The Empress's hand was icy cold, sending chills down Li Chengzhen's spine as if gripped by a venomous snake. Suppressing his inner revulsion, he forced a smile and said, "This child understands."
Li Chengzhen spent nearly half an hour in Kunning Palace, enduring the Empress's endless nagging before finally managing to escape.
He hurried out of Kunning Palace and stood on the dark palace pathway, breathing deeply like a fish freed from a suffocating net. The cold night wind tousled his hair as a palace maid behind him cautiously asked, "Your Highness, shall we return to your palace?"
The chirping of crickets echoed from the corners of the palace walls. Li Chengzhen closed his eyes briefly and replied, "Return. And summon those young eunuchs."
The maid hesitated, her expression uneasy. "Your Highness, if the Emperor and Empress find out... they will surely be furious—ah—"
Before she could finish, Li Chengzhen kicked her harshly, sending her stumbling back. Trembling in fear, the maid dared not utter another word.
...
...
That sa night, by the Moonfall Lake on the outskirts of the capital, the chilly lake breeze swept through a small pavilion where a gaunt figure sat. A tiny bamboo lantern flickered at Yang Xuanji's feet, creaking in the wind.
"Master!"
"The master is over there! Quickly inform the mistress!"
The voices of servants echoed from the lakeshore.
Soon after, Yang Xuanji's wife, Mrs. Luo, arrived in a fluster. Though advanced in years, her temper was as fiery as ever. She scolded him sharply, "You old fool! Instead of resting at ho, what are you doing by the lake in the dead of night? If you want to drown yourself, at least do it at ho!"
Despite her harsh words, she draped a warm cloak over her husband's shoulders.
The servants retreated outside the pavilion.
Mrs. Luo sat beside Yang Xuanji and asked with concern, "You’ve been absent-minded ever since returning from the palace today. Did the Emperor or the Empress Dowager threaten punishnt?"
Yang Xuanji fastened the cloak, his gaze distant and unfocused. He turned to his wife and murmured, "Madam, I’ve always prided myself on being a learned scholar, believing that nothing surpasses the nobility of knowledge... Yet today, I realized that the foundation of this nation is built by those I once deed 'inferior.'"
Mrs. Luo, baffled, pressed a hand to his forehead. "No fever, yet you’re spouting nonsense. Co ho, drink so ginger soup, and rest."
But Yang Xuanji seed entranced, suddenly gripping her hand. "Madam, you don’t understand teaching, just as I don’t understand cooking or embroidery. But you are an excellent wife, while I am far from a perfect scholar."
Mrs. Luo, exasperated, yanked his arm. "If you want to learn embroidery, I’ll teach you soday. You have your strengths, I have mine—I’m no less than you!"
As the couple left the lakeside pavilion, Yang Xuanji followed his wife in a daze before clarity struck him.
Yes, each had their own expertise!
No matter how clever the young prince Li Chengtai was, he lacked the age and experience of Yang Xuanji. The scholar could learn from the prince, just as the prince could learn from him.
Knowledge had no hierarchy; mastery ca in different forms. They could grow together, complenting each other’s strengths.
Yang Xuanji burst into laughter, his voice carrying far in the night wind. "Madam, tomorrow I shall seek the Emperor’s permission to tutor the Eighth Prince!"
Mrs. Luo’s eye twitched. "Soone, bring the ginger soup for the master!"
Despite drinking the soup, Yang Xuanji had spent too long in the cold. The next day, he fell gravely ill.
Illness struck like a collapsing mountain. The elderly scholar, already frail, was soon bedridden in delirium.
Given Yang Xuanji’s esteed status, Li Yuanjing dispatched imperial physicians to treat him.
News of this reached Changxin Palace. In the courtyard where crabapple blossoms blood vibrantly, Lu Xuan sat beneath the eaves, watching an elderly maid teach her one-year-old son to walk.
Lu Xuan had endured a difficult pregnancy—restless nights, constant nausea, and unstable conditions despite nurous tonics. She now spent her days recuperating in the courtyard.
"Your Ladyship, Yang Xuanji is bedridden. Three senior physicians from the Imperial Hospital are attending to him," reported her maid, Little Qin.
Lu Xuan smiled faintly, murmuring, "Consort Chen wanted Yang Xuanji to tutor the Eighth Prince. Now, after a dispute, the old scholar falls ill... How amusing."
She had once believed Shen Wei was different from the Empress.
But now, Lu Xuan saw no distinction. Both won pushed their sons relentlessly in their studies.
The Empress’s sons—one died from overwork, the other grew twisted in mind, his future ruined. Now, Shen Wei was treading the sa dood path.
"Force growth, reap disaster," Lu Xuan mused, watching her babbling son with a glint of amusent.
She instructed Little Qin, "Spread word in the palace—say the Eighth Prince’s unruly behavior drove Yang Xuanji to illness."
Yang Xuanji was revered, with many court officials as his disciples. If they believed their ntor had been slighted by a brat, their disdain for the prince would fester.
If Shen Wei dread of her son inheriting the throne, Lu Xuan would tarnish his reputation early.
What ruler could win loyalty after shaming a respected teacher?
Little Qin nodded shrewdly. "Rest assured, Your Ladyship. This servant will see it done."
As the maid departed, Lu Xuan watched her toddler wobble across the blossom-strewn courtyard, her smile widening with anticipation for his future.
...
...
In Xiangyun Palace, beneath a parasol tree, Liu Qiao'er sat stitching new clothes for her child. Since Shen Wei took charge of the inner court, consorts no longer faced shortages in allowances, fabrics, or food.
With sumr approaching, the Internal Affairs Office had even asured the young princes and princesses for new seasonal attire.
Yet Liu Qiao'er trusted Shen Wei not at all. The clothes delivered to Xiangyun Palace carried a faint, elegant fragrance—but Liu Qiao'er suspected poison. She sewed every garnt herself.
Even als from the imperial kitchen were tested with silver needles before her child could eat.
"Your Ladyship, they say the Eighth Prince angered Yang Xuanji into illness," whispered an attendant.
Liu Qiao'er chuckled. "Forcing growth only harms. The prince is but four. Consort Chen is too impatient."
The maid sighed. "Who would’ve thought Consort Chen could suppress Consort Shu and seize control of the harem?"
Liu Qiao'er shared the surprise.
In her past life’s mories, Shen Wei had died young in Prince Yan’s mansion. Yet in this life, she had risen miraculously—from a peasant girl to the most powerful woman in the palace.
Liu Qiao'er shook her head, needles never pausing. "Pride invites downfall. Just wait—Consort Chen will reap what she sows. Consort Shu, the Empress, the Empress Dowager... none are fools."
Shen Wei’s arrogance and poor parenting would inevitably turn the Emperor against her.
The attendant stayed silent, offering no agreent or slander.
Deep down, she held a sliver of respect for the new harem overseer.
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