Chapter Four: Origins

"Lu Jue, I truly did not expect you to be so clever, able to solve all the riddles. Such skill deserves a reward. I shall bestow upon you... this vase," Feng Yewu said, pointing to the vase beside her.

Everyone in the hall was stunned. They had thought that, if not gold, then at least boxes of precious treasures would be granted. Who would have imagined the reward would be a flower vase half the height of a person?

Yet Feng Yewu felt an exhilarating sense of retaliation. Hmph, such a massive vase—let’s see how you present this to a woman!

Lu Jue, however, maintained that calm, gentle smile. He knelt and bowed gracefully to Feng Yewu. "Thank you, Your Majesty, for your generous gift."

Satisfied with her little mischief, Feng Yewu felt some of her earlier vexation dissipate. It was not until the feast finally ended late into the night that she returned to her chambers to rest.

She had enjoyed herself thoroughly the previous evening and slept soundly. But at dawn, as she sat up, she was momentarily taken aback. There, by the screen, stood the very vase she had awarded Lu Jue yesterday, now filled with branches of spring flowers, vibrant and enchanting.

The sweet, intoxicating fragrance became even more distinct, causing Feng Yewu’s long-cold heart to beat with surprising vigor.

"This reward is perfect for gifting to the woman you admire most!"

For reasons she could not fathom, the first thing that came to Feng Yewu’s mind was the chief steward’s whispered words to Lu Jue the previous day.

After washing and dressing, Feng Yewu summoned Hanyue to inquire about the vase and learned that Lu Jue had just asked her to place it in the Weiyang Palace.

Her cheeks warmed, only to cool again as her heartbeat steadied. Feng Yewu quickly composed herself. It seemed the vase was simply too unwieldy to give away, so Lu Jue had tastefully adorned it with flowers and returned it, perhaps to elicit a smile from her.

Petals of pink clouds, pure white snow, soft yellow and gentle red—every flower in season had been gathered into that vase. After adjusting a few of the branches, Feng Yewu could not help but laugh softly. "Bring Lu Jue in," she ordered.

Hanyue obeyed, and before long, Lu Jue’s voice sounded behind her as he paid his respects.

Without turning around, Feng Yewu plucked a blooming peach blossom from the vase, toying with it as she murmured, "These flowers are beautifully arranged. I should reward you with something."

Lu Jue’s voice carried a faint hint of amusement. "All is for Your Majesty to decide."

Feng Yewu’s hand paused. She tossed the peach blossom back into the vase, turning with a half-smile. "Such understanding words are hardly those of an ordinary slave. I have long wished to ask—what is it that brought you into servitude?"

Lu Jue had changed into the grey-blue attire of the royal attendants, which lent him a more heroic air than the scholarly white robes he had worn before. His presence was dignified yet unyielding, strong yet not overbearing, marking him as someone far from ordinary—making Feng Yewu all the more curious about his origins.

Lu Jue’s eyes dimmed slightly, and, bowing, he lowered his head. "Your Majesty, my family’s history is not worth mentioning. I am but the son of a disgraced minister from the former dynasty."

A son of a disgraced minister from the former dynasty?

As the maid helped her into her imperial robe, Feng Yewu raised her arms, studying Lu Jue thoughtfully. If he truly was the son of a disgraced minister... perhaps there was no guilt at all.

The previous regime had been rife with chaos and corruption. The late emperor—her uncle—had been lost in indulgence, paying little heed to governance. The people suffered, and uprisings erupted across the land. The flames of rebellion reached the capital itself. The insurgents stormed the palace, slew the emperor, and drowned the court in blood. If Feng Yewu, then based in the southern lands, had not swiftly allied with the seven great princes to unite the realm, the dynasty might have been lost entirely.

Feng Yewu swallowed the question she had nearly voiced. Since Lu Jue spoke so vaguely, he clearly did not wish to explain further—perhaps there was pain he preferred not to recall.

Better to investigate in secret.

"The son of a disgraced minister from the former dynasty may yet become a loyal subject of this one. I am unwell today; the morning court is canceled as usual. Have all ministers submit their memorials in writing," she said, her tone once more cool and detached, as she strode out of the hall, brushing past Lu Jue.

Lu Jue immediately turned to follow, crossing the long corridor in the chill morning breeze. He watched as Feng Yewu and Hanyue entered the imperial study. Only when the door shut with a soft "thud" did he return to himself.

There was a trace of melancholy in his expression as he absently rubbed the base of his left thumb. A long, pale scar ran across it—fully healed, yet the new skin was puckered and slightly lighter in color. Lu Jue rubbed it again and again, as if seeking to soothe or suppress some emotion.

The door opened once more. Hanyue approached him. "His Highness has summoned you inside to attend."

Surprised, Lu Jue quickly concealed the fleeting joy in his eyes, bowed, and replied, "I obey."

After issuing her instructions, Hanyue hurried away—likely sent elsewhere by Feng Yewu.

Lu Jue pushed the door open with care, quietly circled the screen, and respectfully bowed to Feng Yewu, who sat at the desk. She was busy reviewing memorials and paid him no mind, so he silently took up the inkstone and began to grind ink with meticulous attention.

In the study, only the sound of the brush stroking the paper and the inkstone rubbing against the ink slab broke the peaceful silence. Master and servant, one seated, one standing, the atmosphere was unexpectedly tranquil.

Feng Yewu read swiftly. Many of the memorials cited scriptures, veiling advice that "a woman should not rule." She dismissed them all with a casual "Read and noted," stamping them without a second thought.

"These pedantic scholars—constantly declaring a woman unfit to rule—yet none can present a man worthy of the throne," Feng Yewu remarked with a wry smile, closing the memorial in her hand.