Compared to the noisy clamor in the Imperial Consort’s palace, the Empress Dowager’s quarters were quiet and peaceful.
Only when he heard the Empress Dowager’s faint snores did the emperor, kneeling at her side, finally let out a breath of relief.
“Then…” he began, but when he lifted his head he saw that the Empress, leaning against the armrest, had also fallen asleep. One hand supported her head, her hair slightly disheveled, making her look even more worn and haggard.
The Emperor stopped speaking, a look of tenderness rising in his eyes.
This Empress – who had been silently ill for so many years that everyone in the palace had nearly forgotten her, even he himself had nearly forgotten her; this Empress who was never remembered during peaceful, joyful times – was now, in the midst of chaos and worry, quietly tending to everything and comforting everyone without a word.
Some people are like that: dispensable in times of happiness, yet when one falls into hardship, they are the only ones who stay, accompany, and give their all.
The Emperor reached out and gently pushed her.
“Jingrong, don’t sleep here,” he called softly.
The Empress woke with a start.
“Your Majesty, I have been discourteous…” she said hastily, then quickly lowered her voice when she noticed the Empress Dowager was asleep.
The Emperor waved his hand at her.
“What discourtesy? Go back and rest for a while – you’ve stayed up an entire night and day,” he said quietly.
The Empress gave a small smile and nodded.
“Yes, then I won’t force myself any longer. My body truly can’t endure it,” she said.
She didn’t, like other consorts, insist tearfully and resolutely that she could endure anything – that her own health was nothing, that she wouldn’t even blink if she had to die immediately for the Emperor or the Empress Dowager. Instead, the Empress answered calmly and frankly admitted she couldn’t hold out any further. And this, to the Emperor, felt intimate – real.
This was sincerity from the heart.
“If I lie down again, what will Your Majesty do?” the Empress said as she rose to lower the bed curtains for the Empress Dowager.
Watching her busy herself attentively before the Empress Dowager, the Emperor nodded again.
“But I won’t go back,” the Empress continued. “I’ll rest here in the Empress Dowager’s palace – this way I can take care of her more easily.” She stood to escort the Emperor out and at the same time reminded him, “Your Majesty, why don’t you go rest in Consort An’s palace for a while?”
Consort An’s palace…
The Emperor’s steps faltered.
“Your Majesty, I know Consort An has been crying a great deal lately, and hearing it so much must make Your Majesty uncomfortable,” the Empress said gently. “But it wouldn’t be very proper for Your Majesty not to go at all. How about this – listen to me: once you arrive, just go straight to rest. Even without words, that alone will be enough to let Consort An understand Your Majesty’s concern. And once Your Majesty is resting, Consort An naturally won’t continue crying to you.”
She tugged lightly at the Emperor’s arm.
“At a time like this, I really don’t want – and can’t bear – to let Your Majesty be alone.”
Yes – when people are grieving, they fear loneliness even more.
The Emperor looked at her, smiled, and nodded, patting her hand.
“I understand,” he said.
He was about to turn and leave when the Empress suddenly thought of something and pulled him back.
“Your Majesty, also… have the Imperial City Guards keep the palace gates secured,” she said.
There were hardly any secrets in the court or in the inner palace, and the Emperor naturally knew this as well.
“This matter – whether an accident or not – is not something dignified,” the Empress said. “Let’s not give others the chance to mock us.”
Mock…
Mock him, an emperor already half-way in his grave.
Mock him for still wanting new blossoms on an old tree, for still wanting to father another prince…
Look – see how it ended? Just empty joy. What a disgrace…
The Emperor’s body stiffened slightly, the hand at his side curling into a fist.
“You’ve been thoughtful, Empress. I understand. I will make arrangements myself,” he said.
The Empress nodded with a touch of relief and remained at the hall entrance, watching the Emperor walk away.
“Your Majesty, you should rest a while as well,” a palace attendant said respectfully beside her.
The Empress gave a faint smile.
“No need. I have rested enough.”
…
“I think I guessed wrong this time.”
Chen Shao said this upon returning from court, taking the tea a maid brought him.
“What did you guess wrong?” Madam Chen asked, waving her hand for the servants to leave.
The maids in the room promptly withdrew.
“I thought something might affect the Emperor’s mood greatly,” Chen Shao continued. “But it seems His Majesty’s spirits are actually quite good – not like the last few times, when he looked dazed and absent-minded.”
He paused here.
“Perhaps he’s gotten used to it.”
Madam Chen laughed, with a hint of gentle reproach.
“No one can get used to something like that,” she said. “No matter how many times it happens, sorrow is still sorrow.”
Chen Shao knew he had spoken poorly and raised his bowl to drink tea, covering his embarrassment.
“Shi’ba-niang said the loss of the prince this time was caused by someone’s malice,” Madam Chen said in a low voice.
Chen Shao choked slightly on his tea.
“Shi’ba-niang? When did she come?” he asked, raising his brows. “How can such things be spoken carelessly? It’s one thing if others say it, but she moves within the palace now.”
“She didn’t speak carelessly – she only told me,” Madam Chen said quickly.
Chen Shi’ba-niang, who had been chatting with the other women of the household, was called in.
“Father, how could I speak carelessly?” Chen Shi’ba-niang said. “This matter couldn’t be more obvious. If no one had interfered, how could the palace have suddenly gone into lockdown? And how could Consort An, the Empress Dowager, and the Imperial Consort all suddenly fall ill and refuse to see anyone? Father, even if I don’t say it aloud, you know it in your heart, and the world knows it too.”
Yes – when the imperial palace makes such sudden moves, even if nothing had happened, the world would still suspect that something had.
No wonder the Emperor showed no emotional instability – he had found someone to blame.
This wasn’t an accident, nor divine punishment for him. It was someone’s malice. Finding and punishing the one responsible would let him channel his anger, his grievance, his anxiety, and his disappointment. It would let him face the unfortunate prince and the unfortunate truth with a sense of relief.
It wasn’t his fault.
It was the fault of the one who caused it.
It wasn’t fate. It was human wrongdoing.
“Then that means the Emperor will not rest until he gets a result this time,” Chen Shao said slowly.
“Of course. Using such a crude trick, taking the little prince’s life to threaten the Emperor and frame the Imperial Consort – how could such a thing be allowed to pass?” Chen Shi’ba-niang said.
Chen Shao looked at her.
“You’re saying it was Consort An?” he asked with a frown.
“Father, who else could it be?” Chen Shi’ba-niang said.
Chen Shao shook his head.
“Not everyone will think that,” he said.
“Father, if they don’t think that, then they’re being foolish,” Chen Shi’ba-niang replied. “The trick is far too clumsy.”
Chen Shao nodded.
“Yes – precisely because it’s so clumsy.”
What did that mean?
Chen Shi’ba-niang frowned, about to speak, when a young servant rushed in from outside. He leaned close to Chen Shao’s ear and whispered a few words. Chen Shao’s expression changed.
“What now?” Madam Chen asked quickly.
“Gao Lingjun is requesting an audience with the Emperor,” Chen Shao said.
“Of course Master Gao should seek an audience – after all, the Imperial Consort has been slandered and framed,” Chen Shi’ba-niang said with a nod.
Chen Shao gave a slight laugh.
“Gao Lingjun isn’t requesting an audience because the Imperial Consort has been slandered and framed. He’s requesting it because this trick is far too clumsy,” he said.
“Father…” Chen Shi’ba-niang called.
Chen Shao cut her off first.
“The Emperor has already granted him an audience. And–” he said, his gaze shifting to Madam Chen.
When her husband looked at her, Madam Chen’s heart skipped twice – she faintly sensed what might be coming.
Impossible…
“And the Emperor has also summoned Lady Cheng,” Chen Shao said.
Lady Cheng!
Chen Shi’ba-niang sat up straight.
“Summoning her for what?” she asked in surprise. “Could this matter also be related to her?”
“What could it possibly have to do with her?” Madam Chen said quickly. “So many people in the palace have fallen ill – they must be calling her to diagnose them.”
…That made sense.
The room fell quiet, though everyone’s thoughts were still uneasy.
Whatever the reason, it meant that this matter now involved Lady Cheng as well…
This was truly…
Madam Chen couldn’t help raising her hand and lightly slapping her own mouth.
Gao Lingjun, who had just stepped out of the carriage and through the palace gate, halted his steps. He watched a lady ahead being checked by the imperial guards under the guidance of a young eunuch.
“Lady Cheng,” he called out, quickening his pace to catch up.
Cheng Jiao-niang turned to look at Gao Lingjun.
“Lady Cheng, I returned to the capital specifically to see you. I didn’t expect the delay would lead us to meet here,” Gao Lingjun said with a smile, raising his hand in salute.
Cheng Jiao-niang bowed slightly in return.
“Though it may not be formal enough, I sincerely offer my apologies first,” Gao Lingjun said, bowing once again.
“You are too kind. There has been no fault, so what apology is needed?” Cheng Jiao-niang replied, smiling faintly as she returned the bow once more.
Since both Gao Lingjun and Lady Cheng were distinguished figures, the attendant leading the way did not dare to reprimand them for talking. Instead, he offered a gentle reminder with a somewhat ingratiating smile.
“Master Gao, Lady Cheng, His Majesty is waiting.”
Gao Lingjun nodded with a smile.
“Lady Cheng, I shall pay you a visit another day,” he said.
Cheng Jiao-niang acknowledged with a polite response, and the two continued forward, one after the other.
Soon, they arrived in front of the Hall of Diligent Governance. Gao Lingjun couldn’t help but glance back again and noticed Lady Cheng had also come to a stop behind him. He frowned slightly.
Wasn’t Lady Cheng here to treat the women in the inner palace? Why had she come here as well?
“Lady Cheng, you…” He had just begun to ask when the doors of the hall opened.
“Master Gao, His Majesty requests your presence,” a eunuch emerged and announced with a bow.
Gao Lingjun had no choice but to swallow his words and step inside.
Perhaps she was waiting for the Emperor to accompany her to the inner palace – so His Majesty could personally observe the treatment and feel more at ease.
Stepping into the Hall of Diligent Governance, Gao Lingjun scanned the room from the corner of his eye. Though he had been away for only a few months, the place already felt somewhat unfamiliar.
It served as a reminder of how easily people forget.
This could be both a blessing and a curse – for fortune and misfortune have always been intertwined, and the outcome depends solely on one’s choices and efforts.
Gao Lingjun straightened his posture and bowed to the Emperor seated before him.
“Your Majesty, I truly should not have come,” he remarked with a sigh.
Indeed, such a clumsy scheme and such an obvious attempt at framing him – had he rushed to the Emperor in a panic to plead his innocence, it would have been nothing short of an insult to His Majesty’s intelligence.
However, the news from the palace had grown increasingly unsettling.
The Imperial Consort was indeed confined, the Emperor continued to rest in Consort An’s palace, the Empress Dowager refused to receive outsiders, and communication within and beyond the palace had been completely severed.
Most critically, the Imperial City Guards was still actively operating both inside and outside the court.
It seemed this clumsy affair was one the Emperor had decided to treat with utmost seriousness.
The Emperor was excessively doting on this yet-unborn prince – or rather, he was doting on himself. What Consort An carried in her womb was not merely a prince, but the Emperor’s own hope.
A hope everyone possesses, yet one an emperor yearns for even more urgently:
Good health and a long life.
The scheme was utterly clumsy – so clumsy it seemed brazen, as though the orchestrators viewed everyone in the world as blind fools. Their reliance, it appeared, was rooted in the Emperor’s deepest hope.
“…Your Majesty, ‘treasure invites calamity.’ Your favor toward the young prince has been too great,” Gao Lingjun stated.
As soon as these words were spoken, even the eunuchs nearby looked over in astonishment.
Has Master Gao lost his mind?
How dare he speak like this?
The Emperor regarded Gao Lingjun, clearly taken aback as well.
“So, according to you, it was I who caused the death of the young prince,” he said with a faint, ambiguous smile.
From the moment Gao Lingjun entered, it confirmed the rumors he had heard: the Emperor was indeed calm and composed – so composed that he seemed unlike a normal father grieving the loss of a child.
Such composure was not a good sign. Gao Lingjun did not want to see a calm emperor; he wanted to see an angry one. At the very least, anger could make the Emperor’s mind more active, rather than leaving him stagnant and mechanically following the path laid out by others.
“Are you suggesting that, relying solely on my favor, Consort An would sacrifice her own prince just to frame the Imperial Consort? What would she stand to gain?” the Emperor retorted coldly. “Even if she succeeded in harming the Imperial Consort, could she attain a more exalted status? And what use would a higher status be without a prince to secure her future? With this prince, she would have enjoyed lifelong honor and security within the palace. Without him, what fate ultimately awaits her in these walls? Surely she understands this far better than an outsider like you!”
The Emperor grew more agitated as he spoke, pressing his hands against the desk before him as if on the verge of standing up.
But this was still not enough.
Gao Lingjun bowed deeply, touching his head to the floor.
“Your Majesty, you are right – it makes no sense. No matter how deep her grudge against the Imperial Consort, Consort An would never stake her entire life and future on such a foolish scheme. That is precisely why this matter is so perplexing,” he said, pausing briefly before lifting his head. “Your Majesty, how many imperial doctors confirmed Consort An’s pregnancy with the prince?”
As these words were spoken, the expressions of the eunuchs nearby shifted from astonishment to sheer horror.
Master Gao had truly lost his mind!
With a sharp smack, the Emperor slammed the desk and rose to his feet.
“Gao Lingjun! Are you implying that I am incapable of siring a son, and that all of this is nothing but a scheme orchestrated by Consort An and her collaborators?” he roared, pointing a finger at Gao Lingjun.
He knew it – he knew it all along. These people were all mocking him, waiting to see him become a laughingstock, whispering behind his back that he could not produce an heir.
And now, look – they were no longer just thinking it silently but boldly voicing it to his face, without a shred of hesitation!
Yet Gao Lingjun showed not the slightest trace of fear. He bowed deeply.
“Your Majesty, this is precisely why I said, ‘treasure invites calamity.’ Where those above have preferences, those below will inevitably exploit them. My fear is that someone, speculating on Your Majesty’s desires, has resorted to deceit and manipulation to deliberately mislead you,” he declared loudly, lifting his head once more to meet the Emperor’s gaze, his eyes blazing with intensity. “Your Majesty, how many doctors diagnosed the pregnancy as a prince? Which ones? And what did the other imperial doctors have to say?”
How many imperial doctors confirmed the pregnancy as a prince through pulse diagnosis?
The Emperor’s thoughts involuntarily followed this line of questioning. How many were there? Only one, perhaps…
The consorts and concubines in the palace were always cautious, each having their own trusted and regularly consulted imperial doctor.
Once a doctor confirmed the diagnosis, they would seldom seek a second opinion…
“Your Majesty, how many physicians confirmed it? Did the Imperial Medical Institute conduct any review or verification? Were the pulse records ever examined?”
Gao Lingjun’s voice rang out again, his questions growing more pressing, each one striking the Emperor’s ears like relentless hammer blows.
How many doctors confirmed it? Only one…
Did the Imperial Medical Institute conduct any review or verification? No. At the time, he had been too overjoyed to even consider such a step…
Could it be…
No, no – what was he thinking? What was he thinking!
“Nonsense! Utter nonsense!” the Emperor shouted in a fit of rage, striding down the steps and pointing accusingly at Gao Lingjun.
The eunuchs had never seen the Emperor so enraged before, and they froze in stunned fear.
But what did it matter if it was nonsense? Gao Lingjun had not come to explain, to plead, or to absolve himself of any crime. The very idea was absurd – the Imperial Consort had no need for explanations or pleas, let alone any admission of guilt.
His purpose was to jolt the Emperor back to his senses and, in the process, plant seeds of doubt. Even the slightest hint of suspicion would be enough.
A faint, inward smile touched Gao Lingjun’s heart as he watched the Emperor’s furious, undignified outburst, feeling not a trace of fear.
What was there to fear?
If such a clumsy, foolish scheme could be treated with such grave seriousness, it was clear that His Majesty had lost his clarity of mind. He needed to be shaken awake.
