A wu looked at Brother Ye Han, her heart a storm of emotions, memories flooding her mind.
She recalled Emperor Jingxi’s treatment of Nie San—how he was brutally tortured and then castrated to become a eunuch, not even a favored one, but sent on a miserable assignment with no hope of advancement for life.
And the Daoist nuns from Yan Yang Temple in the past, none had met a good end.
She wasn’t sure how Emperor Jingxi would treat Ye Han.
But she really wanted to speak with him, so she pretended to listen attentively to the chanting beneath the jingfan, lingering there as if immersed in the sutras, while sneaking glances at Ye Han from time to time.
Compared to other Daoists, Ye Han’s skin was weathered dark from years under wind and sun, and his eyes were ink-black, as if stained by ink.
He had grown much taller, his shoulders broader—clearly having endured much.
Occasionally, he would glance at A wu casually, his firm lips moving slightly.
He was silently mouthing words, signaling her to keep quiet.
After standing there for a while, Emperor Jingxi arrived accompanied by several court officials.
Afraid of arousing suspicion, A wu left first.
Yet, seeing Ye Han sparked hope in her heart, and she deliberately searched for a chance.
Luckily, at such a grand offering ceremony attended by nearly a thousand Daoists, there were many gaps to slip through, and she found an opportunity.
At that moment, Emperor Jingxi was with the Empress Dowager, mother and son conversing.
A wu casually asked to consult a Daoist on scriptures and moral principles, deliberately requesting the one who happened to be Ye Han.
The winter wind blew softly, puffing the wide Daoist robe around him before letting it fall slowly.
As an Imperial Consort, A wu sat high in the Chant Hall, draped by hanging curtains and surrounded by lotus treasure lamps and Palace Ladies.
The swirling incense prevented any suspicion.
From afar came the chanting and the Jiaofang Bureau’s music, conveniently masking their conversation.
Feigning a scholarly inquiry, she quickly asked in a low voice, “Brother, have you heard any news of my father and brother?”
Ye Han’s eyes darted cautiously around before he lowered his voice: “Travelers said they were in Malacca last year, but no one knows where they are now.”
A wu’s heart leapt with a mixture of fear and joy.
Fear because her father and brother were in trouble; joy because they were still alive!
Alive—that was all that mattered!
She nearly wanted to jump up, but Ye Han’s calm, restrained gaze stopped her immediately.
She clenched her fists tightly, looking at him desperately.
Ye Han scanned the surroundings once more, then spoke quickly and quietly: “The day they boarded the ship, they encountered maritime bandits equipped with cannons. The sea was dyed red. The villagers all died. I barely escaped. Just then, your father and brother sent news. I have been searching for you and investigating the bandits’ trail. By some twist of fate, I entered the Daomen.”
His face remained expressionless, but deep in those ink-black eyes was a suppressed pain.
Grinding his teeth, he said with difficulty, “I learned by chance that you entered the palace. I finally found a chance to confirm—it is truly you.”
He spoke in one breath, as if having prepared these words long ago, hurriedly saying all at once lest the chance slip away.
After finishing, he seemed to exhale in relief.
A wu’s tears flowed uncontrollably.
The young man’s lean, resolute face showed no expression; he had struggled through seas of blood and hatred, cold and restrained.
But now, speaking of the past with the one he cared for, tears trickled down his tense jawline.
His voice hoarse and bitter like a whisper, he said, “A wu, the maritime bandits are from the court. I must seek revenge—for them, or I won’t be at peace.”
Hearing all this at once, A wu’s mind almost exploded.
‘The bandits were court officials? How could that be?’
She hurriedly asked, “Are they the Lu Family? The Lu Family?”
Ye Han ground his teeth and cursed, “Yes, the Lu Family of Zhen’an Marquis Manor—”
Just then, a Palace Lady approached, and fearing suspicion, A wu casually inquired a few questions about the scriptures, then sent Ye Han away.
Ye Han gave her a reluctant glance before bowing his head and leaving resolutely.
After this, A wu was in turmoil, hesitating whether to tell Emperor Jingxi.
He had promised to find her father and brother, but no news yet.
If she told him, maybe he could help.
But Ye Han said the villagers were killed by court men, probably Lu Yunjian.
She had long suspected Lu Yunjian was suspicious.
Perhaps the Lu Family played both sides—officials and bandits—reaping benefits from both.
Still, she feared Emperor Jingxi might harm Ye Han.
Torn, A wu rose and followed the Palace Ladies to pay respects to the Empress Dowager, who was resting in the inner hall of Qintian Hall.
Outside, the cold was harsh, but inside the chamber, the ground dragon stove burned brightly, making the room warm enough that upon entering, A wu’s nose twitched, nearly causing a sneeze.
She covered her nose with a handkerchief, holding it back.
A Palace Lady signaled her to be quiet, meaning the Emperor was present in the hall.
A wu waved the lady off and proceeded alone.
The Empress Dowager was quite fond of her now.
Since she was so close with Emperor Jingxi, daily routines were more relaxed and casual.
Passing by the corridor before the bedchamber, a lantern flickered.
A wu’s vision dimmed briefly then brightened again, followed by a faint scent of dragon’s saliva incense.
She lifted her skirt and hurried forward.
Just as she stepped onto the soft carpet, she overheard Emperor Jingxi and the Empress Dowager arguing inside, mentioning the Imperial Son, and even herself.
She wanted to listen closely but only caught fragments: “… if the son rides the dragon away, then she must accompany him in death…”
A wu was shocked.
That was Emperor Jingxi’s voice!
Who was to be sacrificed?
She strained to listen; then the Empress Dowager said something, followed by the Emperor’s cold voice: “… burial, the Imperial Son would grieve deeply. After his great sorrow, his heart will be severed, avoiding shameful scandal. The Imperial Son will treat his younger siblings kindly…”
Was this… about her being sacrificed?
A wu felt as if an explosion had gone off in her mind; everything went blank.
Her fingers trembled uncontrollably, her spine shivered, and she almost couldn’t stand.
At that moment, the mother and son seemed to argue again.
Unable to bear it, she hurriedly lifted her skirts and slipped away.
Feigning calm, she returned to her chamber with Palace Ladies and Eunuchs.
Pretending fatigue, she sent them away and lay down on the couch.
The terror she had suppressed now seeped from her bones; she was suffocating.
She thought: She had heard clearly—Emperor Jingxi had told the Empress Dowager just that.
His meaning was clear: if one day he died, she would die with him, buried together.
He feared leaving her alive would benefit the Imperial Son, and feared the Imperial Son might mistreat her children.
So he planned to kill the mother and spare the son, ensuring the Imperial Son would cherish his younger siblings even more.
Such cold calculation!
He had doted on her before; just the other day, they were tender and loving, his eyes brimming with affection.
A man so calm and cold once enamored was intoxicating; how could she not love him?
Yet, amidst such intimacy, this man had already coldly plotted her death.
Some thoughts were one thing, but to hear them spoken aloud was another—shivering, A wu realized this was truly his plan.
It suited his nature perfectly.
He could share pleasures with her one moment and abandon her at Nanqiongzi the next.
She recalled the ring on Emperor Jingxi’s hand, always worn.
That ring had once pressed against her neck, almost strangling her, yet had also brought her delight.
Having ruled for nineteen years, controlling heaven and earth, his depths were beyond her imagining.
He played dominance and mercy effortlessly, toying with everyone.
He wanted the Imperial Son to obey, protect her children, and keep her loyal for life.
Killing mother, sparing son—that was his perfect plan.
This was the man seated on the Dragon Throne—heart cold, ruthless.
Even if he smiled warmly at you, that smile could turn into a blade.
A wu couldn’t help but laugh, a bitter, mocking laugh.
She felt like going mad; those children were hers.
She thought she might as well strangle them and not let them live.
With that thought, she gripped her golden hairpin and went to the small prince and princess’s room.
They were sleeping soundly in the side hall.
She sent the wet nurse away and knelt before them.
Such a perfect pair of children—fair-skinned, tender, soft.
Who wouldn’t love them?
She stared at them, mad thoughts swirling.
She should kill them, then follow.
Make him suffer, hate, and be left empty-handed.
His love for his children was undeniable.
He was bursting with the joy of fatherhood.
If suddenly lost, he would go mad.
No other heirs remained in the harem, and at this age, no more children could be born.
That old man would hurt so deeply, he might wish for death!
Thinking of him clutching the children’s bodies in sorrow brought her a strange sense of satisfaction.
No matter how hard his heart was, he would be devastated, wishing he were dead.
He would regret it for life.
A wu stared, trembling as she raised the hairpin to strike.
(Note: Abnormal postpartum behavior does not reflect the author’s views, who condemns such actions. Please do not imitate.)
Suddenly, one of the children stirred.
A wu paused.
The child puckered their lips sweetly, smiled softly, then went back to sleep.
Looking at the child, she suddenly shivered and came to her senses.
What was she doing?
She stared blankly at the children, cold sweat streaming down her back.
She couldn’t believe she had such thoughts—it was as if possessed.
Even a fierce tiger wouldn’t harm its own cubs.
She was about to harm her own flesh and blood!
Her legs weakened, and she nearly collapsed.
What she didn’t know was that only months after giving birth, if overly stimulated, postpartum disorders could cause anxiety, hallucinations, and even extreme thoughts.
Trembling, she caressed the child’s cheek, filled with guilt and self-loathing, unable to understand why she had such thoughts.
Dazed, she returned to her chamber, mind chaotic.
She thought: ‘This isn’t so bad. Emperor Jingxi was just an old man. Why bother caring?’
If she wanted a man, there were plenty who would fall head over heels at a gesture.
As for the children—since they were born, they had their fate.
They had blood ties; she gave them life, so they must live well and enjoy their fortune.
She still had her father, brother, and Brother Ye Han—all would love and cherish her.
Her father and brother had news now.
Of course, she wouldn’t tell Emperor Jingxi or ask him to help.
When she found them, she would leave this place and flee overseas, never to be found.
If Emperor Jingxi died one day, she would not die with him but celebrate wildly at sea!
A ruthless, heartless old man like him was not worth clinging to.
As she thought this, exhaustion overcame her, and she collapsed on the bed.
She forced a bitter smile but knew clearly: as Imperial Noble Consort, leaving was no easy task.
Now the most important thing was to hope this man would live a long life.
If he insisted on dragging her down, then if he lived to sixty, she would be over forty, having lived a full life.
If he lived to seventy or eighty, she might live to fifty or sixty.
That might be acceptable…
She frowned, seriously pondering.
If Emperor Jingxi lived to eighty, she would be sixty-three; then the Imperial Son would be sixty-three as well.
Would such an old Imperial Son ascend the throne then?
At that age, there would be nothing left to hope for, and Jingxi wouldn’t fear any revival of rivalry between her and the Imperial Son.
If he lived to sixty, she and the Imperial Son would be in their forties—nothing much to worry about.
At that age, the Imperial Son likely had the will but not the power.
Or perhaps persuading Emperor Jingxi to castrate the Imperial Son before death might be a good solution.
Suddenly, an idea struck her.
The Imperial Son, as the eldest, had been Emperor Jingxi’s only son for over a decade, so naturally, he secured the heir’s position.
But his age created a problem.
Emperor Jingxi had him when he was only sixteen or seventeen.
Now the son was seventeen, and the father less than thirty-four—a small gap.
But when Emperor Jingxi was fifty or sixty, the Imperial Son would be in his forties, making the gap less significant.
If Emperor Jingxi lived long, would the Imperial Son just endure, waiting until his forties or fifties or even sixties?
A man like Emperor Jingxi, always holding power, would never hand it over early.
He’d fear the young Imperial Son would seize power and overthrow him.
So—
A wu’s mind raced as she realized something.
There was still one path left—helping her own sons seize the heirship.
She was no longer the lonely A wu of before.
She had two children, the emperor’s bloodline.
Emperor Jingxi had only two sons and two daughters; she held half the imperial lineage.
For her past self, this was unthinkable, but now, just the thought made her heart pound wildly.
Such treason, such impossible dreams.
Yet… it wasn’t impossible.
Only, if that were the case, her opponent would be the Imperial Son.
She pictured the fiery young man of old, who once gazed at her with burning, eager eyes, as if wanting to swallow her whole.
If one day, her children had to fight him in a life-or-death struggle, what would happen?