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Chapter 28: The Past
🕑 Added 2025-03-03 11:23:52 +0000 UTCLi Qingwu seemed shaken by the weight of her words, remaining silent for a long time.
Both fell into an extended silence. When the carriage finally arrived at the gates of the Princess’s residence, Li Qingwu lowered her head and let out a bitter smile. “It’s useless.”
Qiu Che, who had just begun to step out of the carriage, hesitated mid-motion. She turned back, lips parting slightly. “What?”
Li Qingwu didn’t face her.
She remained seated in the shadowy depths of the carriage, as if trapped in a separate world divided by light and darkness, stubbornly abiding by her own set of rules.
In a quiet voice, she murmured, “You’re talking about the Empress Dowager and your grandmother, aren’t you? But… you know as well as I do that your grandmother died of illness at forty-two, and the Qiu family lost its power. The Empress Dowager was stripped of her authority and imprisoned in Ganyu Temple at thirty-five… Throughout history, women who defied expectations rarely met good ends.”
She paused, then added softly, “I can’t do it.”
“Is it that you can’t, or that you don’t dare?” Qiu Che asked flatly. “Their fates were theirs. If you never try, how can you be so sure you’ll fail?”
“I am neither as decisive and intelligent as the Empress Dowager, nor as ruthless as your grandmother. All I know is how to be a dutiful wife and mother. I could never become… someone like you.”
Li Qingwu glanced at her before quickly averting her gaze, focusing on the handkerchief in her hands. In a near whisper, she said, “I don’t dare to try. Not only because I don’t believe I can succeed, but also because the consequences of my failure would be a hundred, a thousand times worse than theirs.
“People say that as long as you have family, you’ll always have a way out.”
“But behind me, there is no way out. Behind me lies an abyss.”
Qiu Che did not respond right away.
A moment later, she turned and stepped out of the carriage.
Was she… disappointed in her?
Li Qingwu’s heart clenched for a beat.
Then, she fell into a daze, her lips curving with a trace of bitterness. It made sense.
After all, her pain was not something others were obligated to understand.
Qiu Che had tried to persuade her for her own good, yet she refused to listen. It was a waste of Qiu Che’s kindness.
Perhaps… they were truly not meant to walk the same path.
But in the next moment, as Li Qingwu sat frozen in thought, a slender, fair hand lifted the curtain once more and reached toward her.
Palm facing upward, fingers slightly curled, waiting in quiet patience.
Qiu Che’s voice followed soon after, carrying into her ears—
“Come down.”
It was strange.
Qiu Che’s hands were unlike those of ordinary noblewomen, yet they weren’t rough either. Though there were faint calluses on her thumb and palm, they did not diminish the elegance of her long, slender fingers and well-defined knuckles.
The prominent blue veins on the back of her hand lent an air of restrained power—
Li Qingwu thought this as she reached out and placed her hand in hers.
Before the many attendants of the Princess’s residence, they walked side by side, hand in hand, their faces adorned with smiles. To onlookers, they seemed a picture of harmony and devotion.
Yet, as her fingertips brushed against the calluses on Qiu Che’s palm, Li Qingwu blurted out without thinking, “You’ve trained in martial arts?”
Qiu Che glanced at her and gave a simple “Mm.”
“Did your father… know?”
“How could he not?” Qiu Che chuckled. “He’s the one who made me learn.”
Li Qingwu couldn’t help but ask, “But your father knew that you… so why would he still make you practice martial arts?”
“That’s where you’re mistaken.”
Qiu Che’s smile faded, her tone turning serious. “First, just because someone is a woman doesn’t mean they can’t practice martial arts. And second, it’s precisely because he knew that he insisted I learn.”
Li Qingwu felt a pang of shame at the first part of her response and confusion at the second. “What do you mean?”
Qiu Che arched her brow. “You want to know?”
Hearing her almost coaxing tone, Li Qingwu hesitated before nodding.
“I don’t like suffering losses, so let’s make it an equal exchange,” Qiu Che said after a brief pause. “Like last time.”
Last time?
Li Qingwu was slow to recall the scene in the private residence, where they had both revealed parts of their pasts.
After a moment of silence, she agreed. “Alright.”
After all… her past was bleak and uneventful.
A collection of old, shameful memories.
If Qiu Che wanted to hear them, she had no reason not to share.
“Then tell me first, why do you think you can’t do it?” Qiu Che asked slowly. “Your father forbade it? You were afraid of being discovered?”
Li Qingwu was momentarily amused by her casual use of “your father,” but then she shook her head, before hesitating and nodding again.
Her expression became distant. “It’s that none of them allowed it.”
“Them?”
“My father, my mother, and my consort mother.”
Li Qingwu was born a concubine’s daughter. Her birth mother was merely a Changzai of the palace, elevated only because of the emperor’s favor. When she passed away from illness, Li Qingwu was formally adopted by the Empress and became the legitimate eldest princess.
Everyone knew this.
But few ever questioned how an ordinary Changzai had given birth to a daughter so cherished by the Emperor.
Even fewer knew that her mother had not died from illness—
She had been secretly executed by imperial decree.
She had somehow offended the Emperor. The moment she became pregnant with Li Qingwu, she was banished to the Cold Palace.
Favor in the palace came swiftly and disappeared just as fast, an all-too-common fate.
But even in exile, her mother clung to hope. She thought that once she bore the Emperor’s child, he might soften and take her back.
That hope lasted until the day Li Qingwu was born.
It had been a day of heavy snow, yet there was not even a midwife in the Cold Palace.
Her mother endured hours of agonizing labor, only to give birth to a daughter.
Even then, she still harbored hope, that perhaps, seeing his own flesh and blood, the Emperor might visit her just once. That she could seize that moment and reclaim her place in the palace.
But the Emperor never came.
Day after day, night after night, she waited. When waiting brought nothing, resentment took its place.
She blamed Li Qingwu.
Blamed her for coming at the wrong time, for being a girl.
All the pain, the humiliation, the abandonment, she placed it all on the child.
If she had been a prince, the Emperor would not have turned his back on them.
What use was a daughter? She would be married off one day, thrown away like spilled water. Better if she had never been born.
And so, from that day on, Li Qingwu lived under the constant shadow of her mother’s resentment.
That belief, that men were inherently superior to women, became a seed buried deep in her heart.
For the first five years of her life, she endured beatings and scoldings in the Cold Palace, day after day, year after year.
Her world was filled with sick, mad, or dying women.
And her mother’s endless complaints.
She had never seen the world beyond those walls.
And she had never understood, why, no matter how obedient she was, her mother was never satisfied.
Shock, anger, resentment, cruelty.
That was not the gaze of a mother looking at her daughter.
It was the gaze of a madwoman staring at her enemy.
She no longer remembered what she had been thinking at that moment. She hadn’t felt sorrow over her mother’s death, nor had she felt joy at being taken away. Perhaps…
Her eyes had already foreseen her own future.
—It was nothing more than the sorrow of a fox mourning the death of a rabbit.
Coincidentally, eleven years ago marked a turning point for both Qiu Che and herself.
But the paths they each walked were vastly different.
As a child, she hadn’t understood why her mother had suddenly “fallen ill and passed away” right after she had been taken out of the Cold Palace.
It wasn’t until she grew older that she finally realized—it was nothing more than a method politicians used to keep her in check.
—Bestowing death was commonplace. It was merely to remind her that her own life and death were also at the emperor’s whim.
That man craved power and prestige, valued capable ministers yet feared them, and at the same time despised the weak.
Even before they had met, he had already taught Li Qingwu an unforgettable lesson.
Changzai’s tragic and brief life had come to an end, but Li Qingwu was only starting.
Before she turned five, she was imprisoned in the Cold Palace. After turning five, she was confined to the inner chambers.
There was no difference.
Except that the world she could see had changed, from the small, isolated corner of the Cold Palace to the high walls of Fengyang Pavilion.
She was required to learn court etiquette, how to serve men, how to please them, how to be an obedient woman who knew her place, everything they claimed a woman should learn.
But she was forbidden from learning about the outside world.
Yet how could a child so young accept being trapped in one place forever?
Fortunately, the empress had more than one child. The Third Prince, Li Hengyu, was also an adopted child like her.
The empress was harsh toward both her and Li Hengyu but treated her own son, the crown prince, with warmth and kindness.
At the time, Li Qingwu was still a little girl with a playful nature, timid, yet easily trusting of children her age.
And this Third Prince, only a year older than her, who often knelt beside her in punishment for playing too much, naturally won her trust.
Li Qingwu thought he was just like her, that he disliked this life and wanted to see the outside world.
Little by little, under his patient coaxing, she shared all her dreams and longing for the outside world with him.
He even encouraged her to escape.
Li Hengyu said, “Freedom is something you fight for, not just dream about.”
“It’s fine, just run. Just go out for a while. If you get caught, I’ll cover for you.”
“Really?”
“Really. Just think of it like a game. You go out this time, and next time it’ll be my turn. You’ll cover for me then.”
Li Qingwu believed him.
She was too young, too naive. She truly thought this “brother” would help her keep the secret. The next day, as she attempted to climb over the palace walls, she had even thought about finding Li Hengyu so they could play together.
But she was caught red-handed by the empress.
Li Hengyu hadn’t played by the rules.
He had reported her.
He had used her as a stepping stone to turn his own fate around.
Because she was young, they couldn’t use torture, it would leave scars.
So the empress made her kneel and copy scriptures three hundred times.
Three hundred Buddhist scriptures, written while kneeling in the imperial shrine, until her hands trembled, until her legs went numb, until her vision blurred, until she could no longer lift the brush.
From then on, Li Qingwu was often punished for all kinds of minor infractions, her posture wasn’t straight enough, her etiquette wasn’t perfect enough…
But Li Hengyu, thanks to his betrayal, was suddenly favored and became the crown prince’s closest attendant.
Even the empress’s attitude toward him softened.
Li Qingwu didn’t understand why.
Although she distanced herself from Li Hengyu after he broke their “game’s” rules, she remained stubborn and continued trying to sneak out, longing to see the world beyond the palace.
She always thought, why would others do it, but not her?
Then, one day, with the help of her personal maid, she succeeded.
That maid was the person closest to her.
The empress forbade her from doing anything, but sometimes, this maid would secretly slip her sweets.
The best sugar candies from the finest confectionery in the capital, just a small piece in her mouth could last a long, long time.
She loved sweets.
And she loved this elder sister.
That day, she hid in the imperial garden, playing in secret all afternoon, her heart pounding with excitement.
She ate her candy, gazed at the sky, and thought there was nothing in the world happier than this moment, her first time seeing the sky beyond the palace.
Though she was still far from the outside world, it was enough to make her happy for a long time.
And truly, there was no moment happier than that day.
Because she never got a second chance.
That night, as she cheerfully climbed back over the wall, she saw the empress seated high in the hall, surrounded by Imperial Guards.
Someone dragged her maid before her.
Her body was covered in blood, her eyes dyed red.
She was dead.
Her eyes would never close.
Li Qingwu froze in place.
She heard the empress sneer, her voice slow and mocking.
“Play? You don’t have the right.”
Then who did?
Li Qingwu wanted to ask.
But no words came out.
The empress and the emperor were indeed a perfect match—they wielded fear the same way.
Li Qingwu grew quiet. She began to accept her fate.
Or rather, it wasn’t quiet acceptance, but the realization of the world’s rules.
She finally understood—
She was a woman.
And that alone meant she was unwanted, insignificant.
As a woman, her only purpose was to please men, to marry well, to compete with other women, to bear a “good son.”
As a princess, her existence was to solidify her father’s power, to use beauty and talent to ensnare powerful ministers.
In the end, none of it was ever about her.
Li Qingwu gave in to their expectations. She looked at the towering palace walls and never tried to climb them again.
She grew up, slowly becoming the perfect daughter the emperor envisioned.
Obedient, docile, accustomed to lowering her head and exposing her vulnerable throat.
No one cared about the silent screams in her heart.
And the weight of a life lost was too painful, too unforgettable.
For more than a decade, she remained trapped in a gilded cage of her own making.
Every time she even thought of stepping beyond her boundaries, those blood-red, lifeless eyes flashed in her mind.
There was no peace.
Even after she could barely remember that maid’s name, her death remained vivid.
So even if there were no beasts outside the cage, she never dared take another step out.
Freedom, she had once brushed against it.
Li Qingwu thought.
But in the end, it slipped through her fingers.
As she spoke of these memories, she lowered her head, lips parting as if to say more, but in the end, she fell silent.
What Qiu Che didn’t know was, because no one had ever loved her, nor had she ever loved anyone—
That single step toward Qiu Che had already drained all the strength she had spent over a decade gathering.
Perhaps, in her carefully orchestrated life as a model noblewoman, this was the first and only act of rebellion she would ever have.
So she fought for it again and again. Not just for Qiu Che, but for herself.
Because she feared that if she lost this chance, she would never have the courage to defy fate again.
