Dawn and Dusk - Chapter 1
Chapter 1
In the summer of the twenty-seventh year of the Yuanjing Era, Consort Xian proposed a marriage for her son, the Fifth Prince. The intended bride was none other than Zheng Mi, the eldest granddaughter of Grand Tutor Zheng.
A few days later, on the occasion of the Qixi Festival, Zheng Mi was summoned by Her Majesty the Empress for a banquet in the palace.
She was a frequent visitor to the palace and felt no unfamiliarity. The palace attendant guiding her was quite talkative, regaling her with recent palace jests to amuse her along the way. But the day was hot, the sun scorching, leaving one feeling as listless as a flower wilting in the heat. And so, after passing through the Lizheng Gate and entering the inner palace, even the garrulous attendant gradually fell silent.
Upon stepping into the Imperial Garden, the scenery abruptly shifted from the solemn dignity of the outer court to the enchanting grace of the inner palace. The high palace walls vanished, the paths narrowed, and flowers and grasses flourished on both sides, with pavilions faintly visible, veiled behind the green shade.
The verdure of the plants was lush and intense, the profusion of flowers bloomed in vibrant splendor—a scene of magnificent, colorful prosperity.
The banquet was to be held in Kunyu Hall, just ahead. The hall overlooked the water, with windows on three sides that often welcomed a cool breeze, carrying with it waves of lotus fragrance. With blocks of ice placed within, it was a rare haven in the sweltering heat, perfect for both cooling off and admiring the view.
Zheng Mi quickened her pace slightly, eager to enter the hall sooner and escape the summer heat. But as she rounded a corner shaded by green trees, she saw a person standing in the shade ahead.
The person appeared no older than eight or nine, with a quiet demeanor. She was staring in a daze at a cluster of brilliantly blooming globe amaranths, lost in thought or perhaps simply daydreaming.
Zheng Mi smiled upon seeing her.
The attendant behind her murmured in surprise, “Why is Her Highness, Princess Xinguo, here?” Then, to Zheng Mi, she added, “Her Highness is ahead. You must go forward to pay your respects at once.”
This was proper etiquette, which Zheng Mi naturally understood. She quickened her steps.
Just as she was about to reach the tree, Ming Su heard the sound of footsteps and turned to look. Seeing it was her, her gaze remained fixed, watching only her, as if to say that she was standing here waiting precisely for her arrival.
Zheng Mi drew near. Ming Su took a step back, clearing a space in the shade before her, so that Zheng Mi could also be sheltered within it.
Zheng Mi stepped under the tree and offered a curtsy. “Greetings to Your Highness.”
Ming Su nodded. “You may rise.”
Zheng Mi saw her often and felt no awkwardness. She straightened up and looked at her with a smile. “The weather is so hot. Why is Your Highness not cooling off in Kunyu Hall instead of running out here?”
Upon seeing her and hearing her voice, Ming Su subconsciously curved her lips into a smile, revealing two small dimples on her cheeks. But the smile had only just appeared when she restrained it. She did not answer the question, but instead composed her features and looked towards the palace attendant and maids behind Zheng Mi. Mimicking the manner of an adult, she said with gravity, “I have something to say to her. You may all withdraw.”
Hearing this, the palace attendant bowed low and withdrew. The maidservant, born into the Zheng Residence, first glanced at Zheng Mi. Only after Zheng Mi nodded did she retreat to a greater distance.
With the servants dismissed, only the two of them remained under the large, leafy tree.
The chirping of cicadas came in intermittent waves. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting fragmented golden specks upon the crown of Ming Su’s head, lending her features an exceptional softness.
Zheng Mi smiled. “What is it that Your Highness wishes to say? You can speak now, can you not?”
Ming Su did not speak immediately. Instead, she looked at her, gazing at her intently for a moment before finally opening her mouth: “Do not marry the Fifth Imperial Brother.”
The day was hot. Even standing in the shade, waves of heat washed over them. The hair at Ming Su’s temples was damp with sweat; she had clearly been waiting here for some time. Zheng Mi had not expected her to wait so long just to say this, and she could not help but find it amusing. “Why?”
She was so serious, yet Zheng Mi had laughed. Ming Su was not annoyed. She maintained her somewhat staid, solemn expression, her tone carrying a hint of cautious deliberation as she said, “He is not good.”
Zheng Mi asked again, “How is he not good?”
Ming Su fell silent for a moment. Her eyelids drooped slightly, and her lips pressed together, giving her a rather grave appearance.
Zheng Mi knew then that she had put her in a difficult position.
Although Princess Xinguo was the youngest and most favored highness in the palace, she had an exceptionally good temperament, and was even a little gentle and slow to warm. No one had ever seen her angry, and there was not a palace servant who did not like her. Thus, she had long since earned a fine reputation for being warm, kind, respectful, and temperate.
Having known her for a long time, Zheng Mi knew she was born with this refined and proper nature. To ask her to speak ill of someone behind their back was undoubtedly difficult, to say nothing of the fact that this “someone” was her own brother. Just as she was about to say something to change the subject, she saw Ming Su, as if having made a great resolution, suddenly raise her head to look at her.
“The Fifth Imperial Brother has a bad temper. He is somewhat impetuous and cannot keep his composure. You, however, love leisure and tranquility, and prefer to act with grace. Your temperaments are not compatible. The Fifth Imperial Brother favors the martial and disdains the literary; his scholarly talents are crude. You, however, are learned in both ancient and modern matters, love to read, and are never without a book in hand. You and he would have nothing to speak of. Consort Xian has only this one son, whom she cherishes beyond measure and for whom she holds great expectations. She will surely be exceptionally demanding of her daughter-in-law, teaching and reminding her day after day. If you become the Fifth Prince’s consort, you will certainly be constrained at every turn and be very unhappy.”
She stated her reasons one by one, a stubborn set to her expression.
Zheng Mi was already unwilling to marry into the imperial family. Moreover, the current Empress was already a daughter of the Zheng family, and her grandfather had no intention of forging another marriage alliance with the imperial house, which would make the Zheng family’s prominence excessive. This match was destined to be nothing more than the one-sided enthusiasm of Consort Xian and her son.
She was well aware of the situation, but she had not expected Her Highness, Princess Xinguo, to have thought so much on her behalf. A warmth spread through her, and her tone softened considerably as she said with a smile, “Thank you for your warning, Your Highness. This subject will remember it.”
The two small dimples reappeared on Ming Su’s face, and she looked very pleased.
Zheng Mi smiled along with her, yet her heart was somewhat heavy with worry.
Ming Su noticed. “What is troubling you?” she asked, her tone full of concern.
The sound of cicadas began to rise, long and loud, yet surprisingly, it did not feel jarring.
Amidst the sound of the cicadas, Zheng Mi thought for a moment, then said, “It is only that I feel there is no one to rely on, no one to confide in.” She had reached the age of marriage, yet she did not know who might be a suitable match, nor who she could spend the rest of her life with. Recently, besides the Fifth Prince, many other families had sent matchmakers to her door, but she did not know a single one of the “fine young gentlemen” these matchmakers spoke of.
The thought of spending her life with a man she had never met left her feeling lost and troubled. It was not fear, but rather a sense of tedium.
When she came back to herself, she saw Her Highness, Princess Xinguo, striving to straighten her back, trying her utmost to appear mature and steady. To seem taller, she was nearly standing on her tiptoes, looking at her with anticipation.
Zheng Mi did not react at first, and looked at her, puzzled.
A flash of anxiety crossed Ming Su’s eyes, but she strove to keep her voice calm. “A few days ago, I finished reading the Strategies of the Warring States. My tutor praised my unique insights, my exceptional talent, and my good comprehension. Father Emperor also praised me for reading so quickly, saying that with time, I could surely stand shoulder to shoulder with the great scholars.”
Zheng Mi knew she was very skilled at her studies. She nodded and said with a smile, “Your Highness is diligent and studious. This subject is also very impressed.”
Hearing this, the corners of Ming Su’s lips curled up slightly. But when Zheng Mi said nothing more after that one sentence, she grew anxious again. After a moment’s thought, she added, “I have a slow temperament and am easy to get along with. A person who loves leisure and tranquility would surely be very at ease with me.”
No matter how slow-witted Zheng Mi might be, she now understood what she was trying to say. Suppressing a laugh, she said, “Your Highness is indeed calm and unhurried, possessing the air of the ancients who remained unflustered even as a mountain collapsed before them.”
Ming Su heard her praise, but still had not heard what she wanted to hear. She bit her lip and said again, “Although my Mother Consort is a bit strict, she never likes to make things difficult for people, nor…”
Before she could finish, she was interrupted by a cry of alarm from the distance.
“Your Highness, how did you run off to here? You’ve given us such a search!” Several palace servants came hurrying over, the one in the lead calling out anxiously.
It was clear at a glance that Her Highness, Princess Xinguo, must have used some trick to slip away from her attendants and come here to wait for her.
According to palace rules, imperial princes and princesses under the age of ten could not be without attendants by their side. This rule was to prevent the young highnesses, being so young, from being unable to care for themselves and having no one to call upon should something happen.
Ming Su immediately deflated, like a child playing at being an adult who had been exposed on the spot and forced back to her true form. She lowered her head, a hint of embarrassment and dejection on her face.
The palace servants arrived quickly, reaching them in a flash. They had rushed from under the blazing sun, and brought with them waves of scorching heat. Zheng Mi could not help but glance out from the shade of the tree. The fiery sunlight intertwined with the light and shadow of the dark green plants. A corner of Kunyu Hall’s flying eaves jutted out from behind the trees, its yellow glazed tiles dazzling under the fierce sun.
This scene became a rich, bold stroke in the height of summer.
And that summer felt as if it would never end.
“You have me. I am very reliable.” Ming Su’s childish voice sounded softly beside her ear.
Zheng Mi turned back to look at her and saw a pair of stubborn eyes.
What happened after, how they entered the hall, how the banquet proceeded—all of it was gone.
The dream broke upon that pair of stubborn eyes.
Zheng Mi awoke.
She sat up, leaning against the bed, and turned her head to look out the window. The sky was just beginning to lighten. In summer, the days were long and the nights short; judging by the light, it was likely no later than the end of the yin hour.
Why did I dream of that day? Zheng Mi raised a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. Her head ached a little.
She had not expected that after so many years, she would still remember the events of that day so clearly. That year, she was fourteen, and Ming Su was nine. Both were still of an age that knew little of the world.
Ming Su’s desperate attempt to seem reliable was nothing more than the affection of a nine-year-old child who simply wanted to play with her often.
As Zheng Mi thought this, a smile appeared on her face involuntarily. Before the smile could fully form, it vanished, followed by a long silence.
Sleep was impossible now. Zheng Mi did not lie back down, but remained leaning against the bed, lost in thought for an unknown length of time, until a voice sounded from outside the hall: “Is Your Majesty awake?”
It was her personal female official, come to rouse her from bed.
Zheng Mi’s reverie was broken. “Come in,” she said, but her thoughts still lingered on that summer day from years ago.
The female official’s name was Yun Sang. She was a veteran of the palace, and her conduct was always most proper. She led the way inside, followed by several palace maids. They first performed their salutations, then busied themselves about the hall according to protocol.
The window on the south side was opened, and the air suddenly became refreshing to breathe.
Zheng Mi gazed out the window.
The sky was now bright, the sun shining everywhere. The parasol tree outside the window grew lush with branches and leaves, full of life. Yet Zheng Mi recalled the scorching heat of the sun on the leaves in her dream, recalled the blindingly bright sunlight, and the brilliant golden glazed tiles on the eaves of Kunyu Hall.
It was the same summer, the same forbidden palace, yet the high summer of this year was far less intense than the sun of that year, its waters far less gentle.
That was five years ago, Zheng Mi counted the years in her mind.
Unexpectedly, a voice sounded by her ear: “Your Majesty, the morning meal has been prepared.”
Zheng Mi was jolted back to the present. She saw the palace attendant who had bowed respectfully before her bed, waiting to help her rise. Her expression was dazed, as if she had returned to that dream.
Not five years ago. Ten years ago.
That was already ten years ago.
Author's Notes:
“The sun is fierce, the waters gentle.” —Hai Zi, Living in This Precious World
In the high summer of the seventh month, I will tell everyone a story that begins in the high summer.
Translator's Notes:
I usually avoid translating historical novels unless they are especially compelling, since they can be quite difficult to work with. However, this one caught my attention after I read a recent review on Reddit, and because one of the author’s other works, Spring Remains the Same, is among my favorites. That convinced me to give it a try. The translations may not fully capture all the complexities and cultural nuances of the original text, so those who are interested can refer to the table for additional context. Since this is a sporadic project, updates may not always be regular, but I will do my best to keep a steady pace. I hope you enjoy reading it.
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