The Crimson Palace and the Whisper of the Heart

The palace gates loomed tall and deep, stretching endlessly into the shadowed sky.
Two tiers of high vermilion walls rose like a mountain range, cutting off the light, sealing the world outside.

As I walked between those towering walls, I felt like an insect that had flown into the wrong world—tiny, trembling, and out of place.

Ahead, a palace maid led the way, holding a lantern whose faint glow barely pierced the darkness. Behind her trailed twelve maids dressed in embroidered silk, their long sleeves fluttering like the wings of immortals. At the center of this ethereal procession walked Princess Jin Xiu—poised, radiant, untouchably noble.

Something about the scene felt eerily familiar. I had seen it before—though back then, beneath my feet was not a marble floor but a sea of colored clouds, and the one leading the way was not a mortal maid with a lantern, but the divine herald, the God of Illumination himself.

The sudden rush of memory made my heart quiver. Cold sweat gathered along my back. The pressure of the past grew unbearable—until my knees gave way, and I collapsed.

When I opened my eyes again, I was lying on a soft couch, shrouded in misty light.

A thunder of footsteps echoed from afar, followed by a booming voice that shook the room:
“Shizi! Shizi! You disappeared again without a word! Do you know how worried I’ve been? I haven’t eaten, I haven’t slept!”

Gu Yi was beside me, gently tucking the blanket around my shoulders, his face creased with concern. I was awake but too weak to move, eyelids heavy as stone.

That voice, though—nagging, booming, and unmistakably maternal—could only belong to General Lan.

From beside me, Gu Yi muttered through clenched teeth, “I’ve only been gone for one day.”

“One day is more than enough to make me worry myself sick!”

Gu Yi sighed in defeat. “Fine, fine—stop shouting. Qiao Qiao’s unwell. She needs rest.”

A pause. Then Lan’s suspicious voice: “Wait—did that little wildling come into the palace too? Where is she?”

I could no longer pretend to sleep. Silently, I lifted a finger and pointed at myself.

Lan’s eyes bulged so wide I thought they might pop out. “Ah! Y-you—!”

I touched my face. The human-skin mask had come off.

“T-this—this—”

Gu Yi’s temple twitched violently before he finally lost his patience and shoved Lan out the door.

“Peace at last,” he muttered, exhaling deeply. Then he turned to me and smiled, soft and warm.

He soaked a towel, wrung it out, and dabbed my forehead. “Rest well,” he said gently. “I’ve sent him away. If there’s anything you want—food, drink, anything—just tell me, and I’ll get it for you.”

I blinked open my eyes, voice weak. “Anything?”

“As long as it’s within my power.”

Mmm. Gu Yi was unusually tender today.

I glanced at him, then lowered my lashes, speaking shyly. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask for a long time…”

His breath quickened slightly; the towel slipped from his fingers and splashed into the basin. He caught my hand. “Qiao Qiao…”

I quietly pulled my hand back. His face flushed, and excitement flickered in his eyes. “Go ahead,” he said hoarsely.

“Yesterday, the illusion you saw in the mountains—what exactly did you see?”

The corners of his mouth twitched.

“Why,” I continued innocently, “did you seem so moved while holding a stone—and kissing it again and again?”

Gu Yi choked on air.

“And most of all,” I said softly, “why were you calling my name while doing it?”

He stared at me, chest heaving, eyes wild. I thought he might actually explode—but instead, he picked up the towel, wrung it tight like a rope, and flung it over my face before storming out.

A moment later, I heard a loud thud—the sound of someone slamming into a wall.

I sighed. So much for answers. Clearly, it was a humiliation he’d rather forget. Sleep claimed me soon after; I pulled the blanket over my head and drifted off again.

Half-dreaming, I felt someone lift me gently. A hand slid around my waist; another pried open my lips and poured in a bowl of bitter, viscous medicine.

When I woke again, it was deep night. My throat burned with thirst, and I reached for water—but found I couldn’t move. Something heavy pinned me down.

It was Gu Yi, asleep across my legs.

Under the soft golden lamplight, his features looked impossibly gentle. Normally his face was sharp, cold, unreadable—but asleep, he looked almost boyish. His long lashes cast delicate shadows over his cheeks.

I had never imagined that Gu Yi—irritable, unpredictable Gu Yi—could look so innocent while sleeping.

Then I remembered: during our month-long journey by carriage, he’d hardly slept at all. The slightest noise would wake him. And yet tonight, he slept without a care.

He must not have rested properly in a long time.

Pity stirred within me. I didn’t want to wake him, but my throat was parched. Slowly, carefully, I began to slide my legs free. Every inch I pulled away, however, he tightened his grip—until, somehow, the man who’d been sleeping at my feet was now sprawled fully atop me.

What in the heavens—?

At least my legs were free. I had just started to move when he shifted again, rolling closer. A strong arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me back down.

The lamp flickered. Shadows danced across the walls—three, not two.

Warm breath brushed my neck. His arms tightened around me, his voice a low murmur against my skin.

Tonight, I thought bitterly, I won’t be drinking any tea.

I sighed, ready to shove him off like an octopus clinging to driftwood—when his voice, soft and trembling, reached my ear:

“Qiao Qiao… don’t go. I like you.”

By morning, breakfast had already been prepared. Three small dishes and a pot of porridge, steaming and fragrant.

Gu Yi sat eating quietly while I gulped down an entire cup of tea, unaware of General Lan’s awkward expression.

Most likely, the breakfast had been sent by Lan himself. I nodded to him gratefully.

He hesitated, then blurted out, “So… this is your real face?”

I took a sip of porridge and nodded.

He squinted, baffled. “This face—it isn’t… forged, is it?”

Gu Yi answered for me, setting down his bowl but looking straight into my eyes. “I checked. It’s genuine.”

“No wonder you used mud to hide it,” Lan murmured. “With a face like that, no matter where you go—” He trailed off into a nervous hum.

After breakfast, Lan hurried off to watch the troops drill, leaving us alone. Gu Yi, too, had to meet Emperor Zhuo Yuan. He said a few perfunctory words before leaving—without mentioning the previous night at all.

I was grateful. My cheeks still burned from that absurd confession.

And so, with everyone gone, it was just me and A’Bao, staring at each other in awkward silence within the vast empty courtyard.

The duty of caring for me naturally fell to Shi Shu, Gu Yi’s attendant.

Because my real face was too striking and I didn’t feel like explaining, I wore the human-skin mask again. Shi Shu, who knew my identity, seemed quietly wounded by my secrecy.

Lunch came from the imperial kitchens—technically servant fare, yet rich and flavorful. I forgot I was supposed to be convalescing and cleaned every plate.

Afterward, I took a stroll around the courtyard. The palace gardens, I discovered, were exquisitely designed. Though gold and jade dominated the architecture, every few paces there was a patch of green, a bloom of color—roses, lotuses, orchids.

Without meaning to, I sighed in admiration.

Shi Shu perked up. “This is nothing! The Princess Jin Xiu’s Chang Le Palace is far more beautiful. From afar, it’s like a purple mist of flowers—like something from heaven itself.”

My heart seized. “Her palace—is it close?”

“Quite,” he said. “Turn left outside this courtyard, walk a hundred paces or so, and you’ll be right there.”

I nodded solemnly, making a mental note to never go in that direction.

Evening came early in the palace. Before I felt even a twinge of hunger, servants had already delivered another full meal. I invited Shi Shu and a few maids to eat with me, and we were laughing over pickled radish when Gu Yi returned.

Shi Shu nearly dropped his cup. Hastily, he poured tea and handed Gu Yi a pair of chopsticks. “Shizi, you’re back so soon! His Majesty’s banquet—did it end early?”

Gu Yi took a sip of tea. “It was only a small banquet. The grand feast is tomorrow. Zhuo Yuan was too busy flirting with Hong Ling to care about the food. I ate two bites and left.”

Shi Shu nodded approvingly. “Quite right.” Then, mid-bite of steamed bun, his face changed. He slapped his thigh. “But—Shizi! You said that word again!”

Gu Yi blinked. “What word?”

Shi Shu leaned close, whispering in horror, “That word. The one you used for His Majesty—‘that bastard.’” Then he looked around nervously. “We’re in his palace! Please, for heaven’s sake, be careful!”

Gu Yi waved him off impatiently. “Enough nagging.”

Clearly, Lan’s influence had made Shi Shu a worrier. Gu Yi dismissed everyone but me.

I was uneasy being alone with him, but tried to act casual. “The emperor’s banquet must’ve been grand,” I said. “Far better than our humble fare. Leaving early was such a waste.”

He smiled faintly and reached into his sleeve. “I knew you’d say that. Truth is, the Xihan cooks are quite skilled. There was one dish—chicken-heart cakes. I thought you’d like them, so I brought a few.”

He unfolded a square handkerchief, revealing small crimson pastries shaped like perfect little hearts. Their glossy sheen caught the lamplight, glimmering like blood.

“Try one,” he said softly. “You’ll love it.”

I hesitated, picking one up but not eating. “Gu Yi, when will you remove my iron chains?”

He arched a brow. “Why the rush? It’s not like I’m keeping you prisoner.”

“I want to go home,” I said firmly. “Back to Mei Mountain. It’s been too long.”

His smile faltered. “If I release you, you’ll leave?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

He froze. Then, after a long moment, he whispered, “And if I refuse?”

“I’ll still go.”

The cake crumbled in his hand—powder fine, red as dried blood.

His fingers hung limp, and his voice turned rough, like a dried-up stream. “When I leave the palace, I’ll unlock them.”

Then he stood and walked away.

The crimson cakes on the table still glowed faintly under the lamp—but when I bit into one, the sweetness turned to ash on my tongue.

By dawn, Gu Yi was gone. Shi Shu said he had gone early to join Zhuo Yuan for tea. The entire palace was abuzz with preparations for the grand feast; even our little courtyard felt too small to hold the noise.

Most of the maids assigned to us had been called away to assist elsewhere. Bored, I rummaged through the cabinets and found two small eunuch uniforms. They fit perfectly.

The wide sleeves conveniently hid my iron chains. With my mask back on, I felt secure enough to stroll right out the main gate.

The palace gardens were breathtaking. Chrysanthemums, peonies, orchids—everywhere I looked, color bloomed.

Sweaty eunuchs hurried to and fro, lugging heavy flowerpots. I walked leisurely among them, a cool breeze amid their heat and chaos.

One of them noticed me and froze, pointing an accusing finger. “You there! Yes, you! Everyone else is working—why are you just wandering around?”

I blinked. “Me?”

“Of course you!” He stomped over, setting down a pot of greenery. “Which hall are you from? Don’t you know better than to slack off?”

I scratched my head, searching for an excuse—but before I could speak, an older eunuch rushed up, panting. “Do you have any extra hands here?”

The younger one shoved me forward. “Take this slacker. I caught him loafing.”

The old eunuch’s eyes swept over me from head to toe. “Perfect,” he said briskly. “I’ll borrow him.”

Before I could protest, he grabbed my sleeve and whisked me away through the gardens.

Everywhere we passed, palace servants darted like fish, carrying trays, flowers, fabrics—preparing for something grand.

At last, he stopped in a lush courtyard where dozens of eunuchs and maids knelt, working. Handing me a bamboo basket, he ordered, “Go pick some orchids. Only one bloom per stem, and mind you, don’t bruise the petals. They’ll be used for floral displays.”

I nodded and got to work.

It wasn’t difficult—pleasant, even. Better than rotting in that lonely courtyard. Soon, I was done.

The eunuch glanced at my basket and nodded. “Good. Now go fetch some daffodils.”

I blinked. “Daffodils?”

He waved impatiently. “Yes, yes. Quickly.”

I wandered through the garden—but there were no daffodils, only roses and peonies and lotuses.

A nearby maid took pity on me. “You won’t find any here,” she whispered. “But the garden outside Chang Le Palace has plenty. Just go to the gate and ask nicely. But remember—don’t go in without permission.”

I thanked her, adjusted my mask, and hurried toward the Chang Le Palace.

As I walked, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d forgotten something—but the eunuch’s deadline loomed, and I forced the thought aside.