"Why?"
In the quiet room, Prince Huai's bewildered voice broke the silence. "Mother, why would you do this?"
He could never have imagined that the gentle, frail mother he had known all these years had been feigning her illness. But why? Was she afraid of Empress Su's schemes? Did she fear the plots of other concubines in the harem? Yet ever since his father ascended the throne, he had favored only Empress Su. The envy and resentment of the harem were directed solely at her—why would his mother need to subject herself to such suffering?
"Everything I've done has been for you," Consort Xu replied calmly, gazing at her son. "Liu An, you are your father's eldest son. The throne rightfully belongs to you."
Prince Huai stared at her in shock. This ambitious woman before him was a stranger to him. In his memories, his mother had always been gentle—never forcing him to study like Zheng Lanyin did with her son, never pressuring him to yield to his brothers like Consort Lü did, and never once mentioning his status as the eldest son or the heir apparent.
"Now that the Su family has been named empress, what use is being the eldest son?" Prince Huai resigned himself to fate. "Mother, from now on... don't torment yourself like this. Even medicine has its poisons. Drinking these bitter concoctions when you're not ill will only harm your health."
"If I weren't frail and sickly, how could His Majesty have spared me?" Consort Xu threw off the covers and walked to the table, sitting down with a cold laugh. "Your father is a man who excels at patience. During the princes' struggle for the throne, he merely bided his time in his residence, waiting until the very end to seize power..."
"Father was framed by the other princes and confined to his estate for two full years!" Prince Huai clenched his fists, unwilling to recall the humiliation of those days.
"And yet, it was this very imprisoned prince who ultimately ascended the throne." Consort Xu looked at her naive son. "Why him, of all people?"
"Father was chosen by Heaven, virtuous and capable—superior to all the other princes. Isn't it only natural that he became emperor?" Prince Huai couldn't comprehend her words.
"The capital has no room for 'natural' outcomes." Consort Xu raised an eyebrow. "With your foolish temperament, how do you expect to win over the court officials?"
Prince Huai frowned but remained silent.
"Once, I too believed your father was kind and benevolent—until the day I realized there was no warmth in his eyes when he looked at me." Consort Xu lost herself in memories. "To him, I was no different from the trees and flowers by the roadside. Though he never killed me, all affection between us had long vanished."
"Mother, what are you saying? Why would Father want to kill you?" Prince Huai paled, thinking she must be delirious from illness. "Let me help you back to bed."
"Sixteen years ago, Prince Ying's men approached me, demanding I steal a certain register from your father's study. They promised that if I succeeded, they would protect us and smuggle us out of the estate." Consort Xu smiled bitterly. "When cornered, people lose their senses. I agreed."
Prince Huai stared at her in disbelief. "Mother, you're lying to me, aren't you?"
The gentle, devoted mother he remembered—how could she have betrayed the estate? If she had handed that register over, the lives of everyone in the household would have been forfeit.
His voice was hoarse as he asked, "What happened then?"
"Prince Ying lost. He died beneath the blades of the Golden Armor Guards, his blood staining the palace tiles—though I don't know which ones." A trace of regret flickered in Consort Xu's eyes. "Had I known his fate, I would never have agreed."
"So... you didn't steal the register?" Prince Huai exhaled in relief.
"I did." Consort Xu lowered her gaze. "After Prince Ying's defeat, I burned it."
A memory surfaced—his mother, eyes red from weeping, burning something in her chambers.
"Back then, you told me you were burning poems you wrote for Father." Prince Huai slumped onto a stool. "Was that another lie?"
He had assumed she was heartbroken over Father's love for Empress Su, destroying her verses in grief. But there had been no poems—only a register that could have doomed them all.
Consort Xu neither confirmed nor denied it.
"I don't know when your father discovered the truth, but to dispel his resentment, I had no choice but to feign illness—to keep myself beneath his notice."
"But after Father became emperor, he granted you the rank of consort and made me a prince!" Prince Huai's mind was in turmoil. "If he truly held a grudge, why would he have given you such honors?"
"You are the eldest son. As your mother, all I received was the bare minimum—a consort's title, without even an honorific. Isn't that proof enough of his disdain?" Consort Xu seized his hand with terrifying strength. "Liu An, Zheng Lanyin was executed by imperial decree. If you don't become crown prince, I will end up like her—strangled with a length of white silk. Do you understand?"
Her grip was painfully tight. Prince Huai looked down at his trapped hand. "But Fourth Brother's mother was executed for poisoning a prince..."
"No, she died from stupidity." Consort Xu cut him off. "After meeting her family, she grew careless, even secretly contacting the guards. It was no secret."
"She failed in her schemes yet refused to restrain herself, provoking Su Meidai at every turn. Who else could have died but her?" Contempt laced Consort Xu's voice. "And Yun Yanze inherited her flaws—all polish on the surface, but empty inside. At such a young age, he dared boast of being a 'virtuous prince,' parading his talents as if he could wear righteousness on his forehead."
"Mother..." Prince Huai turned to the setting sun beyond the window. "Let it go."
"I don't want the throne, nor any of it. As long as we're safe, nothing else matters." His voice was drained of all vigor.
"After all my years of suffering—for you—this is what you say?!" Consort Xu dabbed at her tears with a handkerchief. "Do you know how terrified I was when Zheng Lanyin was executed?"
"Would you stand by and watch me follow in her footsteps?"
Her sobs wrapped around him like a net, suffocating.
"If not for yourself, then for me." A tear splashed onto Prince Huai's hand. "Liu An, you're all I have. If even you won't help me, I will become the next Zheng Lanyin. Do you understand?"
Prince Huai fled as if pursued, clutching his dampened hand. He didn't dare look back as he left Zhaoxiang Palace.
Consort Xu slowly wiped away her tears and took a sip of tea.
The throne was within reach—why should she let it go?
It was infuriating how well His Majesty shielded Su Meidai, leaving no opening for attack.
Neither Zheng Lanyin nor Lady Wei posed the greatest threat.
As long as Su Meidai and Yun Duqing remained alive, they would forever be thorns in her side.
Leaving Zhaoxiang Palace, Prince Huai walked with his head down, not saying a word. The young eunuch trailing behind him dared not ask any questions and could only quicken his pace to keep up.
He had walked quite a distance before regaining his composure. Raising his head, he spotted a kite drifting in the sky.
"Who has the audacity to fly a kite within the palace grounds?" In previous dynasties, palace consorts had used kites to secretly send messages beyond the palace walls, causing major scandals. Though there was no explicit ban on kite-flying in the current dynasty’s inner court, the imperial consorts had all silently agreed to avoid the pastime.
"Your Highness, this servant does not know," the attendant replied, keeping his head lowered. How could he possibly know who was flying the kite?
Bathed in the glow of the setting sun, Prince Huai rounded a palace wall and saw the kite-flyers.
"Sister-in-law, you mustn’t pull it like that—you’ll tear the kite!" Ming Jiuzhu handed the kite string to Chunfen, then hiked up her skirt and tied it at her waist. "Wait here, I’ll fetch it for you."
Before Princess Huai could react, Ming Jiuzhu had already scrambled up a tree.
"What are you standing around for? Go and support Her Highness!" Princess Consort An, snapping out of her daze, tossed her own kite string to a palace maid and hurried to the base of the tree. "Sister-in-law, come down at once! Leave such matters to the servants—what if you fall?"
"Got it!" Jiuzhu tossed the kite to the ground and nimbly descended, picking it up and handing it to Princess Huai. "Don’t worry, Sister-in-law, the kite isn’t damaged at all."
Princess Huai took the kite and, with one hand, straightened Jiuzhu’s skirt. "A kite can always be remade, but what if you had gotten hurt?"
"But this one has the patterns you painted yourself—it’s different from the others." Jiuzhu brushed the wrinkles from her skirt. "I’ve been climbing trees since I was little. I won’t fall."
Holding the kite, Princess Huai’s usually composed face softened into a smile.
It had been so long since she had felt this carefree. Ever since marrying Prince Huai and becoming his princess consort, every word and action had to adhere to strict decorum.
Her mother-in-law was still gravely ill, yet when she stepped out of the courtyard and saw her two sisters-in-law sitting at a table, crafting kites and laughing without restraint, something in her had loosened. She had cast aside propriety and joined in their bold little rebellion.
"Thank you, Sister-in-law," she said, stroking the kite fondly before handing it to a maid for safekeeping.
"No need for thanks over such a small thing." Jiuzhu took the kite string from Chunfen and gazed up at the kite soaring steadily in the sky. "You take things too seriously, Sister-in-law."
Princess Consort An joined in the teasing. "Sister-in-law, if you really want to thank her, grill her a slice of venison at the feast later."
"Very well." Princess Huai, infected by their lightheartedness, smiled. "I’ll grill some for you too, lest you accuse me of favoritism."
"Unfair! I never said a word!" Princess Consort An grabbed Jiuzhu’s arm, pretending to pout, but ended up laughing instead.
Jiuzhu laughed along with her. "Actually, why don’t both of you grill for me? I’ve got thick skin, a big appetite, and I won’t complain about your cooking."
Princess Huai thought their laughter sounded silly, yet she found herself smiling too.
For a moment, she forgot that her mother-in-law was ill, that as a filial daughter-in-law, she shouldn’t be laughing.
Rules and propriety no longer mattered—not under this golden sunset, not with the kite flying so high it seemed to carry her beyond the rigid confines of palace life, back to the carefree girl she once was.
"Sister-in-law." Jiuzhu plucked a freshly bloomed flower and tucked it into Princess Huai’s hair. "A flower for a beauty. Pray tell, which family does this fair maiden belong to?"
Princess Huai blinked, then laughed. "What rogue dares to adorn a lady’s hair without permission?"
"How can I be a rogue when I’m enchanted by your beauty?" Jiuzhu widened her eyes in mock offense. "This humble scholar is heartbroken. Only an hour’s worth of grilled venison from the lady can mend my sorrow."
"Ah, so you’re not a rogue—just a little swindler after my venison." Princess Huai pinched Jiuzhu’s cheek lightly. "Fine, fine. Since you’re rather charming yourself, I’ll indulge you."
Princess Consort An watched as Jiuzhu’s playful antics lifted Princess Huai’s spirits, her lips curving into a faint smile.
No wonder even someone as arrogant as Prince Chen softened around her, guarding her like a treasure.
In a palace where deceit and malice were commonplace, a heart as genuine as Jiuzhu’s was a rare gift from the heavens.
It wasn’t just men—even women couldn’t help but melt under her bright gaze and infectious laughter.
"Your Highness…" The eunuch trailing Prince Huai grew uneasy. He hadn’t expected to find Princess Huai flying a kite of all things.
"Let’s go." Prince Huai turned on his heel. His elongated shadow stretched across the palace wall, twisted and grotesque.
"Not a word of what you saw today," the shadow said, its distorted form unmoving.
"Yes, Your Highness." The eunuch bowed hastily.
He was surprised. Normally, Prince Huai would have confronted his wife for daring to laugh and play while his mother lay ill. Yet today, he had held his tongue.
"Jiuzhu, what’s over there?" Princess Huai noticed Jiuzhu glancing repeatedly toward the moon gate in the palace wall.
"Nothing. I just thought someone was watching us." Jiuzhu looked away. "Probably just a servant."
Princess Huai chuckled, dismissing the thought.
As soon as Prince Huai stepped through the gates of Zhangliu Palace, the aroma of roasting meat and spices filled his nose.
In the courtyard, a large grill had been set up, surrounded by bustling servants. Prince An and Yun Duqing were playing chess nearby, while Prince Jing dozed off—proof of how dull their game was.
Yun Yanze was nowhere to be seen.
"Elder Brother, you’re finally back!" Prince An abandoned his chess pieces and strode toward Prince Huai as if rescued.
Playing against Prince Chen was agony—the man placed his pieces in the most unpredictable spots, with no discernible strategy. If not for the fact that he kept winning, Prince An would have thought he was moving at random.
All for the sake of currying favor!
"What did you need me for?" Prince Huai only registered Prince An’s presence when he was right in front of him.
"We’ve got fresh venison today. Let’s have a proper brothers’ gathering." Prince An slung an arm around Prince Huai’s shoulders and guided him to the table. "We’ll drink and feast until we’re thoroughly drunk!"
"Look, everything’s ready. We were just waiting for you."
"Very well." Prince Huai nodded.
Prince Chen, who had been collecting chess pieces, paused and glanced up at Prince Huai. "Elder Brother, do you prefer your venison grilled or hotpot-style?"
"Grilled is more flavorful." Prince Huai forced himself to focus. "No need to prepare a hotpot."
"Understood." Prince Chen smiled faintly and dropped the pieces into their box, though one jumped out.
Prince Jing picked it up and returned it, then plucked a black piece from the white box and placed it where it belonged.
"When grilling, brush on a layer of oil and sprinkle sesame seeds. That’s the best way to enjoy it with wine." Prince Huai longed to drown himself in drink, to forget the words his mother had spoken to him.
His birth mother was seriously ill, yet here he was, contemplating the best way to roast venison.
How amusing.
Prince Chen chuckled softly, rolling a few chess pieces in his palm. By accident, several black pieces slipped into the white chess pot. "As you wish, elder brother."
Prince Jing stared at those misplaced black pieces for a moment before turning his gaze away.
When the three consorts returned from flying kites, everyone gathered around the table. Prince An spoke up, "Did we forget something?"
Strange—what exactly had they forgotten?
