The Emperor sighed softly, “There are some things, A wu, you must not say. Understand?”
A wu did understand, just as Eunuch Fu had said.
Even if such thoughts were in her heart, she must keep them tightly locked away for the future.
There was still time.
As long as she still had the Emperor’s favor, as long as her two children grew strong and well, she would have opportunity.
There was no need to rush.
This man did love her.
She only needed to stay by his side, always.
She exhaled softly and conceded, “Your Majesty, you’re right. I should not have spoken. It was my fault.”
Emperor Jingxi studied her as she admitted her mistake.
There was no joy in his eyes—this was not the true A wu.
She smiled faintly, “Your Majesty reads with me daily, teaching me patiently. How could I not understand that the silver from the Private Treasury can be spent by me, but not the National Treasury?”
Likewise, the Crown Prince’s position concerns Great Hui and the Country and State.
Even if he could act willfully, it would be to treat the ancestral temple as a plaything—signs of a foolish ruler leading the nation to ruin.
One misstep and chaos erupts at court.
“So I cannot cross the boundaries of his Country and State. As for burial and the thumb ring… I no longer want to think on these things. It’s meaningless. Utterly meaningless.”
Emperor Jingxi silently pulled her into his arms, gradually tightening his embrace until A wu felt as if he would squeeze her to pain.
She lay against his solid shoulder for a long while, then finally wrapped her arms around him.
Did she have a choice?
No.
She could only lean on this man, try to trust him, and hope he lived a long life.
***
A wu and Emperor Jingxi had reconciled.
She was still awkward, and he seemed somewhat awkward as well—his mood difficult to read, yet also careful.
One night, while she was half asleep, she woke to see Emperor Jingxi watching her intently.
Perhaps it was the night, but his expression was ethereal, deep.
Maybe there was even a hint of fragile longing?
But A wu no longer felt pity for this man.
He was the emperor, and she was a woman of the Imperial Harem.
All she had was granted by him, her life controlled by him.
Living well was enough.
But most of the time, she was sweet and soft—after all, she was the Imperial Noble Consort, mother to a prince and princess.
She had to fulfill her duties.
This was her task.
The Emperor ordered the Imperial Physician to prepare medicine to wean her milk slowly, and she took it occasionally, but rarely.
At dusk, rain seemed to fall outside, thunder rumbling.
The bedchamber was heavy and oppressive.
A wu casually asked why.
The Emperor smoothed her hair with his long fingers, “The Imperial Physician studied your medical records and fears that after childbirth, your body’s cold accumulation and Qi stagnation could harm your foundation. So they must pay special attention and carefully nurture you. First to wean, then to nourish your body meticulously.”
A wu gave no reply.
He said, “I have ordered the Imperial Physician to let me review your daily medicinal meals. You must listen to the female physician’s instructions—do not miss any required medicine, lest you fall ill.”
A wu replied, “Mm, understood.”
The Emperor gazed at her sideways, noting the indifference in her eyes.
He naturally knew she was still angry, so he was especially cautious.
When he looked at her like that, A wu caught his gaze and turned to meet it.
Their eyes met briefly in the dim light.
She clearly saw tenderness and forgiveness in his eyes, like the gentle flow of autumn water—soft and silent.
Suddenly, her chest felt tight, and a wave of bitterness surged up.
She turned her face away with difficulty.
Outside, thunder crashed loudly as heavy rain pounded the eaves, then dripped down in a steady cascade.
The man beside her took her hand and pulled her into his embrace.
In the chaotic, damp sound of the storm, her senses blurred, tinged with chill.
His warmth was tempting, and A wu could not resist.
The Emperor’s strong palm cupped her cheek, his fingertip covering her ear.
He bent down and lightly licked her lips, coaxing softly, “A wu.”
His voice was mature and mellow, like fermented wine—lingering on the tongue.
In this tender care, the storm outside faded away.
She even imagined he would shield her from all storms forever.
She should trust him.
Emperor Jingxi kissed her gently, deeply and softly, then whispered in her ear, “A wu, can you trust me?”
A wu, dazed from his kiss, lifted her eyelids to look at him close by.
His Adam’s apple moved gently, restrained yet seductive.
Her thoughts ran wild—’Trust what? Trust him to do what?’
Emperor Jingxi said, “If there were two Yong Tianze in this world—one the Emperor, one me—the Emperor must consider the big picture. I cannot go against him. But no matter how much the world changes, I will do everything to arrange a good future for A wu and our two children.”
In the hazy night, A wu saw sincerity and guilt in his eyes.
But she was unmoved—she knew the story of the boy who cried wolf from childhood.
Emperor Jingxi sighed, “Since you received the news, I have pondered countless times.”
A wu stared blankly, wondering what he meant.
He sighed again, “A wu, our children are too young. It is all too early. Some things I cannot speak aloud. If it cannot be guaranteed, I will not act or say anything, because…”
His voice was hoarse, “I am afraid.”
He was the emperor—and yet he said “afraid.”
A wu was silent.
She vaguely sensed that his fear was real—not fear of any person, but a feeling deep in his heart.
Like her fear of darkness, or snakes.
This made her unwilling to exchange harsh words with him now.
Even enemies don’t always want to quarrel.
They lay quietly on the couch, neither speaking, just listening to the rain outside.
The rain poured heavily, drowning out all other sounds.
It gave A wu the illusion that only he and she existed.
The man lying beside her, stripped of imperial armor, was just an ordinary man.
For some unknown reason, they pressed close.
He laid her down on the couch and bent over his strong, firm back.
Heat surged instantly, a strange warmth flooding through her, nearly overwhelming A wu.
She was helpless, bewildered, yet immersed.
Tears threatened as she clutched the mattress and tensed her toes, her black eyes staring straight up.
When her consciousness was almost overcome by his tenderness, a scattered thought floated through her mind:
‘This old man—if he cannot leave the Country and State to her offspring, is this his way of placating her?’
So humble, so pitiful, yet so cold and hard!
***
Recently, Emperor Jingxi seemed very busy—so busy he barely had time for A wu and the children.
He spent whole days discussing state affairs with ministers, returning with a cold, stern expression and a silence that weighed heavily.
A wu observed the relationship between Emperor Jingxi and the Imperial Son.
It seemed the Emperor trusted and relied heavily on the Imperial Son.
She had seen the Crown Prince enter and leave Fengtian Hall several times.
Emperor Jingxi was already grooming the Imperial Son, preparing him for governance.
He truly put his heart into this.
A wu thought bitterly that the Imperial Son was his “big baby,” taught hand in hand.
Her own children would only learn horsemanship and archery and then be sent to their fiefs as idle princes.
Her little ones couldn’t compete with that “big baby.”
Thinking this, she was surprised by her own greed—once she would have been delighted if her son were just an idle prince.
But now, she was not satisfied.
Once such a thought took root, it grew inside her.
She watched Emperor Jingxi closely, trying to know her adversary fully.
Fortunately, no matter how busy Emperor Jingxi was, he still came to hold the prince and princess.
He doted on the little ones deeply, no doubt about that.
One day, when the little princess was crying, he wouldn’t let the wet nurse hold her and instead carried her himself, walking back and forth, gently soothing with patience.
A wu thought, ‘even common fathers would not be so loving.’
But she felt no warmth—only cold detachment.
Emperor Jingxi looked at her with a helpless expression.
She turned her eyes away, refusing to look.
‘Poor old man. Let him soothe the children. Wear him out, and then douse him in urine!’
The days grew warmer, and the two children were a bit older, now able to sit up.
The kids were sensible and even cuter, and A wu enjoyed watching them.
She would sit beside them for long stretches, imagining their future.
At these times, she felt she must strive harder to win more for them.
She had also seen the Imperial Son’s child, who was somewhat likable, but never as much as her own.
Besides the Crown Princess’s child, the Imperial Son seemed to have taken another concubine, who was also showing.
The last time she came to the palace, she even kowtowed to A wu.
A wu didn’t want to make things difficult and casually gifted her a jade bracelet.
The concubine was overwhelmed with gratitude.
A wu found this ridiculous.
If things had gone differently, that grateful concubine might have been her.
Thinking that, her efforts hadn’t been in vain.
If she followed the Imperial Son, her children would compete with the Imperial Son’s legitimate son.
Now, with the Emperor, her children only had to compete with the Imperial Son—cutting out one layer.
Just then, Emperor Jingxi grew busy again, so much that for two or three days, A wu didn’t see him at all.
Naturally, this made her uneasy.
She felt he was scheming something or had learned something.
‘Could he have guessed that she met Yehan? If he knew about Yehan, would he want his life?’
This thought made A wu anxious.
She wanted to find someone to inquire but had no means.
Her relationship with Princess Dening was good now, but the Imperial Harem did not meddle in politics.
Princess Dening wouldn’t know these things, and Concubine Hui and others certainly wouldn’t.
The Great Hui Imperial Harem was heavily guarded; the concubines had almost no access to information about the previous reign, let alone someone like Yehan, who wasn’t a big matter.
She had thought of asking Futai—she knew Futai cared for and favored her.
She could feel it.
But Futai was two years older than Emperor Jingxi.
After years of struggling, he finally reached his position.
If she spoke to him, it would harm him.
In the end, she gave up.
One day, while resting in Fengtian Hall, she saw attendants and guards waiting outside.
She asked and learned that Emperor Jingxi was in a side chamber reviewing memorials, accompanied by the Grand Eunuch of the Seal, the Chief Eunuch, several Court Eunuchs, and, surprisingly, some high-ranking ministers.
Naturally, A wu did not pry and quietly disembarked.
As she got down, she saw a group approaching—it was the Imperial Son.
The Imperial Son’s eyes darkened when he saw her, his expression flickering with complex emotion.
He stared at her intently.
A wu was startled and confused.
The Imperial Son clenched his teeth, painfully inhaled, and his expression became restrained.
A wu suddenly felt a chill down her spine.
She sensed the Imperial Son wanted to say something.
She even wanted to approach and ask him.
But the Imperial Son only gave her a long, deep look, then stiffly turned away with his attendants and entered the hall.
A wu returned to her inner chamber, her mind haunted by the Imperial Son’s inscrutable gaze.
The more she thought, the more afraid she became.
Her worries grew beyond Yehan to the Empress.
She vaguely remembered not seeing the Empress since the Lantern Festival.
The Empress claimed illness and rarely appeared afterward.
She had been immersed in the sweetness of pregnancy and childbirth, then resting, then the talk of burial—all this had made her lose track.
She realized she had not seen the Empress since she became Imperial Noble Consort during her pregnancy.
The Empress had been ill continuously and showed no sign of recovery.
But no matter how ill, she should not simply vanish!
A wu began piecing together rumors and snippets of the Emperor’s occasional words.
She realized Emperor Jingxi must have struck at the Duke of Zhen’an’s household in the Eastern Seas.
The Lu Family was in trouble.
The Lu Family had never been good—they had harmed the villagers.
Emperor Jingxi killing them all might be for the best, so Yehan wouldn’t need to seek revenge.
The Empress might as well die too.
But if the Empress did not die, would she expose A wu in a desperate struggle?
If that unworthy woman dragged her down to that point, what would A wu do?