Chapter 53: The Yuan You Emperor Zhao Xu

Zhao Xu!

The man standing in the room was none other than Emperor Shenzong’s sixth son, the current Yuan You Emperor Zhao Xu.

Zhao Ti’s gaze grew deep as he stared into the room.

How could his own sixth brother be here! What did he intend? What was he doing?

The Emperor of Great Song was not forbidden to leave the palace; the Founding Emperors Taizu and Taizong need not be mentioned, but Zhenzong and Renzong frequently dined at taverns outside the palace, and Renzong was a regular at Fanlou.

As for Emperor Yingzong, he was born outside the palace, entered and left it temporarily, loved the bustle of markets and alleys, and after ascending the throne, made multiple secret visits among the common people.

But the only one still out late at night must be this Yuan You Emperor.

Zhao Ti silently mused that, judging by the current situation, the imperial secret guards must be under his control.

The matter just reported by the man who entered must have been ordered by Zhao Xu, sent to the frontier, yet he only recounted a perilous journey without revealing why he went or what he was to do.

By now, all those people had gone far away; Zhao Ti stood motionless, gazing into the room, the candlelight flickering gently, mingling with the starlight and moonlight.

Inside the room, Zhao Xu slowly turned his body to face the door, his eyes—long burdened with great ambition—shone with wisdom tinged with compassion, an aura that seemed distant yet approachable, a figure brimming with strength yet steeped in desolation; these utterly contrasting emotions and life attitudes all converged in him.

It was contradictory, baffling. Zhao Ti fell into quiet thought.

Since childhood, few had ever known what Zhao Xu thought or intended; his mind was profound, unmoved by honor or disgrace.

At this moment, Zhao Xu slightly lifted his head within the room, as if gazing at the stars, then let out a soft “hah,” before slowly turning his body; a young page stepped forward and slowly closed the door.

Zhao Ti remained perfectly still; he had not seen Zhao Xu in over half a year, the last time being the grand court assembly in early spring. Now, thoughts churned endlessly in his mind, and only after a long while did he retreat toward the mansion’s outer gate.

He left the mansion; moonlight spilled across the path, dark clouds dispersed, and he headed back.

Upon returning home, he practiced until dawn, then let out a quiet sigh and rested.

He rose at Chen hour, arranged matters; two days remained until the fifteenth of the eighth month, and the Wang Fu must celebrate the festival.

The Mid-Autumn Festival was always deeply valued by court and common folk alike; official and wealthy households even hired opera troupes to perform colorful plays and banquets at home to celebrate reunion.

Even humble families with meager savings would buy fruits and meat, purchase small mooncakes for decoration, and sometimes extravagantly buy half a flask of new wine, gathering together in joyful harmony.

As for wanderers lost in the world, sorrowful souls, they often sought quiet, shabby taverns, sipping slowly and singing low, recalling endless bitter memories, unforgettable childhood companions, green willows and red flowers, past joys like dreams, time like a blade.

Even the homeless on the streets would somehow obtain food and drink, leaning against trees or walls, gazing at the moon in the sky, hoping this life was but a dream of Nanke, and that upon waking, they might begin anew.

The Wang Fu had few servants, but the festival must be celebrated with vigor; several cooks prepared fresh mooncakes, and eunuchs and maidservants all received their seasonal bonuses in advance.

Several leaders from Jin Feng Xi Yu Lou came to report on the lodge’s affairs and the accounts of their own shops.

After finishing all these matters, Zhao Ti quietly awaited the fifteenth.

Since Gao Taotao said she wanted him to come on Mid-Autumn, she would surely speak of the Thirty-Three Postures of Taizu Longquan.

As for the imperial secret guards, he had no intention of asking; the matter was too grave, entangled in power struggles, and could not be broached.

Yet another question rose in his heart: his grandmother claimed she was not ill, and he saw no signs of sickness, yet it seemed more like severe meridian damage—but how could an ordinary person suffer such grave injury?

Internal meridian injuries usually came from cultivation, external ones from combat; such severe damage could not be inflicted by ordinary people—could his grandmother even practice martial arts?

The next day arrived—the Mid-Autumn Festival itself.

Early that morning, the entire mansion began cleaning: trees were draped in red and green, flowers plucked and placed in vases, paths washed clean, sheep slaughtered and geese butchered in the eastern kitchen, before breakfast was served.

Most people ate only two meals a day; outside the palace, only a few major taverns—Fanlou, Panlou, Gaoyang Zhengdian—remained open past noon, reopening near the end of the afternoon.

Official and wealthy households had recently begun adopting three meals, but the Yan Wang Fu had not adopted this custom; since Zhao Ti entered the palace in the afternoon, this breakfast was especially lavish.

After eating, he ordered the cooks to bake a fresh batch of mooncakes and prepared several seasonal fruits; when midday passed, he had Zheng Fu ready the carriage and departed through the main gate of the Wang Fu, heading straight for the imperial city.

Entering the Left Ye Gate, he proceeded forward until reaching the outer courtyard of Cining Palace; Zheng Fu handed the fruit and gift boxes to the attending eunuch, and Zhao Ti stepped inside.

At once, a palace lady greeted him, bowed, and said: “Your Highness the Prince of Yan, the Grand Empress Dowager requests you wait in Yixin Hall; she has sent me to guide you.”

Yixin Hall was a secluded chamber within Cining Palace, never used to receive guests; even Zhao Ti had never entered it in all these years.

He nodded and followed the lady; moments later, they entered Yixin Hall. The lady withdrew to report, a young eunuch placed the gifts upon the desk, and Zhao Ti surveyed the surroundings.

The hall was elegantly arranged, evoking quiet introspection; one wall bore calligraphy and paintings. He walked closer to examine them—and could not help smiling wryly: it was Su Shi’s “Shui Diao Ge Tou: When Will the Bright Moon Appear?”

Gao Taotao admired the literary talents of the Su brothers, especially Su Shi’s poetry; this “Shui Diao Ge Tou” was composed by Su Shi during the Mid-Autumn Festival of the ninth year of Xining under Emperor Shenzong.

Now, this man served as Pacification Commissioner of Dingzhou Road and concurrently Prefect of Dingzhou Military Affairs; though Dingzhou Road was carved from Hebei West Road and not large, it was a critical frontier region with immense authority—worthy of being called a Grand Coordinator.

After a brief wait, footsteps sounded outside the hall; the palace lady escorted Gao Taotao in.

Zhao Ti hurried forward to support her; he felt her sleeves cold as ice, and inwardly marveled. After helping her sit at the desk, he stepped before it and bowed: “Grand Empress Dowager…”

Gao Taotao glanced at him and smiled faintly: “Eighth boy, today is Mid-Autumn—do you feel bored within the palace?”

Zhao Ti replied: “On this joyous Mid-Autumn, I should spend it with my grandmother—that is filial duty.”

Gao Taotao nodded, then dismissed the palace lady, her eyes falling on the gift boxes: “You are thoughtful.”

Zhao Ti studied her face, still pale and bluish, and said: “Grand Empress Dowager, you said you were not ill a few days ago, yet your complexion is poor. Just now, when I supported you, I felt your qi cold and weak—have you been injured?”

Gao Taotao shook her head: “Injury or not, it’s been many years; it’s no longer serious.”

Zhao Ti frowned: “That cannot be. If Grand Empress Dowager suffers from yin-cold injury, I recently acquired a cultivation method said to be supremely yang—perhaps it can heal you.”

“Oh?” Gao Taotao regarded him, thoughtful: “What yang method is this? Tell me about it.”