Jade of Another World

On the day of Frost's Descent in the first year of Yonghe, I found a small metal box under her pillow.

Inside the box lay a square-shaped mirror, reflecting the white hairs at my temples—she had broken it last year, saying it was "modern glass." A thin piece of paper lay beneath the mirror, with the words "Want to go home" written on it. The ink had been blurred by water stains, much like the tears I shed on our marriage certificate the day she faked her death.

"So you knew all along." I asked her, holding the box, the candlelight flickering in her eyes like two dancing spots. She was curled up on the chaise longue, embroidering a handkerchief, her eyes suddenly filled with confusion: "I don't belong here..." Before she could finish speaking, I kissed her, stopping her from saying anything more. The word "home" echoed in the air of the bedchamber.

The night the double disappeared with the 100,000 taels of silver, she was planning her escape. Looking down at the snow clinging to her hair, I suddenly remembered when I was twelve, she had knelt before me, begging for help to save her mother, the blue bricks beneath her knees still warm from her body. "He won't come back." I knelt down to brush the snow away from her. "I built you a Peach Blossom Island; perhaps this isn't what you wanted..."

"What I want is freedom." She looked up at me, her eyes devoid of hatred, only a frightening calm. I suddenly grabbed her wrist, like grasping a kite about to take flight: "Ning'er, you used to be afraid even of butterflies, the world outside the palace..." Before she could finish, she suddenly laughed, tears falling onto my dragon-patterned sleeve: "What you feared was never my death, but that I would never return and be controlled by you." "Ning'er, how could I control you? I only hope you love me. That Plum Blossom Token, of course, was granted to you by me. Even the Heavenly Mystery Pavilion is my property. I've always felt it contains many interesting secrets, and you don't even like to study that anymore? Is it really my fault? That you've become so disgusted with life... No matter what, just stay by my side. I would die without you, but would you really be better off without me?"

Later, I ordered a bronze sparrow lock to be cast on her palace gate, and the key is hung on my heart. She began to starve herself, becoming so thin she could be blown away by the wind, yet she still counted the peach blossoms outside the window: "Thirty-seven blossoms have withered today, the same as a modern birthday..." I knelt by her bedside to feed her medicine, watching her spit the medicine into my palm: "Have you ever tasted despair?"

On the night of the winter solstice, I stormed into her bedchamber, completely drunk. She was reading a book called "Time," with the peach blossom hairpin I had given her tucked between the pages. "I had the entire book translated into modern language," I said, shaking the wine jar with a laugh. "Look, I've even planned out your future..." Suddenly, she snatched the jar and smashed it against the bronze lock. As the shards cut her wrist, I finally saw the disgust in her eyes—my self-proclaimed love, which I thought was salvation, was nothing more than a cage she desperately wanted to escape.

The most maddening moment was the day she faked her death. Holding her in the coffin, I suddenly remembered the Persian hourglass I'd found during the southern campaign. Back then, she didn't seem to know me very well. "When the sand runs out, does it mean forever?" Now, the sand has piled up into a grave at the bottom of the coffin, and I finally understand that her heart has always been in another time and space. If I hadn't lured her here, would she be married and have children by now, while I'm trapped in this peach blossom tomb, unable to even grasp her shadow? These falling petals have become my eternal prison.

(Note: This letter was buried under a peach tree in a side room of the Jade Pavilion. Inside the iron box, besides a modern mirror, was half a bloodstained bronze lock. The lock's core was engraved with "Ning'er, I have turned the empire into a cage; are you willing to be trapped in my world?" Historians recorded: "In his later years, His Majesty often talked to himself in front of the crystal coffin, always saying, 'Ning'er's new dress should be changed,' but in reality, the body in the coffin never wore any other clothes.")

(Appendix: Memoirs of an old eunuch in the Cold Palace)

"On his deathbed, His Majesty clutched the Empress's handkerchief and said, 'Ning'er, I can finally let go.' But this servant noticed that the character 'Ning' was still etched on his palm, drawn with the Empress's gold hairpin, the blood seeping into the lines of his hand, impossible to wash away."