originally scheduled wedding was postponed.
Her elder brothers, who had already entered official service, along with her father Zhang Ming, all resigned to observe mourning.
Her two eldest brothers had entered the bureaucracy through the imperial examinations. Before their resignation, they had held minor posts in remote regions far from the capital.
This had been her grandfather’s intention. Though he himself had risen to prominence, no one else in the Zhang clan had ever held high office.
He had guarded his reputation all his life, unwilling to be accused of using his influence to promote his own kin. Yet in the end, he had fallen at the hands of a disciple he had once held in the highest esteem—a bitter irony indeed.Three months had passed since Grandfather's funeral, and several elder brothers had already returned to their hometown. Due to her special status as the future empress, Xiguang remained in the capital residence with her father accompanying her.
Xiguang was exceptionally beautiful, nurtured by her family's traditions since childhood, excelling in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. Doted upon by her family, her only regret was her mother's early passing. However, her second mother was gentle and treated her as her own, fostering an extremely close bond between them. Thus, she harbored no lament about her origins. Originally, her temperament had been exceedingly bright and lively, always smiling. Only in these past two years, affected by family misfortunes, did her smiles fade, gradually replaced by quietude.
Her father's health had never been robust. Recently, due to handling funeral arrangements and excessive worry, he had caught a chill some time ago and had yet to recover fully.
That evening, she and her second mother brought the brewed medicine to the study, serving it to her father. Seeing his furrowed brow, her heart ached, and she couldn't help but say, "Father, I know your heart longs for the countryside. Why not leave the capital and return home? From now on, even planting beans on South Mountain would be better than being trapped here, unable to find joy day after day."
Zhang Ming shook his head. "You are the future empress of Great Wei. With such a status, how can I take you out of the capital?"
Xiguang lowered her gaze for a long moment before finally mustering the courage to say, "Father, I also know that the emperor is merely putting on a polite facade. All his kindness to our family is just for show. Others envy me, but I don't covet that position of empress—what good is it? Even if he truly marries me, as long as he wishes, he can depose me for any trivial reason. Grandfather served the court loyally for most of his life, with no lack of dedication or effort. Yet how did the emperor treat him? To end up like this—thinking of it chills my heart. I suspect the emperor never truly intended to make me empress; he must have had other motives initially. Seizing this opportunity, why not submit a memorial stating that the nation cannot be without an empress for long, and he must not delay state affairs on my account? Perhaps he's waiting for you to say just that. Once he agrees, I can accompany you back home, planting melons and beans, free from worries. Wouldn't that be better than living in constant dread as we do now?"
Her second mother, startled by her boldness, widened her eyes in shock.
Zhang Ming was momentarily taken aback, looking at his daughter.
Xiguang had just turned sixteen, the most radiant age of a maiden's life. Though she had recently removed the mourning attire, she still wore white, the plain garments accentuating her bright eyes, pearly teeth, and snow-white wrists, like a freshly bloomed bud.
She fixed her large eyes directly on him. "Why do you look at me like that, Father? Is what I said wrong?"
Unfazed, Xiguang countered.
The family's only daughter had been treasured like a jewel since childhood, indulged to the point of such audacity that she dared to speak these words.
The young emperor in the palace was erudite and wise, but his iron-fisted rule was no less formidable than that of the previous emperor. In fact, compared to his predecessor's overt severity, he was even more restrained and inscrutable.
Sometimes, Zhang Ming wondered what would have become of his father had he not wisely submitted his resignation in time. The thought alone sent shivers down his spine.
Frowning, Zhang Ming scolded, "How can you say such things? No more nonsense!"
He adored this daughter dearly, and such stern reprimand was a first in her life.Xiguang's eyes gradually welled up with tears. She bit her lip tightly for a moment before saying, "Father, I truly don't wish to become empress. Though I've never met the emperor, I know he isn't an easy man to deal with. If I enter the palace, with so many eyes watching, you and my brothers will surely face even greater difficulties in the future. What becomes of me matters little—it's you and my brothers having to tread on thin ice that I cannot bear."
As she thought of her father and brothers' affection for her, crystalline tears rolled down her cheeks.
Her stepmother hurried over, whispering words of comfort while fetching a handkerchief to dry her tears.
Xiguang took it herself, lowering her head to wipe her eyes hastily before looking up at her father again, her gaze carrying a trace of stubbornness.
Faced with such a beloved daughter, the father's heart softened instantly.
Zhang Ming sighed deeply and shook his head. "Silly child, do you think I'm willing to part with you? It's just that the imperial decree cannot be defied. Your suggestion isn't something I haven't considered. While it may seem to align with the emperor's wishes, it's absolutely unfeasible. If I were to request the emperor appoint another empress on the grounds that your grandfather's passing delayed state affairs, do you think he would agree? If he did, he would surely face criticism. Thus, he would never consent. Worse still, he might suspect our Zhang family of employing reverse psychology to gain public sympathy. This approach won't work. Fortunately, it's only a year. Once your mourning period ends, I'll explore options—perhaps seek Prince Jin's intercession. Prince Jin served alongside your grandfather for years and knows well his integrity. His support would far outweigh any plea from me directly. Do you understand?"
Though Prince Jin had left the capital for his fiefdom in Ganzhou two years prior, the emperor's favor toward him had not waned but grown stronger.
Early last year, when the prince's consort gave birth to a daughter, the emperor not only dispatched the eunuch Cui Yinshui beyond the frontier with lavish gifts but also exceptionally enfeoffed the newborn as a princess, granting her the title Changning with a fief of ten thousand households. Some courtiers deemed this excessive and petitioned against it. The emperor retorted, "Since I was seven, the Grand Tutor has guided me—it would not be amiss to call him a father figure. After I assumed governance, he willingly departed for harsh borderlands to guard Great Wei's frontiers. Which of you could do the same? Now that he has a daughter in middle age, is it too much that I grant her a princess's title?" The assembled ministers were left speechless.
"From now on, stay home peacefully and don't dwell on such thoughts. Leave everything to me," Zhang Ming finally reassured his daughter.
Xiguang had naturally heard of Prince Jin and his consort—cousins whose marital bond was the envy of immortals. Lost in thought momentarily, she sighed. "I understand, daughter. I spoke wrongly earlier and won't do so again."
The following spring, in the imperial palace.
One day, Cui Yinshui rushed into the Imperial Study, beaming as he reported that Prince Jin, his consort, and the young Princess Changning had reached the metropolitan area and would arrive in the capital within days.
Time had flown so swiftly. That night, the sixteen-year-old emperor had visited the Pei family incognito, lingering until dawn before departing.
It all seemed like yesterday, yet three years had passed in the blink of an eye.
Soon, he would see his parents again—and his now two-year-old sister.
Would his father still command the same presence? Would his mother remain as delicate, prone to reddening eyes and tears in his father's presence?And then there was his sister—the sister whose adorable face he had imagined countless times through the hands of painters.
The nineteen-year-old young emperor could hardly contain his excitement. His handsome face, usually unreadable in front of others, was now brimming with joy. He abruptly tossed aside his brush and rose from behind the imperial desk. "Send someone to welcome them at once!" he commanded.
He paced a couple of steps. "Dispatch the Minister of Rites—have him personally lead the welcoming party."
"Yes," Cui Yinshui replied with a smile. "Minister Li Shang had the same intention but dared not leave the capital without authorization. He was just about to seek Your Majesty's decree. This servant will immediately relay the order."
Cui Yinshui hurried out.
The emperor could no longer focus on reviewing memorials. He walked to the window, pushed it open, and exhaled deeply toward the courtyard. Suddenly, a thought struck him.
The Zhang father and daughter had no idea that their conversation in the study last year had been recorded verbatim in a secret report and delivered to him that very night.
Just as Zhang Shiyong's granddaughter had said, his initial decision to appoint her as empress had been motivated by political balance.
Three years had passed, and the court was now firmly under his control. Whether he married her or not was no longer crucial.
If he did, given the Zhang family's current circumstances, even if the woman bore him a Crown Prince in the future, there would be no risk of maternal relatives seizing power. She was, after all, a suitable candidate for empress.
If he chose not to marry her, he could simply amend the decree. Finding a suitable pretext would not be difficult.
That woman would soon complete her mourning period.
Just a few days prior, her father, Zhang Ming, had indeed submitted a memorial listing his daughter's various shortcomings—claiming she lacked both talent and virtue, was unfit for the position of empress, and for the sake of the realm, dared not occupy the Imperial Harem undeservedly, willingly stepping aside for worthier candidates.
Before submitting this memorial, Zhang Ming must have already sought his parents' approval.
The emperor knew his parents' return to the capital was undoubtedly for this matter.
As for that Zhang granddaughter who disdained the position of empress and refused to marry him—should he take her as his bride or not?
Earlier during the morning court session, a sudden spring rain had poured down. Now, the skies had cleared, and the imperial garden was bathed in sunlight, with dewdrops clinging to the grass and trees.
The young emperor's gaze fell upon a delicate canna flower outside the window, broken by the earlier downpour. He stared at it intently for a long moment, his handsome brows unconsciously furrowing slightly.
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