Title: The Jade Princess

Genre: Romance, Historical Drama

Ratings: All ages

Part: Three/Seven

//

Spring. February 23, 657.

The rustling of silk and the clinking of jade pieces are heard as Yoona strides through the corridors of the imperial palace. She steps on the centre of each tile, each plank, each paved pathway, but never the sides. Servants, officials and court ladies sink to deep bows at her presence, but she never gives more than a brief nod. And she glides to her destination, an entourage trailing behind her. She is the Empress of Tang, and she knows she has conformed to her title completely.

The eunuch frantically announces her arrival, his voice much more sonorous than it usually is. She treads slowly over the steps, entering the room which much grace, leaving the men within the room hastily scrambling to their feet, one of whom is her husband.

“My lord,” she greets succinctly, her bow as succinct as her greeting. “I must apologize for my untimely arrival. I had been caring for Wenrui earlier; forgive my tardiness, my lord.” Her apology is half-hearted, insincere, but the man standing directly in front of her does not mind. Her melodious voice brings light to his life.

“Not at all, my Empress,” he responds, quickly ushering the other servants out of the room. “Wenrui is of top priority. He is the future of this kingdom, after all.” He swiftly pulls up a chair and offers her to sit, taking her hand in his. Despite her repulsion, she complies and does not retract her hand. “I have missed-“

“I have settled the matters concerning the North and South faction,” Yoona interjects, and she uncomfortably retracts her hand. “The usual puerile quibbles of taxes and profits; I have mediated the matter and the rightful amount of taxes have been enforced. If you are worried over this matter, then you can rest assured, my lord.”

You can rest assured that I will govern this country, but not for you. For Wenrui.

Jiaheng nods gently, his disconsolateness blatant after she had so harshly rebuked his demonstration of care. He may be the emperor responsible for the matters of the state, but a man who cannot govern his wife has little right to have responsibility over the kingdom. “You are adroit, my Empress, as usual. I have no doubt that you have cleanly settled the matters. The current prosperity of Chang’an is your merit.”

“I do not suppose you should say that, my lord,” Yoona refutes him smoothly. “If I may be so bold, might I suggest that you concern yourself of the matters of war? Hundreds of soldiers perish each day on the battlefield. If Goguryeo and Baekje must perish, then ammunition, food supplies and clothing supplies must be replenished regularly. It unsettles me that you have yet to finish this duty, my lord.”

“I will settle them immediately,” he reassures her, brushing off the matter dismissively. “However, I would like you to spend the-“

“I must leave, my lord. There are important matters at hand to settle,” Yoona rises to her feet, bowing briefly to him. She hardly cares of what trivial words he wishes to convey to her; to her, all the words that escape his lips are trivial. “If you have free time in your hands, I implore that you visit Wenrui. A child needs his father figure, naturally.”

Her reminder causes little welts of pain to form all over his heart. “I will,” he consents.

“Thank you, my lord. Then, I take my leave-“ She heads towards the door, but he abruptly stops her in her tracks.

“Take care of yourself, Yoona,” he says softly.

“Likewise, my lord.”

Even as a flood of misery washes over him, she ruthlessly surges on. Little empathy she has for the ones who she feels does not deserve it; much less would she sympathize with them. Cowards like her husband do not deserve her sympathy. Not when he has entrusted her with the responsibility of developing a nation that is not hers, subduing women who she does not wish to be involved with, and nurturing a son who does not only belong to her.

Yoona sees Jiaheng’s love for her as a pretense; but what this adroit, shrewd and indubitably intelligent girl fails to realize is how his love for her is not just another devious ploy.

//

Spring. February 26, 657.

“I don’t want you to return to the palace.”

Mi deadpans, and amidst her astonishment, Qian inadvertently drops her chopsticks. “You’ve got to be joking,” she coughs, swallowing the rest of her minced meat noodles. “I’ve spent the past year doing deliveries to the palace, and all of a sudden you want me to stop? Come on, Mi-ge, be reasonable.”

“Matters are becoming worse, Qian. We have even considered to stop supplying jade to the palace,” Mi says honestly, wringing his hands. “A concubine was beheaded a month ago, and that’s the signal for rampant disasters that impend. Jongin’s driven himself a little deeper than necessary and Sooyoung’s in danger of her life ending any moment.”

“That’s why I’m there, Mi. With me around, Sooyoung will be able to be more at ease,” she coaxes him, “and I will be able to remain next to my best friend. You’ve known my adoration for the palace ever since I was a child. You can’t just forbid me from going, Mi-ge.”

He heaves a sigh, “The point is – you’re not a child anymore, Qian. Isn’t it time for you to move on?” He maneuvers them away from their original topic, and Qian does not fail to realize the purposeful digression. “How about marriage? Luhan – he’s working for the palace, and he does return home several times a week. You still love him, don’t you?”

His stark reminder startles Qian; swooning over Luhan seems like a matter of the past. “I… I haven’t thought about that,” she garbles, the vivid imagination of the possible marriage floating in her mind. But then the thought suddenly blackens with the image of Luhan in the imperial robes. “Luhan serves the court right now. If his desire was to settle down, he wouldn’t have entered the palace. He’s a person who knows what he wants, and when he doesn’t, he won’t chase after anything unnecessary.”

“It’s not impossible for me to arrange,” Mi suggests, suppressing his internal emotions.

Almost three years have flown by since his own marriage, but his unrequited feelings for her have yet to be subdued. Like an incurable infection that continuously spreads, blackening his heart, his soul, his life. And there she sits, still lost in the imaginations of her own. Mi wonders how long she will confine herself in that idyllic dream, straying so far from reality.

“It’s not something I want you to arrange,” Qian rebukes, airily flipping her hair. “I can manage my own life, Mi-ge. I wish you’d stop treating me like a child, and more like the adult I am.”

“I’m your elder brother; I have to take care of you.”

“And maybe that’s it. You’re seeing it as an obligatory duty to take care of the kid sister you have.” She picks up her empty bowl and the fallen chopsticks, gives him a bitter smile and trudges towards the door. “I’m not a kid anymore,” she whispers inaudibly, and then she leaves.

Mi’s heart is stricken with hurt, like it always seems to be whenever he talks to her. Because she only sees one side, never the other, and Mi knows he will be rebelling against every moral he’s lived up to if he were to blurt it out to her. 

I wish you knew.

//

Spring. February 28, 657.

Yoona feels like she has repeatedly trodden on her own pride whilst striding to the royal archives. A revelation, she calls it; a revelation of which a monstrous empress finds a worthless little scholar intriguing. She feels like an inquisitive child rather than the knowledgeable, powerful empress she is supposed to be; but she does not know whether it is right. And ironically, she does not care.

“Your Highness,” he bows, and she realizes that the bow he greets her with is curt, mirroring the ones she had always given to others.

“You expected me.” Her tone is accusing, almost sounding like she is petulantly aggravated that he knew of her impending arrival. Like she is dissatisfied over his triumph. A triumph, good lord. She has savored the glorious feelings of victory too long to know what it feels like to lose.

He breaks into that impenetrable smile of his, inexplicably warm but indubitably impervious. She misinterprets it as an attempt to mock her, but he speaks before she does. “I dare not predict your movements, Your Highness. I merely have the necessary precautions before I act. In a dangerous place like the palace, one must have proper defenses.”

“I control the palace, Luhan. With your words, it sounds like you are trying to imply that I am the emblem of danger,” she says silkily, taking a seat across him. “I do not take insults kindly.”

“It was not an insult, Your Highness,” he responds wittily. “You are like a shield, Your Highness. One must anticipate the arrival of their defenses as much as they anticipate their enemies. The only difference between an ally and a foe is that you will welcome both but kill only the foe.”

Yoona emits a laugh to contain her astonishment at his aptitude; his knowledge of the art of war is something that Yoona did not expect he would conceal. “You are an adept scholar, Luhan. To be well-versed with the matters of war… I wonder if you are as adroit as you seem. What of personal relations, of politics and peace treaties?”

“There would be no reason for you to inquire that from a trivial person like I,” Luhan replies, his eyes glittering. “After all, Your Highness, your knowledge of such matters surpasses mine.”

His direct nudge to her power over the interpersonal relations and the politics of the imperial palace strikes her hard. It is not a particularly surprising matter. Every living soul in the palace is aware of the power she keeps within her palms, but no one would have the audacity to point it out to her. And his delicacy at mentioning the matter – even if she is to use it to eradicate him, she would not be able to.

“I am glad that you know,” Yoona smiles pretentiously, “however a wise ruler will inquire about the opinions of her subordinates. When I ask you to say something, it is not a light requisition; it is a command,” her eyes glint dangerously. “Nothing much comes from a man who does not obey my orders.” 

“You haven’t collected me yet, Your Highness,” he chuckles, still unwilling to relent to her until the probability of her admitting defeat becomes clearer. “You have no use for my death. Unless you take pleasure in watching macabre tortures, of course.” He says it all with a smile, and Yoona’s fists clench. His obstinacy, his intelligence, his delicacy with words – it all irks her.

“Strange, you may have seemed willing at first but you seem even fonder of self-contradiction than I am. It looks like it will be rather difficult to collect you,” she keeps herself composed, to ensure that she does not begin an unnecessary dispute with him. “But, it is entirely my choice after all.”

“It is, Your Highness, until you find someone who goes against it.”

She merely laughs at his wit, though inwardly stunned, and somewhat infuriated. “I will take my leave then. It is no use to speak to you if you do not wish to answer. But you will one day,” she says maliciously, “you will bow your head before me.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“And one day, I will kill you. You will die under my hands.”

Luhan chortles, “We’ll see about that too.”

Though he has ruthlessly trodden on her pride, Yoona secretly wishes to see him again; for it is not every day she discovers an opponent worthy of contending with her.

//

Spring. February 29, 657.

Jiaheng does not consider himself to be a erse person. He does not have concupiscent or desires. He does not fantasize over the body parts of women, nor does he have a dream of being surrounded by his entire harem of women. But at that moment, he feels repulsed by the one desire that lurks at the back of his mind – to have his empress sleeping by his side, locked in his embrace until the dawn breaks.

He adores her, and he wonders whether those feelings of his are palpable. For six years, he had lived worshipping the ground she walked on. She was like an angel, a fairy, a goddess; and she still is. Yoona may be callous, she may be able to ruthlessly watch executions with triumph written all over her face, and she may be able to pick up a sword and slice off the heads of her enemies singlehandedly, but to him she will always be that sweet little angel who waltzed into his life with that beautiful face and that innocent heart.

But he feels like the memory of their consummation night, the memory of the night they had spent a while before she was confirmed to be pregnant, those memories seem to have dissipated. He has frantically searched through his mind, attempting to salvage the little of what he can call ‘love’ between them, yet he has uncovered nothing.

He wanders over the pavilions and his eyes linger on the gleaming stars in the sky. As a prince, he had envisioned himself as one of those stars, but with another star near to him, so he would not have to shine alone. God bestowed him a star – a beautiful, capable and intelligent young woman who has successfully produced him a son. She has done everything that an ideal empress would be expected to do, yet when it comes to emotional relations… blank. It is just blank.

A chamber awaits him, along with a pretty young maiden he has never met and a long night that he will regret. Another concubine, another death, another emotional stab to both him and Yoona; truthfully what is most palpable to him is her nonchalance. But to him, he is not indifferent – he merely lurks in a towering figure of despondency, clawing at him and leaving him with scratches so deep he barely knows how to cure them. His world revolves around disconsolation, heartbreak and ironically, puppetry. And he does not do anything to eradicate it.

He lifts his head and levels his gaze on a lady standing by the lily pond, her dark eyes staring despondently at the floating water lilies. She is not young, probably a few years older than him, but her beauty seems to be retained still, with milky skin, oval eyes, angular features and a crown of wavy dark hair rippling down her back. Another hopeless soul, he thinks to himself as he approaches her.

“What do you see in there?” He asks, and she shifts her gaze to him, startled by his sudden intrusion. Observing that he had an entourage trailing behind him, Qian realizes his position, and collapses into a deep bow. She greets him and he nods briefly, acknowledging her. But he continues on, “Do you see hope reflected there?”

“Not really, Your Majesty,” Qian replies, unable to lift her head and meet his eyes. “I see the stars reflected there. The stars give me hope for a new day,” she then pauses, realizing how unfitting her reply is. “I shouldn’t be here, Your Majesty. I apologize for trespassing on your personal residence.”

He waves away his entourage, then responds to her with a small chuckle. “You could stay. No one ever trespasses, and I suppose that is due to all the fear I have induced in court. Fear keeps people lonely,” he remarks, desolately sweeping his gaze over the dark sky. “It keeps you away from the people who you love and who could love you back. It is fear that destroys love.”

Qian feels overwhelmed; the opportunity for her to actually speak to the emperor and discover the hollow emptiness of his soul with a few despondent sentences, she knows it is all beyond her. She briefly recalls the memories of her watching his coronation, when he had his eyes fixated on the beautiful young empress. And she remembers him, she remembers his blatant disregard for the rules and she remembers that lugubrious portrait of unrequited love. It does not take her long to fit the pieces together.

“Then why not expunge that fear, Your Majesty?” Qian, her boldness heightening, responds with much smoothness. “Nothing in this world is indestructible, after all.”

“Fear is not indestructible, but it takes more than one person to destroy it,” Jiaheng mutters, the inner misery in his heart not abating at all. “Love, however… Love is indestructible. No one believes in it because they see it as useless, for brainless fools who wish to achieve nothing in their hollow lives. I suppose I may be one of those fools…”

Qian nearly gasps, but suppresses it. “Your Majesty, you are far from a fool. You are the pillar of our kingdom, the hero of the people and the wearer of the crown – you are the reason why every single soul in the kingdom continues slaving through their ridiculously difficult lives. You can’t say that about yourself!” She says her words with much vehemence, and then clamps a hand over when she realizes she has said a lot more than necessary.

He chortles softly at her demeanor, “Kind of you to say that. Most people would not. It would be on-the-surface politeness and it will all change when I walk away. Horrid gossips that encircle the palace and repulsive things that people surmise – it hardly matches your words.”

“I only see the beauty of the palace, Your Majesty,” she replies honestly.

“Do you?” He chuckles, amused by her words. “Are you part of the imperial palace or did you come to visit someone?”

Their conversation develops, and he discovers her name is Qian, that she is exactly three years older than him. She is a lady who had been adopted by a family whose business is selling jade, supplying the imperial palace with jade. And she is unmarried, still lost in her idyllic world, flitting between her reality and dreams, attempting to make both contrasting worlds coexist; that is his observation, but he does not tell her that. Above all, she may not intrigue him but she brings a sort of warmth that he has been deprived of.

An hour spirals to several hours, and before long, dawn breaks, and Jiaheng realizes that he never reached the chamber he is supposed to be in.

Sooyoung waits on the satin bed, perturbation engulfing her heart. There she is, covered in silky sheets and wearing flowery makeup, but all that flits through her mind is about how the rouge tastes repulsive, how the chamber is like a prison and how she is throwing away her entire life to be with a man who probably will never love her. A few tears escape her eyes, and sleep eventually obliterates all her pain for the night.

She does not realize that the emperor does not arrive; for in her dreams, she sees a bronze-haired boy with wrinkles creasing at the sides of his doe-like eyes, and an ocean’s worth of happiness that lies within them.

//

Spring. March 1, 657.

“Lady Choi Sooyoung?”

“Yes, Your Highness. His Majesty spent the night with Lady Choi Sooyoung.”

Yoona’s expression contorts to one of bitter acrimony and outrage; her servants step back and retreat out of her chamber before they become the victims of her incurred wrath. But her thoughts become incoherent, scrambling about her mind and hurtling towards all the corners, and she is driven into silent conniption, so well suppressed by her astoundingly impressive sense of self-control.

A eunuch frightfully enters, hoping that her anger would have abated. He is met by a cold, malicious smile curved at the contours of her dark red lips and her steely, callous gaze. Her seemingly acidic tongue curls and opens to produce a sibilant hiss…

“Unfortunate soul.”

“My lord, I heard that you spent the night with Lady Choi,” Yoona grins deviously, her fingers slithering over the ornaments of his room. She treads over threshold, one step at a time, slowly and painfully slowly, and Jiaheng’s heart tightens for he is aware of her heightening rage. Moreover, he envisions the emotional turmoil that impends.

The memory of the glistening moonlight reflected over the small lily pond, the illumination of Qian’s sweet expression and the warmth that billowed from the pits of his stomach; it all pummels Jiaheng with full force. If he must sacrifice one to keep one, then he must. He makes a mental apology to the gods and to the concubine he has yet to meet – “I did,” the shameless lie slips out of his lips and hurls itself straight to the irascible Yoona.

His lie is too palpable for Yoona, just too palpable.

Chagrin rivets through her, engulfing her soul. The tension in the atmosphere rises, and it is not Yoona’s breath that hitches, but Jiaheng’s. Yoona holds a dangerous silence, taking slow turns about the room and avoiding his somewhat desperate gaze. He is like a petulant little child caught in her indestructible cage, and her silence serves as a method of berating him, driving him to quiet insanity until he finally blurts out the truth.

“Then, I must send her gifts,” Yoona responds silkily, her malicious intents blatantly obvious to Jiaheng. She trails her fingertips over one of the stray jade pieces, and then emits a devious chortle, “I wonder if she will like jade. Pretty jewelry; females all have undeniable fondness for precious stones. I have not surveyed the palace jade for some time. Shall I do it on your behalf?” Her question is rhetorical.

Jiaheng suddenly feels suffocated – she knows about Qian? He then quietly reminds himself that she does not, for no one in the palace knows and he has effectively silenced all those who were present during his encounter with Qian. “Sooyoung dislikes jade,” he dismisses her softly. “No, she abhors it.”

“You know her well, my lord!” Yoona exclaims, her tone laced with fabricated exuberance; and he nearly jumps in fright, stunned by her quick switch. Her grin is wide, yet she bears her teeth and smiles with much malice. “I suppose you must be very fond of her.”

Jiaheng does not reply.

“I must make her like jade. It is the emblem of the prosperity of our kingdom, after all,” Yoona slurs viciously. “I will be glad to have another jie-jie to look up to.”

As she treads out of the doorway, she leaves him with the guilt parallel to that of a murderer’s.

//

Spring. March 2, 657.

Mi taps his foot impatiently, his arms tightly crossed. He can barely comprehend how he has managed to maintain such a calm composure when his dear adoptive sister has disappeared and is still missing-in-action. He could be running helter-skelter, with his hands atop his head, screeching out loudly at the top of his lungs like a deranged man “Song Qian, where the hell are you?” But he did not do that and does not intend to.

Mi is exactly twenty-five years old. It has not taken him twenty-five years for him to acknowledge the fact that he is the vessel of his family’s reputation. Only, the sense of upholding family honor had been more dominant lately, for he had been married, and in a few days, the family business will be transferred to him. He is no longer living for himself, no, Mi has never lived for himself.

Sometimes he would stare lethargically at the sky and wonder why he’s even alive, why he is still granted a few breaths. For Qian – that used to be his answer, and he repeats it to himself religiously, like a fool. He lives to hold up an honor that is not fully his, to be responsible for a wife who he does not love and to secretly cherish love for a girl who he will never acquire. And he whiles his life away with this tiresome, repetitive circle. Like time itself has no reason, no value-

The creaking of the gate disrupts his despondent thoughts, and his eyes avert towards a dark haired young girl draped in shabby robes. She collapses to the ground in fatigue, puffing and panting like she had run several miles in one go, and when she her eyes loll towards him, he realizes that its Qian.

“Qian, where have you been?” Do you know how worried I’ve been? How could you not come home for two days? How could you leave me like that?

An exhausted smile paints itself on her lips, “I spoke to the emperor,” she replies contentedly, her tone laced with pride.  Qian, still inebriated by her unforgettable experience, fails to realize the horror that spreads over M