Chapter Text
The light afternoon breeze caresses Wei Ying’s cheek as he sits by the lotus pond, a slender hand gracefully drifting across the surface of the clear waters, sending them rippling forth. He sits perfectly poised and in position, not a single strand of hair out of place. Little braids in his hair, pinned taut and tight with a lotus flower. His face, powdered white; his lips, painted in the best shade of rouge that he has saved from over the years. Dressed in sheer layers of exquisite lavender robes, he is definitely not dressed for the weather.
But today, he is not dressed for comfort, no.
He is dressed for the emperor.
He has been planning this exact moment for months. Timed it to precision, even. He’d caught wind of the emperor’s imminent visit to the concubine wing of the palace—the first, in over twenty years—and he’d gotten cracking on his plan. The emperor, so young and impressionable. At the mere age of twenty-three, he’d only recently taken over the mantle from his uncle, who’d been serving as the regent king until the boy finally came of age. And with his succession comes the added privilege—or responsibility—of managing a personal harem of his own. For the first time in a long time, there will, once more, be an Imperial Harem.
And Wei Ying wants to be chosen for it.
As a lower-ranked concubine-in-training, he knows he will never be given a chance to serve the emperor. Such opportunities are reserved only for the concubines who are descendants of high-ranking court officials, or those with family businesses important enough that they harbour direct ties with the royal family. Wei Ying is neither. He is the son of a servant, and despite his affiliations with the esteemed Jiang family, they have recently fallen out of favour with the court. Due to a series of—malicious acts of—arson on their many business properties, as Yanli jiejie detailed in her many letter correspondences to him, their business is currently suffering with an inability to recoup any of their losses. They have beseeched the emperor for aid, to no avail.
The royal family has never liked showing favouritism to the common folk.
And so, Wei Ying has orchestrated his very visit to the imperial garden today, the one closest to where he knows the emperor is temporarily residing in. It is currently out of bounds during the man’s stay, but Wei Ying has never been one to keep to rules, no matter the gravity of the sin. And now, it is just after lunch, and the emperor must now be making his way back to his quarters. On his way, he will undoubtedly pass this garden by, and lay his eyes on the fairest concubine that will ever be, for his Imperial Harem.
If they will not let Wei Ying serve the emperor, then Wei Ying will make the emperor come to him.
And all he needs—is for him to catch a glimpse.
Just one glance, and Wei Ying knows he will have the chance to alter his fate; to change the shorthand he has been dealt with.
As his fingers caress the petal of a lotus flower floating over the pond, he begins to grow dimly aware of a pair of curious eyes boring into his back from a far distance—and his lips curl up into the smallest, and most satisfied of smiles.
Got you.
He hurriedly gets up from where he’s been sitting by the pond, the long silk he wears twirling around his small ankles as he spins around in feigned nervousness. The smile that had been there on his face vanishes without a trace; instead, he raises his gaze to meet the emperor, and widens his eyes with deliberate mock horror, as if he is but a deer caught in the headlights.
“Pardon me, your majesty,” he lies, lowering his head, his long black lashes blinking downwards, slowly, amorously. “I lost my way.”
The emperor is standing alone surprisingly, with no entourage by his side. Covered in layers and layers of heavy golden robes, all embossed with chrysanthemum patterns, the emperor is certainly a lofty presence. It seems the sight of Wei Ying’s face, up-close, however, has rendered him into some sort of speechlessness. His eyes dilate just slightly, and his rigid hands noticeably clench into fists, mildly hesitating.
Wei Ying has to will himself not to smile. He has trained his whole life in the act of seduction, to be selected by men in position of power and to serve them to the best of his ability.
This may be the first time he’s had to put it into action, but if he secures this one man, he will never want for anything else in his life ever again.
“I will not endeavour to disturb your peace. This concubine will now take my leave,” Wei Ying says softly, raising his sleeves shyly to his face. He hides his rouge red lips from sight, but his large bright eyes are still in full view for the emperor.
And as he picks up in pace, and fastens his steps to pass the emperor by, the taller man—so young and so handsome, long hair as black as ebony, his face just like polished jade as all the rumours say, and if Wei Ying hadn’t other more pressing priorities in mind perhaps his virgin heart might even skip a beat—the man himself, he barks a command so unlike the uncertainty he once held in his eyes, just mere seconds ago.
“Don’t.”
The emperor is far bolder than he looks.
Wei Ying’s small feet—heavily bound, and forced into tiny shoes—immediately halts. “D… Don’t?”
He hadn’t expected that. He’d only wished for the emperor to catch a glimpse of him, and thought that would be the end of it. That it would have been enough for the emperor to notice him, want him, hopefully even lust for him.
Instead, the emperor... surprises him. Raising his tone slightly, just enough to make his intentions clear and heard, he firmly decrees, “Stay.”
Oh, his voice. It’s enough to make any young maiden swoon. The perfect touch of gentleness, accompanied by the bold, assertive confidence of an emperor. He was born to rule, and he knows it in his veins.
Wei Ying hadn’t expected to be asked to stay. This may have caught him plenty off-guard, but doesn’t it further help his cause? If the emperor wishes to spend more time with him, should Wei Ying really deny him? Every second more that he spends standing before this man, is another second more that his face gets immortalised in the emperor’s memory.
Wei Ying cannot possibly deny him.
“Your majesty,” Wei Ying’s heart races in his ears. He lowers his knees, and raises his sleeves further up his face. “Surely I cannot possibly stay in your presence, I am only a lowly concubine-in-training.”
And still he does so anyway, because it is only fitting for someone of his standing, it is only proper for a maiden to refuse and decline, and feign embarrassment at being asked to stay. Wei Ying is not a fair maiden, but he is expected to exemplify the manners of one. You must say no, because it is improper to reveal your excitement, he remembers the teachings of his madame very vividly, in the back of his head. You resist and you say no, until he pushes you to say yes.
The emperor eyes him carefully, and then speaks in a strong, bellowing voice befitting of a man that rules over the lands beneath their feet, never missing a beat.
“If you have already made the effort of entering my garden,” he says, the dragon crown atop his head suddenly looking all the more daunting. “Then stay.”
Just like that, Wei Ying’s pretense completely falls apart.
“I, I,” Wei Ying’s eyes bulge as he drops his sleeves back down, protesting in a weak voice that’s much smaller than himself.
Those piercing golden eyes of the emperor’s, they see right through him. They sweep right over him, absorbing every detail of him, right from the lotus flower in his hair, to his cute button nose, to the tight ribbon tied around his waist, one that Wei Ying had so calculatedly fastened this morning after a night of fasting so he could look as beautiful as he could be for the man.
“Your majesty, I wouldn’t dare. I, I truly did lose my way.”
The emperor remains doubtful. “You lost your way in a palace where you have lived all your life?”
Wei Ying holds his breath, and watches as the man begins to take several steps towards him, eager to close in on the short distance between them. “I… I did. I must have forgotten in the flurry of your majesty’s arrival. We have not had such a visit in many years, many of us concubines are very excited…”
The emperor raises a brow of his with newly piqued interest, never pausing in his walk. His long ebony black hair that travels down his back, it flies along with the light winds, drifting along his jawline, bringing to prominence those strong features of his. “Perhaps you did. A well-learned concubine like you would, of course, know the penalty for trespassing into the emperor’s quarters, without prior permission.”
“Of, of course I do,” Wei Ying insists, stubbornly, hoping his voice does not give away his building nerves. The emperor—he’d thought him young and impressionable, just two years older than Wei Ying, he couldn’t fathom him being any other way, but who knew the man’s true nature was of this sort—the man himself had now evolved into threatening his life, in that calm and collected, never faltering voice of his. Wei Ying certainly hadn’t expected the man to be brimming with such self-assurance, such blind confidence. He takes a cautious step back with every new step the emperor takes towards him, until he’s backed right against the lotus pond he’d been so purposefully admiring just moments ago.
“I, I simply got distracted by your lotus pond, your majesty. It is very beautiful.”
“Oh?” the emperor asks. He never smiles, but the light dancing in his eyes tells Wei Ying he is humoured by everything the concubine does. Wei Ying is mortified that the emperor has seen right through it all. “Did you?”
“Yes, of course,” Wei Ying does his best not to stutter. A purposeful act of seduction has turned into an attempt at securing his life from this unflinching face of a monster. He forgets all of the lessons from his madame, forgets the deliberate way he has to purse his lips and always smile as he speaks so the men he entertains will always lose their way in his gaze. Instead, he has become a beautiful, flustered mess, rosy red lips tripping over words that come out faster than he thinks them, his fragile lotus flower sitting atop his head almost coming apart from how anxiously he turns and moves to face the emperor head-on.
Wei Ying raises his wrists as he talks, ignoring the way his sleeves fall to his elbows and reveals more skin than is appropriate to be shown to any man, much less someone as dignified as the emperor.
The emperor takes advantage of this. He swallows it all, Wei Ying’s carelessness, Wei Ying’s flushed excitement, Wei Ying’s beauty. It is more than he can take—and it is all he ever wanted.
He devours it all.
“Your lotus flowers, they always remind me of home,” Wei Ying explains, hoping he will earn some pity points with the men.
All concubines-in-training, they would have been ripped away from their families at tender ages to enter the royal palace and train to be the best selection there is to offer for the Imperial Harem. Surely the emperor will have some sympathy for someone like Wei Ying who has to dedicate the rest of his life to the palace. They are not permitted to leave this place after entering it, or even see their families on special occasions.
What is left of Yanli jiejie’s face is only of the distant memory of twelve year old her.
“Home,” the emperor muses. “Is where the lotus flowers are?”
“Yes,” Wei Ying whispers, solemnly. He is only left with haunting memories of his short-lived days at the Jiangs’. “And jiejie, jiejie’s lotus root and pork ribs soup was—is the best.”
“A signature of the Jiangs,” the emperor agrees readily. “The flowers on my pond, they simply cannot compare.”
“No,” Wei Ying’s eyes are downcast at the memory. “They cannot.”
That is, until he remembers who he’s speaking to.
“Of course—! I did not mean to offend your majesty,” Wei Ying looks up to meet the taller man’s curious gaze. This emperor of his, he looks at Wei Ying so inquisitively like he’s trying to understand Wei Ying’s every intention, his every careless act that betrays his real feelings behind the mask he wears as a concubine. “Your lotus flowers are already beautiful beyond comparison. This lowly concubine cannot ask for a better view.”
The emperor lets out a breath Wei Ying hadn’t known he’d been holding.
“This lowly concubine,” the emperor says, in a tone so firm and controlled. “Can surely ask for more.”
Wei Ying does not understand. But before he can even get a word out, the emperor’s hand is already in his hair, caressing the lotus flower he’s wearing and fixing it into place. His fingers are long and slender, his skin as smooth as white jade. He is intimate in all the ways Wei Ying’s madame told him men are not allowed to be, not unless they have every intention of making you one of their wives.
Wei Ying blinks multiple times, his voice having died down in his throat.
The emperor is now standing so close to him, Wei Ying has to strain his neck to look right up at him. He is not the young and impressionable emperor Wei Ying thought he was, no. He is much taller than he thought, sharper in mind than he envisioned, stronger in built than the warriors he’s seen around here, and the most handsome face he has ever set his eyes upon. The royal blood certainly is something else; as fearsome, as otherworldly, just like a celestial dragon, as they say. The emperor, he is everything Wei Ying has begun to long for—and more.
The emperor removes his hand from his hair. He does not smile, he never smiles. But his eyes always tell a different story, overflowing with emotions he holds to himself, and words he cannot will himself to say.
He looks at Wei Ying with warm affection that feels even more stifling than the brightest shade of the sun on a summer’s day.
“Your majesty,” Wei Ying whispers out, even if he doesn’t know what to ask. What can he ask? Have I won you over yet, your majesty? Have you taken a grand liking to me? Do you even know my name, will you continue to look for me?
“I cannot stay,” the emperor says reluctantly, after a long beat of silence. “I hope you will not remain lost for too long in my garden.”
The emperor still won’t let up on the teasing, even after all this time.
Wei Ying has never felt so shy.
“I will figure the way out myself, your majesty...”
This time, when he lifts his sleeves to shield his face, it is not a performative act of seduction. Wei Ying simply cannot bear to let the emperor see his reddening cheeks.
Even after the emperor turns his back and leaves, Wei Ying can still feel the ghost of his hand in his hair, and the low baritone of his voice hanging in the air.
It is his first time seeing the emperor in the flesh, and now Wei Ying fully understands why every concubine is clamouring to enter the Imperial Harem. But of course, he reminds himself. The only reason he shares that same ambition too, is because the Jiangs’ very livelihoods were currently hinging on Wei Ying’s very ability to get into the harem—and definitely not for any other superficial reasons! If he were able to win the emperor’s favour, if he were able to spend more time with the emperor; then asking family favours from him would be natural, and simply a walk in the park. The Jiangs would be safe from ruin, forever. That’s all he really cares about…
Wait, Wei Ying suddenly thinks, his sleeves falling down to his sides in a state of revelation. Wait, hold on, wait, wait, wait.
The emperor had brought up the Jiangs just moments ago, in the midst of conversation—how ever did he even know Wei Ying even came from the Jiangs?!
There are a lot of things Wei Ying doesn’t know, and a lot of secrets this palace still holds. There are so many answers he still seeks, but in the end Wei Ying can only return to his own quarters in a haze, only detouring to the dining hall when he realises it’s already time for dinner.
He bumps into a couple of higher-ranking concubines outside of the dining hall, and lowers his head respectfully as he lets them enter first. These are concubines-in-training that, although are not much older than him, still remain higher in status simply because they are sons and daughters of important officials. As unfair as the system is, Wei Ying has grown up abiding by it all his life. He follows after them into the hall, and takes his place several rows behind them in his usual seat. He kneels to the ground before his usual table, folding his sleeves neatly and tidying his robes in preparation for dinner. Etiquette is paramount here, and if you are disorderly then you are owed a scolding by the madame.
Usually concubines of similar status eat together, but Wei Ying has been fortunate enough to befriend Nie Huaisang, the younger brother of the current minister of defense. Nie Mingjue is one of the greatest military generals to ever grace the Lan reign, and so Nie Huaisang is taken great care of within the confines of this palace. As Wei Ying tidies himself up for dinner, Nie Huaisang eagerly slips into the seat right next to him, hiding a caged bird within the bosom of his robes.
“Did it go well?” Nie Huaisang asks, excitedly. He hushes the bird as it chirps from behind his robes. “Did you meet the emperor?”
Wei Ying’s eyes widen, and he slaps a hand over Nie Huaisang’s lips, looking around to make sure no one else heard it. “It’s a secret! And a huge capital offence.”
“You did! You met the emperor,” Nie Huaisang’s eyes brighten. “Is he still as stoic as I remember? He didn’t make for a very good playmate when I was younger.”
Of course someone like Nie Huaisang had the emperor, of all people, as his very playmate. Wei Ying still wonders why someone as high-ranking as Nie Huaisang would choose to find company in him.
“He was… different,” Wei Ying mutters, keeping his head low as he speaks. He grabs for the fan hanging by Nie Huaisang’s waist, and brings it up to his face so he can muffle his voice. He averts his eyes, shy. “Much… different from what you described.”
He doesn’t want to divulge any more.
“Oh,” Nie Huaisang grins. He can read in between the lines. “I see.”
The servants filter into the room quickly to serve tonight’s dishes, and Wei Ying waits patiently for his turn, expecting the usual. Usually concubines like Nie Huaisang get the fancier selection of food, a larger cut of meat, and fresher vegetables. Never anything too over the top, obviously, since they still had to maintain their shapely figures.
Wei Ying never gets preferential treatment like them, but he can’t complain about his cut of food, however. Palace food is still miles ahead of the food that the common folk typically eat, and much, much better than the food scraps he used to dig out of the trash as a child. Wei Ying is treated well here. As someone who is meant to one day inhabit the royal palace—and potentially gain power to dish back revenge, two-fold—it isn’t as if any of the palace staff here particularly dare to offend any of them. Their madame may be stern, but it is only for their own good.
However, it would seem that tonight, Wei Ying is not getting the usual bland soup he’s so accustomed to.
Instead, and his mouth falls open, as he sees the servant set down before him a black tray carved with the golden imperial crest—
It would appear he is getting food served straight from the very kitchen of his majesty’s.
All around him, concubines are gushing out loud in both envy and pain, delicate hands all raised to their pouty mouths in shock. This has never happened before, not in over twenty years.
“Aha,” Nie Huaisang chuckles. Even his own food pales in comparison to the high-grade dishes that fill Wei Ying’s table, the servants serving up one plate after another, never-ending, in what seems like an endless stream of expensively curated food. “I see the meeting went more than well.”
“Is this a mistake,” Wei Ying voices aloud in disbelief. This cannot be—just one meeting had been enough to earn the emperor’s favour?! Wei Ying had been confident of his allure, of his (lack thereof) sexual prowess, but still, even this was too much. Could this be—would it mean—did this guarantee Wei Ying was set to enter the harem, for sure? Could Wei Ying dare hope?
“No, not a mistake,” the servant informs. “This was a direct order from the palace.”
In other words, the word of the emperor himself.
Wei Ying is stumped.
When the dishes are finally all served, Wei Ying stares all hawk-eyed at the food laid out before him, unsure where to begin. He takes in every dish, some of which he has never seen the likes of before, and finds his heart stopping at the very sight of a bowl of soup he hasn’t had a taste of in fifteen years.
“Lotus root and pork ribs soup,” Wei Ying murmurs to himself in awe. He shakily holds the bowl up to his lips, inhaling in a long-lost scent.
This is… This is jiejie’s specialty. Signature only to Yunmeng. The last time he drank this, he’d only been six. It’d been his birthday. They’d had guests over, he still remembers; it’d been a relatively big celebration. He wasn’t sure why, or for what; he only knew the sort of things that children knew back then.
He’d been so happy.
But then the very next day, on the morning after his birthday, a royal sedan arrived from the palace, and they took him away.
Many years have since passed, and Wei Ying no longer remembers much of that day, or the many faces that had passed him by as he’d ran around the old Jiang ancestral home, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to celebrate his day. He’d loved birthdays, back then. Loved his newfound family. Loved no longer being plagued with loneliness on the streets as a stray child. He loved Jiang Cheng didi, and Yanli jiejie, and Jiang shushu, and even… even Jiang a-yi, no matter the words and treatment she’d dished out to him back then.
Despite all that he has forgotten, however, he does remember a chance meeting with a certain boy his age, which had occurred when he’d ran out of the main hall on a whim during the celebration. Wei Ying was always like that, back then, always overly animated, always chasing after the next thing to do. Things would pique his fancy, and Wei Ying wouldn’t relent until he’d unravelled them all.
A lone boy would stir his interest, and Wei Ying wouldn’t give up until the boy had succumbed completely to him.
In a moment of excitement, Wei Ying at age six finds a boy kneeling solemnly to the ground, in the large garden of the Jiangs’ all by himself, unattended to by any guardian.
He’d been staring at the lotus pond.
“Hey, hello!” Wei Ying runs up to the boy to greet, dressed in audaciously red coloured robes, so vibrant you could pick him out from any crowd. He stoops low to the ground, keeping himself level with the boy in kneeling position.
He does not take notice of the golden lining of the boy’s robes, he remains oblivious to the chrysanthemum patterns that litter his silk, and he remains ignorant of what the celestial dragon emblems embroidered along the boy’s sleeves would mean.
He was only six, there was no way he would have known.
“What are you doing out here all by yourself?”
And yet at six, Wei Ying already understands solitude so perfectly. He remembers the many days of kneeling in alleyways like this himself, he recognises the pain and discomfort on the boy’s face, he sees a shadow of himself in the boy—in ways that few children can relate to.
There is no response from the boy. He only further lowers his head and clutches his robes tighter to himself, his chubby fists hidden and dwarfed by his oversized, long sleeves. His robes look so undesirably heavy, Wei Ying finds himself pitying him. At age six, the grand significance of dressing, as befitting of one’s status, is still lost on Wei Ying.
Even seated here, right next to him, Wei Ying still cannot catch a glimpse of the boy’s face.
“Hey, do you really like our garden so much? It’s all jiejie’s pride and hard work! She takes really good care of the flowers, especially the lotuses in our pond. Have you ever tasted her lotus root and pork ribs soup? It’s the best! She made it specially for my birthday and she’ll be serving it later, you’ll have to make sure you try it, okay?”
Still no response.
The boy is so adamantly not hard up for company, but Wei Ying isn’t one to back down from a challenge. There aren’t many children at this celebration, besides Jiang Cheng and himself, and it hasn’t been extremely fun so far to be mostly in the company of grim-faced adults. Apparently they are with important company today, and so Jiang shushu and a-yi are even more stern-faced than usual. Wei Ying had already spent the last hour teasing Jiang Cheng didi to bits, leading the boy to throw tantrums and take cover in Jiang a-yi’s embrace, which meant Wei Ying couldn’t continue his charades. He needed a new companion to hang with!
“Don’t look so sad! Where is your family? Why aren’t they here?”
Unrelenting, always unrelenting.
Wei Ying was always like that. It was always going to be his downfall, one day.
“What about your a-die, or a-niang? Are they back in the main hall, with the others?”
At the very mention of his parents, the boy snaps his head back up to Wei Ying to shoot him an icy stare, clearly antagonised by his thoughtlessly uttered remarks. The boy looks even prettier like this, with more light on his face, unhidden by the evening shadows. His cheeks, even chubbier and poutier and drooping heavily on his face, full of baby fats he has yet to shed. Even with a wrathful glare, the child looks no less intimidating than Jiang Cheng didi.
“Don’t be so hostile!” Wei Ying outwardly sulks, though he actively resists the urge to reach his hands out to pinch at those cheeks. “I won’t mention your parents again, okay?”
Huh, Wei Ying thinks. I wonder why it invoked such a large reaction from the boy? Perhaps… was the boy just like him? For a long while, after Wei Ying finally made peace with the fact that his parents were no longer coming back, he’d reacted the same: heartbroken, bruised, too aggrieved to even speak on the subject. If that was truly the case with the boy, then…
“My a-die and a-niang aren’t here anymore,” Wei Ying lowers his voice, sharing in confidence. “If I’ve hurt you, I’m really sorry.”
All at once, the boy’s hardened face quickly gives way.
“Where are they,” he finally asks, quietly. The curiosity sparking up his eyes replaces the pain.
Wei Ying’s face lights up. The boy relents!
“Hopefully together and happy,” Wei Ying answers, sheepishly. Even he doesn’t know, for sure. “Watching me from afar. Making sure I grow up well. That’s what shushu said.”
“Oh,” the boy whispers out, his shoulders slumping down in relief. It would appear Wei Ying’s words have... managed to touch a portion of his heart. “Perhaps they are with muqin.”
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the boy is referring to his own mother.
“I’m sorry,” Wei Ying says, piecing it all together. Then, he tries asking, “When…?”
“Last month,” the boy answers, crestfallen, looking to the ground once more. It seems his mother’s death has taken a great toll on his fragile, young heart. Wei Ying recognises the grief on his face all too well.
“I’m sorry,” Wei Ying says again. There really isn’t much more to say. He apologises only because it seems like it’s the right thing to do; every time his own parents are brought up, someone’s always apologising to him, one way or another, as if plastering a respectful band-aid over his pain. He figures he’d do the same.
Ah! And what else did jiejie always do?
In a rather brazen move, and one that he gives little thought to, Wei Ying takes both of the boy’s hands into his, and squeezes warmly onto them.
“From now on,” he echoes jiejie’s words, from whenever she’d comfort him. He smiles earnestly to the boy, looking as genuine as can be, “I’ll be your family.”
The boy’s eyes flare wide open in shock. When they’re dilated like this, Wei Ying finally sees the damning gold in his eyes. He hadn’t noticed the strikingness of it before, hadn’t ever seen one living soul on the streets with such golden eyes. Wei Ying faintly remembers jiejie telling him tales of a special family, only one of their kind, harbouring such an eye colour, even if he cannot quite put a finger to their name now. They’re said to have descended straight from the bloodline of dragons, from the legends, once upon a time. Even then, not every single member of the family is blessed with golden eyes. And the ones who do? They hold immense responsibility.
They’re the chosen one, the one that has to lead them all to prosperity.
“Your eyes!” Wei Ying points out, in pure admiration. He clamps down onto the boy’s hands even tighter, in his enthusiasm. “They’re so beautiful!”
The boy immediately pulls his hands back to himself in an abashed daze, not familiar with the touch of anyone non-familial.
“Muqin said they are not,” he refutes, not wishing to elaborate more.
Your eyes, they’re just like your father’s!
The boy gazes down to both his hands, and feels the throbbing sensations of Wei Ying’s touches still lingering on his skin.
“Sometimes, adults can be wrong too!” Wei Ying huffs, with a huge frown on his face, anxious to disprove it all. “Hey, listen to me. Adults can’t know everything. For example, Jiang a-yi always says I’m destined to be no better than a servant, but I just know she’s wrong. I’ll prove it to her, to myself, one day! I just know there’s so much more in store for me.”
The boy suddenly tenses up. His hands curl up into aggravated fists at what he hears. “Your a-yi… says that to you?”
His anger seems to escape Wei Ying’s notice.
“Yes, but I don’t listen to her,” Wei Ying hums. “And you shouldn’t too. Your eyes are beautiful. You should take great pride in them! I heard a story once, about people with golden eyes. I think you’re one of the chosen ones. I think you’ll lead us all to great prosperity. That’s what jiejie had said, I think… Anyway, you absolutely can’t forget me when that happens, okay? I’ll be rooting for you, Wei Ying will believe in you!”
He’s senselessly rambling at this point, going off on a tangent, and yet—
The boy hesitates, but after deliberating for only a second, looks back up to Wei Ying with renewed determination in his eyes, and a bold confidence that wasn’t there before.
“Mn.”
“Mn, what?”
“I will not listen to muqin,” the boy says. “When she says my golden eyes are cruel.”
What? What mother would say that to a child? Wei Ying can’t imagine it. And yet it’s so clear the boy still loves her so deeply.
“I will listen to you,” he continues. “I will bring you prosperity.”
“Good,” Wei Ying smiles to him, delighted that his encouragement worked—even if the phrasing of the boy’s words does confuse him just slightly. “My name is Wei Ying! What’s yours?”
“Lan Zhan.”
“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying repeats, blinking rapidly at the last name he hears. It’s… so familiar? He remembers something about dragons? Oh, well. He’ll just ask jiejie about it later. “It’s nice to be your friend!”
“Family.”
“Eh?”
“Wei Ying said he’d be my family.”
“Oh!” Wei Ying laughs. The boy—no, Lan Zhan—had taken his words to heart. He merely smiles, and takes Lan Zhan’s hands into his again. “Yes, let’s become family! Whenever you’re sad about your muqin, just remember Wei Ying is here for you.”
“Mn.”
“So, do you want to return to the main hall with me? Jiejie must be serving her signature lotus root and pork ribs soup by now. You have to try it, promise?”
“Mn.”
Walking hand-in-hand, they return to the main hall of the Jiang ancestral home together just like that, happily together and beaming ear-to-ear. Well, at least Wei Ying is. Lan Zhan doesn’t smile, but the sadness is gone from his face, and what little soul and affection that has returned to his eyes has become solely reserved for Wei Ying.
Yu Ziyuan’s ready to head over to Wei Ying’s side to lecture him for being gone for so long when her eyes behold the boy standing next to him, and she clutches her head at the sight, almost passing out on the spot. Jiang Yanli is in a rather similar state of mind. As the two boys take their seats by the front of the hall, sitting side by side and waiting patiently for Yanli jiejie to serve them her signature soup, the Jiang daughter is seen walking to them with trembling hands, all colour drained from her face when she realises what trouble Wei Ying has gotten up to again. I’m afraid you can’t come back from this now, A-Ying…
“Jiejie, jiejie, look! I made a new friend. Meet Lan Zhan!”
“Lan,” Jiang Yanli can’t even get the name out of her mouth. She doesn’t dare. “Lan...”
She furiously bows her head with much respect and kneels before them both, as she sets the bowl of soup down before the future emperor.
Golden eyes, she thinks, recognising the mark of the emperor. A-Ying, I’ve already taught you this. Do you not recognise…?
Lan Zhan looks unfazed by the terror he sees in her eyes, as if already used to such treatment.
“Lan Zhan, be good for me, you have to try it, here,” Wei Ying scoops a spoonful and raises it to Lan Zhan’s lips. He mimics the way jiejie would always do it for him. “Say aah!”
The entire room falls silent, all eyes on them both. Everyone waits with bated breaths to see what the young emperor will do next, having never encountered anyone daring enough to act so familiar with the boy.
Lan Zhan opens his mouth, just as Wei Ying asks, and waits obediently as Wei Ying makes a grand show out of feeding him. When the spoon is finally in his mouth, Lan Zhan closes his lips, and blissfully swallows full whatever Wei Ying gives him. Everytime Wei Ying asks if Lan Zhan wants more, the boy nods, even if his cheeks are already fat and full with soup. It seems he does not want the indulgent act of feeding to stop one bit, no.
An older boy standing in the back of the room, clothed much more similarly to Lan Zhan in his heavy golden robes, is absolutely thrilled at what he sees. He tips on his toes to whisper into his uncle’s ear, who merely grunts, strokes his beard, and nods reluctantly. He then stalks across the room to speak with Yu Ziyuan, and the rest is history.
Just like that, Wei Ying’s fate is sealed.
Jiang Yanli already knows what is to take place by the exuberant look on her mother’s face, and the despondent look on her father’s. He has only just taken Wei Ying under his wing, and already he is to be ripped away from his grasp. Jiang Yanli sees it in how pleased the First Prince looks, already so schemeful at the young age of fourteen, always the overbearing older brother looking out for Lan Wangji’s interests of the heart. The Lans are not great rulers only because it is in their blood. They are akin to gods walking among men, taking as they please. Jiang Yanli respects the imperial family, she really does. But when their interests have come to lie in A-Ying…
Jiang Yanli doesn’t know how to break the news to Wei Ying, who still looks so joyful, so chipper off his birthday celebration. Even as he walks Lan Zhan to the front of their house, ready to send him off on a sedan of his own, still holding him hand-in-hand—Lan Zhan so adamantly refused to let go of him for the rest of the night—the boy remains so oblivious to the fate that awaits him, and all because his heart is so pure, it’s made out of gold.
In any case, she can only pray that the young emperor’s interest doesn’t wane.
(Jiang Yanli would later find that she had nothing to worry about, after all.)
“What’s up with him, why won’t he let go of A-Xian,” Jiang Cheng openly sulks, following quietly behind her. He watches on as Wei Ying, several steps ahead, continues to ramble on about the history of the ancestral Jiang mansion to Lan Zhan, repeating word for word the stories and legends Yanli jiejie had told him. Lan Zhan merely nods in contentment, listening attentively to everything Wei Ying has to say, still clenching the boy tight and close to him. “Jie, are you sure he’s the emperor? He looks like a spoiled brat who refuses to leave A-Xian alone.”
“A-Cheng, lower your voice,” Jiang Yanli hushes him, eyes darting about to make sure no one heard that. They’re surrounded by a large group of guards and servants, and she can’t be too sure that neither one of them would want to tattle on common folk like them in order to gain a promotion. “Insulting the emperor is an offence.”
“A-Xian won’t play with me when he’s around,” Jiang Cheng sucks down on his thumb, looking all sour. “I already told him I was sorry! Why won’t the emperor leave already? He keeps hogging A-Xian’s attention.”
It seems he cannot comprehend the weight of what an emperor entails, at his tender age.
Jiang Yanli has simply no heart to tell him tonight will be Wei Ying’s last night with them.
“...Lan Zhan, will you come visit me soon? I still have a lot more things to talk about with you,” Wei Ying asks, as he stops right before the golden sedan Lan Zhan is to take home. “How is it so late already? Time flies so quickly with you, Lan Zhan!”
Lan Zhan gazes down at him, like he’s never seen anything brighter in his life.
“Wei Ying,” he murmurs, like he’s never wanted anything more. “We will become family.”
Oh, Wei Ying thinks. Lan Zhan’s still so stuck on that! It’s almost adorable.
“So, you’ll visit? As much as you can?” Wei Ying asks, with hope in his eyes. “I’ll wait for you, Lan Zhan!”
“Mn,” Lan Zhan nods. He never smiles, but this time—he does. His lips pull up into the first of smiles, the one and only time he’s ever done so outside the presence of his mother, and his older brother, who sees this from far, is almost moved to tears. “I will see you soon.”
“I can’t wait,” Wei Ying says.
When he waves goodbye to the boy, it’s with a heavy heart.
He turns around, and sees Yanli jiejie waiting for him, with a vexed Jiang Cheng still hiding behind her leg. When he runs up to take a closer look at her face, he sees there are tears in her eyes.
“Jiejie?”
“A-Ying,” Jiang Yanli dabs at her eyes, forcing a smile. “Let’s go home.”
She holds Jiang Cheng in one hand, and Wei Ying in the other. When Jiang Cheng leans over to pinch Wei Ying’s arm in revenge, Wei Ying is quickly returning the favour back, but rather than scolding them both as she usually does, Jiang Yanli can only laugh at the endearing sight.
They only have this one last night.
For the very next morning, a fancy sedan, one that looks just like Lan Zhan’s, arrives to take Wei Ying away.
Wei Ying is led inside a golden sedan that’s far too large for a boy his size. Covered in ornate designs and the imperial dragon crests, the very thing looks completely out of place on the front streets of the Jiangs’ ancestral mansion.
Jiang Yanli smoothens down the front of Wei Ying’s robes with her hands, having clothed him in purple this one last final time, instead of the usual red he wears.
“You look good in purple,” Jiang Yanli says, softly. “Just like one of us. Just like a Jiang.”
“Jiejie?” Wei Ying asks, in a voice so small and so lost. He knows where he must go, shushu and a-yi had already briefed him this morning, waking him much earlier than usual so he can get dressed appropriately and have his fill of breakfast before he leaves. Still, Wei Ying’s confused. He’d only just found his new family, no matter how tumultuous things have been with Jiang a-yi. Wei Ying’s not so sure why they’re already sending him away. He knows the palace had requested it—but why didn’t anyone fight for him to stay?
Why wouldn’t anyone ever choose him?
Jiang Yanli’s hand tenderly cups up his adolescent face, and swallows down tears behind her ever-lasting smile. “A-Ying, promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”
Wei Ying feels the tears begin to run before they even escape him in sobs. “I don’t want to go.”
“You have to go,” Jiang Yanli says, softly. “It’s a privilege. It’s an imperial decree.”
Behind her, Jiang Cheng is quickly climbing—crawling—up the large steps to get into the sedan, despite all of Jiang Yanli’s efforts to hold him back. “A-Xian! It’s all his fault! Tell the emperor to let you stay!”
“Emperor?” Wei Ying questions, his eyes all muddled from the tears. He looks at his didi, and asks, utterly baffled, “What emperor?”
“A-Xian, don’t leave me,” Jiang Cheng wails in pain, grubby hands grabbing for his brother’s as he leans over in the tight, enclosed space of the sedan. “I already got rid of Jasmine, and Princess, and Love, all for you! What am I going to do now? I’ll be left with nothing! No one!”
“A-Cheng, you still have me,” Jiang Yanli can’t help but laugh. She outstretches her arms, and picks Jiang Cheng up into her hold. He’s already six, and yet he still fits perfectly in her arms. “A-Cheng, you have to wish A-Ying well, okay?”
“Jie, I don’t want A-Xian to go,” Jiang Cheng snivels, face hot and flushed from the shock and resentment of it all. “I hate the emperor! I’ll curse him! I’ll curse him to death!”
“A-Cheng! Watch your words!” Jiang Yanli immediately scolds. She quickly apologises to the stiff-looking guards surrounding the sedan, “I’m sorry, he’s just a child.”
Wei Ying cannot bear such a sight.
“A-Cheng,” Wei Ying’s own tears have already stopped flowing. “A-Cheng, don’t worry, I’ll be okay.”
In the end, it takes the sight of his younger brother’s very devastation to give him the courage he needs to go. He squeezes Jiang Cheng’s hand in his, and caresses his cheek the same way jiejie had done so for him. It’s enough to calm the agitated boy down for a bit, quelling his ugly crying momentarily. Wei Ying has to be strong, if only for him.
“We’ll write to you,” Jiang Yanli promises, trying to enliven the mood. “You’ll have to tell us everything that happens in the palace, too, alright? It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity, A-Ying, no one gets chosen just like this. Unlike you!”
Wei Ying doesn’t know if he should believe her words. “I was chosen? By who?”
Jiang Yanli holds her tongue, as if she realises she has revealed too much. “You are loved, A-Ying. You’ll always be loved, no matter what happens.”
But when she lets back down the silk that covers the sedan and finally pulls away, it is Wei Ying who still has to contend with loneliness once more, seated in this small, stuffy space, being led by strangers to a place he will once again have to make his home.
Maybe I’ll never have a permanent family, he thinks to himself, as tears drench down his cheeks. Maybe I’ll try and try, and still never really have a home.
The years are not the most kind to him in this cold, forbidding palace, but they are not overly cruel either. At twenty-one years old, Wei Ying has blossomed into a beautiful, refined male concubine—just one of the few, in this place—having been hand-selected, amongst the many noble families that occupy these lands, to serve the imperial family. He does well in his training and studies, and excels in the Four Arts they teach him: qin, calligraphy, painting and the game of strategy. While they are traditionally scholarly pursuits, the men they are to serve are of the highest degree. If they are to serve royalty, then they are to be miles better than the common whore.
At twenty-one years old, Wei Ying is still pure.
By right, he is to remain pure until he is given away. With the ascension of the new emperor, the Selection Ceremony will soon take place. It’s a yearly ritual in which higher-ranked concubines are lined up in a closed room and dressed absolutely in their finest for the emperor’s own picking. He will choose the women and men he is most attracted to, and they will make up his Imperial Harem.
Wei Ying will not be given such a chance. Instead, he will partake in similar ceremonies that are to follow, held for the benefit of other members of the imperial family. There is still the First Prince, the older brother, and several other distant cousins of the emperor, who are entitled to their own harems. Even if he does not catch the fancy of any one of them, he will still, at best, be considered as wives for the highest-ranking officials of the court. And at the very worst, if he is still not chosen, then he might be relegated to the position of madames who run the training of the next generation of concubines.
At first, such a thought did not scare him. He didn’t mind not being someone else’s bed slave. What was so bad about remaining in this palace and taking up the position of a teacher, anyway? Wei Ying thinks sealing his fate with an uncaring, pompous royal, is far worse.
But Jiang Yanli’s letter to him about the Jiangs’ failing businesses changes his mind, in particular the part where she hints, rather sorrowfully, that her engagement with the Jins is in jeopardy. Wei Ying has never met the man, but he knows Jin Zixuan is the sole heir to the minister of finance, and has been the love of Jiang Yanli’s life ever since she met him. As arrogant and conceited Jiang Cheng describes him to be—and so Wei Ying does not completely love the idea of him, choosing to trust his brother's protectiveness of her instead—it remains a fact that Yanli jiejie wants nothing more in her life than to marry him.
Wei Ying cannot simply stand by and do nothing.
It would seem his efforts have dearly paid off, however, with this lotus root and pork ribs soup. This bowl of soup he holds in his hands, it harbours the imperial crest.
The emperor knows he exists.
Even as the other concubines talk, Wei Ying knows his plan has already succeeded. He swallows the soup whole delightedly, inhaling it like it’s nothing, forgetting all of his dining etiquette at that moment. The emperor will want a harem of concubines for sure, but Wei Ying is content to be one out of the many. As long as he can speak directly with the emperor, as long as he has captivated a portion of the emperor’s heart, then he has every chance of overturning the Jiangs’ fate.
He doesn’t mind the dirty looks thrown his way; the higher-ranked concubines have never been particularly kind to him, anyway. Even back when they assumed he still posed no threat, neither of them ever spared him a glance, having thought themselves much above him, every single one of them, haughty and egotistic sons and daughters of officials and businessmen. Only Nie Huaisang has ever been kind to him, and so Wei Ying has only ever needed one friend.
“At this rate, you’ll be invited to the Selection Ceremony for sure,” Nie Huaisang whispers, gesturing to the splendous selection of food Wei Ying has been served. “Wei Ying, you have to remember me when you’ve become the emperor’s favourite concubine, okay?”
Nie Huaisang has never been of the jealous sort. In fact, Wei Ying has an inkling of suspicion that Nie Huaisang is just like him, that he has never cared for the prestige and honour of becoming an imperial concubine; and is only here because he is expected to be. Even if Nie Huaisang has never readily admitted it, his interests have always lied elsewhere. He does enjoy the perks and riches that come with being a concubine, sure, even as concubines-in-training they get to wear silk of quality high in grades and jewelry that would put the common bride to shame, but Nie Huaisang never has once gushed over a single prince in front of Wei Ying’s face. He’s content with his pet birds, and illustrated fans, and the simpler luxuries of palace life.
Nie Huaisang does not care for the emperor, not in the ways others do.
Wei Ying flushes. “I don’t expect to be the emperor’s favourite.”
“It’ll be a waste of your beauty if you are not,” Nie Huaisang sighs woefully at the thought. “I’m glad you’ve suddenly become ambitious about this, actually. Isn’t it so shallow of them to still care so much about family background? I’m glad you’ve caught the attention of the emperor.”
“Huaisang ah…”
They’ve been friends for so long, and still the man manages to surprise him with his kindness.
“Eat up,” Nie Huaisang snickers to him, behind his fan. “Or the other concubines will snatch them soon enough. They’re watching you like a hawk, I think you should be really careful of where you sleep tonight.”
Nie Huaisang is not wrong. These concubines all around him, they’re not his friends, they’re his foes. And now that they’ve become aware that Wei Ying is a strong contender to keep a look out for—a lower-ranking concubine like him must have utilised some underhanded means to reach the emperor—their rampant jealousy and bitterness that had once plagued others will now be all re-focused onto him.
And so, when Wei Ying finishes his meal and returns to his chambers, he’s not surprised to see that someone has already spilled pig’s blood onto his door.
Nevertheless, it doesn’t wipe the smile off his face.
He’s already won.
At breakfast the next day, as Wei Ying gets seated down in the dining hall, the same thing happens.
“Once again, straight from the kitchen of the emperor,” Nie Huaisang teases, just as the servant serves up dishes to Wei Ying on an imperial tray. “Looks like his majesty is sharing his morning meal with you.”
It seems the emperor’s favor runs even deeper than he’d thought.
Wei Ying grabs for the simplest food of the lot—a meatbun—and begins chewing, keeping his eyes to himself. The green, poisonous faces that the other concubines wear of envy, they surround him and threaten to intimidate him out of existence. If Wei Ying does not already fear for his life, he should.
“Wei Ying, I heard something of interest from my handmaiden this morning,” Nie Huaisang scoots over to him, whispering. He snaps open his fan and raises it up to shield both their faces from the others, afraid of alerting the rest with his news. “I have heard that his majesty has ordered for the Selection Ceremony to be moved to tomorrow.”
What?
“Tomorrow?” Wei Ying drops the meatbun in his hands. Was that what the emperor’s current visit was for? Everyone had thought it only to be a friendly visit, to check out the compounds for the first time since his ascension to the throne. “Why… why the hurry? The emperor has only just arrived.”
This throws a huge wrench in his plans, and Wei Ying is quickly second-guessing himself. Would the time spanning from his initial meeting with the emperor in his garden till tomorrow’s Selection Ceremony be enough to convince the emperor to include Wei Ying as a potential candidate? Arrangements for this once in a lifetime ceremony are done months in advance. Suddenly Wei Ying is not so sure—his efforts might have gone to waste—for the emperor couldn’t possibly add him on such short notice.
“Well, there are rumours that he is young and virile, and cannot wait to get started on his harem,” Nie Huaisang smirks. “Have you not heard about how fiercely the Lans love? They say obsession runs in their veins…”
Wei Ying does not hear any of it, fear already pulsing through his blood. He hears an unmistakable set of footsteps begin approaching from far away, and when he looks up, he sees his madame entering the dining hall with a surly look on her face. Unlike the concubines who freely let down and flaunt their long locks of hair, their madame assigned to train them always has her hair tightly pulled back into a neat and high bun, her face always made up to impeccable perfection. Though the lines on her face betray her age, Wei Ying has never seen her without layers of powder and rouge. She holds her head up high as she saunters in, walking with the firm but gentle pace of a fair maiden.
Wei Ying lowers his gaze.
In her hands is a huge stack of envelopes that have been royally sealed with the stamp of the imperial crest.
“My handmaiden was not wrong after all,” Nie Huaisang mutters, fanning himself, rather pleased. As the only younger brother of the minister of defense, he’d had the privilege of bringing over his own set of handmaidens from home. They are loyal to him in ways that other handmaidens are not to their mistresses.
The madame walks to the middle of the dining hall, and stops.
“The emperor has set forth a decree,” her voice thunders, as she pulls apart an announcement scroll that she begins to read off of. “Tomorrow morning, at six sharp, the annual Selection Ceremony will be reinstated, and held.”
Immediately, the hall descends into feverish chatter.
“Silence!” she orders, bringing every single one of the concubines to halt. “I will now read out loud the names of those who have been selected to attend. Those called, please step forward to receive your invitation. Nie Huaisang!”
Of course his best friend would be the first name that is called. The minister of defense, his older brother, ranks highly in court. Nie Huaisang is also beautiful, as all nobles are. Blessed with a pretty face, and an ideal family background to boot, there really is no reason to be surprised that he would be given a chance—if not, a confirmed entry—into the emperor’s Imperial Harem.
“Yes!” Nie Huaisang squeaks out, rising on his feet. He hurries over to her, and accepts the invitation she holds out to him with grace. “It is my honour!”
The rest of the names are rattled off one by one by the madame, who looks upon each of them with a prideful gaze. Do me proud, and do it well.
Exactly thirty of them had been selected. By the time Nie Huaisang returns to his seat, their madame is almost done handing all of them out.
And not a single one for Wei Ying in sight.
Wei Ying’s chest is tight.
His ruse… It hadn’t worked? The emperor is still not calling for him? He had been so sure. The way those golden eyes traced his skin—it’d all been for nothing? The dinner, the breakfast—all of it—it’d been the emperor’s grace, but only out of pity.
Perhaps the emperor truly had seen right through him in the garden, and would not stand for a concubine willing to stoop to such levels to attain him.
Or perhaps, it really is because he remains the son of a servant, and the emperor, a dignified man born of such high standing, cannot tolerate such a thing.
Wei Ying’s fate, it never was meant to be entwined with the emperor’s.
“Those chosen,” the madame says, dusting off her hands after every piece of invitation has left her grasp. “I trust you will know how to best prepare yourself for tomorrow.”
She turns on her heel, and leaves the room as quickly as she’d come.
Wei Ying stares down at his breakfast, the once thoughtful gesture of his majesty’s suddenly losing all meaning in the face of his absence of an invitation.
Jiejie....
“Oh,” even Nie Huaisang is in shock, when he realises. He’d been rooting for his best friend. “Oh, Wei Ying, how is it that you…”
Wei Ying cannot stomach that look of pity.
“I will,” Wei Ying says, quietly, heavily swallowing down his disappointment. Rather than heartbreak, he’s upset at himself for not being able to do his best for the Jiangs. “Take the rest of my meal, in my room. Congratulations, Huaisang. I’m really happy for you.”
He has sorely let down his only living family left.
It was the only thing he could possibly do.
He takes the long way back to his quarters. When he comes face to face with the pig’s blood splattered onto his door, he decides he better get on with cleaning it, especially now that he does not have a Selection Ceremony to prepare for. There are servants and handmaidens he can call on for help, but Wei Ying has never liked bothering them for simple things he could do on his own.
He gets a bucket of water and cloth, and begins scrubbing at his door, all red-eyed. Squatting on the floor with his long sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he knows the sight is unbecoming of him as a concubine, but it’s not like anyone will look for him at this time of the day.
“Wei Wuxian!” he hears his madame suddenly yell at him from a distance. “What did I say about posture?!”
What—what is she doing here? Wei Ying drops the cloth back into the bucket in fright. He quickly kneels to the ground in a much more respectable stance that he knows is at least acceptable, and allows his long sleeves to fall back down and cover his slender wrists.
“I’m sorry, I was just cleaning,” Wei Ying whispers out, in apology. He’s really not in the mood to deal with his madame’s wrath.
The madame casts him a disapproving look, but says no more. It seems she has more pressing matters on her mind. She reaches a hand into her sleeve, and pulls out an envelope Wei Ying had seen only just moments before, in the dining hall.
“W… What is this,” Wei Ying’s heart pounds.
He receives the envelope with his two hands, and sees it has been sealed slightly differently from the others.
This is the personal stamp of the emperor.
“I can’t believe it myself,” the madame scoffs, although she looks proud of Wei Ying all the same. No matter what underhanded means he’d resorted to to attain this, it’s still one more concubine under her wing that may potentially enter the Imperial Harem. It’s not like she isn’t used to the power struggle and politics that many get entangled up in within the confines of this palace.
“This is your invitation for tomorrow’s Selection Ceremony.”
“I…” Wei Ying’s jaw slackens. “Have one?”
“Yes,” the madame says. “Congratulations. I had to ascertain for myself whether the invitation was… correct, but it appears you have truly earned the emperor’s favor.”
Wei Ying cannot will himself to believe it.
Jiejie, I did it.
Those golden eyes that had held him captive in the garden—have also been held captive by him.
“Of course, this does not guarantee your entrance into the Imperial Harem,” she snaps. “You will still have to do your best tomorrow to impress the emperor.”
Wei Ying will be there, like his whole life depends on it. Because it does.
He spends the rest of the day preparing himself for the big day. He calls his two handmaidens over, and they ready for him a long bath to luxuriate in with fresh goat’s milk and flower petals, just so his skin will look the smoothest, the brightest, and will radiate of only the sweetest floral scent the next day. They pluck and tweeze at all the hair on his body, and go through Wei Ying’s entire wardrobe so they can settle on the best only, for tomorrow.
In the end, he still wears his favourite lavender robes. Embroidered with golden lotuses along the lining of his sleeves, and hems of his dress. The silk had been an expensive buy, personally customised and paid for out of the limited allowance he gets as a concubine-in-training, but it’d been one of the few indulgences Wei Ying had let himself have in this dreary palace. They all usually got a bit more money on their birthdays, and Wei Ying usually saved those up. Nie Huaisang usually spent the bulk of it on purchasing more fans.
Again, a lotus flower hairpin adorns his hair. It’s done just the way Jiang Yanli always wore hers.
Wei Ying sits in his chair as his handmaidens fuss over him, having woken up two hours before the ceremony just to get ready. They pull his little braids into place and brush the rest of his long locks down so they rest behind his shoulders, then put earrings on him so they dangle prettily from his naked ears.
They smear the last of the rouge onto his lips, and then gesture to him to press his lips together so the red will take. Only after he does so do they hang the half-veil over his face, made of tassels and with assorted beads, in the perfect complementary shade of lilac.
Wei Ying gazes back into the mirror, and sees the work of art that is his face. His handmaidens have truly done their best.
“Your day has finally come,” they tell him, as they clasp thin golden bangles over his small wrists. “The emperor will definitely take a liking to you.”
“There are thirty others,” Wei Ying sighs. The lot of them, all beautiful high-ranking concubines with good family backgrounds to boot. Wei Ying is lucky to even be there. Nie Huaisang will have a seat in the Imperial Harem for sure, but Wei Ying will be content just having a seat alongside him. At least he knows he’d have a friend.
The handmaidens send him out the door, where there are two imperial guards already waiting for him, assigned to escort him personally to the selection room.
It is still the wee hours of the morning, and the sun isn’t even up, so the concubine quarters should mostly be quiet. But all around him, he has begun to hear hushed chatter and movement, and he knows many others, just like him, are gearing up for the ceremony.
With closed fists and a rapidly beating heart, he begins the long walk to the selection room in silence.
They traverse across the palace grounds to reach a ceremonial room stationed close to the emperor’s temporary quarters.
The guards nod at him to open the door, and so Wei Ying does. He sucks in a long breath, and readies himself for the ceremony of his life. He doesn’t question how silent his surroundings have become.
He pushes open the doors, fully expecting to see a row of concubines all like him, lined up and being harshly instructed by his madame on what to do in preparation for the emperor’s arrival.
Instead, the room is fully empty.
The dark room has been lit up with oil lamps and tall candles, the flickering pools of light being cast on the golden screens painted exquisitely with birds, trees and flowers, surrounding him.
Wei Ying’s beautifully made up eyes widen, his heart threatening to leap out of his chest.
How can it be—? He is the only one here?
Wei Ying spins around anxiously, trying to figure out if he has been led to the wrong room. Where were the thirty other concubines he’d counted? Where was Nie Huaisang? It was already close to six, they couldn’t all be late, could they? He saw several of them leaving their rooms the same time he did! They should have arrived by now!
He turns back to question the guards, but they’ve already pulled the doors back close behind him, and shut them.
Wei Ying has been locked in.
Fear creeps into his blood. This… this couldn’t be a ploy, could it? Had someone—a vicious, vengeful concubine—paid his guards to lead him astray? Had they really been so afraid that Wei Ying would be selected, and take their rightful place?
Wei Ying paces the room, raising his freshly buffed nails to his lips and grinding his teeth nervously against them. He will chip the paint right off his nails at this rate, but it does not matter if he has no emperor to impress. He decides he’ll try pleading with the guards outside to open the doors for him, and if they still refuse, then Wei Ying will simply have to resort to more drastic, more violent measures.
They couldn’t take away his one and only chance at entering the harem, no!
Who could possibly have been behind such a cruel prank?
He rushes up to the doors, beads jingling against his face as he does so, and extends both his hands out. He’s about to rip the handles right off the doors himself when he sees the shadows of the guards outside begin to move aside.
“Your majesty,” they greet, in reverence.
Immediately, Wei Ying steps back from the door. How—?
The doors finally pull back open, and not of his own volition. But of the emperor’s.
It suddenly occurs to Wei Ying why his invitation had looked slightly different from the others—and given separately from them.
Wei Ying cannot move.
The emperor descends into the room, looking as handsome as he did that afternoon in the garden. Those awe-inspiring golden eyes, they’d brought such an odd familiarity to Wei Ying. Even at such early hours in the morning, the emperor is already lavishly dressed. Layers upon layers of imperial-yellow silk weigh him down, the dragons woven into every thread of his robes seemingly coming to life with every step he takes towards the concubine. His dark hair is sleek and long, and they caress along his strong, pale jaw.
The emperor lets out a breath, and Wei Ying thinks he sees smoke.
The chosen one, the one that will lead all of them to prosperity. He’s come for him.
“Your,” Wei Ying says, dazed, only remembering to greet after a hot second. “Your majesty.”
He lowers his head, bowing in greeting, but the emperor’s hand is on his cheek—as presumptuous and as bold as he remembers, always taking what he wants as he pleases—and tipping the concubine’s head right back up.
“Wei Ying,” he murmurs, with much affection, like he’s never wanted anything more.
Wei Ying jerks back from his fingertips. “How… How do you know my name?”
He hadn’t offered it once. Or had the emperor done his research? If he’d personally sealed his invitation, wouldn’t that mean he at least knew who he was? Even then, wouldn’t he only know him by Wei Wuxian? Not many around here address him as Wei Ying, only Nie Huaisang.
The emperor does not look too pleased to see Wei Ying pull away from him.
Behind him, the doors once again are slammed to a close and locked shut by the guards, who stand at attention outside and ensure no one will disturb the pair.
“Do you not already know mine?” the emperor asks, curious.
Of course Wei Ying knows the emperor’s name. They’d had to study it in books, and be well-versed in the imperial family’s history and structure.
“Lan,” Wei Ying whispers, unsure if it is right of him to utter the emperor’s name so freely. But the emperor is looking at him so expectantly, like if Wei Ying does not answer him he will be in agony. “Lan Wangji…?”
Disappointment pours forth from the emperor’s eyes, seemingly arriving at a conclusion he’s been waiting to affirm for many years. “I see. You do not remember.”
Remember what? Wei Ying’s getting so dizzy from everything that’s happening. He’s still so confused—
“This lowly concubine does not know what your majesty means,” Wei Ying breathes, averting his gaze. The emperor always looks at him so… so intensely, it overwhelms him. “Where is… madame? And the others?”
The emperor appears bemused by this. “Are they of concern right now? Have you not come here to gain my favour?”
Wei Ying’s cheeks are hot. The emperor, his tongue is always so slick.
“I was under the assumption I was attending a Selection Ceremony.”
The man’s answer, it comes and takes the wind out of him, as always. “You are. Am I not making a selection right now?”
Wei Ying’s eyes dart up to meet the emperor’s, and feels like he has gotten it all wrong.
He hadn’t only gained the emperor’s favour—he’d gained the emperor’s… fixation, of sorts. An obsession, that Wei Ying does not understand.
He is enamoured with me. Why me?
“But I,” Wei Ying whispers out, quickly turning shy. The half-beaded veil he wears does wonders to conceal his burning cheeks. “I am the only one standing here.”
“Hm.”
“Your majesty,” Wei Ying’s eyes flitter down, to the side. “Your majesty, you... will not have options for a harem, here.”
“I see,” the emperor says, digesting the piece of information like it’s news to him. His lips curl up into a smile, but this goes unnoticed by the—heavily embarrassed!—concubine. “That will not do.”
“No, it will not,” Wei Ying continues, in a nervous whisper.
“I suppose a harem will not be possible, then,” the emperor decides, on the spot, putting his best frown forward. “In fact, it will leave me with no choice at all. I will simply have to look for an empress, as a consequence.”
“E-Empress?” Wei Ying feels faint.
“Yes. Empress. Since, as you pointed out, a harem is out of the question,” the emperor hums. “Is that not right? Wei Ying?”
His name is lethal on the emperor’s tongue. Wei Ying feels blush creeping up all the way to his neck. Those dragon eyes, they will truly poison his soul.
“Who will you choose as your empress,” he whispers. He asks, like he doesn’t already have an inkling of where this is going.
“You are the only one standing here,” the emperor says. “It will have to be you, won’t it? It cannot be anyone else.”
Wei Ying can’t believe it. “It… cannot?”
“No.”
The emperor is very sure.
“But I am not a woman, I cannot bear you children...”
“That is of no matter,” the emperor casts it aside, like a worry that hadn’t even occurred to him. He takes Wei Ying’s hands into his, and echoes the same promise that had been uttered to him, fifteen years before in a garden that was not his own.
“Wei Ying, from now on, I will be your family.”