Master Jingqing smiled and interjected, “Your Majesty, this is Lu, the great-niece of the Old Marquis Pingyang. Her late father was the Yue Prefecture Education Commissioner. She is the official’s daughter whom this poor nun previously reported to you about—destined for great fortune matching that of Empress Dowager Pei, selected to enter the palace to pray for blessings.”
“I see.”
Yirong was utterly baffled, but when the Emperor gave her a slight nod, an inexplicable calm settled over her for the first time.
This was clearly a “chance encounter” arranged by the Emperor.
She listened quietly as Master Jingqing detailed to the Emperor the procedures they had followed in praying for Empress Dowager Pei these past days, praising both of them for their sincerity. At long last, when she finally looked up, she found the Emperor’s gaze fixed intently on her.
Yirong promptly lowered her head.
“With the matter concluded, you may leave the palace tomorrow,” the Emperor said indifferently. He glanced once more at Yirong, who stood with her head bowed, then shook his head with a smile and departed.
She was probably still processing it.
As soon as the Emperor left, Pei Jingqi said, “What is this—never mind, let’s head back first.”
The three of them left the Imperial Garden. With a complicated expression, Yirong asked Master Jingqing, “What did you mean just now?”
Master Jingqing merely smiled without replying.
Yirong repeated her question, and only then did Master Jingqing laugh softly. “Why ask so many questions, Madam? Since His Majesty has made these arrangements, it can only be to your benefit.”
Though Master Jingqing’s voice was soft, the two women beside her heard it clearly.
Pei Jingqi was stunned for a moment before sighing in admiration. “So that’s what His Majesty intended. Master Jingqing, you were right.”
Knowing she could leave the palace tomorrow lifted Pei Jingqi’s spirits. She returned to her room in high spirits to pack her belongings. Though the palace lacked for nothing, she had been away from home for so long that she missed it dearly. With her maid’s help, she spent half the day meticulously packing her trunks. As she did, Pei Jingqi’s thoughts turned to Yirong’s refined face, tinged with a faint melancholy.
Concerned, Pei Jingqi instructed her maid to continue packing and headed to the adjoining bedchamber.
Yirong sat by the window, her gaze vacant.
Pei Jingqi sat down beside her in surprise. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Yirong said with a light laugh. “I just feel that what’s meant to come will come. Perhaps it’s fate. I’m just an ordinary, useless mortal—whatever I try to do, I can never succeed.”
Jingqi furrowed her brows slightly. “Where did that come from?”
She pondered for a moment with her head lowered, then suddenly understood. Madam Lu probably had no desire to enter the palace, so even under the Emperor’s elaborate arrangements, she felt no joy—only undisguised dejection.
Pei Jingqi had no solution for this. She hesitated before saying, “Madam Lu, if you truly don’t wish to, perhaps I could ask my father to enter the palace and speak to him on your behalf?”
At those words, Yirong’s eyes lit up briefly before dimming again. Pei Jingqi meant well and was willing to help, but she doubted anyone would understand her feelings.
Yirong smiled. “Thank you for your kindness, but there’s no need.”
She didn’t want to involve more people, nor did she believe the Emperor would heed her uncle’s words.
Yirong stood. “You’re leaving the palace tomorrow, and who knows when we’ll meet again. Come, I’ll sit with you in your room. Before dinner, I’ll make you a little pastry as a farewell treat…”
Pei Jingqi had been tempted to tease that Yirong would soon be her cousin-in-law and they might see each other often, but she held her tongue.
The next morning, Yirong saw Jingqi off at the gates of Pepperwind Hall. She had considered using the Emperor’s words as an excuse to leave the palace herself, but after thinking it over, she decided there was no point—it would only lead to another disappointment.
Her thoughts in turmoil, she didn’t know what to make of it all. She shut herself in her room to stare blankly. By midmorning, a noisy commotion arose outside, complete with shrill laughter.
She listened for a while and heard many voices chatting and laughing.
Yirong leaned indifferently against the bedhead, figuring it wouldn’t be long before someone came to offer congratulations. After all the Emperor’s machinations, the position he granted her was sure to surpass the Zhaoyi rank that Shuilian had once coveted.
Moments later, the two maids attending her pushed open the door and entered.
Both were beaming with joy, their faces aglow.
It turned out that since yesterday, word had spread through the palace—and from there to the ears of nobles, officials, and ministers—that the Emperor had fallen in love at first sight with a beautiful woman in the Imperial Garden. Rumor had it that the Emperor hadn’t known who she was at first. Upon inquiry, he learned that Master Jingqing, who managed prayers for Empress Dowager Pei at the imperial temple, had divined her exceptional fate and recommended her entry into the palace. She had devoutly prayed for a month before encountering the Emperor by chance in Master Jingqing’s company.
Many knew of the Emperor’s filial desire to honor his late mother. They also knew that, beyond summoning Empress Dowager Pei’s niece, Eldest Miss Pei, the palace had selected an official’s daughter with a propitious fate. As for who she was, the palace hadn’t disclosed it, and no amount of inquiring had yielded answers. No one had bothered to pursue it further—after all, their own daughters hadn’t been chosen.
Hearing this now, many regretted it bitterly. Had they known such fortune awaited in the palace, they would have bribed Master Jingqing with gold and silver to secure an audience for their daughters before the Emperor.
But as more details emerged, more people began to murmur doubts.
This daughter of the Lu family had been married before—and divorced!
Some, noticing the sudden divorce from her ex-husband and his subsequent disownment and departure from home, sensed something unusual and resolved to keep it to themselves.
And at that morning’s court session, the Emperor had opened by announcing that, thanks to his mother’s blessings, he had found his destined match and intended to establish an empress.
The court erupted in shock.
Some vehemently opposed it, with ministers bluntly declaring the woman unfit. The Marquis Pingyang’s Qiao clan had already been demoted to Earl Pingyang, and while the Lu family boasted a centuries-old lineage, its great ministers were long dead. Her father had been a minor official who died seven or eight years ago. Though from an official family, she fell short of empress material.
More critically, she had been married before!
Others immediately countered: History was full of remarried consorts. Besides, with her noble fate and this stroke of destiny—not to mention the Emperor’s favor—she was meant for the palace…
Watching the brocade-robed, purple-sashed ministers argue fiercely over his personal affairs, forgetting decorum, the Emperor called a halt and decreed further discussion for the next day.
Before court adjourned, he had an eunuch proclaim an edict: In recognition of Eldest Miss Pei’s filial devotion to her aunt, Empress Dowager Pei, she was specially enfeoffed as County Princess.
Those who had hoped Duke Miguo— the Emperor’s own uncle, whose daughter had entered the palace—would dissuade him were disappointed. Duke Pei said nothing throughout, then crisply accepted the edict on his daughter’s behalf, expressing deep gratitude for the Emperor’s brotherly affection toward all his children.
Clearly, no help there.
Whatever the ministers thought, the two maids reporting to Yirong were convinced that the madam before them would be the future empress.
Yirong slowly sat up from the bed. In a soft voice, she said, “Dress me.”
The two exchanged a glance, assuming she meant to seek an audience with the Emperor. Giggling, they helped her to the vanity and began dressing her with care.
Yirong gazed quietly at her reflection the whole time. She wasn’t in the mood for talk, and the palace maids soon fell silent, focusing on her toilette. Knowing her preference for simplicity, they styled her hair much as they had the day before, inserting pins with meticulous care.
Once finished, Yirong rose and headed out.
She remembered the way to Purple Chen Hall. Her steady steps quickened, and when she heard the maids calling softly behind her, she slowed again.
Along the way, every palace servant they passed stepped aside respectfully, lowering their eyes in salute.
Yirong’s lips pressed tight as she made her way unimpeded to Purple Chen Hall. At the entrance, attendants bowed eagerly and ushered her inside.
The Emperor sat behind the desk, writing and pausing. Hearing her enter, he tossed down his brush and beckoned. “Come here.”
She approached as bidden, only to be pulled onto his lap the moment she drew near.
Zheng Yan had meant to ask if she was pleased, but the words on his tongue reduced to two: “Well?”
Yirong let out a faint, almost inaudible sigh.
Meeting the Emperor’s brooding gaze, she said, “If I said I wasn’t happy, that would be ungrateful indeed.”
Zheng Yan laughed.
He kissed her temple. “The matter is already settled on Zhen’s end. They just need to squabble a few days in court. Don’t overthink it—the more they argue, the clearer the reasoning becomes. In the end, they’ll arrive at an impeccable justification, and no one will dare raise objections.”
Yirong nodded instinctively, then felt another sigh rising.
The Emperor gave her waist a gentle pinch. She yelped “Ow!” and came back to herself. “Your Majesty, I won’t be a good empress.”
Worry creased her face as she blinked at him.
“Zhen’s harem has no one else—you needn’t concern yourself with that. The female officials will assist you with palace affairs. The Jiang sisters reported that you handle matters with great orderliness. Duties like the silkworm ceremony have precedents to follow. There’s no need to fear.” The Emperor spoke lightly.
At his words, a storm surged in Yirong’s heart, leaving her speechless for the moment.
But on second thought, his saying there was no one else didn’t mean there never would be. An emperor’s three palaces and six institutes were the most natural thing—how could she be the only one?
Seeing her stunned expression, the Emperor asked, “What other worries do you have?”
If there were someone she could trust wholeheartedly, Yirong might have confessed that she neither dared nor wished to spend her life with this moody man who wielded imperial power—let alone as his rightful wife.
Moreover, they had clashed fiercely over contraception not long ago.
She hesitated a moment, holding back any talk of her willingness, and turned instead to more practical matters.