Yirong stood frozen in place for a moment before she regained her senses and slowly dressed herself.
She glared at the silk chest-binding cloth lying beside her, tempted to grab a knife and shred it to pieces.
She hoped her pretentious little act had disgusted the Emperor enough that he would never seek her out again.
The thought of him smugly announcing his so-called dignified arrangement all on his own made Yirong sneer. He could never imagine the deep mutual affection between her and Cui Cheng—how could a few words from him possibly destroy that?
She had never hated anyone so intensely in her life.
Yirong clutched her chest, her heart pounding wildly while her stomach churned with nausea. A wave of lingering fear washed over her.
Moments ago, the Emperor had gripped her chin, his entire body radiating cold sternness before he disdainfully flung her aside.
She pounded her chest, a sour ache spreading through her as she forced herself to calm down.
Though Yirong longed to cut up the chest-binding cloth, she could only tuck it away carefully. When she stood and looked around, the hall’s solemn, opulent decorations filled her with a suffocating dread of the imperial family.
Frowning as she took it all in, Yirong wondered if the Emperor had left her here for some other purpose.
She shook her head. She didn’t care about any further orders from the Emperor. Right now, she just needed to get back. As for the coachman, guards, and the rest, she would gauge their reactions when she saw them.
But what about Cui Cheng…
If the Emperor truly resented her words and decided to torment or punish her husband, it would be child’s play for him.
The mere idea filled her with regret.
Yirong stared blankly in the direction where the Emperor had vanished, her body going limp as she sank to her knees on the floor. Cold sweat beaded along her temples.
A sudden impulse surged within her: she wanted to chase after him, throw herself at the Emperor’s feet, and beg for mercy—for him to spare Cui Cheng.
It was all her fault for speaking out of turn. Cui Cheng had nothing to do with it.
Yirong’s heart wrenched in agony. She lowered her gaze, and her panicked expression stared back at her from the smooth, unyielding marble tiles.
She shouldn’t have foolishly defied the Emperor and dragged her husband into it. But how could she abandon the man she loved so deeply…
Fat teardrops splattered onto the tiles.
Yirong had always prided herself on her wits, but they seemed utterly worthless before the Emperor.
He was shrewd—and his moods swung wildly without warning.
In their carriage conversation today, she had been entirely at his mercy, even dragging some baseless rumor into it…
Her body trembled, white flashes dancing before her eyes. It took her a long while to snap out of it.
She was such a fool—truly, an utter fool. Yirong raised her hand and slapped her own cheek, not too hard but enough to sting.
She should have confessed to Cui Cheng the very first time she sensed something was wrong.
Now she was trapped in a situation where she could never come clean.
She kept overplaying her cleverness: trusting the palace servants who had trailed them, assuming the chest binding would repel the Emperor. Hadn’t she played right into his hands every single time?
Yirong pursed her lips, her head drooping lower.
Her original worries had been twofold. First, her mother’s relapsing illness, which she knew wouldn’t resolve overnight. Second, the matter of pregnancy, delayed by the year of mourning for the Previous Emperor…
Neither was an immediate concern.
But this current crisis? She couldn’t think of a soul who could help her, nor any way to defy the Emperor. Was death her only escape…
At the thought of dying, Yirong jerked her head up.
She would never do it.
Bracing her hands on her knees, she slowly rose to her feet. At that moment, Shuilian hurried in. The instant she saw Yirong, tears sprang to her eyes. “It’s all this servant’s fault—I failed to protect you, Miss… Miss, your face! What happened to your face?”
“I’m the one who hit it,” Yirong said wearily.
Shuilian bit back her questions, unwilling to press. With tears in her eyes, she said, “Miss, Your Majesty has already set off back to the palace. We should go too.”
No sooner had she spoken than two palace maids entered. The one in front spoke evenly, neither servile nor overbearing. “This servant will attend to your makeup.”
Yirong ignored her and strode toward the exit. After two steps, the maid blocked her path and repeated, “This servant will attend to your makeup.”
Yirong kept walking. The two maids exchanged a glance, then scurried ahead to kneel and kowtow before her.
Yirong had always been soft-hearted. She halted, worried they might be punished, and nodded. “Rise. I’ll let you do it.”
The maids stood and flanked her, supporting her arms as they led her to the side hall. There, they redid her hair.
Staring at her ghostly pale reflection in the mirror, Yirong asked, “Did Your Majesty give you these orders before he left?”
The maid holding a lock of her dark hair smiled faintly. “Your Majesty gave no such instructions. But you belong to the inner court. If anyone saw you looking disheveled, it would be this servant’s gravest offense.”
Yirong let out a sudden, icy laugh. “Fine!”
The maids, seeing the fury on her face, couldn’t quite place her status—she hardly seemed like a properly enfeoffed consort. They curtsied in contrition and fell silent, swiftly finishing her hair before gesturing for her to follow them out.
The sun blazed high overhead as Yirong walked into the bright daylight, her heart a tangled knot. When they reached the carriage from Duke Qiao’s Mansion, the two familiar matrons kept their heads bowed. When they finally looked up to appraise her, her gaze startled them into attitudes of utmost reverence. They actually knelt to see her into the carriage.
The guards and coachman knelt right behind them.
This had never happened before.
Yirong glanced at the people kneeling all around the carriage. She let out two chuckles, then threw her head back in loud laughter.
–
Cheng Ye had grown up in the Emperor’s military camp. When he saw the Emperor stride out—his expression impassive but radiating fury—he hurried after him.
The Emperor cracked his whip and spurred his horse into a gallop, kicking up clouds of dust.
On the official road back to the city, occasional travelers passed by; he had deliberately ordered no road clearance today. Once his anger cooled, he slowed his pace.
All an act.
Her fawning, ingratiating smile in the retreat palace, her pleas for an official post for Cui Cheng—it had all been fake. The way her eyelashes had fluttered, her gaze darting evasively… It had been obvious. How had he missed it?
The Emperor let out a low chuckle. That sly little spark of hers was truly endearing.
To think he had been fooled by her petty trick. He shook his head and burst into hearty laughter.
Cheng Ye, trailing behind, gaped in astonishment. A mix of Hu and Han blood, his amber eyes gleamed like honey solidified in the sunlight. He had never known his father; his mother died when he was three. He had survived by begging and odd jobs until, by sheer chance, he caught the eye of the man who was then the Vast Sea Grand Protector—the future Emperor. Gradually promoted, he became one of the Emperor’s vanguard commanders, often tasked with leading the charge.
At only fifteen, he had served the Emperor for seven or eight years, and this was the first time he had ever heard him laugh aloud. He nudged Fan Ying with his elbow and whispered, “What’s gotten into Your Majesty?”
Fan Ying, the Emperor’s former deputy general, murmured back, “No idea.”
“Who was that woman?” Cheng Ye pressed softly.
Fan Ying’s face darkened. “Don’t ask. Don’t pry.”
The Emperor, riding ahead, didn’t overhear. They reached the Palace City just as the sun dipped low, bathing the sky in swirls of pink and purple clouds. In high spirits, he bathed and changed before taking his evening meal. Bright candles illuminated the entirety of Purple Chen Hall.
He moved to the East Hall and pored intently over a thick memorial submitted by the Ministry of Revenue. Once finished, he ordered the Prime Minister and the Minister of Revenue summoned at once.
The two old ministers encountered each other at the hall doors and waited only a moment before an inner eunuch ushered them in. They could never grow accustomed to the Emperor’s hawk-like gaze or his unyielding style. He rarely lashed out with punishments or rebukes, but standing before him always left them on edge.
The Emperor had an eunuch serve them hot tea, then tapped the imperial desk. “Who drafted this memorial?”
The Minister of Revenue replied immediately. At the Emperor’s slight nod, he breathed a sigh of relief and took a deferential seat on the edge of his chair, his attention unwavering.
The monarch and his ministers discussed affairs of state for a full hour. As they prepared to withdraw, Prime Minister Zhang Jiaheng reminded him, “Your Majesty, by tradition, we head east to Cuiwei Traveling Palace next month. Will you follow the precedent?”
“Go,” the Emperor said flatly.
Zhang Jiaheng hesitated, tempted to press the issue of the Emperor taking a wife and establishing an empress. Their earlier discussion had confirmed the treasury’s ample funds—more than enough for the ceremony. But one look at the Emperor’s youthful face made him hold his tongue.
This was no sovereign who tolerated meddling in his private affairs.
The two ministers bowed deeply and took their leave.
The Emperor drummed his fingers and asked, “What of her?”
“Replying to Your Majesty,” Gao Fuliang reported, “Lady Lu has returned to Duke Qiao’s Mansion. This slave sent palace servants earlier to inform the mansion that Empress Dowager Cui had summoned Lady Lu to visit her mother. We also arranged for someone to discreetly inform her the moment she entered the estate. No one in the Cui Family suspects a thing.”
The Emperor nodded.
Gao Fuliang considered his words carefully before venturing tactfully, “Your Majesty, forgive this slave’s impertinence, but you and Lady Lu cannot continue like this forever. This slave believes the Duke Qiao and his wife have some inkling that Your Majesty favors Lady Lu—perhaps Empress Dowager Cui let it slip to them. To spare Lady Lu’s reputation, this slave dares suggest she seek a divorce sooner rather than later.”
The Emperor made no reply.
“The palace also requires Your Majesty to appoint an empress and consorts, to propagate the imperial line without delay,” Gao Fuliang continued.
Faintly, the Emperor said, “By your reckoning, how should Zhen proceed?”
“The Empress oversees the harem as Your Majesty’s principal wife, typically selected from noble ladies of impeccable repute. As for Lady Lu, Your Majesty could enfeoff her as a consort before establishing the Empress without issue.”
At that, the Emperor shot him a glance. “Oversees the harem?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. The Empress must manage the inner palace for you—keeping the consorts in line, overseeing court affairs, rewards, and punishments…”
The Emperor scoffed. “Then what use are the palace’s female officials and historiographers?”
Gao Fuliang gave an embarrassed chuckle. “The female officials are naturally all clever and capable women. They will surely assist the Empress in managing the palace affairs.”
At once, the image of Lu Yirong’s put-on smile floated before his eyes.
She was certainly clever enough.
The Emperor said coldly, “No need to bring this matter up again. Zhen has my own judgment.”
Gao Fuliang shifted tactics and advised, “Your Majesty, it’s getting late. Why not return to your bedchamber? Ever since you ascended the throne, you’ve been burning the midnight oil and rising before dawn. Please take care of your health.”
The Emperor replied, “Bring the map of Cuiwei Palace.”
The lamps burned brightly, flickering faintly in the night breeze. The hall was filled with the rich, heavy scent of ambergris incense. Once the map was presented, he planned to personally select a fine location for her.