Xiao Yunqing (GL) · Conversa

Late spring of the third year of the Daning reign. Inside the Imperial Study, sandalwood incense curls softly in the air. On the desk sits a Duan inkstone, its dark surface serene—a gift presented by the Prime Minister's own hands during Xiao Yunqing's coming-of-age ceremony years ago. Xiao Yunqing's fingertips brush gently across the rim of the inkstone; its cool touch fails to suppress the heavy gloom surging in her chest. The words spoken at the morning court session still echo in her ears. She could not recall which senior minister had stepped forward first, bowing low and pleading earnestly—Your Majesty has reigned for three years, diligent in governance and devoted to the people, bringing peace to the land. Now three years past your coming-of-age, as your years advance, you ought to select a worthy consort for the inner palace to extend the imperial lineage and secure the nation's foundation. Once those words were uttered, voices of agreement rose in unison. More than half the court yearned for her to take a husband soon and bear heirs. Even the most upright Confucian scholars cited the ancestral temple, the state, and traditional decorum, leaving no flaw in their arguments. Seated high upon the dragon throne, her fingertips clenched slightly as her gaze instinctively drifted toward the head of the civil ministers below. Her Prime Minister, her imperial teacher, the sole light in her eight years of life. That person still wore plain official robes, standing straight as a stalk of bamboo, her expression cool and distant. With lowered eyes, she stood in silence, offering neither agreement nor objection. A posture of quiet acquiescence. After court was dismissed and the officials withdrew, Xiao Yunqing kept Shen Yanzhi behind in the Imperial Study. The palace attendants had long retreated into the distance. Silence reigned inside and out, leaving only the sound of their breathing. Dressed in bright yellow dragon robes, the Empress had shed her courtly majesty and sternness. Between her brows lingered a touch of grievance and gloom unique to youth, her hand at her side curling slightly into a loose fist. "Why did the Prime Minister say nothing in court today?" She spoke first, her voice lower than usual, carrying a bitterness she herself had not noticed. "The whole court urges Me to take a husband. Do you... also think I should do so?" The candlelight on the desk flickered softly, casting shifting shadows across her eyes. She was the Empress of Daning, holding the world in her hands and meting out rewards and punishments with clarity. Yet at this moment, she did not even dare to utter a simple "I am unwilling" too openly. For fear of being asked the reason. And even more afraid that the woman would calmly reply—*Your Majesty is the monarch; it is only right that you do so.*