Chapter 20

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The Emperor spoke angrily, “Is investigating Qingning Palace tantamount to trampling on you? If everyone said that, then no one could be investigated, so how would the truth ever come to light? The little princess is only just a year old. Though you are not her birth mother, as the Empress Dowager, shouldn’t you set an example and cooperate with the Ministry of Justice to uncover the real culprit?”

The Empress could only offer a bitter smile and finally broke down in tears, saying, “I am the Empress Dowager, but first and foremost, I am your wife…”

She struggled to sit up, gasping heavily, “If I were not the Empress Dowager, I would have requested to leave long ago when you took new consorts one after another and grew weary of me. But I cannot… *cough, cough*… I have tried my utmost to portray a virtuous Empress… but in the end, I am unworthy. Since it has come to this, whether you decree my death, command me to become a nun, or confine me, I will obey without question. After all, you are the Emperor—what else can I do?”

Her voice rose at last, filled with resentment, bitterness, and pain. Then she began to cough violently, dry-heaving as if she might vomit her very liver and gall. After a struggle, she managed to stop coughing, but her entire being seemed as fragile as a leaf in the wind, as if the paths she spoke of no longer mattered—she was not long for this world.

The Emperor stood by her bedside, eyes bloodshot. After a long while, he sat down next to her and held her in his arms.

Tears poured from the Empress’s eyes, and the Emperor’s eyes grew moist as well. He held her tighter and tighter, unsure if it was to comfort her or to seek comfort himself.

Only then did he realize he had not allowed himself to feel deeply or show weakness before anyone for a very long time.

In the first three years of their marriage, they had no children. The Empress consulted many doctors and eventually urged him to see one himself.

He was reluctant but could not resist her persistent persuasion. They disguised themselves as commoners and visited a folk doctor.

The diagnosis was clear: he suffered from insufficient Yang energy.

After returning, he held his wife and wept. She comforted him, saying he was young and should not despair. With the prescribed medicine, surely he would recover.

Back then, people whispered about her barrenness, and she endured it silently, publicly claiming she was the one taking medicine.

But the medicine was ineffective. Upon ascending the throne, he resorted to another solution: taking more consorts.

At first, he thought that if any concubine bore the heir, they would raise the child by the Empress’s side, and that child would be theirs.

When did everything change?

Perhaps it was the prolonged childlessness, or knowing everyone knew the problem was his, or the increasing burdens of statecraft and worries over heirs, the Empress’s growing coldness toward him, and his wandering affections.

Until Su Zhiguang’s daughter, Su Ruyue, entered the palace, bringing him some comfort. She later became pregnant, filling him with uncontrollable excitement.

He abandoned his original intentions, focusing solely on the hoped-for birth of a prince.

He was aware of the speculation at court—had he truly considered deposing the Empress?

He did not know. The birth of the princess had clouded his mind; he paid no heed to anything else.

But now, the princess was gone, and the Empress nearly left as well.

The past joys and hopes were but a grand illusion. He was the Son of Heaven, yet the heavens seemed to toy mercilessly with him.

If the Empress departed, he would never again hold someone and weep, never again confide in anyone why heaven treated him so cruelly, or how the court would judge him. At thirty-three with no heir, perhaps his chance was gone forever.

With tearful voice, he gently said, “Do not think like this. Take good care of your health. The princess’s death has nothing to do with you. It is I... who am filled with too much resentment and hatred, careless of everything else.”

The Ministry of Justice had not publicly announced the cause of the princess’s death, but he had already read the case file and roughly understood—it was an accident. The palace maid An Hui was a madwoman. She resented the princess’s nanny and poisoned the princess for that simple reason.

But neither he nor Chen Qing could accept such a conclusion.

Thus, the Ministry continued their thorough investigation, interrogating the madwoman countless times and scouring the palace. This was with his tacit approval.

Yet, forcing the Empress to the brink of death was something he had never intended. His father and mother had already passed, his brothers had no heirs, and his circle of kin was sparse.

They had once struggled together to ascend the throne; he refused to see himself as heartless and unfilial.

The Empress’s tears surged anew as she cried long and hard before slowly raising her hand to embrace his shoulders.

She was not the resolute Third Sister; she could not be so decisive. And as Empress, this was her fate.

Though... she was still just a person—a woman who could love, feel loss, jealousy, loneliness, and despair.

At that moment, she realized she still had desires—the desire for her emperor husband to glance back at her amid all the splendor.

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Two days later, the cause of the fire at Qingning Palace was announced: unattended, it accidentally caught fire. Chen Qing was punished for negligence.

Three days later, the cause of the little princess’s death was revealed: a palace maid named An Hui, who harbored resentment against the princess’s nanny, secretly put rat poison into the princess’s porridge, causing her death by poisoning. The imperial physician diagnosed the maid with hysteria, though she appeared honest and unassuming.

Thus, two major cases closed, but court and country whispered endlessly. Many believed there were deeper secrets, hidden due to the wide scope of involvement, but no concrete evidence ever surfaced.

Regardless, for the Yu family, it was a narrow escape.

Yu Ying was summoned again to the palace, ordered to accompany her eldest sister.

The Empress’s health gradually improved. Qingning Palace still required repairs, so she temporarily resided in Fengcai Palace—a smaller side hall of Zichen Palace, though closer to the main palace.

Since Su Ruyue became a consort, Yu Ying’s admiration and respect for her imperial brother-in-law had plummeted. She regarded him as a common man, easily swayed by beauty and lacking wisdom. Later, seeing Su Ruyue’s enduring favor and her eldest sister’s loneliness, Yu Ying’s dissatisfaction with the Emperor grew, though she kept it hidden.

When she saw her sister relocated to Fengcai Palace and met the Emperor once, she couldn’t help but ask, “What is His Majesty’s meaning? Is he suddenly trying to be fair to everyone?”

What she truly wanted to ask was, “Has he suddenly developed a conscience?”

She was already being tactful. The Empress still reproached her gently, “Do not speak recklessly. The Emperor is always benevolent and virtuous.”

Yu Ying smirked but did not argue; she knew if she stayed in the palace, there would be heads rolling.

She leaned toward the Empress and whispered, “Has His Majesty suddenly become kind to you again?”

The Empress instinctively wanted to scold her for lack of decorum but ended up smiling. After so many years, it seemed no one had whispered secrets to her like this.

She replied, “With your little head, don’t overthink things. I heard Mother is arranging your marriage, and it’s with Minister Zheng from the Ministry of Justice?”

Yu Ying turned away, “Why are you talking about me now?”

The Empress said, “You used to like handsome men who devoted themselves to you. Why have you changed?”

Zheng Poru was indeed handsome, though much older than Yu Ying, so she wouldn’t normally pay him much mind.

Bored, Yu Ying massaged the Empress’s legs and said with a slight pout, “I was foolish before, thinking too much. But I never said I wanted to marry Zheng Qizhou. It’s just that Father, Mother, and Grandfather won’t allow me to be unmarried. They want me to marry someone, and I feel it doesn’t matter much who.”

Was this not a kind of helplessness?

The Empress pondered, as she had once imagined: even if the Emperor had three thousand concubines, the Empress was always different. Now, she had to set aside such thoughts and obey the rules as long as she was Empress. The youngest sister had married beneath her status for love, only to divorce after a little more than a year. Marriage was never as imagined in youth.

The Empress said, “He has children and is much older, but the good thing is he is not lustful, and the Zheng family has a good reputation. If you do marry, no matter whom, you must change your temper. Disagreements are inevitable, but don’t always run back to your mother’s house or threaten divorce at every quarrel.”

She coughed lightly.

Yu Ying gently patted her back, “Your Highness, don’t worry about me. Whether I divorce or not will be my choice. You should take care of yourself. Get angry when you need to, discipline when you must, but don’t wrong yourself.”

Unaware of the true cause of the fire at Qingning Palace, she assumed it was because the Empress was too passive, leaving only two palace maids to guard the place, who were lazy and caused the fire.

The Empress said nothing but sighed deeply.

Yu Ying stayed in the palace for five or six days, leaving only when the Empress had fully recovered. During this time, the Emperor visited four or five times. Seeing more smiles on her sister’s face, Yu Ying thought perhaps her sister was not as indifferent as she appeared.

In truth, she cared about the Emperor.

But that was the Emperor—one who could not produce an heir. Though he never spoke of it, anyone could see his desperation. Such an Emperor was bound to have many concubines...

Yu Ying thought the Empress was truly extraordinary.

No matter what, as long as her sister was well, everything was well. Unless Su Ruyue struck lucky again and bore another princess or prince, she felt the heavens were truly unfair!

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Yu Ying was deeply troubled by state affairs when the carriage’s cloud brocade curtain suddenly lifted inward. A voice said, “Miss, Lord Zheng is ahead.”

Yu Ying lifted the curtain to see Zheng Poru standing by the Vermilion Bird Avenue, smiling at her.

As the carriage drew nearer, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” Zheng Poru replied calmly.

Yu Ying smiled, “Waiting for me? How did you know I was coming out?”

Zheng Poru answered, “I was just going to the palace for an audience and happened to hear you would be leaving the palace today.”

Though “today” could mean morning, noon, or evening; it was now afternoon, and Yu Ying did not know how long he had waited.

She said, “I still have to go back.”

Zheng Poru replied, “I know. Recently, my mother sent an invitation to your family, asking you to come to our house tomorrow to watch a variety show. My aunt said since you entered the palace, she wasn’t sure if you would return home, but now it seems the heavens have smiled upon us.”

“Watch a variety show?” Yu Ying’s interest was piqued, catching the key point.

Zheng Poru nodded, “Yes, and there will be illusion plays. Naturally, snow-sweet cakes will be served.”

Yu Ying laughed; she ate those treats every day in the palace and was quite tired of them.

She said, “Alright, I’ll think about it after I return. If I have no plans tomorrow, I’ll come watch.”

“Good, we’ll prepare a proper reception,” Zheng Poru said.

Yu Ying lowered the curtain and continued on her way.

Back home, Lady Yu naturally asked immediately about palace matters—how the Empress was, the Emperor’s attitude. Yu Ying, hungry, ate snacks at Lady Yu’s side while recounting the palace news.

She said the Empress was well and that the Emperor seemed much closer to her, visiting nearly every day. Lady Yu was pleased and said she would go to the temple to make an offering.

Then Yu Ying asked, “Mother, can I go to the Zheng family’s to watch the show tomorrow? I want to, but... would that count as agreeing to marry him?”

Rarely did she still consider such things. Lady Yu asked, “So, do you want to agree or not?”

Yu Ying honestly replied, “If you don’t force me, I won’t agree. If you force me to marry, then I will.”

Lady Yu sighed, “Don’t think about it. Your grandfather forbids it.”

Yu Ying was puzzled, “What does Grandfather have to do with it? Is he going to bind my feet again? Have I done anything wrong? I’ve been especially obedient!”

Going to the palace was hard enough—rules there were more numerous than at home; she couldn’t say what she wanted. She wanted to speak ill of Su Ruyue and the Emperor but was stifled! If not to accompany her eldest sister, she wouldn’t want to go at all!

Now that she was back, her grandfather wouldn’t even let her leave the house. Why?

Lady Yu shook her head, “I don’t know either. The day before yesterday, I went to pay respects and mentioned this to your grandfather. I wanted to say that this marriage was likely settled and hoped to please him, but he said it would be better if you didn’t return. If you do come back, say you just returned to the palace and need to rest at home, then postpone the matter. I was surprised, but he didn’t say more, so I didn’t press. Perhaps he has his reasons.”

“What reasons could he have?” Yu Ying asked.

She just wanted to watch the show and didn’t even particularly want to marry Zheng. That her grandfather forbade her puzzled her. She suspected he was scheming against her because before, he had hoped she would marry Zheng Poru.

Lady Yu did not know. She decided to go ask him herself.