The Banished Immortal of the Cold Palace: His Majesty’s Young Master Yun Has Fallen Asleep Again - Chapter 4

Wang Sheng collected his thoughts and observed his new quarters. Compared to serving at the side of the new Emperor, the difference was like heaven and earth. However, remembering the current monarch’s cruelty, he felt that escaping with his life was already a blessing from the heavens. He dared not seek anything more.

He set down his simple bundle and began to wipe the table and chairs. As he moved, he could not help but glance through the broken window toward the backyard. The white plum tree was in full bloom like snow, but the figure among the branches was gone, leaving only a few petals drifting slowly to the ground.

After a long while, Wang Sheng finally finished tidying up. Just as he was hesitating over whether to ask about dinner, he saw Yun Biechen standing beneath the plum tree in the courtyard. He was looking up at the last remaining light of the sky.

The twilight cast a pale gold hue around him, making his white robes appear almost transparent. He suddenly raised a hand to catch a falling petal, his profile appearing thin and fragile in the thickening darkness. Wang Sheng watched blankly, lost for words and rooted to the spot.

Yun Biechen turned around, and Wang Sheng realized he was holding a ceramic pot in his arms.

“Do you know how to start a fire?”

Wang Sheng did not react immediately. “Start a fire?”

Yun Biechen replied, “The Cold Palace does not seem to have a kitchen. All three meals must be managed by oneself.”

Only then did Wang Sheng notice a simple earthen stove in the corner of the yard with a few scattered pieces of firewood nearby. He looked at his new master holding the ceramic pot, and a sudden, inexplicable pang of sadness rose in his heart. In this Cold Palace forgotten by everyone, Master Yun was hardly known by anyone, let alone having someone to serve him food. Had he been doing everything himself all this time?

“I do, Master. I used to help out in the Imperial Kitchen.” He took the ceramic pot. Inside was washed rice, but the grains were somewhat shrivelled and slightly yellowed, old rice from an unknown source.

Rice of this quality was something he had only seen back when he first entered the palace as a lowly errand eunuch. Wang Sheng opened his mouth to say something, but the words died in his throat.

While lighting the fire, Wang Sheng stole a glance. Yun Biechen had returned to the plum tree and was quietly reading a yellowed book by the last traces of daylight. The leaping flames reflected against his lowered eyelashes, casting delicate shadows on his pale cheeks. He did not look like a person of the mortal world.

The fragrance of porridge gradually began to spread. Wang Sheng served a bowl and presented it with both hands. “Master Yun, please have some porridge.”

Yun Biechen looked up, his gaze lingering on the bowl for a moment. As he took it, his fingertips lightly brushed Wang Sheng’s hand. The temperature was as cold as jade from a deep, frozen well; Wang Sheng nearly dropped the bowl.

Master Yun’s hands are so cold.

“Are you not eating?” Yun Biechen asked.

“This servant, this servant will wait until Master is finished.”

“The Cold Palace does not have such rules.” Yun Biechen placed the bowl back by the stove, took another empty bowl, filled it, and handed it to Wang Sheng. “Sit.”

Holding the hot porridge, Wang Sheng sat awkwardly on a nearby stone stool. It was simple plain porridge, yet it tasted exceptionally sweet. Only at this moment did he truly recover from the panic of nearly losing his life. He peeked up and saw Yun Biechen taking small sips of the porridge. His Adam’s apple moved slightly, and even the act of swallowing held a cold, refined elegance.

“Did Wang Shunde send you?” Yun Biechen asked suddenly.

Wang Sheng nearly choked and quickly set down his bowl. “Yes.”

Yun Biechen looked down at the porridge. “Indeed. Aside from him, there is likely no one else in this imperial palace who knows of my existence. What did he say?”

Wang Sheng replied in a low voice, “Eunuch Wang only told me to serve Master well. He said, he said Master is a person of pure intent who enjoys peace and quiet.”

“Is that so?” The corners of Yun Biechen’s lips seemed to curve slightly, a smile so faint it was almost invisible. “He is quite thorough.”

Wang Sheng held his porridge and remained silent. Originally, he thought Eunuch Wang Shunde had arranged for him to come to the Cold Palace just to lie low, mostly for the sake of his godson. Looking at it now, the friendship between the Eunuch and Master Yun might be deep. Arranging for him to enter the Cold Palace was likely so that someone would be there to look after Master Yun.

Yun Biechen seemed to have asked only in passing. He set down the empty bowl and turned his gaze toward Wang Sheng. “After you finish your meal, please fill a bowl of porridge and take it to the West Courtyard.”

Wang Sheng immediately thought of the other person Wang Shunde had told him to look out for in the Cold Palace, Consort Shu, the biological mother of the current Emperor. Suppressing his curiosity regarding the relationship between Master Yun and Consort Shu, Wang Sheng nodded. “Yes, Master.”

Night fell completely, and the Cold Palace sank into total darkness. Carrying the pot of warm porridge, Wang Sheng walked toward the West Courtyard following Yun Biechen’s directions.

Passing through a moon gate, the scene before him was even more dilapidated than the front courtyard. The yard was overgrown with weeds nearly reaching his knees, which rustled in the night wind like ghostly hands scratching the air.

A small hall stood crookedly in the depths of the yard. The window papers were completely shredded, and the dark window openings looked like blind eyes staring coldly at the visitor. The only source of light was a faded, tattered palace lantern hanging under the eaves. The cover was torn open, and the candle flame flickered in the wind, stretching the strange shadows in the courtyard.

The air was thick with a damp, rotting smell even heavier than that of the front courtyard, mixed with a faint, peculiar scent that resembled both herbs and stale blood.

Wang Sheng’s throat tightened. He steadied his nerves and raised his voice. “Consort Shu? This servant has been ordered by Master Yun to bring you your dinner.”

As soon as he finished speaking, a rustling movement erupted from within the dark hall, sounding like someone dragging a heavy object. Immediately after, a female voice, raspy and tuneless, began to cackle. The laughter rose and fell, sounding terrifyingly eerie in the silent courtyard.

“Delivering a meal? Is it the final meal before the execution? Has the Emperor, has the Emperor finally decided to grant me death?” Her voice turned sharp abruptly, then instantly changed into a sob. “No, no, where is my imperial son? Give my son back to me!”

Wang Sheng’s scalp went numb. He forced himself to take a few more steps forward and stopped below the stairs. “My Lady, it is hot porridge. Please have some.”

There was silence in the hall for a moment. Then, a figure suddenly lunged to the doorway, death-gripping the rotting door frame. By the flickering light of the lantern, Wang Sheng saw a haggard, pale face. Her eyes were startlingly large and sunken deep into their sockets, staring at him intensely. Her clouded pupils reflected the dancing firelight, filled with madness and terror.

Her hair was grey and dishevelled, stuck with bits of straw. She wore an old palace gown of an indistinguishable original colour, which hung loosely on her frame with sleeves worn to threads.

“Porridge,” Consort Shu murmured, her gaze locked onto the ceramic pot in Wang Sheng’s hands. She suddenly grinned again, revealing broken teeth. “It is poisoned! You all want to poison me to death! Did the Empress send you? Or, or was it that wench!”

She suddenly pointed a skeletal finger at the empty air, her voice shrill and piercing. “She stole my son! She stole my position as Empress! May she die a horrible death!”

Wang Sheng was startled by her sudden madness and stepped back, nearly knocking over the pot. He forced himself to stay calm, gently placed the ceramic pot on the stone slab in front of the steps, and retreated another two paces. “My Lady, the porridge is here. Please eat it while it is hot.”

Consort Shu acted as if she had not heard him, lost in her own world. She suddenly let go of the door frame and began to dance wildly in the narrow doorway, her wide sleeves flapping like tattered banners. While waving her arms, she hummed broken fragments of old palace songs in a distorted, jarring tune. She laughed shrilly one moment and wept the next, her movements stiff and twisted like a puppet pulled by invisible strings.

“Picking flowers in the first month, no flowers to pick, picking flowers in the second month, the flowers are in bloom.” She spun around, stumbling and nearly tripping over her own hem, yet she remained oblivious and continued to hum. “My imperial son, wears the dragon robe, sits in the dragon court, worshipped by all.”

Reaching this point, she stopped abruptly. She looked at the night sky with a vacant expression, and tears rolled down her face without warning. “But why can I not see him anymore? Where have you hidden him? Give him back, give him back to me!”

She suddenly lunged toward the spot where Wang Sheng had placed the pot. Instead of taking the porridge, she began to claw frantically at the dirt around the stone slab with her hands. Her fingernails broke, and blood soon seeped from her fingertips, mixing into the mud.

As she dug, she whispered neurotically, “Right here, I hid him right here, my baby, no one can take him away.”

Wang Sheng watched with a racing heart, a chill running from the soles of his feet to the top of his head. He dared not stay any longer. He whispered, “Please take care, My Lady,” and turned quickly, practically fleeing the West Courtyard.

Behind him, the broken humming and the sound of digging, mingled with sobs, continued to drift intermittently through the night wind.