#consort chen

Sitting up so quickly the blood rushes from her head, she immediately regrets the movement as her head throbs and blind spots flash across her vision. With a wince, she holds the heel of her palm to her forehead and exhales a heavy breath.

Lingyi clicks her tongue in disproval. The sound cuts through the air like a temple bell, sharp but vibrant. Even through her pain, Yueyao cannot help but smile at the familiarity so lacking in the inner palace.

“Sister,” she says, scooting to the edge of her bed. “What in the world are you here for? You certainly aren’t the court doctor.”

“I should hope not,” Lingyi laughs, hiding her own smile behind the folds of her sleeves, “But I am here to treat you. Your own personal doctor, if you will.”

This, Yueyao thinks, has Lin Xie written all over it, but the ecstatic joy that bubbles in her chest as Lingyi coaxes her to lay down again manages to suppresses the pain that lingers at the back of her mind. She’ll have time for questions later.

For now, Yueyao drinks in the sight of family she has not seen in a long, long time.

two.

Yueyao is not present when Lin Xie brings Lingyi to their parents, both of them barely a day out of Pugilist country. The two are no doubt still dusty and tired, with hunger gnawing at their stomachs and fatigue weighting down their limbs. But Lin Xie urges the strange girl forward with soothing words, and the two disappear behind sliding doors.  

She is there, however, when Lin Xie is politely kicked out of their father’s workroom. The sharp close of the door is dampened in the afternoon heat, but Lin Xie flinches all the same.

Curious, Yueyao leans over her brother’s slumped figure. “How did it go?” she asks. “Where is Lingyi? What did Father say?”

With a grimace, Lin Xie leans back, supporting his weight with palms pressed against the wooden walkway. “After I told him how I found her, he called me a foolish child and in the same breath offered Lingyi a roof over her head. Really! And I’m still being grounded. What logic is that?”

Yueyao scoffs.  “You can’t bring back an orphan every time you take a vacation to the Pugilist world. Father was simply trying to check your impulse control. Anyway, where’s Lingyi?”

Lin Xie waves his hand toward the closed door. “Our parents are talking to her. Probably want to hear her side of the story to make sure I wasn’t lying.”

This is completely valid, Yueyao thinks, because Lin Xie is notorious for the mischief he raises with his best friends Yan Que and Xiao Xuan. There is no noble in the city who doesn’t know of them, and with their recent foray into the Pugilist country, their names have definitely been spread even further. But he isn’t the kind of person who would take advantage of a girl, so Yueyao trusts that he has nothing but the best in mind for Lingyi.

Lin Xie drops his head backward, baring his neck as he looks up at Yueyao. “What about you, little sister? What do you think?”

“About what?”

“You know. Lingyi. You don’t seem to like her.”

“Foolish brother! What do you know about how girls make friends?”

Lin Xie raises a brow, but does not refute Yueyao’s proclamation. Instead, he leaps to his feet, stretching out the kinks in his back. When Yueyao takes a closer look, she realizes the crease in his forehead is a little too tight to be from their light banter. Her brother stays silent, thoughtlessly rubbing his hands, expression carefully neutral. Still, Yueyao knows him well enough to recognize when he is a little uncertain, a little scared.

“Yueyao,” he begins, voice uncharacteristically quiet. Serious. He does not look her in the eye. “Be kind to Lingyi, alright? She has been through a lot and she’s—she’s a good person. She deserves to be loved.”

Curious to hear the rest of the story, Yueyao waits for him to elaborate. But Lin Xie does not say anymore, only turns to her with a smile that becomes lost in the worry that exudes from his posture.

Yueyao is still too young to understand the intricacies behind most of what Lin Xie says and does, but she hears this plea loud and clear.

“Of course,” she replies, with all the authority she can muster into her small, childish frame. Lin Xie chuckles. “She’s my new sister now, after all.”

three.

“No way,” Lingyi says. She tucks strands of hair behind her ears and burrows deeper into the covers. “Yueyao, tell me you are not serious.”

Curled up in her bed, Yueyao tugs self-consciously at her night clothes, fighting the blush that flushes her cheeks. “Please! It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Yan Que? That Yan Que?”

With a groan, Yueyao shoves her face into her pillow. “Yes! That Yan Que!”

Lingyi is normally not one for teasing. She is the calmer of the two, always rational, always kind, always gentle. But all teenage girls have their moments of immaturity, and she cannot help the giggle that escapes her.

Yueyao has, after all, received no less than three bouquets of exquisite flowers, two pretty jade necklaces, and an invite to dinner with Yan Que and his family.

“Sister,” Lingyi says, smothering her laughter in the sleeve of her nightdress. “He is courting you.”

“I know,” Yueyao whimpers, pushing her face into her pillow. “I think he’s very kind.”

“Just very kind?”

“Watch your cheek, little sister!” Yueyao wails. “Lin Xie has already given me and Yan Que enough headache over this, I don’t need you adding to it.”

But Lingyi only smiles at her, amusement dancing in her dark eyes. “You and Yan Que are only the most interesting thing to happen in the past few months. But if it is of any consolation to you, I approve of him.”

Rolling her eyes, Yueyao scoffs, “I don’t need your approval.” Still, when Lingyi reaches over to embrace her in a tight hug, the tension seeps out of her shoulders. Yueyao knows, after all, that she loves Yan Que wholeheartedly, but Lingyi’s unwavering support is perhaps the most comforting thing she has ever experienced.

==

In the end, it is Yueyao and Yan Que’s careful, tender courting that ruins them.

One day, Yueyao slips on pretty silk robes, humming to herself as she meticulously pins her hair with a dangling headdress. Today, she and Yan Que plan to watch a theatre performance together and then eat lunch in a restaurant facing a flowering forest. It is their first outing together since Xiao Xuan, another friend of Yan Que and Lin Xie, has taken the throne as Emperor. This brief moment of respite is a much-needed lull in the frenzy of court business and reorganization.

When Yueyao meets Yan Que outside the Lin Manor, he bows. “You look lovely today, my dear,” he says, eyes sparkling.

Yueyao lightly smacks him with her fan. “Shush, you,” she replies, but overwhelming affection saturates her voice.

Behind them comes the clatter of hoof beats, and Yan Que places a steadying hand on her shoulder as he turns to observe the newcomer.  

A procession of fifteen royal guards, five of them on horseback, surround a red carriage. Yan Que’s grip tightens on Yueyao’s shoulder, but when she glances up at him, she sees that he has schooled his face into polite disinterest, submissiveness rolling off the slopes of his shoulders. When she follows his gaze, her blood freezes.

The Emperor, dressed in heavy gold robes and a gleaming headdress, steps out of the carriage with the sort of grace only authority holds. Unconsciously, Yueyao shrinks closer to Yan Que, subverting her gaze and preparing to curtsey.

“Your excellence,” Yan Que begins, holding his hands forward in a deep bow.

“None of that, my friend,” the Emperor says, striding forward in quick, confident steps. Yueyao, head still lowered, feels the heat of his gaze raking across her figure. “I’m only here to speak with Lin Xie. No need for such formalities.”

When Yueyao lifts her head, the Emperor’s gaze flickers between her and Yan Que. Something unreadable settles in his eyes. “Enjoy your outing,” he says.

“Thank you, your excellence,” Yan Que and Yueyao say in unison as the Emperor nods a curt farewell. It is only until he has disappeared behind the gates of the Lin Manor does Yan Que exhale roughly, shaking his head.

“That was….”

“Unpleasant,” Yueyao mutters under her breath, grinning behind her fan as Yan Que coughs delicately.

“Words are weapons, my darling,” Yan Que says, but he fails to keep the amusement from his voice, “But it is getting late—shall we depart?”

With a coy smile, Yueyao, accepts Yan Que’s outstretched hand, pushing the Emperor to the back of her mind.

==

One month later, a royal messenger steps into the courtyard of the Lin Manor and announces the Emperor’s decree: Lin Yueyao is to immediately move to the palace as a royal concubine. It is an honor, the statement says, to be chosen personally by the Emperor.

The moment the words fall out of the messenger’s mouth, Yueyao realizes that she is frozen in place. She barely registers Lin Xie’s enraged howl, Lingyi’s quiet gasp. Her father accepts the decree in her stead.  

A mere thirty minutes later, as she and her servants are packing her belongings, a horse rider comes thundering into the Lin Manor.

Lin Xie slams open the door to her room, breath coming in pants. The servants squeak in surprise, and Yueyao is about to snap at him for intruding into her space when he blurts out, “Sister, you need to hurry, to the gates—Yan Que is about to leave!”

She stares. “Leave? To where?”

“I—I don’t know, a friend just came by to tell me, but if you do not go now…” Lin Xie trails off, unable to finish.

Yueyao understands. If you do not go now, you will not ever see him again.

Ignoring the servants’ distressed call, she drops the blanket she was folding and rushes out the door, panic seizing her throat.

Lin Xie yells after her, “Take my horse!”

==

Yueyao has not ridden a horse in years, but she gathers her robes and manages, somehow, to sling her leg over the horse’s back and grasp the reins. She does not remember thundering through the streets or navigating through the city, but when she reaches the northern gates, she sees Yan Que’s slim figure just outside the city walls, turned away from her, as if he is looking into the distant horizon.

“Yan Que!” She cries out, and when he turns at the sound of her voice, she realizes that tears are running down her cheek, smearing her rouge into brown-black blurs.

Yan Que catches her desperate gaze with his own. As Yueyao slows to a stop beside him, her vision blurs with tears. She recklessly jumps off the horse, sobbing as she buries her face in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he says, holding her tight and close, voice wavering, shoulders shaking. “I’m sorry.”

Respect be damned—Yueyao hisses, “I hate him. I hate him. I hate—“

Yan Que shushes her, cups her face with his hands and kisses her forehead, her cheeks. “Yueyao,” he whispers, “Yueyao, I want to you be happy. I want to you know that no matter what, you cannot live your life drowning in hate. You must forgive him.”

That way, he doesn’t say, you will be safe.

He doesn’t say I love you because every kiss he presses onto her skin burns with that message. He doesn’t say I love you because when he says goodbye he presses a package into her hands, wrapped in brown packing paper with no note, no sender, no address.  

Yueyao, always the emotional one, whispers, “I love you.”

Yan Que does not look back.

==

After she has settled into her new room in the inner palace, Yueyao rips open the package, desperate and in denial, seeking comfort in any way she can. A snow-white shawl falls over her open hands.

six.

“Mother!”

Yueyao looks up from the needle she is threading as Xiao Jingyu sweeps through her foyer, bowing deeply upon seeing her.

“Jingyu!” Yueyao blinks in surprise. “Didn’t you visit just yesterday?”

Her son grins. “Yes, but I have something important to discuss with you today. I’ve been thinking it over for the past few months—will you hear me out?”

Shaking her head, she slides over and pats the empty spot on the bench. “Would you care for some tea?” she asks, about to place her embroidery down, but Jingyu raises his hands to stop her.

“It’s quite all right,” he says as he sits next to her. “But I would like to have some privacy.”

Yueyao raises her eyebrows at the request, but Jingyu’s expression is unwavering, so she nods and waves the maids away. When they are the only two left, Jingyu fidgets slightly, as if collecting his thoughts.

“…Is it something I can help you with?” Yueyao asks gently, suddenly distinctly aware of how powerless she is. Her hands slide over the sides of her elaborate robes, nails leaving indents in the cloth. If Jingyu notices, he says nothing.

“I don’t think so,” he answers. “I just want to ask your opinion.”

“Go ahead, then,” she replies, shifting so she is in a more comfortable position.

Jingyu takes a deep breath.

“Mother,” he says, fixing a burning gaze onto her own. “I want to dismantle the Xuanjing Bureau.”

five.

During Jingyi’s last visit, she clears Yueyao of any sickness, declaring her cured.

“Good for you,” Jingyi says, “You don’t have to drink such bitter medicine anymore.”

“Thank the gods,” Yueyao mutters, “You couldn’t put that medical genius to work on finding better tasting medicine?”

With a huff, Jingyi raps Yueyao on the head. “Beggars cannot be choosers,” she scolds, never mind that Yueyao is not only older than her, but also part of the royal family. “Count your blessings that you’re no longer sick.”

As Jingyi bustles around, cleaning up her equipment and herbal materials, Yueyao finds herself carefully observing Jingyi’s movements. She had been acting oddly the past few weeks, as if falling ill herself, but Jingyi has always had a good poker face and Yueyao is not adept at deciphering hidden messages.

But now, Jingyi shuffles around as if she is hiding something under the folds of her robes, something fragile.

“Sister,” Yueyao says, slowly, “Are you alright?”

Raising an eyebrow, Jingyi replies, “Of course. Is something the matter?”

Yueyao tilts her head, considering. In front of her, Jingyi has stopped moving, turning around to look at Yueyao curiously. She still wears that carefully arranged expression, lips pressed into a neutral smile, eyes blank with shallow gentleness. But Yueyao has seen this particular self-defense mechanism more times than she cares to count, recognizes the fear Jingyi keeps pressed close to her chest, chained and suppressed. She never liked to appear weak.

Suddenly, realization crashes onto her head. “You’re pregnant,” Yueyao blurts out, rising to her feet. “You’re pregnant.”

Jingyi laughs. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, but her hands tremble involuntary, hovering over the curve of her belly before she comes to her senses and pulls her hands away.

“I’m being ridiculous?” Yueyao’s voice rises to a fever pitch. “You don’t have a lover or a husband. You’re not the type to have, pardon my crassness, a one night stand. Alcohol can’t be an excuse, for you detest the taste of wine.”

Her breath catches. “No—Don’t tell me—“

Mouth twisting into a frown, Jingyi raises her head to face Yueyao. Her eyes have hardened into coal-black depths, as if all light were lost in them, and she does not say anything as she exhales slowly. Then, Jingyi turns back around and continues to pack her supplies, leaving Yueyao standing in shock.

They stay silent as Jingyi wraps her traveling cloak around her shoulders, cradling the medicine box in her arms. Yueyao is left staring at her sister’s back as she walks out of the bedroom.

==

One week later, Concubine Jing moves into the inner palace.

seven.

Traitors.

Consort Chen hears the news not from a royal messenger, but from gossiping maids.

Traitors, they say. The entire Chiyan army, blood-red flag turned to blood-red dust, buried under the unforgiving snow at the cliffs of Mei.

They are coming for us next, they whisper. The Emperor is out for blood, out for blame, seeking to stamp out any spark of rebellion before it can grow into flames.

Yueyao has not seen her son in weeks. Her requests to meet him go unanswered.

Yueyao is not a fool.

Consort Chen, however, pretends that she is clueless to the world beyond her pretty bird-cage walls. She keeps her head low and her voice soft, even as fury burns in the pit of her stomach.

Yueyao has not seen Lingyi in months, and wonders if her spiral into blind, festering anger would have been subverted had Lingyi been at her side. Neither has she seen Yan Que since their farewell outside the city walls, not even received a letter or a gift.

One day, the royal messenger steps into the threshold of her foyer, refusing to meet her eyes as he unrolls an imperial decree – all traitors of the Lin family and Prince Qi’s household are to be executed. The Emperor does not tolerate insurrection. Consort Chen and Concubine Jing will be spared by the Emperor’s magnanimous heart, as they have been isolated from their family and are under very little suspicion.

Consort Chen fixes a smile of sold iron, gleaming steel, and dismisses the messenger with a flick of her wrist. She sends all her serving girls away with a strict order to not disturb her until morning.

Once everyone has left, she opens a drawer and pulls out a bone-white shawl, experimentally gives it a tug. With trembling hands, she wraps the long cloth around her arm, sliding her fingertips over the smooth material.

There is still time to reconsider, still time to step back and wonder if she can fight another way. But Yueyao is so tired that every step forward feels like nails driving into the soles of her feet. The death of Jingyu sits on her shoulder, heavy, the weight of his life pressing knife-points at her neck. In a blur of desperation, she wonders if he thought of her at the very end. She wonders if she did enough, tried hard enough to be able to proudly call herself his mother. The deaths of her family – her mother, her father, her brother, her nephew – unfurl in her chest, pressing at the edges of her ribcages as if her heart were to burst at the seams.

Jingyi is strong, she thinks. Young Jingyan is noble. Stronger than her. Better than her. They will find it in themselves to live beyond the marred legacy of the Chiyan army and the tattered ruins of the Lin household.

Finally, she stands beneath the doorway. Her hands do not shake as she carefully unravels the white shawl from her pale arms, as she jumps to sling the cloth across the rafters, catching the other end as it falls. As she looks at the garden in the courtyard, feels the sunshine ghosting over her skin.  

Yueyao gently, reverently, places her head through the shawl and takes one last breath.  

one.

Standing under the archway of the Lin Manor’s front entrance, Yueyao glares at the teenager at the foot of the staircase. In one hand, he holds the reins of his horse. In the other, he tightly grips the hand of a young girl, his traveling cloak draped over her shoulders.

“Brother!” Yueyao yells, arms crossed and feet planted apart in a decidedly unlady-like pose. “Have you no shame? First you run off into the woods without telling me and then you come back with a girl?”

Laughing boisterously, Lin Xie passes the reins over to a servant. Then, he gently leads the mysterious girl up the steps, a protective hand resting on her shoulder the entire way, meeting Yueyao’s pout with an endearing smile.

“Please, little sister, not everything is about you! If you must know, Mother and Father allowed me to travel,” Lin Xie calls out. “And I tried to say goodbye, but you were fast asleep. I thought Mother would have told you.”

“She did! After I woke up to find you gone!”

Grinning, Lin Xie shrugs, unbothered by the Yueyao’s petulant anger. At his side, the girl stays silent and does not let go of his hand.

“Little Yueyao,” he says once he’s reached the top, “don’t be angry. Look, I brought you a friend!”

Yueyao, having drawn in a breath to begin another tirade, nearly chokes.

The girl standing at Lin Xie’s side raises her head, shoulders trembling slightly. Yueyao is about to make another comment, some harsh slip of the tongue, but the words die in her throat as quickly as they rise. For the strange girl has fixed on Yueyao a gaze dark and fierce, so unnatural on her soft face that it tightens the lines around her eyes, her mouth, as if there was a tiger under her skin, watching, waiting.

A shiver slips down Yueyao’s back. She swallows, straightens up like her mother taught her, wills her sudden fear to shrink to the back of her thumping chest. In the sudden silence that follows, Lin Xie looks between Yueyao and the girl, and slowly, understanding begins to dawn on his face.

Then, the girl breaks into a slow, small smile, never looking away from Yueyao. “Hello,” she says, and her voice is rough from days of travel but she holds dignity to every word she speaks. “My name is Lin Lingyi.”

“She’ll be your sister from now on,” Lin Xie blurts out, as if desperate to break the odd tension. It works—Yueyao blinks out of her stupor and drags her gaze to Lin Xie. “It’s a long story. But she’s one of us now. Get along, won’t you, little sister?”

Tilting her head, Yueyao calms herself down as she reconsiders the girl—Lingyi. Yueyao presses her lips together; she does not quite know how to feel about this girl yet, the girl her brother brought home from Pugilist country, the girl who has the look of a hanged man who fiercely wishes to live.