In the past, when Fu Tingyan smiled, there was light in his eyes. He would climb over the palace walls and stuff freshly picked apricots into my arms, the fruit still wet with dew. He used to say he didn't want to be emperor—he only wanted to go to Jiangnan with me, to row a boat and listen to the rain. But after that assassination, my coffin lay in Yong'an Hall. He lifted the white sheet, his fingertips trembling violently, yet he didn't shed a single tear. Ever since then, Fu Tingyan has changed. He killed everyone tied to the incident with ruthless cruelty, leaving the entire court living in fear. He stopped smiling, and nothing remained in his eyes except an impenetrable, dark gloom. Hiding in the shadows after faking my death, I watched him grow thinner day by day, working on imperial memorials until late at night, with that faded sachet I once gave him sitting permanently on his desk. He lost the will to live long ago. Once, while drunk, he spoke to my memorial tablet: "You said you wanted this kingdom, so I'm keeping watch over it for you. When will you come back to see me... I can't hold on much longer..." I didn't dare reveal myself because things weren't over yet. He barely sleeps now. Palace servants say he talks to my portrait every night, rubbing the cinnabar mark I drew between my brows until it has blurred away. The other day, he stood on the city ramparts all night, clutching the red string I tied around his wrist in our childhood, whispering that the wind was cold and that he missed me. Another spring has come. Fu Tingyan's health has grown very frail. He goes days without sleep, swallowing sleeping pills by the handful just to see you in his dreams. But the good news is that the whole affair has been resolved once and for all, and no one can threaten me anymore...
The empire you wanted—I have conquered it for you.... Please come back...