Favoured Imperial Concubine Goes on Strike Every Day

Chapter 150

The Ninth Prince was stunned for a long while, waves of curiosity surging in his heart. His eyes flickered mischievously as he pressed, "What letter does Mother want me to write?"

Zhang Youde, however, grew mysterious, refusing to indulge his curiosity further. He only smiled and said, "Tomorrow, when the army sets off, Your Highness should pay respects at Yikun Palace. Her Ladyship will explain everything then."

Having successfully piqued his interest, Zhang Youde took his leave, leaving Yintang standing there in bewilderment. By the time he snapped out of it, he could only stare at the retreating figure, his mind racing with wild guesses. He pondered and muttered to himself—had his mother finally remembered his usefulness?

With the Emperor away, he could openly communicate with the outside world. But then it struck him—Uncle Tuyue and Cousin Fulu had both joined the campaign. Who, then, did his mother intend to write to?

Though handwriting could be imitated, his youth was a limitation—his brushstrokes lacked the strength and maturity of an adult’s. What if someone noticed the discrepancy?

"Ninth Prince, oh dear, here you are! The night is damp and chilly—you mustn’t catch a cold." The wet nurse carefully approached, finding Yintang frowning in deep thought, his delicate face scrunched up. She softened her voice, "Why not return to your quarters and work on your studies? This old servant will have the kitchen prepare some snacks to fill your stomach."

"Hmm, very well."

In Yikun Palace, the candles crackled softly, the inner chamber permeated with the lingering scent of ambergris. At dinner, Kangxi arrived as always, sharing sweet words with Yunxiu. Only after their affectionate exchange did he reluctantly depart.

It was said that officials from the Ministry of Revenue were still waiting for an audience in Qianqing Palace. As the saying went, "An army marches on its stomach"—the logistics of war could not be neglected, and every detail had to be meticulously accounted for before departure.

Yunxiu glanced at the sky, lazily waving her hand before picking up a jade comb from the dressing table, idly running it through her dark hair.

A faint smile curved her lips. The idea of writing letters hadn’t initially crossed her mind—remembering Yintang had been a spur of the moment thought. But the commotion in the Eldest Prince’s courtyard had quickly reached her ears, and with a little deduction, she realized what Yintang and Yin'e were scheming.

Still, why would the Ninth and Tenth Princes provoke the Eldest Prince?

She had already sent a letter to her elder brother, vaguely hinting at the matter. Whoever captured Galdan, the leader of the Dzungars, ensuring he could never rise again, would be worthy of celebration.

And then it struck her—why hadn’t she thought of Yintang sooner?

Having lived a second life and taken a consort, he had ample experience in letter-writing. His phrasing and intent would be impeccable, and he wouldn’t dare to half-heartedly scribble for his own mother.

All she needed to do was neatly transcribe his words.

With this troublesome matter resolved, Noble Consort Yunxiu felt a wave of relief. Gazing at her reflection in the bronze mirror—still radiant, still breathtaking—she suddenly recalled something, her smile turning slow and deliberate.

With the Emperor away, Little Lizi had been left at her disposal. As Liang Jiugong’s protégé and future successor, Little Lizi now oversaw all trivial matters in Qianqing Palace.

With such convenience at hand, dealing with anyone would be effortless.

At this thought, Yunxiu set down the jade comb, her smile cooling into something sharp and icy.

The next day.

Before dawn, banners fluttered and drums thundered. Kangxi stood resplendent in golden armor, sword in hand, exuding martial majesty. To his left stood the steadfast and handsome Eldest Prince, while to his right was the Third Prince, clad in blue soft armor, his scholarly air still evident despite the military attire.

Among the imperial princes, Fulu stood out the most in his gilded armor. His spirited eyes and mature bearing belied his twelve years—his shoulders broader than even the Third Prince’s at the forefront.

Though the sun had yet to rise, the golden threads of his armor shimmered, drawing countless gazes. The Eldest Prince couldn’t resist glancing back repeatedly, finally seizing a chance to ride closer and ask, "Is that a Guoluoluo family heirloom?"

Fulu grinned. "Your Highness, no—this was a personal gift from the Crown Prince, bestowed upon me by His Majesty."

At the mention of the Crown Prince, the Eldest Prince stiffened and fell silent.

This boy was truly favored.

Though he no longer harbored deadly ambitions for the throne, years of rivalry had ingrained a stubborn hostility that wouldn’t fade overnight. His gaze drifted beyond the palace walls, where the Crown Prince stood tall and composed, speaking softly to the Emperor.

The sight twisted something in him. He recalled how, during their studies, the Crown Prince had always yielded to him—how unnatural it had seemed. With a quiet scoff, he thought, Yinreng knows exactly how to play the obedient son, and Father eats it up.

But then—

As dawn broke and the mist dissipated, the surroundings brightened, the red palace walls framing the Crown Prince’s elegant figure. Reluctantly, the Eldest Prince admitted to himself that the Emperor’s trust in Yinreng’s regency, supported by grand secretaries and ministers of the Six Boards, was not misplaced. The Crown Prince was a capable heir.

After what felt like an eternity, Kangxi nodded in satisfaction, patting the Crown Prince’s shoulder before turning his steed back toward the central army. The Crown Prince’s smile faded into solemnity as he bowed deeply.

This imperial expedition was a declaration of the Emperor’s resolve to crush Galdan’s rebellion. The procession stretched endlessly—high-ranking ministers like Tong Guogang, Nalan Mingzhu, Tuyue, and Ma Wu marched alongside the imperial princes, followed by the commanders and deputy commanders of the Eight Banners.

Those seeing them off were not limited to the Crown Prince.

Upon the palace walls, the Empress Dowager and the Grand Empress Dowager watched from afar, flanked by the two noble consorts and a retinue of lavishly dressed concubines.

Jingchu, now the Crown Princess, stood beside Lady Irgen Gioro, the Eldest Princess Consort, and said warmly, "While the Eldest Prince is away at war, Sister-in-law must accept my invitations for tea and gatherings. We should keep each other company."

Lady Irgen Gioro smiled. "Since the Crown Princess insists, I shall not refuse."

The morning air carried a slight chill. Yunxiu adjusted her cloak, her gaze fixed on the Emperor amidst the imperial entourage.

War drums boomed as the army prepared to march. The soldiers’ roars shook the heavens, startling flocks of birds into flight, stirring boundless courage and pride in every heart.

Yunxiu rested her hands lightly on her abdomen, a faint smile playing on her lips, though an inexplicable melancholy lingered.

How many years has it been since I entered the palace?

She stared a little too long. Kangxi seemed to sense it, lifting his head to scan the palace walls until his deep, phoenix-like eyes found the one who occupied his thoughts.

After a few heartbeats, he looked away, his expression unreadable—but inwardly, he was content.

He knew Yunxiu was watching him.

Nearby, Noble Consort Wen sighed. "Such a grand spectacle—I’ve never seen its like before."

Yunxiu chuckled. "When the army returns victorious, the celebration will be even greater."

Not only Noble Consort Wen, but none of the other imperial consorts and concubines had ever witnessed such a scene before. The younger ones could barely conceal their excitement, whispering among themselves or gathering in small groups to chatter. Yet Consort Rong’s thoughts had already drifted far away.

Her heart was filled with unrelenting worry—her sole concern was for Yin Zhi.

The mere thought of the Third Prince heading to the battlefield made Consort Rong’s breath hitch, her chest tightening with pain. She could only console herself with the belief that the Emperor would never allow his own son to face true danger. Sharing the hardships of the soldiers might not be such a bad thing.

She didn’t need their admiration—she only prayed for his safe return. Safe return was all that mattered.

Thinking of the Third Prince inevitably led her thoughts to Fulu, the root of all this trouble. Consort Rong closed her eyes, masking the icy resentment hidden deep within. With the Emperor leading the expedition against the Mongols, if some "accident" were to happen in the palace… well, such things were hardly uncommon.

But the inner palace had already undergone one purge, and she had few pawns left.

She had waited five years to poison Concubine Hui in Yanxi Palace—she could afford patience.

Success depended on careful planning. There was no need to rush. She would scheme slowly.

With the Emperor away on campaign, the concubines no longer had reason to quarrel, nor did they have their usual center of attention. The harem suddenly fell into an unusual tranquility, entering a rare period of harmony.

What was there to fight over now? Dressing up in lavish finery served no purpose when there was no one to admire it. The only chance for subtle competition came during morning greetings, but even that lost its appeal over time. Eventually, they all retreated behind closed doors, keeping to themselves.

The Empress Dowager paid no heed to harem affairs, and the Grand Empress Dowager relished the peace. Thus, an edict was issued: the concubines need only pay respects to their respective senior consorts once every ten days, sparing them the daily rituals at Cining Palace.

While the harem enjoyed this respite, the imperial court could afford no such laxity—especially with the Crown Prince firmly in place. Every memorial he reviewed was meticulously recorded and reported; no one dared slack off.

Within days, the skeptical senior ministers finally set their minds at ease, praising Yinreng unreservedly. Though young, the Crown Prince already displayed sixty percent of His Majesty’s bearing, they said, handling state affairs with effortless competence. The Grand Secretaries and the Six Ministers wholeheartedly agreed.

In contrast, freed from their imperial father’s strict recitations and inspections—with only their Second Elder Brother overseeing them—the princes in the imperial study quickly grew bold.

Skipping lessons was unthinkable, and they barely maintained their studies, wary of their tutors or the stern Fourth Elder Brother reporting them. But once classes ended, nearly all of them ran wild with mischief.

Amid the sea of cheerful faces, the Ninth Prince’s gloomy expression stood out like a crane among chickens—conspicuous and utterly out of place.

Yin'e, who spent every day with him, was the first to notice something amiss.

Soon, the Tenth Prince discerned a pattern: every ten days, his Ninth Elder Brother would murmur to himself, lock himself in his study after lessons, and emerge later with a dazed look, as though he had endured some unspeakable torment.

Finally seizing an opportunity before class ended, Yin'e leaned in to eavesdrop on Yintang’s mutterings—only to be utterly baffled.

Wasn’t this the Sacred Edict written by the Emperor? Why was Ninth Brother reciting it?

And worse—was he actually analyzing it?

After straining his ears for a long while, he caught one key word: "letter."

The Tenth Prince gave Yintang a strange, scrutinizing look. Ninth Brother, with those thick eyebrows and big eyes—when had he developed such treasonous thoughts?

Doing the math, his future Ninth Princess Consort would be around six years old now.

Ugh.