The Doomsday of the Sleeper Cairen

Shen Lumian lay sprawled on a stone table in the Imperial Garden. The sunlight warmed her back, and drowsiness crept over her like rising tidewater.

This was the feeling she had come to know best in her two years at the palace—not the restless insomnia of nighttime, but the languid, bone-deep comfort that came after a full meal and enough sun.

She folded her sleeves into a pillow beneath her cheek and adjusted into a more comfortable position. The March breeze carried the scent of blossoms as it swept past. In the distance, the faint footsteps of palace attendants drifted by—but none of that had anything to do with her. She only needed to close her eyes and wait for the drowsiness to pass.

Beside the stone table stood an old osmanthus tree, its thick branches casting shade over half of her. The other half of the sunlight fell on her back, warming her into laziness. Shen Lumian felt this might be the happiest moment since she had entered the palace—happier than the first time she collected her monthly allowance, happier than when she tasted the newly made osmanthus cakes from the imperial kitchen.

She murmured, "This sunlight is so wonderful, I could die happy."

And then she really did almost fall asleep.

"Cairen Shen!"

The voice drifted from afar. Shen Lumian's brow furrowed. She turned over, burying her face in her arms. Who was that, making such a racket in the middle of the day?

"Cairen Shen! You're still sleeping!"

The footsteps drew closer, accompanied by the rustling of skirts. A hand unceremoniously shook her shoulder—hard enough to nearly jostle her off the stone table.

Shen Lumian had to open one eye.

Before her was a bright, striking face. Liu Ruyan was looking down at her, expression caught between urgency and exasperation, with a fine sheen of sweat on her forehead. Today she wore a goose-yellow overvest, and her hair hadn't been properly fixed—just hastily pinned up with a single hairpin, a few stray strands clinging to her cheeks.

This wasn't like Liu Ruyan. Liu Ruyan had always been the most composed woman in the rear palace—she'd maintain her poise even while emptying a chamber pot.

"Something huge has happened." Liu Ruyan lowered her voice and grabbed Shen Lumian by the sleeve. "Come with me. Quickly."

"What is it?" Shen Lumian rubbed her temples, her voice muffled. "I'm sleepy."

"The emperor has died."

Shen Lumian's hand froze on her temple. She stared blankly for two breaths.

"...Oh."

Liu Ruyan's eyes went wide. "That's your only reaction?"

Shen Lumian sat up and stretched her numb arm. Truth be told, she had hardly met the emperor more than a handful of times. In her two years at the palace, her most glorious moment had been when the emperor briefly glanced her way at a palace banquet—and after that glance, he had probably forgotten that such a person even existed in the rear palace.

The entire rear palace had thirty-six consorts, and she ranked third from the bottom. Her rank was Cairen, and her monthly allowance was just enough to buy two packets of osmanthus cakes and a jug of huadiao wine. The place she lived was called "Yongxiang Shenchu"—just from the name, one could tell it wasn't a desirable location. Its proximity to the Imperial Garden was its only advantage.

"He's dead, so what?" She yawned. "It's not like we've never had a change of emperors before."

"You—" Liu Ruyan was almost exasperated into laughing, but her expression quickly darkened again. "No, you don't understand. The problem isn't that he died—"

Before she could finish, a commotion of hurried footsteps and wailing arose from the distance. From the direction of Yongxiang, several consorts were running their way—some crying with pear-blossom tears, some pale as death, others cursing as they ran. Shen Lumian recognized a few of them: Zhang Xiuyi and Wang Jieyu, who lived at the front of Yongxiang. They were usually the most dignified, but now one had disheveled hair, and the other had lost a shoe.

"What's going on?" Shen Lumian finally sat up straight.

Liu Ruyan's expression changed. She didn't answer. Instead, she pulled Shen Lumian and started walking back.

"Back to your room. Now."

The two hurried back to Shen Lumian's bedchamber. The room was remote, at the deepest end of Yongxiang—even the palace attendants usually couldn't be bothered to come here. The furnishings were simple: one bed, one table, two chairs, and a half-worn dressing case. On the wall hung a painting of a court lady, left behind by the previous occupant; Shen Lumian had never bothered to replace it.

Liu Ruyan closed the door and leaned against it, her chest heaving.

"Ruyan, what's wrong with you?" Shen Lumian poured a cup of water and handed it over. "It's just the emperor—"

"The imperial edict."

Liu Ruyan took the cup but didn't drink. She clutched it, her knuckles white.

"What did the edict say?"

"All consorts." Liu Ruyan's voice came out through clenched teeth. "To be buried alive with the emperor."

The room fell silent.

Wind blew outside, making the window frame creak. Shen Lumian's hand, holding the teapot, paused. She slowly set the teapot down and blinked.

"What did you say?"

"Buried alive." Liu Ruyan repeated, each word like gravel in her mouth. "The edict says it clearly—all consorts, regardless of rank, are to follow him in death."

Shen Lumian's mind went blank.

It wasn't that she had never heard of burial sacrifices. There had been such practices in previous dynasties—history books recorded it plainly: "over a hundred buried alive," "all ordered to die." Reading about it, she had always felt it was distant, like fog隔着好几辈子. But she had always thought it was a barbaric custom of ancient times—the Great Liang Dynasty had been established for over a hundred years and long since abolished it.

"That can't be right," she murmured. "What custom of live burial exists in this court?"

"The imperial edict is the custom." Liu Ruyan slammed the cup onto the table, water splashing out. "The decree has arrived. What use is it for you or me to say it's impossible?"

Suddenly, hurried footsteps sounded outside the door, followed by a eunuch's shrill voice—

"The imperial decree has arrived—"

The two exchanged a glance. Liu Ruyan took a deep breath and opened the door.

Outside stood a row of eunuchs, led by Eunuch Liu of the Imperial Household Department. He held a bright yellow imperial edict in his hands, his expression carrying an unreadable mix of sympathy and numbness. Behind him followed four junior eunuchs, each carrying a white silk sash, poisoned wine, a dagger, and a hempen rope—the four methods of death left for the consorts to "choose for themselves."

Shen Lumian looked at the four items, and her stomach turned.

"Cairen Shen, receive the decree."

When Shen Lumian knelt, her knee struck the threshold, making her gasp in pain. But she didn't make a sound. She only lowered her head and listened as Eunuch Liu read the edict in that official, businesslike tone.

"...Having received Heaven's mandate, I have ruled for ten years... The consorts of the rear palace, who have attended me and shared deep grace and righteousness... shall follow me in death, to complete the beginning and the end..."

She couldn't really take it in. Those ornate phrases flowed past her ears like water, leaving behind only one meaning—she had to die.

Not a metaphor, not an exaggeration. She really had to die.

Twenty years old, without even having had a crush on anyone, and she was going to die.

Eunuch Liu finished reading the edict, rolled up the scroll, and glanced at Shen Lumian. There was something indefinable in that glance, as if he wanted to say something but swallowed it back. He had served in the palace for thirty years and delivered many an imperial edict, but this was the first time he had delivered one ordering "burial sacrifices."

"Cairen Shen, you have three days to end your own life." He paused, his voice dropping slightly. "This is His Majesty's grace—bestowing a whole corpse."

Grace.

Shen Lumian almost laughed out loud. Bestowing a whole corpse was called grace—then what was being cut into pieces? A reward?

"Eunuch Liu," she spoke, her voice calmer than she had expected. "May I ask one question?"

Eunuch Liu was momentarily taken aback. Most consorts, upon hearing the edict of burial, either wailed in despair or collapsed to the ground. He had never seen one who asked questions.

"Please speak, Cairen."

"The edict says 'all consorts.' Does that mean every single one? Even the lowest rank?"

Eunuch Liu was silent for a moment, then nodded.

"What about the palace maids?"

"They are not included."

Shen Lumian nodded and asked no more. She wanted to say, "Then I should have just become a palace maid," but the words caught in her throat and she swallowed them back. What was the use of complaining to a eunuch?

Eunuch Liu left with his men. The moment the door closed, Shen Lumian heard a scream from the end of the corridor—probably one of the consorts who couldn't bear the blow.

The room was quiet for a long time.

Liu Ruyan sat at the table, hands folded on her knees, fingertips trembling slightly. She was a Jieyu, two ranks above Shen Lumian, but when it came to burial sacrifices, rank meant nothing—everyone was equal. Everyone had to die.

"Ruyan," Shen Lumian spoke, her voice surprisingly calm. "Are you afraid?"

Liu Ruyan looked up, her eyes rimmed with red, but her gaze was fierce.

"Afraid? What good would being afraid do?" She stood and walked to the window. "Shen Lumian, listen to me—I am not going to die."

Shen Lumian tilted her head and looked at her.

"What's your plan?"

Liu Ruyan turned, her eyes blazing.

"Fake my death."

Those two words came out of Liu Ruyan's mouth as lightly as if she were saying what to have for dinner. But Shen Lumian knew she wasn't joking—Liu Ruyan was a person who never joked.

"How?"

"There are secret passages in the palace." Liu Ruyan lowered her voice, walked to the door, and listened for any movement outside. Confirming no one was there, she continued, "They date back to the previous emperor's time. They lead outside the palace. I spent six months mapping out the route."

Shen Lumian was stunned. Six months? When had this woman started preparing?

"You already—"

"I've been thinking about how to get out since my first day in the palace." Liu Ruyan cut her off, her tone as flat as if she were discussing the weather. "I just have to change 'getting out' to 'faking my death and getting out.'"

Shen Lumian opened her mouth to say something, but her mind was a jumble. She had never thought about such things. Her entire life plan after entering the palace had been: eat, sleep, don't cause trouble, wait to grow old. Now suddenly she was told she had to die, and her first reaction wasn't fear—it was a surreal sense of absurdity, like listening to a story that had nothing to do with her, and not yet realizing the protagonist was herself.

"What about the fake-death medicine?" she asked.

"I know someone who can get it." Liu Ruyan walked over to her, crouched down, and looked at her seriously. "Lumian, come with me."

Shen Lumian looked into Liu Ruyan's eyes. There was no fear in those eyes—only a stubborn determination bordering on obsession. This woman had been planning her escape since the day she entered the palace, while Shen Lumian's greatest plan in two years had been deciding what to eat for lunch.

"Okay," she said.

Liu Ruyan sighed with relief and patted her hand.

"Then it's settled. I'll come find you tonight and give you the medicine and the route. Remember, no one can know about this—especially those who cry the loudest. The more they cry, the less trustworthy they are."

"Mm."

Liu Ruyan walked to the door, then turned back to look at her.

"Lumian, are you really not afraid?"

Shen Lumian thought about it and answered honestly, "I am. But the sleepiness wins out."

Liu Ruyan shook her head helplessly and pushed the door open, leaving.

After Liu Ruyan left, Shen Lumian sat alone in the room, watching the sky outside the window gradually darken.

She should have been afraid. The imperial edict had been delivered—if she didn't die in three days, she'd be killed anyway. But in her heart, she was strangely calm, almost wanting to laugh.

She remembered the day she entered the palace. Her father had stood at the doorstep, hesitating, finally saying only, "Take care of yourself." She remembered the talent selection, when the imperial physician took her pulse and said she was frail and probably unfit to serve the emperor. She remembered receiving her first monthly allowance after entering the palace—pitifully small, but enough to buy a packet of osmanthus cakes. She remembered that stone table in the Imperial Garden, the best spot for basking in the sun. She probably wouldn't get to lie on it again.

At this thought, she suddenly felt a little sad. Not afraid of dying—just that life had been too dull. She hadn't even gotten her fill of that sunbathing stone table.

She stood up, walked to the window, and pushed it open. The night wind rushed in, carrying a chill. In the distance, white lanterns were being lit in the palace halls—the custom for national mourning. The entire palace had to hang white. Those lanterns lit up one by one in the darkness, like someone had lit a row of candles in the sky.

The palace was full of weeping. Some consorts wailed heart-wrenchingly, some sobbed quietly, and some had already cried themselves silent. Shen Lumian lay on the bed, listening to these sounds, tossing and turning.

Not because she was afraid.

But because Liu Meiren next door was crying too horribly. It sounded like a pig being slaughtered.

"Wuuu—I don't want to die—wuuu—"

Shen Lumian pressed her pillow over her ears and turned over.

"Your Majesty—how could you leave like this—wuuu—"

She turned over again.

"I'm only nineteen—I haven't lived enough—wu—"

Shen Lumian pulled the blanket over her head and thought: Liu Meiren, can't you at least cry with some rhythm? This stop-and-start sobbing is even more annoying than continuous wailing.

She thought drowsily: Tomorrow I need to confirm with Ruyan—after taking the fake-death medicine, does one pass out immediately, or does it take a while? If she still had to lie there conscious for half a day, that would be too awkward. She really didn't want to listen to Liu Meiren's keening while she was in the process of "dying."Also, is the secret passage dark? She's afraid of the dark. If it's too dark, she'll need to find a lamp in advance. Lamp oil in the palace was hard to steal, but she should be able to get a few candles.

She turned over, hugging her pillow, and finally felt a bit sleepy.

Three days. In three days, she would be able to leave the palace.

What would she do after leaving the palace?

Shen Lumian thought for a moment and decided that the first thing to do after leaving the palace was to find a place with sunlight and get a good sleep. No more worrying about being woken up by eunuchs, no more listening to the wailing next door, no more pretending to be an obedient and well-behaved consort.

With that thought, she slowly closed her eyes.

Outside the window, the moon was covered by clouds. Deep in Yongxiang Shenchu, a lantern swayed unsteadily, illuminating the hurried retreating figure of Liu Ruyan.

She was holding a bundle in her arms, walking extremely fast, as if racing against something.

The white lantern behind her swayed in the wind, casting a blurry shadow on the palace wall, like an outstretched hand.