Chapter 291: Hello Chang'an
Chapter 291: Old Dreams of the Elephant Garden
When Cui Lang suddenly appeared, Cui Xing frowned and asked, “What are you doing back at this hour?”
Cui Lang could only put on a well-behaved smile. “I heard that Eldest Brother has written a letter...”
Cui Xing cast a glance at his wife, Lu Shi, and sneered. “You two truly never forget that unfilial son for even a moment.”
He continued, his expression growing darker. “Now that he’s safe and sound, why wait until today to send word? Letting the entire household worry over his safety for so long—has he ever once placed this family in his eyes?”
With that, he rose abruptly, face cold, and swept out with his sleeve.
“Father...” Cui Lang hurried a few steps after him, pretending to hold him back.
Cui Xing flung his sleeve, silencing him with a glare before striding away.
Cui Lang called “Father” several more times until the man’s figure had fully disappeared down the corridor. Then he turned back toward the hall with a sigh. “What kind of fit is Father throwing this time?”
They had just received news that Eldest Brother was safe—there was barely time to rejoice before Father found fault again. To complain that the letter came late? That was truly a new and impressive angle of criticism.
Cui Lang couldn’t help but defend his brother. “Eldest Brother is carrying out a secret imperial mission, and assassins have been after him. Naturally, he can’t expose his whereabouts lightly. He must have his own plans and arrangements! He’s leading troops, not running errands for Father—why must he report every step of his journey?”
“You don’t understand,” sighed Lu Shi. “To your father, no matter the circumstances, it’s always Eldest son’s fault. Even if he had just crawled up from an icy lake, he shouldn’t be thinking of saving his life or tending his wounds—he should first, at all costs, write a letter home to reassure his father. No paper on hand? Not an excuse—tear a piece off your underclothes. No ink? Still not a problem—cut your finger and write with blood. If he truly ‘cared,’ would that be so hard?”
Cui Lang sighed. “...You really do understand Father best.”
In short, whatever Eldest Brother did—or didn’t do—Father would never be satisfied.
Madam Lu concluded, “At the root of it, your father’s greatest misfortune lies in his failure to accept that Eldest Son is no longer a puppet of his or of the Cui clan, but a man of his own.”
To him, Eldest Son’s very existence was an act of rebellion—a challenge to his authority and to the ancestral rules. And with that premise, everything Eldest Son did was wrong.
It was the same with Eldest Son’s late mother, Madam Zheng. In his eyes, she had been stubborn, sharp-tongued, and defiant—too proud, too unyielding, unwilling to bow to him as a husband should be honored. And the fact that she dared to drown herself without his permission—wasn’t that a slap to his face?
To him, her death had been an act of rebellion, a final defiance—her very existence refuted him.
And so, all these years later, his resentment toward Eldest Son carried that same bitterness—resentment once meant for the mother, now shifted to the son.
Yet Eldest Son was brilliant—too brilliant. Even while defying the clan, he was still valued and trusted by the family head.
As a father who could not surpass his own son, Cui Xing could only wield the title of “father” as his last remaining weapon of authority.
In short, with such a father, Eldest Son was truly unfortunate.
Thinking of this, Lu Shi’s heart softened again toward her stepson far away in Bianzhou.
Leaving aside her own intention to bask under his influence, she truly wished to make amends—to ease the burden of all that his father had done, even if it meant righting those wrongs in her own small way.
Cui Lang put his hands on his hips and sighed heavily. “When will Father ever grow up?”
“He sees himself as far too grand,” Lu Shi replied dryly, unwilling to speak further of her husband. She gestured toward the letter on the tea table.
Cui Lang stepped forward to pick it up and read.
One glance was enough to confirm his father’s unreasonable temper—Eldest Brother had clearly explained the reason for the delayed letter!
After reading, Cui Lang asked casually, “Has Grandfather read it?”
Lately, he could tell Grandfather had been greatly concerned about Eldest Brother.
“Of course. That letter came from your grandfather’s quarters.”
The Cui family’s network was extensive. In fact, days before Eldest Son’s letter even arrived in the capital, the family head had already received rumors of his presence near Bianzhou. But with the recent turmoil after the war, news had been messy and uncertain.
Only now, with Eldest Son’s own handwriting before them, could they finally rest at ease.
“Eldest Brother says he’s near Bianzhou? Then doesn’t that mean he’s with my teacher?” Cui Lang’s eyes lit up at once.
At that, Lu Shi’s expression brightened too. “It should be so.”
The two exchanged glances and whispered in excitement, soon deciding to write a letter to Bianzhou—under the pretext of replying—to inquire further.
“But... who exactly were those assassins?” Cui Lang’s tone grew serious. “Surely the court already knows. What’s Her Majesty’s stance on this?”
“How would I know?” Lu Shi replied, her expression faintly worried. “If you wish to find out, go and ask your grandfather. He’ll know more than I.”
Her gaze turned thoughtful, her voice softening into rare seriousness. “The times are no longer what they were. Your brother faces hardship outside, and within the Cui clan, all is not calm either. Lang’er, you can’t keep fooling around forever.”
Cui Lang fell silent for a moment before nodding. “Yes.” He quietly clenched his fists.
Lu Shi continued with a sigh, adopting her usual tone of maternal instruction. “I’ve never expected you to become a great talent. If you can’t be a pillar of the house, then at least be a sturdy fire poker... but whatever happens, don’t be the stick that stirs the filth.”
Faced with such a humble expectation, Cui Lang twitched at the corner of his mouth and muttered, “...You really do know your son best.”
Ah, well—he would try to be a fire poker, then. After all, even a fire poker could give off a bit of light.
As dusk fell, the first lights of the vast Cui residence began to glow—one by one, warm and steady.
In the dim courtyard, Cui Xing stood beneath the eaves of his study. The lanternlight swayed in the wind, and behind him his shadow stretched long.
He had been standing there for a long time.
The lanterns under the corridor fluttered gently, their light trembling with the faint moonshine. Through that wavering silver glow, Cui Xing seemed to glimpse a small boy with half-tied hair kneeling in the snow.
Old memories rose unbidden; his hands, clasped behind his back, slowly tightened.
A servant approached and bowed deeply. “Master, the family head summons you to the council.”
Cui Xing returned to himself and quickly went to the main hall.
Cui Ju sat at the head seat, with several of the senior and most respected clansmen seated at both sides.
After performing his salutation, Cui Xing took his place.
Cui Ju spoke first, addressing them all. “Eldest Son is safe.”
A collective sigh of relief swept through the room.
“Bian Prefecture and Luoyang are safe and sound.”
The aged and increasingly hoarse voice of Cui Ju echoed in their ears. “Therefore, those people in Luoyang will soon be in trouble.”
The clansmen could tell that “those people” referred to the aristocrats of Luoyang who had colluded with Xu Zhengye.
“But surely, it will not stop at Luoyang…” Cui Ju looked toward the bronze sparrow-shaped candlestick in the hall. “I have a premonition that Her Majesty will not let this opportunity slip by.”
Cui Xing’s expression darkened. “Father, you mean… she plans to strike at the Four Great Clans? At such a time, when even her throne is unstable, how could she dare act against us? Would she really risk mutual destruction?”
Once, he had not believed that Her Majesty would dare touch the aristocracy—but first it was the Pei clan, and then the Changsun clan…
That demon empress was ruthless and decisive; to harm her enemies, she would not hesitate even to wound herself.
And precisely because of her relentless assault on the noble houses, the entire realm had now fallen into chaos.
“It is because her throne is unstable,” an elderly member of the Cui clan said gravely, “that she will be all the less willing to show leniency.”
A younger clansman’s eyes gleamed coldly. “If this is her opportunity, then it is also ours.”
They had never ceased their contest with Her Majesty, though thus far it had been a silent battle fought in the shadows.
Now, however, the true moment of life and death was finally at hand.
The young man rose, bowing deeply to Cui Ju. “Patriarch, we must make preparations at once.”
They neither wished to retreat, nor could they.
The rest of the clan—Cui Xing included—also turned to look at Cui Ju.
Cui Ju gazed at the assembled scions of the Qinghe Cui clan.
In their eyes, he saw not only determination, but also the pride and ambition that had endured across centuries of inheritance.
They each voiced their counsel.
Soon, they brought up the name of Cui Jing—the eldest son, long deemed rebellious and unworthy by the clan.
“…Though Eldest Son is defiant, if Patriarch were to personally persuade him and make clear the greater stakes, he might yet come to his senses.”
“He has acted willfully for years. At such a critical hour, he ought to put the clan’s survival above all else.”
“Patriarch…”
Cui Ju raised a hand, halting their words. His face betrayed no emotion.
“This matter—I have already made arrangements.”
As Patriarch, he ought to have prepared early—and indeed, he had been preparing for this very day all along.
Moreover, he had not only planned for success, but also for failure.
Eldest Son was now in Bian Prefecture—already within the game itself. Every step must be taken with utmost care.
After a pause, Cui Ju spoke again, picking up the words of the young clansman from earlier.
“The Crown Prince is incompetent and unfit to bear the weight of the realm… The Cui clan must not repeat the fate of the Changsun.”
With that, he drew a sealed letter from his sleeve and placed it on the sandalwood table beside him. His aged, withered fingers slowly pushed the envelope toward the edge.
“A few days ago, I received this secret letter. Take a look.”
The young clansman straightened and replied solemnly, “Yes.” He stepped forward respectfully to take the letter.
On the candlestick, the flame swayed softly.
In the Ganlu Hall, behind the “Hundred Birds Paying Homage to the Phoenix” screen, the Holy Emperor reclined upon a couch, her eyes closed, lost in a dream.
The dream was damp and dim, carrying a pungent odor—the smell that drifted from the Elephant Garden, an invisible net that once ensnared her and her two children in those long, cold, and bitter years.
When Ah Xiao’s hands were covered in frostbite and her fever raged without a physician to summon, she had begged everyone she could. Unable to see the emperor, she turned to the higher-ranking consorts, but the delicate pastries she painstakingly made were contemptuously overturned by their maids.
Those arrogant concubines would cover their noses with silk kerchiefs, mocking her for reeking of the Elephant Garden—mocking her as a bearer of ill omen.
One favored consort in purple, having been scolded by the empress, vented her anger on her instead. She invented a false charge, forced her to kneel and apologize, and still unsatisfied, ordered her maid to slap her face.
Even within the dream, the feeling of powerless humiliation enveloped her once more.
Blood seeped from the corner of her lips, but she refused to beg for mercy.
The more she endured, the more displeased that consort became.
As the woman approached, her lacquered fingers reached out, plucking the silver hairpin from her hair and playing with it before her face, threatening to ruin her looks.
At that moment, a small figure rushed forward, knocking the woman down and biting hard into the arm of the maid restraining her.
The little girl’s palm was slick with sweat as she pulled her mother up, trying to flee.
But how could they escape?
The palace attendants soon surrounded them.
Fortunately, the commotion drew the attention of other consorts, and the purple-robed woman had to stop—temporarily.
But only temporarily.
That night, the little girl knelt in the corridor.
“Do you know your mistake?” she asked.
The girl knelt straight-backed, her eyes faintly aggrieved. “Ah Shang does not know.”
She told the maid to strike the child’s palms with a ruler. “Again. Do you know your mistake now?”
The girl trembled with pain but still answered, “Ah Shang still does not know.”
She had no wish to “beat her until she understood.”
She merely wanted Ah Shang to remember this pain—to learn restraint.
Finally, she said, “Your mistake lies in acting beyond your strength. You wished to protect your mother, but in truth, you only harmed both of us.”
Yet she could no longer remember Ah Shang’s expression then.
So many things from that time had faded; survival alone had consumed all her thoughts.
Still, one scene remained vivid and always returned to her dreams—
In a dim corridor, a frail young boy secretly handed a spoiled lychee to the little girl. She watched from afar.
Back then, she thought: I must leave this place.
And she did.
Later, she vowed to climb higher—and she did that, too.
She became the Empress; her child became the Crown Prince.
She had reached the heights of the world’s imagination.
At times, she even felt satisfaction—and guilt.
She had thought of confessing everything.
But then, by chance, she discovered that nothing had been as it seemed.
That seemingly upright emperor had merely been using her—and her child.
He had known everything. He had controlled everything.
He had never needed her confession.
She felt fury, fear, and—most of all—bitterness.
So she swore: everything that existed must be destroyed.
But she would never allow it to vanish under someone else’s hand.
Not even his.
She began to secretly gather allies among the ministers.
She schemed.
And in the end, she committed one act so bold, so unforgivable, that it could have doomed her entire clan to execution.
But she never regretted it.
Every move she made had been the right one.
She had felt guilt—but never remorse.
Yes… guilt, especially as a mother.
The Holy Emperor slowly opened her eyes, her gaze momentarily distant.
“This time… I wronged you,” she murmured softly. “You were never trying to defy me.”
Her voice was faint, heavy with an invisible sigh.
“But why… why will you not acknowledge me? Why will you not sit and speak with me properly?”
Only through such a conversation could she know what her Ah Shang truly thought—so she would not be forced to doubt the one blood kin she had left.
“Your Majesty, you’re awake…”
The maid standing by the screen stepped forward to attend her, while a handsome man with half-unbound hair hurriedly brought her a yellow robe, draping it over her shoulders.
(Author’s Note: Spent four hours outlining the next chapters—realized there’s still the Cui clan and the Empress’s storyline to resolve, so I couldn’t switch back to Ning Ning today. Tomorrow for sure! 🐍)
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