At the entrance to the Qiao Residence, people were already waiting to welcome Yirong.
Song Mama enthusiastically helped her down from the carriage. “Miss, you’re here! You look like you’ve lost quite a bit of weight!”
Yirong smiled at her. “How has my mother been lately?”
“Madam has been much healthier recently. The episodes when she’s not clear-headed have become fewer…”
As Yirong listened, she couldn’t help smiling. She had planned that after returning to the capital, she would ask Song Mama to spend more time with her mother, tending flowers and plants or going out to tour the mountains and rivers. Keeping her hands busy with such things might crowd out the burdensome thoughts in her mind and heart, allowing her to recover.
At the very least, the approach had worked wonders for Yirong herself.
She had only come up with the idea recently.
Unexpectedly, her mother’s condition had improved so much!
“…It’s all thanks to that female physician you sent. She prepares medicinal meals and often accompanies Madam in digging soil and planting flowers.” Song Mama continued.
Yirong halted in her tracks, her smile freezing on her face.
She slipped her arm free from Song Mama’s grasp and stared at her. “I sent her?”
Song Mama blinked in confusion. “Wasn’t it you? She’s with Madam for her afternoon nap right now. Should I call her over to report to you?”
Yirong stopped her. Once they reached the flower hall, she dismissed all the servants and maids, leaving only the two of them.
“Kneel.”
Song Mama’s mouth fell open in shock. The young miss had always been gentle and accommodating, and as an old retainer by Madam’s side, she was used to their conversations being a two-way exchange.
But at the sight of Yirong’s darkened expression, she dropped to her knees without hesitation.
“I never sent any female physician,” Yirong said. “Did she bring a letter in my own handwriting? Had you ever seen her at my side before? Did her carriage bear the crest of Duke Qiao’s residence?”
Song Mama paled in alarm and kowtowed frantically. “Miss, this servant was wrong! This servant was wrong… She was dressed properly at the time and claimed you had sent her. She described Madam’s illness in perfect detail, so this servant didn’t think to question it.”
Yirong stepped forward to help her up and gestured for her to sit beside her. “I know you believed her mostly because she said I sent her. This time, it turned out well, but what if she had been a villain out to murder for profit? What would you have done then?”
Regret and shame washed over Song Mama. She wiped at her tears, apologized to Yirong with utter sincerity, and swore on her life never to make the same mistake again.
After they had talked for a while, Song Mama asked, puzzled, “Then who did send her? Duke Qiao’s residence isn’t…”
She broke off abruptly, clearly aware of Yirong’s divorce from Cui Cheng.
Yirong asked, “Does my mother know?”
“She does. Madam just sighed and said nothing more.” Knowing Yirong would ask about her mother’s reaction, Song Mama added, “Miss, what happened? Why divorce all of a sudden?”
Yirong smiled without replying and instructed her to fetch the female physician.
The moment the woman appeared, Yirong knew the Emperor had sent her.
It could only have been him.
She listened patiently as the woman meticulously recounted Madam Qiao’s condition since her arrival in the fifth month, the medicinal meals and supplements consumed in recent days, and her usual routine of care.
The woman was sharp-tongued and made everything clear in short order.
The regimen focused mainly on nourishing the body with medicinal meals, supplemented by acupuncture, and most importantly, giving Madam Qiao tasks to occupy herself so she no longer drowned solely in the grief of her husband’s death.
Yirong snapped out of her thoughts and smiled at the two women awaiting her next command.
She offered a few words of praise to the female physician named Tang Yu, then dismissed them both.
Left alone in the spacious flower hall—her mother must have arranged it herself, for the colors were harmonious and the furnishings elegantly tasteful—Yirong propped her cheek on her hand and stared blankly at a porcelain vase of delicate hues.
That tangled mood lingered until Madam Qiao awoke from her afternoon nap.
Yirong sat in her mother’s bedroom with only the two of them present. Her mother looked in good spirits, the worry lines around her eyes much faded. Yirong nearly teared up and sat close, intimately by her side.
When her mother asked why she had divorced Cui Cheng, Yirong gave a simple answer: their personalities simply didn’t match.
When Madam Qiao pressed why Cui Cheng had severed ties with the Cui Family, Yirong claimed ignorance.
Madam Qiao fixed her with a look that said she knew full well Yirong was fibbing.
Truth be told, Yirong had no idea how to explain all the convoluted details to her own mother—especially not today, when she had an important matter to discuss.
A difficult matter, at that.
She hemmed and hawed for the longest time before finally confessing that her uncle had poisoned her. She omitted the reason why.
Madam Qiao’s face drained of color. A violent fit of coughing seized her.
Yirong regretted her words instantly. She shouldn’t have said anything!
She rushed to pat her mother’s back. Once the coughing subsided, Madam Qiao leaned against her soft pillows, staring into space.
After a long silence, she gave Yirong a meaningful glance. “His Majesty has shown mercy by leaving the decision to you, Rongrong. Have you given thought to how you’ll handle it?”
Yirong had made up her mind.
“Uncle bribed a palace maid to carry out his scheme. In the gravest terms, that amounts to treason—even if his target was only me, it’s still a heinous crime. I have no intention of pleading for him. If left to His Majesty’s judgment, it would likely mean stripping the title and execution. But the Marquis Pingyang title was won by Grandfather with his life’s blood. A titled maternal clan is still a support for you, Mother—”
Madam Qiao smiled and shook her head. “You are Mother’s support from here on out.”
Yirong froze at her words.
“Rongrong, you’ve thought this through admirably. This isn’t a mere family affair—it’s a grave offense against His Majesty. He poisoned his own flesh and blood without a shred of compunction. I won’t beg a path to survival for such an ungrateful beast. Tell His Majesty to handle it impartially. He’ll heed you.”
Yirong stared in utter shock.
Only after a good while did she manage to ask, “How did you know?”
“Why did your uncle poison you? Why grant you the power of life and death over him?” Madam Qiao countered with a sigh. “Truth be told, once I started feeling better, I suspected Tang Yu came from the palace. As a girl, I often entered the palace to pay respects. I know that poise and those skills are unique to it.”
“You summoned many renowned physicians, and the Cui Family sent supplements often, but nothing helped. I was a burden to you before.” Madam Qiao smiled faintly. “Empress Cui wouldn’t have done this, so it could only be him.”
“Then I heard about your divorce from Cui Cheng. If you two truly couldn’t make it work, why hide it from your own mother? Only he has the power to sway a duke’s son in matters of marriage.”
Tears welled in Yirong’s eyes.
Her wise, quick-witted mother of old had returned.
Yirong leaned against her mother’s shoulder and murmured, “Then I’ll tell His Majesty and ask him to handle the case without favor.”
Madam Qiao reached out to caress her daughter’s cheek. “I call you my reliance because you’ve grown up. Your stance on your uncle’s fate is spot on. As for vying for favor in the rear palace… that road is far too arduous and bitter.”
Her daughter had turned heads with her beauty since childhood. She and her late husband had both been handsome, and their daughter inherited every advantage, blossoming into someone more stunning with each passing year. She possessed an ethereal quality, like spring breezes caressing the face, utterly transcendent.
Madam Qiao had always hoped to marry her into a great noble house, fearing lesser families couldn’t protect her. Little had she imagined fate would lead her straight into the Emperor’s sights!
Yirong fell silent.
She hadn’t expected her mother to so decisively forsake the Qiao Family’s title. Nor had she realized her mother had pieced it all together.
And accepted it with such composure.
Elegant incense burned in the room. Yirong caught the scents of clove, galangal, nutmeg, borneol, and more amid the curling white smoke. She remained quiet for a long time before speaking.
“What if I don’t want to enter the palace?”
Madam Qiao turned to her in surprise. On that peerlessly lovely face, she saw a flicker of trepidation—but mostly stubborn resolve.
“His Majesty carved out time from his packed schedule to send someone for your mother’s care and granted you authority over life and death,” Madam Qiao mused. “Whatever his intentions, he holds at least some fondness for you, the kind a man feels for a woman. But if you truly want no part of it, then let it be.”
Yirong whispered, “I…”
She faltered and fell silent again.
Zheng Yan had never breathed a word about sending a female physician to her mother.
The gesture moved her deeply. She knew she ought to repay him.
But how did one repay an emperor? By throwing herself into his bed again, as he had once mocked?
She had sensed his moods were fickle from the start. The more she dealt with him, the truer that felt—and the more she feared him.
Her mother claimed he harbored a man’s fondness for her as a woman. And indeed, during their two encounters, Yirong had felt his insatiable attachment to her body.
He was the Emperor, after all. Even the smallest crumb of favor from him was a grace beyond measure.
“I don’t want to enter the palace,” Yirong whispered.
As a child, she had watched her parents live in perfect harmony, their love like a perfectly tuned lute and zither. Her father kept no concubines or maids and happily deferred to her mother’s wishes. The moment she grasped what marriage meant, she had dreamed of the same for herself.
Her first spark of affection for Cui Cheng had come from that boy perched in the tree, flashing a brilliant smile that lit even his eyes and set her heart aflutter in an instant.
Even afterward, ashamed as she was for “stealing” her elder cousin’s betrothed, she had waited in a mix of anxiety and joy for him to come calling with a proposal.
In their marriage, he had cherished and respected her.
Before the Emperor entered the picture, it had truly been good.
Madam Qiao said, “If you’re unwilling, then so be it. Just don’t clash head-on with His Majesty. After all, staying alive is the most important thing for anyone, followed by having money. I have my dowry, plus half of your father’s estate. That’s more than enough for us mother and daughter to live on.”
At that time, the Lu Family had taken in one of their clansmen as an adopted son for her father and divided half the family property with the mother and daughter who were heading to the capital. It had been quite generous of them.
Yirong feared that mentioning her late father would only make her mother sad again, so she quickly changed the subject and said she wanted to check on the flowers she had planted.
A new greenhouse had been set up in the back courtyard.
Autumn was the height of chrysanthemum season, and Yirong hiked up her skirt before squatting down. “Putting this pot of pink ones next to the green chrysanthemums is far too mismatched—the colors are all jumbled together.”
With that, she paid no mind to her skirt and began rearranging pot after pot of precious chrysanthemums, striving to create a coordinated and elegant display of colors.
Madam Qiao watched her daughter’s movements with a smile on her face.
The courtyard rang with Yirong’s crisp and joyful laughter.
By the time the sun had begun its descent in the west, Madam Qiao’s long-weakened body could no longer hold out. She returned to her bedroom to rest.
Yirong’s smile vanished, replaced by silence.
She had assumed she would be taken straight to the palace, but to her surprise, the palace servants said she could stay one more night. Overjoyed, Yirong shared a bed with her mother that evening.
Mindful that her mother’s health had not yet fully recovered, Yirong refrained from chatting late into the night. Madam Qiao instructed her daughter not to confront the Emperor directly and warned that even if unhappy, she must not skip meals. With that, she went to sleep.
The next morning, Yirong bid a tearful farewell to her mother. She solemnly thanked Tang Yu for her care over these past days and finally turned to Song Mama, who was seeing her off at the gate.
“My dowry is still at the Duke of Qiao’s residence. I’ll have to trouble you, Mama, to fetch it.” She frowned slightly. “I remember Mother kept a copy of the dowry list, so you can compare them then.”
Presumably, the Duke of Qiao’s residence would not dare to embezzle her dowry.
The ornate carriage rumbled along the road. Yirong propped her elbow on the carriage window the entire way. Imperial Guards dressed in plain martial robes flanked the carriage on both sides, and she also noticed that the riders following their procession at a distance bore the unmistakable bearing and demeanor of palace guards.
Her heart was filled with a complex swirl of emotions.
She could never quite put a name to them.
After a long ride in the carriage, they arrived at the Palace City. Yirong had never set foot in the majestic and solemn Purple Chen Hall. Upon hearing an inner servant say that the Emperor was in the East Hall, she was ushered inside shortly thereafter.
He sat behind the imperial desk, reviewing memorials to the throne without so much as lifting his head.
Yirong curtsied deeply. Unsure whether she should disturb him by speaking, she hesitated for a moment before saying, “Your Majesty, my mother and I have spoken about it. Regarding the Marquis Pingyang case, we have no objections whatsoever to Your Majesty’s impartial judgment.”
He responded with a lukewarm “Mm.”
Still, he did not raise his head.
Yirong was truly and deeply grateful that he had sent such a capable female physician to treat her mother. Seeing her mother restored to health, with a clear mind and able to chat and laugh together with her—instead of failing to recognize her own daughter—that was the greatest joy Yirong had known in years.
Yet the last time she had said “Thank you, Your Majesty,” the Emperor had mocked her for it.
If she offered no thanks now, though, she could not bring herself to let it pass.
She would simply express her gratitude for his grace.
Yirong curtsied once more and knelt, her forehead touching the cold floor tiles.
She could no longer address the Emperor so casually. After a moment’s thought, she chose a humble form of address befitting a woman of the day.
“The female physician Your Majesty sent proved immensely beneficial to my mother’s condition. Your Majesty’s great kindness and virtue—I am deeply grateful from the depths of my heart and shall never forget it for all eternity.”
The Emperor raised his head.