His Majesty never mentioned the previous matters regarding Wei Shan, the jade pendant, or those lingering suspicions again.
Cui Cheng resumed his duties by the Emperor’s side.
But he couldn’t shake the feeling that ever since Consort Yun had fainted, His Majesty had been summoning Wei Shan forward time and again, murmuring words no one else could hear—and even Xue Gui had started receiving His Majesty’s favor as a result.
“I’m old,” Cui Cheng sighed, gazing up at the sky.
Xue Gui coaxed him from behind. “How could Master possibly be old? It’s just that summer’s approaching—people tire easily. The other day, I even saw a guard sneaking a nap against the rockery.”
“Slick talker.”
Cui Cheng lifted his eyelids for a glance. “Your eyes are sharp enough. What else did you spot?”
Xue Gui smiled and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “This lowly one noticed that for three or four days straight, His Majesty has been visiting Consort Yun in the Side Hall.”
Cui Cheng glanced around, confirming no one was near, before asking carefully, “How do the two of them get along?”
Xue Gui’s smile deepened. “He only steals a few quiet glances. How could that count as getting along?”
Cui Cheng put on a grave expression. “His Majesty is ever meticulous.”
Xue Gui didn’t quite follow, but he spotted guards escorting several gaunt men in white robes and black hats toward them from afar and hurried to intercept.
“Esteemed painters,” he said, “Lord Zhang of the Ministry of Rites is in conference inside. Please wait a moment until His Majesty summons you.”
Cui Cheng stood in the dappled shade of the trees, watching Xue Gui bustle about.
The sunlight blazed fiercely, forcing everyone to squint just to make out faces.
Yet in that blinding glare, no matter how Cui Cheng narrowed his eyes, Xue Gui remained somehow indistinct.
“Old. Truly old now.”
Suddenly, Cui Cheng felt a twinge in his waist—the result of that panicked tumble out of Zichen Hall a few days earlier. The pain had chosen this moment to finally make itself known.
The atmosphere inside the hall hung thick with tension. Zhang Ou stood bowed, not daring to raise his eyes to see what the Emperor was doing.
Why hadn’t any orders come down after all this time?
Helian Jin lounged back in his chair, carefully placing items into the Purple Sandalwood Box on the table.
One piece after another.
This one captured a corner of a paper kite; she had even rendered the taut strain of the thin bamboo strips propping up the paper.
The next showed Ah Huan’s hair tip, twined with the yellow silk ribbon dangling from her bun—one Helian Jin had chosen himself.
The paper rustled softly. Zhang Ou’s old back was on the verge of snapping; he straightened up surreptitiously to stretch, contorting his face in sour relief.
Then came a soft chuckle.
Zhang Ou jolted upright, sweat beading on his brow, a chill racing down his neck.
But after that single laugh, nothing else stirred—no outburst of imperial fury, no sword drawn for execution, as he had feared.
Unable to resist, Zhang Ou peeked up again.
The Emperor reclined in relaxed poise, his former furrowed brow smoothed away. The corners of his mouth curved faintly, his gaze intent and brows serene as he studied the object in his hand.
Had these past days of warm spring breezes softened His Majesty?!
Zhang Ou ventured softly, “Your Majesty… any additions or alterations for the Late Empress’s death anniversary?”
“As usual.”
Zhang Ou pressed, “General Yu returns victorious, bringing the son of Funan Island’s leader to court. By the dates… it falls on the Late Empress’s—”
Before he could finish, the Emperor cut in decisively. “Award General Yu and the others for their military merits. As for the Funan Island delegation, let them wait.”
This meant setting aside all else to focus on preparations for the Late Empress’s anniversary.
Zhang Ou acknowledged the order.
Then, recalling something else, he ventured cautiously, “General Yu’s letter states that the item Your Majesty seeks was not found. Shall we dispatch someone else?”
The Emperor’s mood seemed fine; he showed none of his former gloom when searches came up empty.
Instead, he dismissed the matter lightly, assigning only a single official to garrison Funan Island before sending Zhang Ou away.
Emerging from the Grand Hall, Zhang Ou was momentarily dazzled by the piercing sunlight, his head swimming.
He had served as Minister of Rites for four years now.
He had heard that his predecessor had shown great disrespect to the Late Empress—first rejecting her posthumous title repeatedly in court.
Then lambasting her for moral failings and seducing the sovereign.
Finally, prostrating on the steps and kowtowing with resounding thuds.
Urging His Majesty to fill the palace with concubines, to revoke the decree naming a lowly maid’s son as Crown Prince, and to wed a lady of noble birth and character as Empress, one who could bear heirs of pure, exalted blood to serve as Crown Prince.
In all fairness, Zhang Ou found those words seditious.
Though the Late Empress had risen from orphaned maidservant, she had been kind to her core.
In her three and a half years as Princess Consort, she never faltered in disaster relief or comforting the suffering—and in the end, she had staked her life to bear His Majesty a son and daughter.
Before benevolence and righteousness, all were equal; she showed no prejudice by birth or station. Thus, in his first year, Zhang Ou had prepared her death anniversary to perfection, and he had done so every year since.
In truth, the Late Empress’s anniversary required little effort; His Majesty demanded scant ceremony.
A portrait. The rites.
No courtiers compelled to mourn, no upheaval across the palace.
The anniversary felt less like ritual and more like His Majesty keeping a private appointment—one he had prepared for an entire year, shared solely between him and the Late Empress.
The days were drawing near, so Zhang Ou didn’t dare slack off. He only paused for a moment in the warm sun to ease his stiff old back before hurrying away.
Yun Jichu endured another four straight days of bitter medicine.
It was utterly unbearable!
Fortunately, the Little Princess came to play with her every day, which made the time pass a little more easily.
After that one encounter with Helian Jin, Yun Jichu hadn’t seen him again. He seemed occupied with preparations for the Late Empress’s death anniversary.
The anxiety that had gripped Yun Jichu’s heart finally eased, and she slept far more soundly over the past few days.
Once more, it was the dead of night, silent all around. Yun Jichu rubbed her aching wrists.
She was accustomed to hard brushes for writing; switching back to a soft one felt awkward.
Unfortunately, all the Conch Ink in her makeup case was gone. It was rare and precious—luxurious enough just for daily brow lining, let alone painting.
Yun Jichu recalled the items in her inventory. There had been plenty of Conch Ink, all gifts from Helian Jin.
That damn System had swallowed every last bit of it.
It had even devoured that gentle, seductive man with the killer figure.
Yun Jichu stood there, hands on her hips, for a moment.
Suddenly, the sound of porcelain shattering came from outside the window, followed by the thud of knees hitting the ground and desperate pleas for mercy.
Yun Jichu hurried out to see what was happening.
Little Lian knelt there in a panic, kowtowing amid the shards of broken porcelain.
Helian Jin stood before her, his very robe hem exuding distance. Not a single fragment touched him. His expression was impassive. Hearing footsteps, he turned his head to look her way.
Yun Jichu’s heart lurched. She rushed forward.
She had no idea what Little Lian had done to provoke him, but he had smashed the vase she’d brought for the Yu Beauty flowers and forced her to kneel in the debris while kowtowing.
It was terrifying.
Before Yun Jichu could reach Little Lian’s side, however, Helian Jin strode forward and swept her into his arms.
Anger flickered across his face, his brows furrowed and thin lips pressed tight. The words he uttered were ice-cold: “Watch out for the shards.”
Yun Jichu’s body went rigid, her face draining of color. She immediately released her grip on the front of his robe, which she had clutched tightly in her shock at being lifted off the ground.
“Little Lian…” Yun Jichu struggled to wriggle free from Helian Jin’s embrace.
The more she squirmed, though, the tighter his arms clamped around her, locking her securely against him with no room for refusal.
When it came to raw strength, Yun Jichu wasn’t even a tenth of his.
There was a world of difference between wielding a brush and swinging a sword.
Once she stilled in his arms, Helian Jin carried her into the hall, tossing a single command over his shoulder: “Withdraw.”
Summer was fast approaching, and clothes were growing thinner. Yun Jichu spent her days inside the hall, dressed simply.
A high-waisted silk skirt paired with a gossamer outer robe—light and sheer.
She hadn’t noticed it amid the earlier struggle, but now that she was still, the realization hit her—
Helian Jin’s abs were rock-hard.
For no reason at all, her thoughts began to wander.
Those steamy dreams from five years ago, half-real and half-fantasy… The muscles she’d touched had felt just this firm and defined, the lips she’d kissed warm and yielding.
Even the escapades that lay beyond her knowledge…
Yun Jichu had once prided herself on her natural talent.
How else could she have spun such vivid erotic dreams without any real experience?
By the time she snapped back to reality, Helian Jin had carried her right to the bedside.
Eh… Eh!
Panic flashed across Yun Jichu’s face. Fond memories were one thing, but that didn’t mean she wanted anything to happen with this Helian Jin.
No chance to protest—she was deposited on the bed, then Helian Jin seized her ankle and yanked her toward him.
Yun Jichu lay back on the soft bedding. The moment her body steadied, she sat bolt upright.
By then, Helian Jin had crouched down and was gripping her ankle to remove her shoe.
Yun Jichu yanked her leg back, struggling against his hold.
Helian Jin paused and looked at her.
“Uh… Your Majesty, this…”
What could she say? Demand to know what he thought he was doing? Rail at him for his impropriety?
The first option might get her killed slowly; the second, outright.
Helian Jin asked, “Did a shard cut you?”
Yun Jichu shook her head vigorously, pulling her foot away further, her expression full of resistance.
Helian Jin studied her face for a moment, his gaze darkening. Then he released her ankle.
Yun Jichu let out a breath of relief.
But before she could fully exhale, Helian Jin leaned in close—near enough that only his sleeve whispered against her arm.
He loomed over her like that.
The emperor’s regal aura enveloped her. Helian Jin’s deep eyes gleamed amid his bold, striking features, filled with an emotion Yun Jichu couldn’t read.
He asked, “Are you afraid?”
The fading bruises on Yun Jichu’s wrists still throbbed faintly. The terror of kneeling in Zilan Hall until she fainted a few days ago lingered in her mind. The blood streaking Little Lian’s knees moments ago felt like nails lodged in her throat.
She didn’t respond, but her body gradually began to tremble.
Yun Jichu secretly cursed herself for being such a coward, but there was nothing she could do about it. She was utterly terrified of blood.
Helian Jin leaned in even closer, searching Yun Jichu’s eyes for any emotion beyond cold detachment.
He found nothing.
“Ah Chu……” The words escaped him like a mournful sigh.
Helian Jin nearly pressed her back into a full recline. At the most inopportune moment, the hibiscus gauze canopy behind him parted and then drew closed, draping over them both in a veil of hazy intimacy.
The frantic pounding in her chest hammered away like a tiny mallet. The final thread of her restraint snapped, and Yun Jichu could no longer hold back.
She pushed up on her elbows in a desperate bid to escape.
But she wasn’t the only one whose reason had shattered and self-control crumbled. There was another—stronger and far more agile.
The moment Yun Jichu tried to flee, strong arms hauled her back. Cool fingers wove into her hair, cradling her head.
Helian Jin bent down and claimed her lips in a kiss.