Chapter 19

Chapter 19

The weather grew hot, and even at dusk there was no sign of cooling. Seeing her husband’s discomfort, Xu Yunqi instructed Yinxing to brew a strong cup of honeysuckle tea. After drinking it, the restlessness in Pei Muheng’s chest largely subsided. He had been deeply tired, so he had Huang Wei bring a lounge chair to the open pavilion on the east side of Qinghui Garden and lay down to rest with his eyes closed.

Qinghui Garden was spacious, with both front and rear courtyards. Through the southern moon gate and along the western veranda, one reached the main courtyard. To the east, a row of rooms stood, but that corridor did not connect to the main courtyard. Beyond the eastern veranda grew a grove of late-blooming plum trees—neither too tall nor too short, each in its own posture, their bare branches stretching irregularly toward the rear courtyard. The eastern rooms were linked to the main courtyard by an open pavilion, where Pei Muheng loved to lounge. In his leisure, he could admire the artful potted landscapes of the front courtyard or gaze at the greenhouse blooming in the rear.

Several sparse plum branches cast dappled shadows across his profile.

Qinghui Garden had been designed to Pei Muheng’s taste. Before Xu Yunqi’s arrival, he had rarely slept in the study; now he had truly moved back, gradually recapturing that old comfort.

Husband and wife sat opposite each other through the window—one resting in the pavilion outside, the other intently filling in medical records in the small dispensary. Neither made a sound, neither looked at the other, yet there was a quiet ease between them.

Inside the room, however, was all Huang Wei and Yinxing’s bickering.

Huang Wei wanted to place Pei Muheng’s belongings where he always kept them. Yinxing refused.

“This is where my mistress keeps her orchid. This orchid can be used in medicine—it can only go on the high table by the southern window, where the light and humidity are just right.” Though timid before Pei Muheng, Yinxing was unwavering in defending Xu Yunqi.

Huang Wei was no match for the mistress’s personal maid, and retreated on all fronts.

Xu Yunqi listened to their rustling commotion and rubbed her brow.

Soon, the kitchen sent word that dinner was ready. Yinxing came in quietly to ask if they should serve.

Xu Yunqi glanced at the copper water clock in the corner—it was the third quarter of the hour of You. In summer, the days were long, and it was not yet fully dark. By her habits, it was time to eat. She looked out at her husband; his tall silhouette was faintly visible in the twilight, sleeping soundly.

See—living together meant all sorts of complications.

“Let’s wait a little longer.”

Yinxing pursed her lips. Seeing the lamp on the table was not bright enough, she took a pair of shears and trimmed the wick. The flame leaped up, and the side room grew brighter.

A quarter-hour later, Pei Muheng woke and strolled leisurely along the veranda into the eastern annex. The furnishings in the room had clearly increased—some his, some hers. Her things were few and simple, but he was particular: his tea sets included several—crackle-glazed celadon from the Ru kiln, zisha pots from Yizhou, all from famous hands.

Xu Yunqi heard him and came out of the side room, smiling warmly.

They exchanged a glance and wordlessly went to the main hall for dinner. Afterward, Pei Muheng went to his study, and Xu Yunqi took a stroll by the waterside pavilion to aid digestion—where she happened to run into Pei Mushan.

Pei Mushan had also just finished dinner. Seeing her, she dashed over.

“Sister-in-law, I was just looking for you.”

Xu Yunqi waited for her to catch up, eyes bright. “What is it?”

Pei Mushan stepped from the stone path over the water and grasped Xu Yunqi’s wrist. The lamplight softened their faces, both glowing like jade.

“That rouge you gave me is wonderful—fine and not sticky. I’ve been using it for half a month, and my skin is much smoother. Here, feel.” She leaned her face close.

Xu Yunqi really did brush her sleeve aside and run the back of her hand over her cheek, smiling. “It is much softer.”

Pei Mushan was thrilled. “Where did you buy it, Sister-in-law? Tell me—I want to get some more.”

Xu Yunqi smiled knowingly. “I made it myself.”

Pei Mushan gasped, incredulous, then looked her over from head to toe and almost jumped for joy. “That’s wonderful! Teach me how to make it.”

She did not simply expect Xu Yunqi to keep making it for her—she wanted to learn herself. She was not the kind of girl who took others’ kindness for granted. Spoiled, perhaps, but not entitled.

Xu Yunqi agreed readily: “Once I’ve prepared the medicinal ingredients and pollen, I’ll teach you.”

But buying those materials cost money. Pei Mushan immediately reached for her purse, found nothing, and turned to ask her maid: “Taoqing, where did I put my monthly allowance?”

The maid’s expression was hard to read.

Pei Mushan was indeed a spendthrift—the moment she got her allowance, she would go out and buy rouge, powder, or jewelry. Money never lasted the night with her.

Taoqing reminded her bluntly: “Miss, you’ve already spent all your allowance.”

“Have I?” Pei Mushan scratched her head awkwardly, then turned to Xu Yunqi apologetically: “Sister-in-law, you buy the materials first, and I’ll pay you back later.”

Seeing her embarrassment, Xu Yunqi smiled and nodded. “I have money—you don’t need to pay me back.”

“Where would you get money?” In Pei Mushan’s mind, Xu Yunqi came from the countryside and had little dowry—she could not be well off.

Xu Yunqi was not rich, but she had never lacked for money either. She had practiced medicine with her grandfather and could always earn more. She had never worried about making a living, nor had she ever placed much value on silver and gold. In her view, as long as she had enough to eat and wear, the rest could be given to the poor.

As her grandfather used to say: “Everyone is just a guest on the road to the Yellow Springs—why carry extra burdens?”

And Xu Yunqi, alone in the world, had never formed the habit of saving.

“I haven’t spent my monthly allowance yet. And if that’s not enough, I’ll use your brother’s.”

Old Madam Chen always gave the couple’s combined allowance to Xu Yunqi to manage.

Hearing that, Pei Mushan’s eyes lit up. “Brother has his own little treasury—Sister-in-law should get your hands on it.”

Xu Yunqi inwardly shook her head. Pei Muheng had once asked her to manage accounts, but he had never turned over all his assets to her, and she had never asked. In any case, he would not spend it on outsiders, so why worry?

“I’ll ask him later,” she said to placate her sister-in-law.

Soon, they parted ways. Pei Mushan headed toward her quarters, then stopped, turned, and crept along the winding veranda toward the main courtyard.

Taoqing, seeing her mistress moving stealthily, asked curiously: “Miss, what are you doing?”

Pei Mushan waved her off, signaling silence. She slipped along the corridor beside Jinhua Hall, circled around to the main courtyard, hid by the wall, and peered through the window.

Seeing her father sitting with her mother on the couch, she relaxed. She retreated a few steps, jumped under a locust tree in the yard, and imitated a bird call.

Inside, Prince Xi heard that familiar “chirp,” frowned, hesitated, then cleared his throat and said to the Princess Consort: “My dear, I need to use the privy…”

The next month was Xun Yunhe’s fortieth birthday. Madam Xun and Xun Yunling were returning to the capital to prepare the celebration. In the past, the two families had been about to become in-laws, so birthday gifts had been a serious matter. Now that the marriage had fallen through, it was awkward. The Princess Consort was fretting over what to give and did not notice her husband’s scheming.

Prince Xi hurried out to the veranda, glanced around to see the matrons and maids standing quietly with bowed heads, then slipped to the corner behind the covered walkway. Peeking around, he saw his daughter waiting boldly at the eaves.

“What are you sneaking about for?” He glared at her.

Pei Mushan clasped her hands behind her back, eyes darting. “Sneaking has its reasons.”

“Speak—what is it?” Prince Xi frowned, putting on a stern, impatient air.

When his daughter sought him out at this hour, it was never good.

She sidled up, tugged his sleeve, and smiled sweetly: “Father, have you spent this month’s allowance yet?”

Prince Xi’s face darkened. He lowered his voice: “Why are you always eyeing your father’s allowance?”

Before she could answer, he clasped his hands behind his back, straightened his spine, and looked away. “It’s the end of the month. It’s long gone.”

Pei Mushan immediately let go of his sleeve, scowling. “But you promised to supplement me every month!”

Half amused, half annoyed, he turned back to her: “I gave it to you last month and the month before! Your mother caught me and thought I was out carousing. Daughter, you’ve made a mess of your father!”

She turned her face away with a huff. “I owe my sister-in-law money—I have to pay her back.”

On her way back, she had thought better of it. In the past, she had taken her brother’s allowance without a second thought, but now he was a married man. So she decided to hit up her father instead.

“And you have the nerve to sound righteous!” Prince Xi rubbed his head, then leaned down to look at her. “Which sister-in-law?”

If it were Lady Xie, he would not care; if it were Lady Li, unlikely… Pei Mushan would not borrow from her. Then he thought of Xu Yunqi. “You didn’t borrow from your Third Sister-in-law, did you!”

In his view, Xu Yunqi was a pitiful girl. If his daughter were bullying her, he would break her legs.

She shot him a glance and said nothing.

Prince Xi was furious. He jabbed a finger at her forehead several times, then finally muttered: “Just wait!”

A moment later, he grudgingly produced twenty taels of silver and handed them to Pei Mushan. She hugged her father joyfully and then swept away.

That night, Pei Mushan sent Taoqing to deliver the silver to Xu Yunqi, who could only laugh.

—

Pei Muheng had napped that evening but returned late. By the time he came back, Xu Yunqi was already asleep.

He walked quietly to the washroom. Even though he kept his movements low, the sound of water woke her.

Knowing he would be back, she had not drawn the bed curtains. Pei Muheng entered in his underrobe. By the faint glow of a small glazed lamp in the corner, he saw his wife propped up on one arm, her old robe folded over her chest, a soft curve silhouetted beneath. Her dark hair fell over her back and shoulders, half-hiding her face. Her sleepy, dark eyes stared at him, dazed—she had clearly been woken.

He sat on the edge of the bed, then lowered the curtains, shutting out the lamplight, leaving only a haze of dimness.

Two quilts lay on the bed—one for each. Pei Muheng had no objection, but since it was warm, he did not need his. He pushed it aside and lay down.

From the washroom came the sounds of the matrons cleaning the tub. The room was silent. Xu Yunqi shifted drowsily and tried to go back to sleep—until a clatter from the washroom jolted her fully awake.

“Are you hurt?” She sat up and called toward the washroom.

The matron, startled at having disturbed her mistress, rushed out from behind the screen and knelt on the damp ivory mat. “This servant deserves death—I startled you. I only dropped a ladle. I’m not hurt.”

Xu Yunqi’s tone was calm. “Mm. Go rest.”

The matron murmured her thanks, called a companion, and carried the tub out. But she knew she would not be sleeping anytime soon—sure enough, before long, sounds came from the inner chamber.

Xu Yunqi had not wanted to make any noise, but this time he had gone too deep, and she nearly could not bear it.

So his previous efforts at the traveling palace had been restrained.

She thought ruefully: what was this—shooting herself in the foot?

His eyes were dark as an abyss, motionless, only the sweat from his jaw dripping into her dishevelled collar.

Time passed, and still there was no sign of stopping. Even Xu Yunqi, usually so composed, finally spoke:

“Third Master… next time, come back a little earlier…”

Staying up so late was not good for the body.

She had good habits and slept on schedule; his irregular hours had already disrupted her routine.

He was not used to talking at such times. His throat moved several times as he forced his voice steady:

“What time do you usually sleep?”

He had come back late and disturbed her. If they were to live together, they would have to accommodate each other.

She bit her lip, looking beyond the red mandarin-duck bed curtain at the beaded rolls by the window, where faint light flickered. Her voice was soft: “No later than the third quarter of the Hour of the Boar.”

Pei Muheng frowned.

That was far too early for him.

“I’ll try to come back earlier.”

No more words came from within the curtain. A gentle breeze passed, the night still. Occasional cicadas chirped, but did not break the silence. Xu Yunqi grabbed hold of something, and for a moment, she nearly lost herself.

The matrons brought in two fresh buckets of water. Xu Yunqi kept her head down, still wrapped in her clothes, and washed in silence. Fortunately, she had rested earlier, so the discomfort was not too great. When she came out, Pei Muheng had already bathed. He sat in an armchair, wearing a white underrobe, his sash tied neatly. His expression was relaxed and content, his bearing refined and handsome—as if he had not just been the one doing what he had done.

He was waiting for her. In the past, sometimes she slept on the inside, sometimes he did. But this time, Pei Muheng realized his schedule was less regular than hers, so he gave her the inner position to disturb her as little as possible.

She glanced at him as she returned to the room. His brows were relaxed, his eyes lowered as he drank tea—there was an elegant grace about him. He had already poured a cup for her and pushed it her way: “Have some tea.”

His tone was not a suggestion but a certainty.

She felt a slight flush, took the tea, and moistened her dry throat, but her gaze kept drifting to his sleeve.

Noticing her stare, he asked calmly: “Still not sleeping?”

It was already past the Hour of the Rat, and she was usually an early sleeper. What was she staring at him for?

Somewhat embarrassed, she realized she must have scratched him. She kept her nails long for handling herbs—they were not short. If she guessed correctly, there was a deep gash on his right arm.

“How is your arm?” she asked, guilt in her voice.

Only then did he raise his teacup and smile slowly—though the smile faded quickly. “It’s fine,” he said gently.

She did not press further. She rose and went to bed first.

The next morning, Yinxing told her: “The master practiced his sword in the rear courtyard at dawn before going to court.”

Xu Yunqi was filled with admiration—the man had incredible stamina. She discreetly rubbed her sore legs and said calmly:

“I see.”

—

On the thirtieth of the fourth month, the monthly grand court session was due, but no word came from the Hall of Heavenly Worship that the Emperor would attend. Instead, the Grand Secretaries and princes were summoned to the imperial study for a council.

Pei Muheng had gone to the Censorate early. Previously, the Emperor had placed him in charge of the Censorate. Today, two Vice Censors came to him, saying the Censorate’s salary allotment had been held up by the Ministry of Revenue. The junior clerks had not been paid in two months, and with the month’s end approaching, complaints were rife. Pei Muheng took the Censorate’s accounts for the past several months and went personally to the Ministry of Revenue to mediate.

The matter had been raised several times, but he had chosen today to address it deliberately—he did not want to wade into the murky waters of the Hall of Heavenly Worship.

That day, the imperial study was packed with senior ministers, the atmosphere heavy.

The Crown Prince’s case had not yet been fully concluded, but the Emperor had already asked for results. Minister of Justice Xiao Yu, thinking the Emperor was eager for the details, had written a memorial overnight and presented it early that morning.

Among those present were Grand Secretary Yan Ping, Vice Grand Secretary Zheng Yucheng, Associate Grand Secretaries Xiao Yu and Xun Yunhe, Chief Censor Shi Zhuo, the Second Prince Prince Qin, the Third Prince Prince Chen, and several other princes—conspicuously absent were Prince Xi and the Twelfth Prince Pei Xun.

The morning had started with brilliant sunshine, but soon the sun sank behind clouds, dimming the study. Liu Xiwen signaled, and two young eunuchs lit palace lamps. Liu Xiwen himself placed one on the imperial desk.

Unlike last time, when Pei Xun’s Tongzhou memorial had arrived, the imperial desk was now bare, save for Xiao Yu’s memorial in the center.

The Emperor sat upright on the broad, bright-yellow dragon couch, his hand resting lightly on the memorial without opening it. His eyes were half-closed, his voice low: “How stands the investigation?”

Yan Ping’s expression was stern and silent. Minister Zheng let out a low sigh. Xun Yunhe’s gaze rested quietly on the empty space ahead, calm and unruffled. Xiao Yu, however, had no escape. He stepped forward and bowed:

“Your Majesty, while tracing the merchants smuggling gunpowder, Chief Justice Liu Zhao discovered that some of it had been delivered to the Crown Prince’s villa. We now have both witness and physical evidence—the Crown Prince did indeed have weapons and gunpowder in his possession. Additionally, those merchants were Jinzhou traders who did business with the Great Wu. Whether this connects to the Crown Prince is still under investigation…”

The implication was that the Crown Prince might have been colluding with the enemy—a charge that would add a devastating weight to his crimes.

Before Xiao Yu could finish, the Emperor interrupted:

“Wasn’t Liu Zhao investigating the Jinzhou merchants? Why is he investigating the Crown Prince?”

The question was abrupt and left Xiao Yu scrambling for an answer.

Xun Yunhe, however, shot a quick glance at the Emperor.

Seeing Xiao Yu fall silent, the Emperor asked again: “How did the gunpowder ignite? Was the culprit caught?”

This time, Xiao Yu answered readily:

“The gunpowder was hidden in boxes meant for candles behind the late Empress’s spirit tablet. At noon, a young novice dozed off and accidentally knocked over a candlestick, triggering the explosion.”

The Emperor found it absurd: “Why would he hide it there?”

No sane person would store gunpowder in a shrine with an open flame.

Chief Censor Shi Zhuo cut in: “The gunpowder arrived in the capital on the seventh of the fourth month. His Majesty was away; Grand Secretary Xun strictly inspected all cargo entering and leaving the city gates. The Crown Prince’s men claimed it was incense and tribute for Ci’en Temple. The guards dared not open the crates and carried them in as they were. And in the entire capital, the Empress’s shrine was the one place no one would search.”

Before the Emperor’s return had been confirmed, the Crown Prince had not dared to act—so the gunpowder had remained there until the explosion on the tenth.

Shi Zhuo’s tone turned indignant: “Your Majesty, setting aside all else, this explosion harmed sixty innocent commoners. That crime alone is unforgivable.”

Shi Zhuo, past sixty, with white brows and beard and sharp eyes, could not tolerate corruption. A censor by origin, he had passed the imperial exams at thirteen and, as a seventh-rank censor at twenty, had toured Jiangnan, uncovering major cases and earning a formidable reputation. More importantly, he was famed for his outspokenness, likened to Wei Zheng. The Emperor and he—one who dared to speak, one who dared to listen—were legendary.

At his blunt words, the Emperor indeed asked no more.

After a pause, the Emperor raised a brow and frowned at Xiao Yu: “What does the law prescribe?”

Xiao Yu and Shi Zhuo exchanged a glance, both uneasy.

Even the outspoken Shi Zhuo fell silent.

But everyone knew: privately stockpiling weapons was tantamount to treason. And if collusion with the enemy and smuggling gunpowder were added, the crime was beyond pardon.

Seeing no one speak, the Emperor gave a cold smile, his gaze sweeping the assembled ministers: “So, the Crown Prince—I cannot save him?”

Though his words were addressed to all, his eyes were fixed on Yan Ping and Prince Qin.

Prince Qin was quick to distance himself: “Father, I do not believe the Crown Prince would truly conspire against you. Those gunpowder stores must have served another purpose. I urge you to let Grand Secretary Xiao and Minister Shi investigate thoroughly—do not convict the Crown Prince lightly.”

Hearing this, the Emperor’s mouth twitched.

But the deeper they dug, the more evidence against the Crown Prince would surface.

Seeing no reaction from the Emperor, Prince Qin could not help but look up—and found his father’s eyes fixed directly on him. He shivered inwardly and quickly lowered his gaze.

The Emperor turned to Yan Ping: “Grand Secretary Yan, do you share the same view?”

Yan Ping narrowed his eyes.

Even if the Crown Prince had not truly plotted rebellion, his embezzlement and misconduct were undeniable. The explosion at his villa, harming innocents, had destroyed his prestige—his position as heir was surely lost. The Emperor knew this; his question was a defensive move, his true aim to save the Crown Prince’s life.

Yan Ping understood the Emperor’s intent well enough, but in his view, the Crown Prince could not be left alive—he would only be a future threat.

But that was not something he himself should say. He needed to provoke someone else to speak first.

So Yan Ping bowed, his expression resolute: “Your servant believes Your Majesty should cease the investigation.”

At this, Xiao Yu and Shi Zhuo both shot him sharp looks, Shi Zhuo’s gaze tinged with anger. He and Xiao Yu had already made mortal enemies of the Crown Prince—if the Crown Prince ever rose again, they would have no ground to stand on.

The Emperor looked at Yan Ping with a faint, unreadable smile, then waved his hand. “You are all dismissed.”

The ministers began to withdraw—except one who stepped forward boldly, knelt, and faced the Emperor.

It was Shi Zhuo, Chief Censor. At this critical moment, he showed his mettle:

“Your Majesty is a compassionate father, and I feel your heart. But do not forget the disaster of the deposed Prince Geng and the Seven Princes’ struggle for the succession in the previous dynasty!”

The words struck like thunder. The Emperor’s face turned ashen, his eyes narrowing to icy slits—he could have cut Shi Zhuo down on the spot.

In the previous dynasty, a Crown Prince had been demoted to Prince Geng for misconduct. The emperor, still merciful, had left him in the capital. That prince later rebelled, sparking a seven-prince succession struggle that destabilized the court for over a decade.

Shi Zhuo’s words were a blunt weapon against the Emperor—and a violation of imperial taboo.

The Emperor’s throat tightened. He roared: “Guards! Drag him out—”

He was about to order thirty strokes when Liu Xiwen raised his voice: “Quick! Someone take Minister Shi away before he says more and infuriates His Majesty!”

The interruption checked the Emperor’s rage. He slowly calmed down.

Shi Zhuo was old—if he were beaten, he might not survive. With the Crown Prince about to be deposed, killing a senior minister would only deepen court instability, unsettle the people, and stain his legacy for a thousand years. The Emperor gripped the desk, gradually steadying himself, and ultimately said nothing.

Shi Zhuo was escorted out.

The ministers filed out of the Hall of Heavenly Worship in twos and threes.

Xun Yunhe walked ahead, descending the steps, his sleeves clear of dust, his bearing serene—almost detached.

Soon, Xiao Yu caught up with him, sweating: “Grand Secretary Xun, please wait.”

Xun Yunhe stopped and turned, bowing to the breathless Xiao Yu: “What can I do for you?”

Xiao Yu wiped his brow and glanced back toward the Hall of Heavenly Worship, his brow furrowed with worry. “Grand Secretary Xun, Minister Shi is determined to see the case through, but Grand Secretary Yan suddenly said not to investigate. I truly cannot decide what to do.”

Xun Yunhe smiled at him: “Do you truly not know what to do?”

Or was it that he did not know which side to favor?

Xiao Yu, caught out, looked abashed.

Xun Yunhe did not expose him, but said mildly: “Minister Xiao, consider who sits above—and listen to him.”

Xiao Yu looked at him intently, then understood: “And what is His Majesty’s intent?”

Xun Yunhe’s expression was cool. “Think back, Minister Xiao—when you said the investigation should be thorough, what was His Majesty’s reaction?”

He had cut him off.

Xiao Yu started, suddenly seeing the crux of the matter. He bowed deeply to Xun Yunhe: “Thank you for the guidance, Yunhe.”

Xiao Yu was far older than Xun Yunhe, yet he bowed so deeply out of genuine respect and trust.

Xun Yunhe returned the bow lightly and left.

—

That night, Xun Yunhe was on duty at the Grand Secretariat. He brought some approved memorials to the Directorate of Ceremonial Affairs and took the opportunity to pay his respects to the Emperor.

In the past, whenever Xun Yunhe was on night duty, the Emperor often had long talks with him—and tonight was no exception.

When Xun Yunhe entered, the Emperor, dressed in an old robe, was sitting by the eastern window on a couch, drinking soup. Seeing him, the Emperor’s expression softened slightly. He raised his sleeve and signaled for a young eunuch to serve Xun Yunhe a bowl.

Xun Yunhe glanced at the ginseng and lycium soup and bowed in refusal: “Thank you for your kindness, Your Majesty, but I do not drink this.”

The Emperor looked down at the bowl, where red ginseng lay at the bottom, and slowly understood. “I forgot—I’ve heard you never take tonic soups.”

Xun Yunhe smiled and agreed, then sat on the small stool across from the Emperor.

The Emperor looked at Xun Yunhe’s refined, handsome face and sighed.

“Among all my ministers, so many speak of Confucius and Mencius, but truly you, Xun, are the only one who can be called a true gentleman.”

Xun Yunhe was extremely self-disciplined—he did not drink, did not take concubines, did not drink ginseng soup, and cultivated his character.

More importantly, he did not form factions, did not seek private gain. He cultivated himself, regulated his household, and served in the court with dignity—a man truly steeped in Confucian principles.

This was the kind of minister the Emperor wanted to be his Grand Secretary.

Hearing this, a flicker of bitterness crossed Xun Yunhe’s eyes. He looked down slightly.

“I am unworthy of the word ‘gentleman.'”

The Emperor took it as modesty and let it pass. Then he rubbed his brow and sighed several times.

Xun Yunhe glanced at the Emperor’s robe—old, faded; he did not know how many years it had been worn, but he guessed it had belonged to the late Empress Zhang Xiaohui.

“Xun, tell me—am I a failed father?” the Emperor asked suddenly.

Xun Yunhe was taken aback. “Why would Your Majesty say that? You have over a dozen princes, all outstanding. If you are not a good father, then who is?”

“Don’t flatter me.” His tone was half disappointed, half self-mocking. “The Crown Prince lost his mother young, and I raised him myself—all these years, and this is what he has become.”

“Do you know? I don’t want to kill him—not only because I can’t bear to, but also because I fear wronging him.”

Xun Yunhe understood the Emperor’s dilemma. He rested his hands on his knees, his gaze lowered. “Your Majesty is both sovereign and father. Choosing between such impossible options—the anguish is not lost on me.”

This was Xun Yunhe’s stance.

But the Emperor thought he had understood only the surface, not the deeper truth.

“No, you don’t understand…” He leaned back, staring into the darkness beyond the window, his vision blurring as if reflecting something on the stained-glass panes. “You don’t understand… the pain of losing a child…”

Xun Yunhe’s shoulders trembled sharply. He was frozen, as if nailed to the spot.

Lost in his own thoughts, the Emperor did not notice.

“Thirty years ago, I had a beautiful, adorable princess. She was only ten—the late Empress’s only daughter, my only legitimate princess. That year… she suddenly fell ill with heart disease… and died in my arms. Before she died, she held my hand and said, ‘Father, you must take good care of the Crown Prince…'”

The Emperor’s eyes reddened. But remembering something, his eyes flashed with disgust as he stared at Xun Yunhe: “She didn’t have to die—she was killed by that wretch!”

Xun Yunhe did not hear the last part. His hands slipped from his knees and trembled, his pupils constricted, slowly clouding with red. “How could I not understand… I understand better than anyone,” he said, each word as if hollowing him out.

Only then did the Emperor notice the tremor in his voice, the anguish and guilt on his face. “Xun, what is the matter?”

Xun Yunhe looked up, his eyes as empty as an abyss that could never be filled.

“Your Majesty, I too once had a lively, lovely little girl—she died in a plague.”