It was no trouble at all for Duke Qiao’s Mansion to summon an imperial physician.
Madam Chen had been bedridden for years, and every month, physicians skilled in caring for middle-aged women came to check her pulse. But today was not one of those days.
Yirong leaned against the soft pillows and asked, “Is this the same physician who usually checks Mother’s pulse for peace of mind?”
At her question, Shui Zhi hurried out to inquire and returned to report, “It was my fault, miss—I should have asked right away. We were afraid there wouldn’t be enough hands to attend you if you woke up, so none of us dared to step out. The physician was here to check on Madam, but he examined you first.”
Yirong pressed, “Was it the one from before?”
A flicker of confusion crossed Shui Zhi’s face. She shook her head. “No, Wang Mama said it was a different old physician.”
Seeing how much Yirong cared, Shuiyun ventured, “Perhaps someone reported it to the Sixth Young Master first thing this morning, and he summoned the physician.”
Yirong had fallen ill once before. That time, her mind had been clear, and she had told the servant girls not to bother informing Cui Cheng. She had even said there was no need in the future, so as not to distract him from his duties.
The thought of asking if anyone had notified Cui Cheng that morning flickered in her mind, but Yirong quickly suppressed it.
Better not to dig too deeply.
A lingering heat still simmered in her body, yet she couldn’t help shivering.
After forcing down a tasteless dinner, only Shuilian remained at Yirong’s side. The two women exchanged a glance.
Shuilian whispered, “Shui Zhi, Shuiyun, and I stayed in the room the whole time to attend you. Neither of them left. But early this morning, plenty of people came to see you—coming and going so much that word must have spread through the entire household by now.”
Yirong said nothing, lost in thought as she gazed past a curtain of jade-green beads. Beyond it, Shui Zhi and Shuiyun were inventorying the tonics and medicines that various people had sent over that day.
“Don’t overthink it,” Shuilian said, forcing a smile. “Maybe Empress Cui heard and specially sent the physician to see you.”
Yirong fell silent for a moment before murmuring softly, “Never mind. I won’t dwell on it.”
If the mansion had summoned the physician—for Madam Chen, the Eldest Young Madam who managed the household, or Cui Cheng—someone would surely have informed her. Even if she had been asleep, her three personal maids would have known.
Shuilian helped Yirong drink a bowl of stewed red date and bird’s nest porridge, soft and mushy. Yirong asked, “Did the physician say how long I need to rest?”
“He said about half a month of quiet recovery. I sent word to Madam right away, telling her you couldn’t serve her medicines for the next half month in case you passed the illness to her. Madam said to rest well and not worry about a thing.”
A faint smile touched Yirong’s pale face. “Not bad. You’ve gotten good at this.”
The mistress and her maid chatted softly for a bit. Then Yirong fell into a coughing fit—tears streaming from her eyes, her nose burning with bitterness and acid. She closed her eyes, letting Shuilian wipe her face clean. In her heart, she sighed over and over.
She was suffering like this, and all they prescribed was half a month of rest?
But she couldn’t bear to inflict something worse, like a broken leg.
Yirong lay groggily against the pillows, her body burning up. Shuilian fanned her a few times, but then her skin felt icy cold. After tossing and turning like that, she grew weak and wretched, vomiting up some sour bile before finally drifting off with her eyes shut.
It was the sound of Cui Cheng’s return that woke her. Seeing him about to undress and climb into bed, she pushed herself up against the bedframe and said hastily, “Chenglang, sleep in the outer chamber tonight.”
The Cui family alone boasted six sons and five daughters from Duke Qiao—not counting Empress Cui, all of whom lived in the mansion. Then there was the western compound, home to the duke’s younger brother’s large family. So many people, so many tongues.
If word got out that she had caught a head cold and still shared a bed with Cui Cheng, her sisters-in-law would surely gossip.
She used to pay no mind to such things, but why court trouble?
Yirong was also afraid of passing the illness to him. “You’ll catch it from me if we sleep together.”
“No matter,” Cui Cheng said, knowing her concern. “Tomorrow before I leave, I’ll tell them not to breathe a word. Go to sleep. If you’re uncomfortable, don’t hold back—just wake me.”
She tried to shoo him away again, but Cui Cheng gently pressed her back down. In a tone that brooked no argument, he said, “Enough. Sleep.”
He brushed a hand over Yirong’s wan little face and murmured tenderly, “Rongrong, close your eyes.”
Yirong gave in and shut her eyes.
That night, her sleep was restless. She dreamed of her father’s death, then of her cousin bursting into the room at her uncle’s house, face fierce as she beat her. Finally, she saw the emperor’s sharp black eyes staring at her.
Drenched in sweat, she murmured, “No, no…” Cui Cheng, who hadn’t been sleeping soundly, heard her at once. He rang for the maids and patted her shoulder clumsily but gently.
All night long, Cui Cheng changed Yirong’s sweat-soaked nightclothes, fed her medicine. The next morning, when paying respects to his parents, he asked for a day off to care for his wife. Duke Qiao at first refused to let him take leave for such a trifle, but Cui Cheng wouldn’t budge, so he relented.
Yirong had never suffered such a bad head cold before. She lay in a haze for three or four days before feeling somewhat better—strong enough to get out of bed on her own. But since she had wanted to fall ill in the first place, she said nothing of her improvement. Instead, it drew Cui Cheng to dote on her meticulously every time he returned home.
She felt both moved and guilty.
Yet she didn’t dare risk finding out how Cui Cheng might react if he knew the truth. What if it planted a seed of resentment…?
Their marriage had been difficult enough to achieve. Yirong didn’t want to stir up more trouble.
That day, as Yirong reclined against the headboard, Second Miss Cui Youfan and Third Lady Cui Youshu came to keep her company. One was fifteen, the other fourteen—neither born to Madam Chen, both pretty as pictures. After Shuilian filled them in on their Sixth Sister-in-law’s condition that day, the girls launched into the latest gossip from outside.
The biggest news was that the emperor had formally ascended the throne in the Hall of Containing the Origin.
From the Previous Emperor’s sudden death to the ascension, less than three months had passed—an extraordinarily swift affair. The girls naturally hadn’t attended the ceremony at the hall, but they recounted it in vivid detail, making the grand ritual sound solemn and magnificent.
Yirong listened with a smile. Now that the emperor had officially taken the throne, he would surely establish an empress soon, wouldn’t he? She had heard that as Prince Jing, he had no princess consort. But at twenty-four, he must have a few concubines at least.
Even if the emperor had no wish for it, propriety demanded that the imperial clan and the Ministry of Rites urge him on.
Yirong smiled faintly and kept listening.
After finishing with the ascension ceremony, the ancestral temple sacrifices, and the rest, Second Miss lowered her voice. “I heard that His Majesty plans to posthumously honor his birth mother, Noble Consort Pei, as Empress Dowager and rebury her with Emperor Xuan.”
Yirong speared a piece of sweet melon with her chopsticks and fed it to her, laughing. “It’s an old precedent for an emperor to honor his birth mother as Empress Dowager.”
Second Miss mumbled a “Thank you, Sixth Sister-in-law” through a full mouth, then added, “Ah, I wonder what will happen to Eldest Sister.”
Precedents for a younger brother succeeding an elder were few. Deciding how to honor the late emperor’s widow was a thorny issue indeed.
Third Lady said, “Why worry your head about it? The rites officials will debate and measure it out. His Majesty wouldn’t dare disrespect Eldest Sister, or the whole world would curse him for bullying a widow.”
Both girls spoke bluntly, and Yirong smiled in amusement.
After a moment’s thought, she said, “I recall a case from the previous dynasty. They took the late emperor’s posthumous title, added a character, and styled her as such—still calling her Empress, as in the Wenjing Empress. After all, brothers are of the same generation. Eldest Sister will likely be treated the same.”
Second Miss laughed. “Sixth Sister-in-law knows so much! Get well soon, Sixth Sister-in-law—my birthday is coming up right away. You have to come. Mother won’t let us drink unless you’re there to watch us.”
“You’re not craving the wine—you just want a good birthday gift from Sixth Sister-in-law!”
No sooner had Third Lady spoken than Second Miss lunged to pinch her mouth. One dodged, the other chased, their bright laughter ringing out in peals.
Yirong couldn’t help chuckling. “All right, all right, settle down. For Little Second Sister’s birthday, I’ve already prepared your gift.”
At that, Third Lady grabbed Yirong’s arm and wheedled, “Sixth Sister-in-law, what did you get Second Sister? Flower essence? You have to give me some for my birthday too, all right?”
Before Yirong could reply, Second Miss said, “Hey, is Sixth Sister-in-law’s illness getting better? Your color looks much improved from the last few days. You even sound stronger.”
Yirong sidestepped the question, tapping her forehead. “Rest assured, I’ll be at your birthday banquet to take at least one sip of wine.”
Both girls dissolved into giggles. Mindful of their Sixth Sister-in-law’s lingering cold, they sat a little longer before leaving.
Yirong counted the days. Thirteen had passed since she fell ill, and Second Miss’s birthday was still ten days away. If she claimed full recovery in five days, no one could complain about her attending the banquet right after.
With her plan set, five days later, that morning, she paid respects to Madam Chen from behind two layers of curtains.
Yirong returned from the main courtyard in high spirits. She even lingered awhile under the camphor tree’s green shade, basking in the sunlight dappling the flowers and grass, a smile curving her lips.
Having been cooped up in her room for eighteen days, Yirong took her maids for a slow stroll through the mansion’s gardens. Only when the sun climbed high did she return. The moment she entered the inner chamber, she flung herself onto the freshly changed bedding and rolled around, radiating lazy allure.
Madam Chen, deeming her just recovered, excused her from serving the medicines and even permitted her to attend Second Miss’s small banquet.
Not a peep from the palace, either.
Yirong couldn’t hold back a laugh. But as she approached the vanity, her good mood evaporated. She had been through a real ordeal—pale and fragile as a willow in the wind, her chin even sharper now.
The next day, an imperial decree arrived that set the entire household of Duke Qiao’s Mansion grinning from ear to ear.
His Majesty specially honored the Previous Emperor’s widow, Empress Cui, as Empress Dowager Zhaoyi. She would enjoy the same regulations, protocols, and treatment as the Empress Dowager herself, and she was to relocate to the Hall of Eternal Peace.
Such courtesy far exceeded the Cui family’s expectations.
The moment the news broke, Yirong rushed to the main courtyard. On the way, she ran into Fifth Young Madam. The two were close in age and the best of friends among her sisters-in-law. After exchanging greetings, they went together.
Not long after, Cui Cheng hurried over upon returning home from his duties. He sat down beside Yirong and softly asked if she had felt unwell at any point during the day.
Once Duke Qiao and his wife had arrived, the entire gathering fell silent.
Yirong and Cui Cheng stopped speaking as well. She listened intently to Madam Chen’s measured words, and as she did, a sense of foreboding stirred in her heart.
Sure enough, “Old Sixth’s wife, have someone deliver your card shortly so you can enter the palace to pay respects to Empress Dowager Zhaoyi,” Madam Chen instructed. Her gaze fell upon the eager Eldest Young Madam. “The Eldest Young Madam will accompany you.”
Yirong lowered her eyes. “Second Sister’s birthday is in just a few days. This daughter-in-law wants to organize a proper celebration for her. Why not have Eldest Sister-in-law go alone?”
The Eldest Young Madam raised an eyebrow. “Did Sixth Sister-in-law’s recent illness leave you muddled? I’ve been handling Second Sister’s birthday banquet from the start, and everything is nearly ready.”
She had merely wanted to beg off, only to be refuted right there in front of everyone. A flush crept into her cheeks.
No one else could have guessed her reluctance to enter the palace. “Just the two of you,” Madam Chen declared.
With the matter thus settled, the whole family dispersed.
Cui Cheng gazed at his wife, whose anxiety she could not conceal. “Are you still upset over what Eldest Sister-in-law said?” he asked.
Yirong smiled. “Not at all. Do you think I’m that petty?”
He too felt that paying respects in the palace was a fine thing. Besides, delivering the card that evening meant they could enter the palace at the earliest the day after tomorrow—it wouldn’t wear her out. “Rongrong,” Cui Cheng said warmly, “you’ve had a hard time of it.”
After exchanging a few more words, Cui Cheng added, “If Your Majesty is willing to grant you an audience, you and Eldest Sister-in-law can pay your respects and offer thanks.”
She nearly lost her composure, forcing a smile. “What nonsense is that? What reason would two ministerial wives have to request a meeting with Your Majesty?”
Cui Cheng laughed and patted his forehead. “You’re right—it was my nonsense.”
Ever the straightforward sort with a ready laugh, he shared murmured small talk with his wife for a good while after their meal before they turned in for the night.
In the dead of night, with the person at her pillow sleeping soundly, Yirong lay awake, eyes wide open. The lavish bed curtains hung low, and a chill breeze wafted in from some unseen source, making her shiver involuntarily.
Deep within the palace, Empress Dowager Zhaoyi—who ought to have been filled with joy—stared into the candlelight, her face etched with worry.