scarlet heart | exo

Duty

"Urgh..." Xuefeng clutched her head as the wave of nausea hit her again.

"Are you okay? You've been sickly for a long time already," commented Zitao, looking up from his papers, eyes flashing concern.

"I'm fine," she lied, used to giving the same broken-record response every time Zitao asked. But as her slowed reflexes, pale lips and vacant eyes of late were anything to show for, she was clearly not fine. At least, not anymore.

Her legs, which once carried her across the Xinjiang battlefields in war, now struggled to keep up when her excited toddler son Honghui tugged her sleeves to show her a strange-shaped bush or a pastiche of flowers in the Imperial Gardens. Her hands, which once stretched longbows with ease, now trembled lightly when grasped around a slim inkbrush. She slept so lightly that the slightest rustle of fabric from a servant fidgeting outside her bedchamber would rouse her, and she struggled to maintain her concentration when Zitao sought her advice on affairs of state.

Even though Lady Nian met a horrible end, she still managed to complete what she sought out to do by poisoning Xuefeng-- inflict irreversible damage onto her health. Sure, the injuries she sustained in Xinjiang had a role to play in her weakened constitution, but Lady Nian's poison was seemingly the straw on the camel's back, tipping her over the point of no return.

Xuefeng was young, only in her mid-thirties, but she could fast feel her energy draining from her body with each passing day. She was acutely aware of her imminent mortality.

But she could not die. Not yet.

There was still one more thing she desperately needed to do.

You see, from the war in Xinjiang to the anti-corruption policies, everything had progressed according to Xuefeng's understanding of Qing dynasty history. But there was one thing that was supposed to happen soon, that showed no signs of happening: the birth of Hongli, Zitao's second son, who would become the next Emperor of China.

As far as Xuefeng could recall, Hongli was borne by one of Zitao's concubines. But Zitao did not care for his harem, so in this timeline, there was no way that Hongli could have been borne by a concubine. Hongli grew to be the second-longest-reigning and a pivotal Emperor in Qing and Chinese history; Xuefeng dreaded to think of the historical chaos that would ensue if Hongli did not exist when he ought to.

Thus, the only logical conclusion was that Hongli was borne by her.

So she could not die yet. Not before she bore Hongli, secured the dynasty's next Emperor and the sanctity of history.

"What are you thinking about?" Zitao's voice snapped her out of her reverie, she hadn't even noticed that he had come to sit by her side.

"Nothing much." She lied again. "I'm fine, you should get back to work."

She let her voice falter just so, knowing that it would be enough to make her husband cast aside his papers and come to her side. And like a charm, Zitao was right there, wordlessly leading her to the bedchamber to rest.

Xuefeng wasn't sure how long more she had in this world. But she was going to fulfil her matrimonial and patriotic duties before she drew her last breath.

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"You are pregnant, Your Majesty."

A month later, the very words that Xuefeng yearned yet dreaded to hear arrived.

Zitao was, needless to say, overjoyed. But instead of the unadulterated, childlike wonder with which he regarded her first pregnancy, Zitao was a lot more subdued this time. He took care of her like one would a fragile porcelain doll; always making sure that her food was nutritious and drinks were warm, that there were cushions separating her rapidly-swelling body from harsh wooden surfaces, and she didn't over-exert herself outdoors. Not that Xuefeng was very much active herself; unlike her first pregnancy, during which she took frequent walks around the Palace grounds to exercise, she spent most of her hours this time in the safety and sanctuary of her quarters.

Huixin and Zhiyu came to visit often, but they too treated her with the same reticence. No longer did they place their hands and ears against her belly, listening for the movements and vibrations. Instead, they filled the void with gentle tasks like embroidery and calligraphy, with the occasional wistful remark about watching their respective children grow up together.

"What should we name our child?" asked Zitao one evening as they sat on their shared bed, about to sleep.

Xuefeng pursed her lips. "Hongli."

"How can you be sure that it will be a boy? Since we already have Honghui, I'd rather it be a girl, for balance."

"Either way would be great," replied Xuefeng noncommittally. "If you ever have a daughter in the future, make sure she learns to fight for herself, alright? Teach her to read and write, ride a horse, use weapons and play sports. Your daughter must grow up independent and spirited, and able to fend for herself in this world. She mustn't rely solely on you, her brothers or her husband for protection."

"You will raise our daughters to be that way, I am sure," chuckled Zitao, blowing out the candle and ending the conversation. He tugged on the quilt to draw it tighter around Xuefeng's shoulders.

It was as if everyone knew the inevitable, and by being extra careful with her, they could perhaps delay what was to come.

But Xuefeng, and everyone else, knew exactly how much time she had left.

Nine months.

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