open post: Empress Liu Mingyan
Liu Mingyan has a lot on her mind.
In the three months since Luo Binghe vanished into thin air, Xin Mo abandoned at the foot of his throne, his Empire—her Empire—has... changed. The throne remains empty, of course—to have anyone else claim it, even temporarily, would be conceding that his absence is unintentional, either accidental or, more likely, a malicious coup. Whoever did the claiming would be the prime suspect for mal intent, including Mingyan herself. So it sits, empty, at the center of his great hall, Mobei-Jun standing sentinel beside it, never to be looked at directly by any visiting dignitary or sniveling demonic petitioner.
She's been redirecting all audiences to her wing of the palace instead. Her hall is not quite so grand, but it is nearly as imposing, and her own throne no less terrible and beautiful. When Luo Binghe is in residence, she primarily uses this hall for meetings with her network of all-female spies—not because Luo Binghe doesn't know about them, in his vague and uninterested way, but because Liu Mingyan has learned from experience that if they encounter him they turn very quickly from useful and competent agents to fawning and lovestruck young maidens, and then it's only a matter of time before they join the ranks of the harem. Liu Mingyan does not resent this; there would be no point. But she prefers to conduct her business in private nonetheless.
Now, of course, even from her own throne many of her edicts must be delivered as if they're orders that Luo Binghe left for her to give. Ning Yingying has been surprisingly useful on this front; despite Liu Mingyan's disdain for what she believed a naive and trusting heart who had given up her sect loyalty to marry for love, Ning Yinging does know Luo Binghe, perhaps better even than Liu Mingyan does, offering insight into what Luo Binghe would have said, if he had in fact instructed Mingyan on how to handle this matter. Liu Mingyan does not always take this advice—she does not always want to do what Luo Binghe would have done, especially as his absence stretches from days into weeks into months, but she does not resent it, either.
In truth, what Liu Mingyan resents is the idea that Luo Binghe will return, and she will be expected to relinquish rule back to him, and everything she has built—the tenuous and confusing peace between herself and Sha Hualing, and thus the quelling of the constant threat of southern rebellion; the ease with which she receives the other wives and soothes their fears, rather than holding herself above them;1 the shifted tenor of court itself, with fewer public displays of violence2—all of it will go back to normal, and Liu Mingyan finds she has less taste for normal every day. It's not that she doesn't want Luo Binghe to return—of course she does—but she wishes that somehow he might return different. It's a futile thought, and a disloyal one to think about a man who created this life for her, a man she cares deeply about, but she cannot deny that she thinks it.
So when she steps down a secret stairway into a corridor that should lead to her chambers and ends up in an unfamiliar hallway instead—the light entirely wrong, the architecture unfamiliar—her first thoughts are uncharitable. It seems obvious that this is the same trap that ensnared Luo Binghe. It also seems unfair to make her the one to bring him home, and be the agent of her own undoing. She'll do it—he is her husband, and while that doesn't mean the same thing to her as it does many of his wives, it does mean something significant, as undeniable as it is ill-defined—and her Emperor. But—
She sets her jaw behind her veil and wraps her fingers around Cheng Luan's hilt, proceeding silently down the hallway.
[NSFW: Susan's thread, Janet's thread]
1 Well, sometimes she's still above them. If you know what I mean.
2 Not that there has been no violence—it's just generally conducted elsewhere. Her floors are harder to clean than Luo Binghe's.
In the three months since Luo Binghe vanished into thin air, Xin Mo abandoned at the foot of his throne, his Empire—her Empire—has... changed. The throne remains empty, of course—to have anyone else claim it, even temporarily, would be conceding that his absence is unintentional, either accidental or, more likely, a malicious coup. Whoever did the claiming would be the prime suspect for mal intent, including Mingyan herself. So it sits, empty, at the center of his great hall, Mobei-Jun standing sentinel beside it, never to be looked at directly by any visiting dignitary or sniveling demonic petitioner.
She's been redirecting all audiences to her wing of the palace instead. Her hall is not quite so grand, but it is nearly as imposing, and her own throne no less terrible and beautiful. When Luo Binghe is in residence, she primarily uses this hall for meetings with her network of all-female spies—not because Luo Binghe doesn't know about them, in his vague and uninterested way, but because Liu Mingyan has learned from experience that if they encounter him they turn very quickly from useful and competent agents to fawning and lovestruck young maidens, and then it's only a matter of time before they join the ranks of the harem. Liu Mingyan does not resent this; there would be no point. But she prefers to conduct her business in private nonetheless.
Now, of course, even from her own throne many of her edicts must be delivered as if they're orders that Luo Binghe left for her to give. Ning Yingying has been surprisingly useful on this front; despite Liu Mingyan's disdain for what she believed a naive and trusting heart who had given up her sect loyalty to marry for love, Ning Yinging does know Luo Binghe, perhaps better even than Liu Mingyan does, offering insight into what Luo Binghe would have said, if he had in fact instructed Mingyan on how to handle this matter. Liu Mingyan does not always take this advice—she does not always want to do what Luo Binghe would have done, especially as his absence stretches from days into weeks into months, but she does not resent it, either.
In truth, what Liu Mingyan resents is the idea that Luo Binghe will return, and she will be expected to relinquish rule back to him, and everything she has built—the tenuous and confusing peace between herself and Sha Hualing, and thus the quelling of the constant threat of southern rebellion; the ease with which she receives the other wives and soothes their fears, rather than holding herself above them;1 the shifted tenor of court itself, with fewer public displays of violence2—all of it will go back to normal, and Liu Mingyan finds she has less taste for normal every day. It's not that she doesn't want Luo Binghe to return—of course she does—but she wishes that somehow he might return different. It's a futile thought, and a disloyal one to think about a man who created this life for her, a man she cares deeply about, but she cannot deny that she thinks it.
So when she steps down a secret stairway into a corridor that should lead to her chambers and ends up in an unfamiliar hallway instead—the light entirely wrong, the architecture unfamiliar—her first thoughts are uncharitable. It seems obvious that this is the same trap that ensnared Luo Binghe. It also seems unfair to make her the one to bring him home, and be the agent of her own undoing. She'll do it—he is her husband, and while that doesn't mean the same thing to her as it does many of his wives, it does mean something significant, as undeniable as it is ill-defined—and her Emperor. But—
She sets her jaw behind her veil and wraps her fingers around Cheng Luan's hilt, proceeding silently down the hallway.
[NSFW: Susan's thread, Janet's thread]
1 Well, sometimes she's still above them. If you know what I mean.
2 Not that there has been no violence—it's just generally conducted elsewhere. Her floors are harder to clean than Luo Binghe's.