A Precious Pearl in the Imperial City

Jiuzhu waited by the window day after day, until finally, the peach blossoms bloomed.

Early in the morning, she changed into the new clothes sent by the Imperial Wardrobe Bureau and poked Prince Chen on the bed. "Your Highness, Your Highness, it's dawn."

Prince Chen struggled to open his eyes, glancing at the faint sliver of morning light creeping through the window, then buried his face back into the blankets.

"Your Highness, time to get up." Jiuzhu gazed at him eagerly. Spring had arrived, the peach blossoms were in full bloom—it was time to paint.

Prince Chen pointed to his cheek. "Can't get up. Need a little piggy's kiss to wake me."

Jiuzhu threw herself onto him, planting a kiss on his cheek. "Now you can get up."

Prince Chen rolled over and sat up.

All his habits—morning grumpiness, reluctance to leave bed—had vanished completely since marrying Jiuzhu.

The eunuchs and maidservants attending inside the room turned away with smiles, waiting for the prince and his consort to finish preparing.

There was a peach grove in the palace, but others dared not enter casually. A rumor had spread that the grove had been planted by the Emperor specifically for Empress Su.

Prince Chen remembered the grove from his earliest childhood, though he had no idea where the rumor originated.

The servants set up tables, chairs, brushes, ink, and paper in the grove. Prince Chen glanced at Jiuzhu and dismissed them. "The Princess Consort and I will paint here. We prefer no disturbances—withdraw further away."

"As you command, Your Highness."

"Why do scholars scorn peach blossoms for being gaudy and frivolous?" Jiuzhu caught a few falling petals in her palm. "They’re vibrant without being vulgar, and their fruit is sweet and delicious."

"Some find lotus flowers too plain, others complain that osmanthus is overly fragrant. Naturally, there are those who dislike peach blossoms for their brilliance." Prince Chen mixed ink shades. "People and flowers are alike. Those who dislike something will find countless faults. But if they love it, even flaws become virtues."

"The flowers bloom as they please, indifferent to human judgment." Instead of painting the blossoms, Prince Chen sketched a young girl. Though her features were yet undefined, his affection for her was already vivid on the page.

"People often assume superiority, even spinning tales of flowers, birds, or insects transforming into humans to adore them." He looked up at Jiuzhu with a smile, adding a peach branch to the girl’s hand. "Whether human or flower, without sincerity in return, what one gains from arrogance is merely..."

Beside the girl, he drew himself, their hands clasped together.

"Emptiness." Jiuzhu finished the thought. She set down her brush and squeezed next to him. "Your Highness, is this us?"

"Yes. You and me." He outlined the blossoms and handed her the brush. "Here, you add the colors."

Jiuzhu took the brush, studying the painting carefully. "Your work today is especially good."

"Oh?" Prince Chen grinned. "How so?"

"It feels... alive." She colored carefully. "I can’t explain it, but it’s different. Better."

Prince Chen chuckled, then paused. Staring at the painting of himself and Jiuzhu, he suddenly understood.

Her judgment of art wasn’t like others’.

She saw the emotion behind the strokes.

When he painted Jiuzhu, he hadn’t thought of anything—only that the scene was beautiful because she was in it. With her on the page, how could he not join her? So he added himself.

He had painted with his heart.

Had the paintings she gifted him before been the same? Had she poured her most cherished scenes and warmest wishes onto paper for him?

In that moment, Prince Chen realized he was no different from any ordinary person. Flowers didn’t care for human opinions, yet he had arrogantly believed no blossom in the world could compare to his Ming Jiuzhu’s smile.

"I did not realize Your Highnesses were painting here. Forgive my intrusion."

Jiuzhu set the brush aside and turned. "Consort Dowager Zhao."

"Painting beneath a shower of peach blossoms—this grove pales beside the beauty of the two of you standing together." The elderly consort stroked the cat in her arms, her gaze nostalgic as she surveyed the trees. "It has been many years since I last came here."

"Does Consort Dowager Zhao know the origin of this grove?" Prince Chen brought a stool for her, and Jiuzhu helped her sit.

"Of course." She smiled faintly. "Before entering the palace, my family were vintners. Our finest brew was Peach Blossom Dream. Because I was somewhat fair-faced, the Previous Emperor took a liking to me and brought me here. To please me, he planted this grove."

Jiuzhu’s eyes widened. "This grove was planted for you by the Previous Emperor?"

"Yes." Her tone cooled at the mention of him. "But the harem was never short of women. He could plant a peach grove for me, then orchards of pears, apricots, or chrysanthemums for others."

In her eyes, Jiuzhu saw no joy—only resignation. Perhaps even her entry into the palace had been against her will.

"Come." Consort Dowager Zhao passed the cat to Prince Chen and took Jiuzhu’s hand. "Let me show you something."

"One, two... eight." Slowly, she led Jiuzhu through the grove until they reached the eighth tree. Trembling, she bent to dig at its roots.

"Consort Dowager, let me." Jiuzhu steadied her. "I’m stronger."

"Very well." The old woman smiled.

Prince Chen had a servant bring a shovel, then handed the cat to Jiuzhu. "Don’t dirty your shoes. I’ll do it."

Consort Dowager Zhao watched them with tender warmth in her eyes.

Soon, Prince Chen unearthed two jars.

"Wine?" He lifted them from the soil, glancing at her. "Did you brew this, Consort Dowager?"

She knelt, brushing dirt from the jars. "I entered the palace in my teens. These were brewed when I was eighteen. Now... I am past sixty. If I don’t dig them up now, they may never see daylight again."

Tears glimmered in her aged eyes. "Many, many years ago, I promised someone I would brew two jars of wine for him with my own hands."

"But the year I turned eighteen, he was gone."

They had grown up together. At her coming-of-age ceremony, she vowed to make him two jars of Peach Blossom Dream for their wedding.

Then the Previous Emperor seized her for the palace. Heartbroken, he fell ill and died within three years.

He died. Her child died. In time, even her family was gone, leaving only her to endure the years alone—with nothing but a cat for company.

Had Prince Chen and his consort not returned the cat to her, she might have lost even that.

"Meow." The plump feline nuzzled Jiuzhu before leaping back into the old woman’s arms.

Seeing her struggle to rise, Jiuzhu hurried to help.

"Thank you, Princess Consort." Consort Dowager Zhao smiled at her. "If you and His Highness would do me the honor, take these jars and drink them together."

"May the two of you grow old together, never parting." She met Prince Chen’s gaze. "Never forsaking each other."

"Consort ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‍Dowager Zhao," Jiuzhu said, "Qingming Festival is in a few days. I—"

"Princess Consort," Consort Dowager Zhao interrupted with a smile, "this palace has witnessed many sorrowful tales of women. This old one is but the most insignificant among them. I am old now—whether I pay respects or not no longer matters."

She could barely remember the face of that young man from her past, only that his smile had been lovely, and his voice soft whenever he called her name.

"My memory has grown worse this past year. If I don’t speak of him to someone soon, I fear I’ll forget him entirely." Consort Dowager Zhao stroked the cat’s head. "Princess Consort, remember this old one’s words."

"Do not easily pity the women of the palace," she said, glancing back at Prince Chen, who was bending to fill a pit with soil. "Especially those who are young and beautiful."

Jiuzhu shook her head with a light laugh. "Consort Dowager, I do not care."

Consort Dowager Zhao studied her.

"Young and beautiful women are not the ones to fear. What is truly frightening is a man’s heart that cannot remain devoted." Jiuzhu plucked a peach blossom and tucked it into Consort Dowager Zhao’s silver hair. "Today, Your Highness is still eighteen at heart."

Consort Dowager Zhao laughed, her expression one of rare ease. "This old one has lived over sixty years, yet I am not as wise as you."

Walking to the painting desk, she gazed at the artwork and sighed. "This painting is exquisite. I recall that Du Qingke, the current head of the Du family, once painted peach blossoms during a palace banquet hosted by the Previous Emperor."

"You may not know of him," Consort Dowager Zhao added, picking up a brush to write Du Qingke’s name on paper. "He is the elder uncle of Princess Consort Jing. In his youth, his skill in painting pleased the Previous Emperor greatly."

"I never studied calligraphy in my youth, so my handwriting is poor." She set the brush down and smiled at Prince Chen as he approached. "Forgive this old one for embarrassing you and the Princess Consort."

"Your handwriting is already excellent," Prince Chen said, bowing to her after reading the name on the paper. "Thank you, Consort Dowager, for the gift of wine."

"Old age makes one weary of movement. Now that the wine has been given away, this old one’s heart is at ease." She crumpled the paper bearing Du Qingke’s name. "After fifty years in this palace, I’ve seen enough of life’s rise and fall to grow indifferent to affairs. If the peach blossom wine pleases Your Highness, you may return for its recipe."

"My gratitude, Consort Dowager."

"No need for thanks." She smiled. "Though my mind grows dull, I have not forgotten the kindness you and your mother have shown me these past ten years. Age brings fatigue—I must retire now."

"Consort Dowager, let me escort you," Jiuzhu said, carefully supporting her.

"How could I trouble the Princess Consort and His Highness during your painting?"

"The peach blossoms will not wither in a day. If we do not paint today, there is always tomorrow." Jiuzhu smiled. "I will only be at ease once I’ve seen you safely back to the palace."

"Then I shall trouble the Princess Consort." Consort Dowager Zhao patted Jiuzhu’s hand where it rested on her arm, her eyes warm with affection.

"Meow." The plump cat, as if afraid of burdening the old consort, leaped into Jiuzhu’s arms instead, curling up comfortably in her hold.

Consort Dowager Zhao chuckled, stroking its head. "It knows who can hold it steady."

"Truly a clever cat, worthy of being raised by Your Highness."

---

Lingzhou

The courier had driven several horses to exhaustion, climbed countless mountains, and trekked along narrow paths before finally finding the small Taoist temple half-hidden by ancient trees deep in the wilderness.

The temple seemed long abandoned, overgrown with weeds, its walls peeling and weathered. Stubborn grasses sprouted between broken tiles, swaying in the mountain breeze.

The courier couldn’t help but wonder—could anyone truly live in such a ruined place?

What had the Ming family been thinking, sending their own daughter here?

Even if she didn’t starve, weren’t they afraid wild beasts would carry her off?

"I come on the Princess Consort’s orders to deliver a letter to the master. Is she present?"

"Who goes there?"

The worn wooden door creaked open, revealing a woman in a blue robe. Neither plump nor thin, her gentle features made it impossible to guess her age.

"I bear a letter from the Princess Consort." The courier stepped through the weeds, presenting a thick envelope.

The woman’s gaze swept over the name "Ming Jiuzhu" before she accepted it. "Did the young mistress say anything else?"

"The Princess Consort said you would understand upon reading it." The courier bowed. "I will wait at the foot of the mountain for two days before returning."

The woman studied him. "The messengers the Ming family sent before were not you."

"I am not of the Ming household. The Princess Consort once showed me kindness, so I deliver this letter in her stead."

The courier knew recluses were easily deceived—especially those cut off from the world in remote places like this.

"I see." The woman nodded. "Understood."

Once he left, another woman in gray robes dropped silently from a tree. Without even opening the letter, she scoffed. "The handwriting resembles Jiuzhu’s, but when has she ever sent us a letter without stuffing it full of gifts?"

The blue-robed woman unfolded the letter, and a painting slipped out.

It depicted a woman trapped in the depths of the palace, weeping but unable to escape—a desperate plea for help conveyed in every stroke.

"Such a shoddy forgery—how dare they claim this was painted by our Jiuzhu?" The blue-robed woman was aghast.