The Little Princess nestled in her arms, satisfied: “Mother knows everything!”
A wu was deeply content. Such considerate, clever children, with such good temperaments.
She thought again of Emperor Jingxi—what good fortune he had! If he didn’t cherish these children, what justice was there?
She must reason with him properly!
The next day, A wu sent the children to the Empress Dowager’s place to keep her company.
During this time, Emperor Jingxi returned briefly, but A wu was rather distant.
If this old man couldn’t handle such a thing, what was the point of coming back?
Emperor Jingxi stayed only a moment, then said, “I expect to be very busy the next few days. I’ll stay in Fengtian Hall. If you need anything, have the Palace Lady inform me.”
Then he left.
What happened next was beyond A wu’s expectation. In just seven or eight days, a storm swept the imperial capital.
Because of the assassination attempt, the Imperial Son was racked with guilt, took off his jade coronet, let down his hair, and knelt outside Fengtian Hall, begging for punishment.
Emperor Jingxi treated him coldly, refusing to see him.
Soon, for reasons unknown, some ministers presented memorials, impeaching the Imperial Son for failing to discipline his wife, almost causing disaster and endangering his younger brother, arguing that the Imperial Son was unfit to manage his household or the state.
The Imperial Son offered no defense, instead writing a letter of repentance and requesting to abdicate.
Emperor Jingxi naturally refused, but the Imperial Son knelt and wept for three days, until finally, the two father and son held a private talk in Fengtian Hall—no one knows what was said.
After this secret conversation, the Imperial Son relinquished his position as heir and was granted the title Prince Wei Xiao.
Afterward, ministers petitioned to establish a new heir for the stability of the realm, but Emperor Jingxi ignored them.
Yet everyone understood—the heir’s position would surely go to the Second Prince, son of the Empress, a legitimate heir of noble birth.
Facing such upheaval, A wu was dumbstruck. She’d finally gotten what she’d longed for, but couldn’t comprehend how it all happened.
Why had the Imperial Son willingly stepped down? What was Emperor Jingxi really thinking?
Everything went so smoothly—it felt like a dream.
She racked her brains, recalling the look in Emperor Jingxi’s eyes when he left that night, and the words he’d said.
She couldn’t help but imagine all sorts of things, her heart surging—did he plan all this from the start?
Yet the more she thought, the more puzzled she became.
After years as husband and wife, she could read him to some degree. She sensed that, if there had been any way to avoid this, he would have tried to suppress the scandal.
So… why?
A wu tried to glean news, and slowly pieced together what had happened, with reassurances also coming from Futai.
She wasn’t anxious now—she could wait; Emperor Jingxi would explain everything.
One day, after paying respects to the Empress Dowager and spending time with the children, she returned to Langhua Hall and saw from afar Emperor Jingxi’s sedan chair, with guards and Attendants waiting outside.
A wu’s heart skipped. She immediately returned to her quarters.
Emperor Jingxi was sitting by the window, casually flipping through a book in the sunlight.
The light played over his face. He was past forty, but his skin was taut, his features sharp and strong, his bearing ever more composed.
A wu found herself fond of him, but pretended indifference and performed a formal bow.
—Given their intimacy, she normally wouldn’t do this, but now she deliberately made a show of it.
The man sensed her displeasure but said nothing, just looked at her gently.
A wu did not wish to be close, speaking with businesslike formality: “Your Majesty, you seem to have time today. What brings you here?”
Emperor Jingxi: “Have you eaten?”
A wu, blandly: “Not yet.”
Emperor Jingxi put down his book: “Then let’s have a meal.”
Throughout the meal, neither spoke. The bedroom was silent, only the faint sound of eating.
Afterward, as they sampled some tea and fruit, A wu covertly glanced at Emperor Jingxi.
She knew he’d have to say something soon, but he kept up the act.
Just as she thought this, Emperor Jingxi walked to the window, gazing at the clusters of blossoms outside: “They’re blooming beautifully.”
A wu thought, He really has patience.
She could keep pretending, too, but with this old man’s temperament, he could play Tai Chi all night.
She decided not to beat around the bush: “You’re an emperor, not young anymore, and you’re still preoccupied with flowers and powder!”
Emperor Jingxi cocked his head: “Oh? And what should I be preoccupied with?”
A wu: “Could you just talk like a normal person?”
Emperor Jingxi was silent for a moment, then suddenly laughed.
A wu pursed her lips and smiled, too.
The tension melted, the tacit understanding of years of marriage returning.
Emperor Jingxi composed himself, looked at A wu: “I meant to talk things over with you, but who knew you’d give me the cold shoulder?”
A wu turned away: “You started it with your act!”
Emperor Jingxi gave her a helpless look, then briefly recounted the events.
A wu had already heard much, but hearing it directly from Emperor Jingxi, the twists and turns felt even more dramatic—she was moved, amazed, and still a bit confused.
Finally, Emperor Jingxi said, “As for naming a new heir, there’s no rush. Let’s wait until after the new year. By then, Moxi will be eight.”
By then, the Second Prince would be eight, and Emperor Jingxi forty-one. But he was still vigorous and had enough time to teach the child to adulthood, ensuring a smooth succession to Great Hui.
A wu listened quietly, pleased but saying nothing.
Emperor Jingxi: “A wu, if you have any questions, ask me. I’ll tell you what I can.”
A wu asked, “Why did he willingly give up?”
Emperor Jingxi looked at her for a long time before saying slowly, “He felt guilty. He is devoted, loyal, and filial.”
A wu: ?
Emperor Jingxi said nothing more. That was his answer.
A wu could only ponder—feeling guilty, surely, because of what had happened, feeling he’d failed his brother.
But what did ‘devoted and filial’ mean? What did ‘devoted and true’ mean?
A wu lowered her head, frowning, thinking it over.
Emperor Jingxi left her to her thoughts, gazing quietly at the osmanthus blossoms outside the window.
The sweet scent filled all of Langhua Hall.
Thinking, A wu felt as if she was beginning to understand.
She studied Emperor Jingxi, her eyes gradually brightening.
Emperor Jingxi smiled: “Hm? What have you figured out?”
A wu smiled brilliantly, and like a little bird, threw herself into Emperor Jingxi’s arms, gazing up at him: “Did you plan it this way all along? Did the Imperial Son sense your intentions, and step aside out of loyalty and filial piety?”
Emperor Jingxi gazed at the lovely woman in his arms for a while, then said lightly, “Since you guessed as much, then that’s how it is.”
A wu gave a playful snort—he was certainly good at pretending.
Curious, she asked, “Then what does ‘devoted and true’ mean?”
Emperor Jingxi’s lips twisted in a slightly mocking smile: “Who knows? I don’t know.”
A wu was surprised: “What do you mean?”
Emperor Jingxi: “Nothing.”
A wu, annoyed, pounded his shoulder: “Didn’t you say you’d tell me? Now you’re being mysterious—are you bullying me?”
Emperor Jingxi calmly caught her flailing fists: “It’s because you’re silly.”
A wu more or less understood, but still didn’t dare be sure.
Some things, perhaps, shouldn’t be said aloud—if they were, both sides would feel awkward.
Still, she was curious, her slender arms twining around his neck as she sighed, “Who can know what’s in your heart?”
Emperor Jingxi: “A wu, actually you guessed right. When I first heard of it, I wanted—if possible—to cover it up for the Imperial Son. Do you know why?”
A wu: “Naturally because you favor him, because you love him, because you’re biased!”
Emperor Jingxi listened to her complaints, sighing softly: “All these years I have cultivated the Imperial Son with care, indulged the Crown Princess a bit, and even, at times, suppressed Moxi. Do you know why?”
A wu certainly didn’t, her eyes puzzled.
Emperor Jingxi: “You say I keep things from you, even from the one by my pillow—but do you think I was only protecting myself from you?”
A wu’s heart skipped a beat—she seemed to guess something.
Emperor Jingxi held her tightly, kissing her hair.
In a hoarse voice, he whispered, “If it was only for myself, or for Great Hui, I could choose any heir I liked—what need to worry? If I gave the order, officials would do as I say. The only reason I held back was because of you.”
A wu stared at him, dumbfounded.
Emperor Jingxi: “If word got out, or if anyone sensed my true intent, and I was no longer here, what would happen to you—a lone woman with children—against a pack of wolves?”
He lowered his eyes and said softly: “When the late emperor died, I was only fourteen, newly enthroned, with the country uncertain. So many people eager to seize power. My elder brother once loved and taught me, but later tried to steal my throne. I shot him myself, wiped out his whole family. Outsiders say I am cold-blooded, but for a year after, my dreams were filled with blood.”
A wu was shocked and pained.
She had killed, too—she killed the empress, and had been terrified after. But Emperor Jingxi had killed his own brother.
She wondered—did his brother once love him, just as the Imperial Son loved Moxi? Yet in the end, he killed him.
Emperor Jingxi: “A wu, do you remember what I said to you the day I learned your true identity at the Nanqiongzi Retreat?”
A wu tried to recall, and finally remembered: “You said power is like a blade.”
He’d said that anyone who succeeded had to endure what others couldn’t, even as an emperor. That power was a naked blade; to grasp it was to risk being cut. Seated above all others, looking down at the kneeling masses, one’s throne was surrounded by blades.
Emperor Jingxi: “Yes, I told you that.
“I have come this far—praised for wisdom and diligence—but the suffering cannot be spoken of. I cannot bear for you, for my own children, to taste that suffering again.”
He smiled, a trace of tenderness in his sharp eyes: “The Empress Dowager chants and prays daily, asking the Buddha to protect our children. I don’t believe in gods or ghosts, but I don’t dare place them on a razor’s edge. If fate is cruel, I’d rather our children live as wealthy idle princes, spending their days in peace.”
A wu suddenly understood.
If the emperor’s lifespan ran out, if things came to that, even if the Imperial Son didn’t want to fight, countless others would push him into the struggle.
He needed to raise the Second Prince to adulthood—if anything happened to him, his intentions would go with him to the imperial tomb, hidden even from her.
No one should threaten them; only then could they live as idle princes.
They must have no ambition for the throne, neither herself nor her children—must be utterly content, showing only goodwill to the Imperial Son.
So Emperor Jingxi not only suppressed his intentions, but demoted or rebuked anyone who dared probe his heart, signaling that he had no intention to change the heir. For once such a thought arose, it had to succeed; otherwise, he could never let his true thoughts show.
The Crown Princess’s mad act was completely unexpected. The Second Prince was only eight—this was earlier than he’d planned. He’d hesitated at first—whether to suppress the matter or seize the opportunity.
In the end, he chose to act ruthlessly, eliminate the Crown Princess’s faction, and force the Imperial Son to abdicate—because he couldn’t guarantee there would be another such opportunity ten years from now.
This was the emperor’s painstaking calculation for the sake of Great Hui, mingled with his care and concern as a husband and father.
A wu’s eyes grew hot and moist.
She mumbled, “I knew Your Majesty was the best husband in the world!”
The man laughed softly: “In a blink, your tune has changed.”
A wu immediately retorted: “How else would I know? You shut me up in Langhua Hall—how could I not be angry? We’re husband and wife, but also emperor and empress. Isn’t it right for me to be cautious? Poor me, the Empress, can’t even have a say on the pillow—I have every right to feel wronged!”
Emperor Jingxi gently pinched her fingers, looking at her: “I kept you inside to keep you above suspicion. Didn’t your father tell you to wait patiently for ten years and ask nothing?”
A wu: “Yes, Father did say that. So? Was that wrong?”
Emperor Jingxi heard this and realized his father-in-law was not an ordinary man, either, but had his own strategy. Since A wu became Empress, he had kept a low profile, which had its own meaning.
He smiled: “Of course not.”
A wu: “Then that’s settled. My father’s not wrong, I’m not wrong—the only one at fault is you! Blame it all on you!”
She shoved all the blame his way. If anyone was at fault, it had to be him.
Emperor Jingxi lowered his eyes, chuckling: “A wu, I didn’t tell you because of my private feelings. I feel guilty toward the Imperial Son. He did nothing wrong, has always worked diligently, but just wasn’t exceptional. And since he wasn’t your child, I had to remove him, to scheme against him and force him to step aside.”
A wu listened, feeling a bit apologetic, since the Imperial Son had stepped down on his own accord.
Whatever the reason, he had given way—she felt grateful.
So she suggested: “Then quickly grant him a princely title, reward him well!”
Emperor Jingxi: “And just now you said I was biased?”
A wu: “I never said that!”
Emperor Jingxi snorted: “All the court knows I favor one person, yet that person accuses me of favoring someone else.”
A wu snuggled up to him, embracing tightly: “A wu knows now—wherever I am, the emperor’s heart leans there!”
She added, mischievous: “A wu is the sun, and the emperor’s heart is a sunflower! So, the sunflower should stop being angry with the sun!”
Emperor Jingxi couldn’t help but laugh, then, teeth gritted at her ear: “If I ever got angry at you, I’d have died of rage by now, you heartless thing.”
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