Yirong had come to visit her mother today without informing Madam Chen beforehand. She didn’t dare linger, sharing only a few reluctant words before departing.
Seated inside the carriage, she closed her eyes and pondered how to explain herself upon her return. When she shifted slightly, a wave of discomfort washed over her.
She had forgotten to remove her chest binding back at the residence—no wonder her breathing felt so labored.
Yirong softly instructed Shuilian, “Go sit up front on the carriage shaft. If we encounter anyone on the road, call out to remind me.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than the sound of hoofbeats echoed from behind the carriage, as if a large group was approaching. Her delicate brows furrowed. Her hand paused at her chest as she adjusted her shawl. “Never mind,” she murmured. “I’ll wait a bit.”
Undressing inside the carriage was a bold undertaking in the first place. After a moment’s thought, Yirong abandoned the idea and decided to deal with it once she was back home. Mere moments later, however, the thunderous gallop of hooves grew ever closer, accompanied by sharp shouts from up ahead.
Clashing weapons rang out as well.
Yirong pressed a hand on Shuilian’s arm, stopping her from pushing open the carriage door. “Don’t move,” she whispered.
As the Young Madam of Duke Qiao’s Mansion, even if Yirong shunned ostentation, she still traveled with two matrons and four guards.
What trouble could possibly arise in the outskirts of the capital? Yirong sat quietly inside the carriage. If it was a crisis even Duke Qiao’s guards couldn’t handle, all she could do was wait and see.
The chaotic noises outside eventually died down. Yirong glanced at the maid beside her, and Shuilian understood at once. “Let’s go,” she called out loudly.
The carriage door was thrust open. The young man who had pushed it retreated, revealing the Emperor’s face.
“Get down,” he commanded.
Shuilian had instinctively moved to block him from Yirong, but under the Emperor’s calm order, she trembled violently and climbed down. An eunuch steadied her, or she might have collapsed.
Yirong’s mind buzzed with shock. Utterly at a loss, she made to follow, but the Emperor had already boarded the carriage with agile grace and seized her arm.
He sat opposite her, his posture impeccably upright, a smile playing on his lips. “Zhen didn’t tell you to get down.”
“Then I didn’t invite You to come up!”
The words burst from Yirong’s lips.
As soon as she spoke, she realized her grave disrespect. She clapped a hand over her mouth and stared at the Emperor in stunned silence.
The Emperor showed no anger.
Emboldened now that the words were out, Yirong demanded, “Are You following me?”
The Emperor’s gaze fell on the sheep-fat jade earrings swaying from her earlobes. She had quite the collection of them, and as she leaned back, they traced delicate ripples in the air—perfectly matching her name.
“Zhen left the palace early this morning on business,” he explained. “We simply crossed paths.”
The carriage continued onward. What had once been a spacious and comfortable interior—large enough for a soft couch, incense burner, and even an ice basin—now felt intolerably cramped. Yirong’s breathing grew more labored; she could scarcely draw breath.
The Emperor had boarded her carriage right in front of her mansion’s servants…
Her face drained of color, her soft pink lips parting slightly.
Seeing her pallor, the Emperor paused thoughtfully before asking, “Did you go to see your mother? Is she still unwell?”
Yirong’s vision abruptly darkened, her head and ears ringing fiercely.
It took her a long moment to recover. She looked upon the Emperor’s mild and amiable expression.
The Emperor surely had no time to trail her all the way to the suburbs. Clearly, he had investigated her thoroughly—down to where her mother lived and the state of her health.
She made no reply, only pleaded, “Your Majesty, I beg You to leave this subject-wife some dignity. How am I supposed to face anyone back home after this?”
Yirong covered her mouth and tilted her head back, fighting back tears. She had no wish to whimper and beg before the Emperor.
Lowering her hand, she patted her chest lightly. Having come to a realization, her tone lightened. “If Your Majesty presses me like this, this subject-wife will have no choice but to take her own life upon returning home.”
“Zhen knows what concerns you,” the Emperor said. “You fear the stigma of an affair. Rest assured, those guards won’t dare breathe a word. Zhen will ensure you leave Duke Qiao’s Mansion with your honor intact.”
Yirong blinked, taking a long while to process his words.
All she knew of the Emperor came from hearsay. His reputation was spotless; his military and administrative feats at the borderlands were legendary. He was a capable and decisive sovereign.
But if he weren’t speaking to her, she might have suspected someone had bewitched him.
How could he so casually suggest she abandon her husband?
Anger surged within her, her breaths coming short and ragged, like someone who had just run a great distance.
“Your Majesty,” she asked in bewilderment, “are You retaliating against Duke Qiao’s Mansion?”
She recalled her in-laws’ and siblings-in-law’s recent worries.
Were her mind clear, Yirong never would have voiced such a question. If the Emperor wished to suppress or punish them, he could fabricate charges against the entire household at any moment and have them seized or exiled. Why bother with her?
The Emperor chuckled at her words, his laughter light and swift.
He shifted closer. A faint fragrance wafted from her, their breaths mingling as he regarded her dazed expression. She seemed far more compliant like this than when she had spoken of death.
“What do you think?”
Yirong pursed her lips uncomfortably and said nothing.
Sunlight streamed brilliantly through the carriage’s glass-inlaid windows, filling the interior with dazzling radiance.
With keen interest, the Emperor pressed, “Why would Zhen retaliate against Duke Qiao’s Mansion? What do you know? Have they disrespected Zhen in their halls, or plotted rebellion?”
Yirong’s eyes darted about as she hurried to backtrack. “Your Majesty overthinks it. This subject-wife is foolish, mistaking street gossip for truth. I thought You and… well, that You wouldn’t favor my husband’s family. It was a foolish slip on my part.”
Amusement flickered in the Emperor’s eyes. In a deeper tone, he pursued, “What gossip?”
Before she could answer, he added, “You’re clever.”
Her breathing grew even more difficult—not merely from her bindings, but from his relentless questioning.
She parted her lips to speak, but a breath caught in her throat, and she fainted away.
Puzzled, he looked over. Yirong’s eyes were closed, her small face still creased in a frown.
He called out, “Cheng Ye, ride ahead to the Supreme Harmony Traveling Palace at once. Have the imperial physicians standing by, and summon that maid up here.”
The young man who had opened the door earlier—Cheng Ye—responded loudly. With his horsewhip, he pointed at Shuilian, who was hurrying alongside the carriage. “You, up here.”
With that, he spurred his horse and galloped off.
Shuilian was already regretting how she had abandoned her lady under the Emperor’s awe-inspiring presence. Now summoned aboard, she was terrified. Her eyes bulged at the sight of Yirong lying unconscious with her head in the Emperor’s lap.
Gazing at Yirong’s face, the Emperor asked, “Does she have some hidden ailment?”
The investigators he had sent reported that she had roamed mountains and rivers since childhood, her constitution sturdier than most women’s.
Shuilian answered honestly, “N-No… Your Majesty, my lady has no hidden ailments.”
She glanced at the unconscious Yirong. Her lady had struggled into the bindings that morning and worn them half the day—likely she had suffocated.
But she could never say that to the Emperor.
The Emperor lightly patted Yirong’s cheek. Without looking up, he continued, “Has she fainted inexplicably before?”
“No, Your Majesty. My lady has never fainted.”
The Emperor raised his eyes. “Stop the carriage. Open the door.”
The driver—now one of the Emperor’s Imperial Guards—brought the vehicle to a smooth halt and opened the door. The Emperor carried Yirong down, settled her on a horse with one arm, then mounted behind her and raced toward the Imperial Retreat Palace.
Before they reached it, however, the Emperor sensed something amiss.
Her shawl, which had covered her chest, now fluttered in the wind. Regardless of his intentions, he could hardly grope the woman in his arms before the palace servants and Imperial Guards. He spurred his horse into a furious gallop and arrived at the Supreme Harmony Traveling Palace.
The palace loomed grandly, its jade steps and vermilion halls resplendent. Palace servants, forewarned, knelt in welcome at the gates.
The Emperor strode forward with a grim expression, passing through shaded avenues of ancient trees until he reached the main hall. Cheng Ye clasped his fists and reported, “Your Majesty, the palace’s imperial physicians await in the inner hall.”
“Summon them to diagnose her.”
The Emperor added, “A female physician.”
Cheng Ye departed at once to obey. The attending palace maids gently laid Yirong down inside.
The Emperor glanced at her sleeping face but did not remain in the inner hall.
Though modest in scale, this suburban Imperial Retreat Palace lacked for nothing. The female physician soon hurried in, paid her respects to the Emperor, and entered to take Yirong’s pulse.
Moments later, she emerged and reported deferentially, “Your Majesty, this Noble Lady fainted from labored breathing. This humble one pressed her chest, and she has awakened.”
The Emperor nodded but did not enter immediately.
He stood with hands clasped behind his back. Before him stretched a dense bloom of flowers, the nearest tree clustered with tightly furled buds.
Spring was still in full glory, a sea of pink and white.
The Emperor turned and entered. With a wave, he dismissed all the palace servants.
Yirong sat on the bed, her eyelashes fluttering incessantly.
Fear of the unknown gripped her; she bit down hard on lips that should have been rosy, turning them pale.
The Emperor approached step by step. Yirong lowered her eyes in silence.
“You—” He paused, forgoing the question of why. “Are you recovered?”
She nodded, her voice trembling. “Your Majesty, this subject-wife wishes to go home.”
“Zhen truly wasn’t following you,” the Emperor said to himself.
Yirong forced a smile. “This subject-wife is ignorant and foolish. Pray do not take my silly words to heart, Your Majesty.”
“But,” she pivoted, “rumors can be fearsome. My reputation matters little, but I beg Your Majesty to consider Your own sacred name.”
“No need to mind them,” the Emperor said curtly, a glint of intrigue in his eyes.
He leaned down, his pitch-black gaze pinning Yirong in place.
“Be obedient.”
The Emperor wanted her to greet him with a happy smile on her face.
Yirong’s mind stirred. She rolled her eyes playfully and asked in a coquettish voice, “Since Your Majesty likes this subject-wife so much, why did you ignore her these past few days?”
“Zhen had official business to attend to,” the Emperor replied curtly. From a young age, he had despised the sort of foolish rulers who became bewitched by women, neglected state affairs, and then tried to shift the blame onto their inner courtyards whenever they were busy with real matters.
“You needn’t fear. Zhen will order Duke Qiao’s Mansion to arrange your divorce from Cui Cheng. Afterward, Zhen will posthumously grant your father an official title, allow your mother to accompany you as you settle down in the Capital City, and then formally invite you into the palace.”
The Emperor smiled and said, “What do you think?”
Seeing that he had already made all the arrangements, Yirong beamed on the surface. “Your Majesty shows me such favor, but my husband currently holds only the rank of a fourth-grade Langjiang in the Feilin Guards. I hope Your Majesty might promote him a little on my account—and also my…”
She had originally dared to bring up Cui Cheng precisely because the Emperor did not seem like the type to kill indiscriminately. But at the sight of his darkening expression, she faltered and fell silent.
The Emperor’s pitch-black eyes stared straight at her.
The clear and refined beauty, reminiscent of a Han River ferry maiden at their first meeting, suddenly grew clouded.
He sneered. “Cui Cheng’s original position was thanks to Lady Cui as well, wasn’t it?”
Yirong pressed her lips together, filled with regret. She shouldn’t have mentioned Cui Cheng! It would have been better to find some other way to maneuver around this. Now, she might have dampened the Emperor’s interest in her—but what about Cui Cheng?
He had done nothing wrong.
She didn’t dare retort that Cui Cheng had clearly earned his position through his own merits. She remained utterly silent.
The Emperor pinched her chin, forcing her to lift her face. Yirong feigned composure, plastering a syrupy sweet smile on her lips.
He gazed deeply into her eyes and brows for a few moments, then flicked his sleeve and strode away.
She was left flung onto the pillow. Not daring to make a sound, she endured the pain and crawled back up. Hiding her face behind the bed curtains, she watched as the Emperor’s figure receded into the distance.