Gao Lingjun was about to leave the palace after exiting the Empress Dowager’s quarters, but that didn’t stop him from walking a stretch of the way with the Noble Consort.
The eunuchs maintained a respectful distance, allowing them to converse freely.
Upon hearing the Noble Consort’s words, Grand Coordinator Gao merely smiled.
“The youngest child is always the most doted upon,” he remarked with casual ease.
At present, the imperial palace had only the First Prince and the Second Prince. It was originally thought that Consort Liu would also bear a son, but in the end, she gave birth to a daughter. Of course, for an emperor who struggled with heirs, even a daughter was a cause for joy.
The Noble Consort walked gracefully, her expression hovering between a smile and something unspoken.
“How is Her Majesty the Empress’s health?” Grand Coordinator Gao asked. “I heard that despite his young age, the Second Prince often attends to her in illness—carrying a small stool to feed her medicine and even putting on quite the act telling her stories and reading books.”
The smile faded from the Noble Consort’s face.
“News spreads fast, it seems. I don’t think the Empress’s condition will improve anytime soon,” she said. “They must be making every effort to build up the Second Prince’s reputation.”
“You should also teach the First Prince not to focus solely on his studies. At such a young age, he’s already becoming rigid. It’s not as if he needs to sit for the imperial exams—our royal children don’t need brilliance above all else.”
“Back then, it was you who insisted he study. Now you say he should be clever instead,” the Noble Consort retorted unhappily.
Grand Coordinator Gao clicked his tongue.
“Why the rush? He’s still young,” he said, then glanced in the direction where the Second Prince and Duke Jin’an had departed, frowning slightly. “But that boy… he’s not so young anymore…”
“In any case, he’ll leave the palace next year for his fiefdom—just another idle duke after that. No need to pay him any mind,” the Noble Consort said.
“Better safe than sorry. What if the Empress Dowager and the Emperor can’t bear to let him go?” Grand Coordinator Gao replied. “Besides, that boy… I’ve always felt there’s more to him than meets the eye. He seems to know quite a few influential people.”
“After all these years in the capital, it’d be strange if he didn’t,” the Noble Consort remarked as they reached a fork in the path. “Never mind outsiders—what matters now is the First Prince.”
Grand Coordinator Gao nodded and bowed in salute.
“I’ll take my leave,” he said.
Upon returning to her palace, the Noble Consort was greeted by the sound of the First Prince reciting his lessons aloud. In the past, such diligent study would have brought her joy, but today, for some reason, it only stirred agitation in her heart.
“Mother! Mother!”
Hearing her return, the First Prince hurried over eagerly, book in hand.
“I’ve memorized this entire book in just two days! Listen, Mother—”
He held out the book to her, his face glowing with pride.
With a sudden motion, the Noble Consort slapped the book out of his hands.
“Memorizing! Always memorizing! Is that all you know how to do?” she snapped, her brows furrowing in anger.
The palace maids and eunuchs inside the room hastily retreated, flustered. The First Prince stood frozen, confusion and hurt flashing across his face.
“Look at you, standing there like a fool! Even the Second Prince does better than you!” The Noble Consort grew even more furious at his dazed expression, jabbing his forehead with her finger. “Why can’t you charm your father like he does?”
Tears welled up in the First Prince’s eyes, his lips trembling on the verge of sobs.
“Don’t you dare cry!” she snapped.
Terrified, the prince clenched his jaw, forcing back his tears until his chubby face flushed red.
“Why haven’t you gone to your father?” the Noble Consort demanded.
“F-Father… didn’t summon me…” he stammered between hiccups.
“Then how is it that the Second Prince gets to go?” she hissed through gritted teeth. “You’re utterly useless! Soon enough, your father will dote only on the Second Prince and cast you aside—then you’ll be bundled off to some fiefdom with Jin’an, never to set foot in the capital again!”
The prince could hold back no longer, bursting into loud, messy tears.
“Silence! Go stand in the corner!” she roared.
Too frightened to disobey, he hung his head and shuffled aside, shoulders shaking with muffled cries.
Outside the Noble Consort’s chambers, eunuchs and maids stood motionless, heads bowed—not a single breath dared disturb the silence.
At this moment, the ancestral hall of the Cheng family in Jiang-zhou was equally silent. Servants stood to the side, watching as the woman kneeling before them unrolled the clan records, scanning each volume one by one. The attendant’s expression was one of astonishment.
Of course, he knew exactly who this girl was—Cheng family’s “fool,” born simple-minded and sent away to be raised elsewhere. He had seen what fools looked like, but the person before him was nothing like that.
Over the past few days, he had heard rumors both inside and outside the household claiming that Cheng’s so-called fool was no fool at all. Initially, he hadn’t believed it. As the personal attendant of the Cheng family’s elder master, he was well acquainted with the history of this “fool.”
Yet now, witnessing it firsthand, he found it impossible to deny.
The master had even instructed him earlier to read the records aloud for her—but looking at her now, it was clear she could read perfectly well on her own.
If a “fool” could read, then she was no fool at all.
“Is this all?”
The “fool” kneeling on the ground suddenly spoke.
Startled, the servant quickly replied, “Yes.”
“Everything is here,” he said.
As the words left his mouth, he watched the girl’s calm expression flicker with something like sorrow. A pang of inexplicable grief struck the servant’s heart—so sharp that he instantly regretted his answer.
Cheng Jiao-niang let out a soft sigh.
“Indeed, none at all. Not a single one,” she murmured, slowly shaking her head.
Though she had already guessed this outcome when Cheng Si-lang wrote out the family tree, she still wanted to see for herself. Cheng Si-lang had only recorded the direct lineage—parents, elders, and siblings. The Cheng family was vast, its branches sprawling with countless leaves. Perhaps, she had thought, somewhere among those dense boughs, she might find the name she sought.
But when one clings to hope, it is often just a refusal to face the truth.
“Miss…” Ban Qin took a few steps forward, calling out with concern.
The young girl’s voice, usually so gentle and sweet, now carried nothing but desolation.
“Miss, what are you looking for?” the servant couldn’t help but ask.
Cheng Jiao-niang didn’t respond. She set down the family register and stood up.
“I’m done. You can put it away now,” she said.
The servant hastily acknowledged, watching as Cheng Jiao-niang turned and walked out. Outside the ancestral hall, ancient trees loomed dense and towering, casting an even deeper chill in winter than elsewhere. The sight of her slender figure moving through that gloom only accentuated her solitary desolation.
“Miss…” Ban Qin had remained silent the whole way, but when she saw Cheng Jiao-niang heading outward—not toward the First Master’s quarters—she quickly spoke up. “Where are we going?”
“To find that person,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
To find that person. Only that one. Only this single name was familiar to her, etched in her memory, and undeniably real.
Ban Qin murmured assent and hurried after her. Soon, the two figures vanished into the distance.
Meanwhile, First Master Cheng and his wife were still waiting in the main hall.
“I wonder what she’s looking at in there, and what new tricks she’s up to,” First Madam Cheng said with a disdainful sniff.
First Master Cheng had been thoughtfully stroking his teacup. At her words, he set it down.
“Do you really think someone capable of playing tricks could still be called a fool?” he asked.
First Madam Cheng froze momentarily.
He was right. What tricks could a fool possibly play? They only knew how to listen blankly, stare vacantly, and exist in a daze.
“It seems we may have been mistaken all these years,” First Master Cheng said slowly. “This child… perhaps her condition wasn’t as severe as we thought.”
“We saw what she was like as a child with our own eyes! Couldn’t even walk at five or six years old! How could we have been wrong?” First Madam Cheng retorted with a scornful laugh.
Indeed, there could be no mistake about her mental deficiency. While others might not know the truth, their close relatives had witnessed it firsthand.
“Could it be… she gradually recovered over time?” First Master Cheng mused.
“Preposterous!” First Madam Cheng snapped. Before she could continue, she noticed Second Master Cheng and his wife approaching from outside. Lifting her chin toward them, she said, “Let’s ask Second Master. They were the ones caring for that simpleton in Bing-zhou – they’d know best what state she was in.”
“Back in Bing-zhou?”
Second Master Cheng sat down and frowned thoughtfully at First Master’s question.
“Same as always. What else could she be?”
“Did you ever visit her at the Taoist temple?” First Master pressed.
Of course he hadn’t… that went without saying.
And why should he feel awkward about it? It was perfectly normal behavior.
“Why bother? If she’d recovered, she’d have come home long ago,” Second Master retorted with a derisive snort.
First Master Cheng stroked his beard in silent contemplation.
Then what explained this? By no measure did she appear simple-minded now. Could she truly have recovered? Was it even possible for congenital idiocy to be cured?
“Personally, I believe she has recovered,” Second Madam Cheng suddenly interjected. “She’s grown older now, and after being properly nurtured by the Zhou family…”
All eyes in the room turned toward her.
First Madam Cheng let out a cold laugh.
“And so?” she demanded.
Second Madam Cheng lifted her chin, meeting the challenge without flinching.
“So Jiao-niang has recovered. She’s no longer simple-minded. Therefore, we must carefully reconsider her marriage prospects.”
At last, the pretense of polite decorum was being stripped away, revealing their true intentions beneath.
First Madam Cheng inwardly sneered as she straightened her posture.
The atmosphere in the room instantly grew thick and oppressive—like the heavy stillness before a storm. Even the maids kneeling outside the door held their breath, suffocated by the tension.
