The Banished Immortal of the Cold Palace: His Majesty’s Young Master Yun Has Fallen Asleep Again - Chapter 7

Wang Sheng delivered the food to Consort Shu’s quarters, then found someone to relay a message to Wang Shunde. Ever since he began his duties in the Cold Palace, he dared not leave without Wang Shunde’s consent.

Before long, the young eunuch who had delivered the message returned to find Wang Sheng. “The Eunuch said he will come to the Cold Palace later this evening to pick you up so you can report back to His Majesty together.”

Wang Sheng was momentarily stunned, then nodded. “Understood. Many thanks for passing on the message.” He then slipped a few copper coins into the young eunuch’s hand.

The young eunuch’s face immediately lit up with joy, and he quickly tucked the coins into his sleeve. “What are you saying, Eunuch? If you need anything in the future, just come to me.”

After the young eunuch left, Wang Sheng returned to his room to change his clothes. Since he was to appear before the Emperor, he needed to dress neatly and appropriately for the evening.

Once changed, he headed toward the entrance of the Cold Palace, guessing that Wang Shunde should be arriving soon.

Before he had taken more than two steps, he turned back and entered Yun Biechen’s room. He took a thick, blue-gray cloak from the cabinet and carefully draped it over Yun Biechen’s knees.

Yun Biechen was sitting by the window, lost in thought as he gazed at a plum branch in the corner of the courtyard, bowed low under the weight of the snow. His fingertips were unconsciously twisting the fur trim on the edge of the cloak when he suddenly spoke: “Take out the jar of Pine-Snow Brew from the bottom of the cabinet as well.”

“Young Master?” Wang Sheng hesitated. “That wine.”

“Today is a day for drinking.” Yun Biechen cut him off, a faint smile appearing on his clear, ethereal face. “Listen to the sound of the snow pressing down on the plum branches.”

Wang Sheng tilted his head and listened. Indeed, he heard an extremely faint “crack” sound, like ice crystals fracturing between flower sepals.

He said no more, turned, and brought out a simple earthenware jar from the room.

Yun Biechen broke the mud seal, and the crisp, clear fragrance of the wine mingled with the scent of pine needles and the chill of the first snow. He poured two cups, pushed one toward the empty seat across from the stone table, and kept the other. The liquid shimmered with faint ripples in the rough pottery cup, reflecting his slender fingers.

“Gui Gui,” he called out suddenly, his voice as soft as snow falling from a plum branch. “This was given to me by Consort Shu. There was a time when she was still lucid. I remember when she gave it to me, she said it was brewed by her and her Yuan’er.”

“She said I was an immortal, so she begged me; she begged me to save her and take her away from this decaying imperial palace.”

Yun Biechen looked back. “Do you know how I answered her?”

Wang Sheng’s hand, which had been tidying the bowls and chopsticks, trembled. The ceramic spoon hit the rim of the bowl with a crisp sound. He opened his mouth, his eyes reddening instantly. “How did you answer, Young Master?”

“I told her I am no immortal. Even I am trapped within these palace walls; I cannot even save myself.”

Wang Sheng sniffed. “Young Master.”

Yun Biechen took a sip of the wine, as if he did not care at all. “But she still gave me the wine, saying that before she died, she wanted to see her Yuan’er just once. I promised her, and that is how this wine came to be in my possession.”

Just as Wang Sheng was about to say something, a sound of footsteps echoed outside the courtyard wall.

The steps grew clearer, following a specific, disciplined rhythm; they were three light steps followed by one heavy one. It was the distinct gait of the palace’s head eunuch.

The footsteps stopped outside the courtyard gate but did not knock; they simply stood there silently, as if waiting for something.

Yun Biechen drained the wine in his cup. As he stood up, the cloak slid to the ground, but he did not pick it up. White snow covered the blue-gray velvet, and they soon became one.

“Go,” he said to Wang Sheng. “When you see Wang Shunde, tell him.” He paused, looking toward the main area of the Cold Palace. “Tell him I have done my best.”

Wang Sheng’s hands clenched tightly, and he nodded heavily.

The moment he pushed open the courtyard gate, he saw the imprint of a court boot in the snowdrifts, fresh as if it had just been pressed there.

Wind whipped snow into the courtyard, plastering Yun Biechen’s thin clothes against his body. Yet, he seemed not to notice. He simply tilted his head back and finished the last drop of wine, the liquid sliding down his jaw and into his collar.

The pottery cup hit the stone table with a dull thud. He wiped the wine from his lips and suddenly smiled at the empty, desolate courtyard.

The smile was faint and vanished into the wind and snow as quickly as it had appeared.

“I am a bit weary. I shall go and sleep again.”

He soon disappeared from the window.

In the distance, the heavy sound of the palace gates closing echoed, one after another, reverberating through the palace walls.

Yun Biechen closed his eyes and listened, his fingertip slowly tracing something on the edge of a tree branch; it was a half-finished poem, the faint markings covered by new snow as soon as they were written.

Not far under the tree, Consort Shu sat on the ground, softly humming the folk song she often sang.

“Plucking flowers in the first month, no flowers to be found. Plucking flowers in the second month, the flowers are in full bloom.”

The sound of Consort Shu’s intermittent humming blended into the whimpering of the wind passing through the plum branches.

She had somehow moved to a spot not far from where Yun Biechen had been lying under the tree. She curled up in the snow, her gray-white hair matted with ice crystals. With fingers frozen purple, she combed through a handful of withered grass over and over; she was acting as if she were arranging a bun for someone.

Yun Biechen leaned against the tree and watched for a moment, then took the unfinished wine from his lap, jumped down from the tree, and walked slowly toward her.

Two shallow lines of footprints were left in the snow, only to be smoothed away by the wind a moment later.

He stopped three steps in front of Consort Shu and gently placed the wine jar on the snow. As the jar touched the icy surface, it made a very faint “tap” sound.

Consort Shu’s grass-combing movement stopped.

She slowly raised her face, her cloudy eyes fixed firmly on the wine cup. After a long while, she suddenly began to giggle foolishly. “The parting drink, the parting drink has arrived.”

“It is Pine-Snow Brew.” Yun Biechen’s voice was very soft, almost swallowed by the wind. “You said that when you were ready to leave, you would drink a cup.”

Consort Shu trembled violently.

She dropped the withered grass and picked up the wine cup with her chapped hands. The liquid swayed slightly in the coarse pottery, reflecting her gaunt, distorted image.

She looked at it for a long time; she looked until her fingertips turned blue-white and snow filled her shoulders.

Then, she tilted her head back and drained it in one gulp.

The wine streamed down the corners of her mouth, mixing with the age-old stains on her collar. She began to cough violently, her body arching like a shrimp, her tears and blood blurring her face.

When the coughing finally subsided, she suddenly looked up, her gaze clear for a fleeting moment.

“Young Master Yun,” she croaked, each word sounding as if it were being scraped across sandpaper. “My Yuan’er, has he come?”

Yun Biechen lowered his gaze to look at her but did not answer.

The light in Consort Shu’s eyes dimmed bit by bit. She let go of the cup, which tumbled into the snow and rolled twice before stopping at Yun Biechen’s feet.

“He won’t come, he won’t come,” she muttered, reverting to her state of madness. She began to claw at the snow frantically with her hands. “I buried the jade hairpin here. I gave it to him to wear on his first birthday; that jade suited him best.”

Snow and mud splattered from beneath her fingers. As she clawed, her movements suddenly stiffened. She fell straight backward, crashing heavily onto the snow.

Her eyes were wide open, staring at the gray sky.

Yun Biechen stood quietly for a while, then leaned down to pick up the empty jar. When his fingertips touched the edge, he felt a remnant of warmth, which dissipated almost immediately.

He walked back to the plum tree and placed the empty jar beside the one he had finished earlier. Then, he untied the plain white silk ribbon from his hair and tied it gently to the lowest plum branch.

The ribbon fluttered in the wind like a wandering soul.