Epilogue
Back at her residence, Gyokuyou didn’t even take a bath; she collapsed straight into bed.
“Oh, but I’m tired...”
She wished she could ask someone what in the world had happened today. Some of it might have been downright funny under other circumstances, but any humor was far outweighed by shock.
Part of her certainly sympathized with Maomao, and at the same time, part of her was jealous.
She wished she could just bury herself under the covers and go to sleep. But she was the mother of two children. She had to talk to Hongniang, find out how the young ones were doing. And she couldn’t go to bed without removing her makeup either.
“Better get to it, then.” She sat up, trying to convince herself to feel better—but her efforts were undercut by something right in front of her eyes. A pillar, emblazoned with her assigned crest.
Was it true that Jinshi would never defy her from this day forth? It was not a pronouncement to be made lightly—and in front of the Emperor, no less.
Gyokuyou regarded Jinshi like a younger brother—but then, her only memories of her blood siblings were of them tormenting her. As Gyokuen’s daughter, she’d been sent to the rear palace, seemingly nothing but a political tool—yet she discovered that she had far more agency than she might have expected. There were too many interesting things in the palace to spend her life acting like a doll.
Of course, there were things there that made her angry or upset. But that was no different from the western capital. No human alive could say their life consisted entirely of pleasures. There would always occasionally be things you didn’t like; you just had to roll with them.
There was, however, a limit to what could be endured. Humans are creatures of profound appetites. If you were constantly negotiating and negotiating again with someone who refused to curb their demands—well, what happened?
“You only lose out, in the end,” Gyokuyou said to herself.
If you were lucky.
“You can only be destroyed.”
And the other person might not even mean you ill. They might simply believe they’re doing the right thing.
Gyokuyou’s half-brother Gyoku-ou was such a person, a man who believed he was doing the right thing. He was convinced that everything that he believed was just was indeed so, and he was merciless toward those he saw as mistaken.
Which, from his perspective, included Gyokuyou.
If he thought she was wrong, or even evil, then why was he suddenly trying to bring her into his fold?
Gyokuyou opened a drawer and took out Gyoku-ou’s letter. She blew on it once, her breath quick and sharp, then dropped it on the floor.
Let her be evil, then. She could live with that. But what of her children? The boy, Gyoku-ou might try to bring onto his side as well. But the girl...
Everyone said Gyokuyou had the same girlish heart she’d possessed all her life. But it wasn’t true. Gyokuyou was no longer the headstrong child she’d been in the western capital.
“And I won’t let you get away with this.”
Slowly, deliberately, she ground her brother’s letter under her shoe.
Which of them would be crushed underfoot in the days to come? They would see. He would see. She was no longer the girl who could do nothing but smile.
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