The dragon chair was cold, and the twelve chapters embroidered with gold threads glowed dimly under the candlelight. I lowered my eyes and stroked the black cloud patterns on the cuffs. When my fingertips touched the raised edges of the silk thread, I suddenly remembered that many years ago, my father held my hand like this and taught me to identify the inscriptions on the memorial.
They all said that the first queen of the Dazong Dynasty was the late emperor's most beloved child. But only I know, because I am the child left behind by my mother, so I want the best for me.
My father always said, Linxi, this world should be yours. But I remember more clearly, the first time he taught me to read the "Political Code" in the Imperial Study Room, the magnolia outside the window was blooming just right. He pointed to the words "Women are not allowed to participate in politics" on the book and told me: "Rules are made by people, and my father wants to make a new one for you."
At that time, I didn't understand how much effort this sentence cost him. Just like when I was seven years old, I didn't understand why my sister only stayed in this world for a moment before being wrapped in a plain white swaddling clothes and sent away; I also didn't understand why when my mother was dying, she looked at me with not only pity but also uncontrollable worry.
Now I am sitting in the seat that once belonged to my father. The sound of drums outside the palace is deafening, but what I hear is the nursery rhyme my mother taught me to sing under the crabapple tree many years ago. It is my father's sigh when he tucked me into bed late at night.
This dragon chair is a gift from my father. But what supports me sitting here has never been the supreme power.
