The slap came without warning. The rough, calloused hand struck with full force, instantly reddening Consort Rong’s right cheek. With each labored breath, waves of pain radiated through her face.
Though her family was not particularly illustrious—her father being a minor official—Consort Rong had been raised as a pampered young lady. Beautiful and favored, she had entered the palace as a low-ranking concubine, yet her belly swelled year after year, her influence even overshadowing that of Empress Hesheli, the primary wife.
Servants were ever eager to flatter the favored, and none dared slight her in her prime. But as her children perished one after another, the Emperor’s favor waned, and though her glory faded, her life remained comfortable. First promoted to a consort, then to an honored rank, she still had the Third Prince and Princess Rongxian by her side, ensuring the imperial household never withheld her due.
For nearly a decade, Consort Rong had worn the mask of a serene, devout woman, yet beneath the surface, her influence ran deep, her network of informants vast. Accustomed to privilege, this was the first time she had ever been struck.
Half her face numb and throbbing, she clutched her cheek, collapsing to the floor in shock.
When realization dawned, her teeth ground together, a murderous rage surging within her. Mrs. Guoluoluo—
Whoever fell first lost the advantage. Before she could speak, her chin was seized in a vice-like grip, followed by a whisper that would haunt her forever: "How does it feel to be drugged?"
Consort Rong’s expression froze.
Yunxiu released her and stood, frowning slightly as she accepted a handkerchief from a maid, wiping her hands with deliberate slowness. "Leave us," she said. "I wish to speak with Consort Rong alone."
The guards bowed and retreated, the door clicking shut moments later, leaving only Ruizhu standing vigil.
"You obtained a forbidden drug from the previous dynasty—a relic of the palace, the last of its kind. You burned it in the incense burner, dosing Concubine Hui with every whiff." She raised a slender, well-manicured finger, then smiled. "How ironic. Concubine Hui also acquired a rare poison, likely from the same source, perhaps even brewed by the same hand."
Consort Rong’s pupils constricted. The drug—
Fragments of the past snapped into place. She lifted her head, voice hoarse with hatred. "It was you!"
This snake had orchestrated the palace purge. After Liang Jiugong removed her two spies from the palace, every replacement sent by the imperial household had been Noble Consort Yi’s pawn.
Concubine Hui, still under house arrest, could never have planned this alone. She was merely a decoy.
In that instant, clarity struck Consort Rong like lightning. She glared at Yunxiu as if her gaze could bore holes through her. "You gave Concubine Hui the poison, didn’t you? Lacing it in the food. You knew I’d be wary, so you ordered the kitchens to serve only vegetarian dishes under some lofty pretense!"
The fog lifted, revealing the truth. Consort Rong trembled with fury, the metallic tang of blood flooding her mouth, her organs burning as if set aflame.
Years of inhaling incense could not compare to ingesting the toxin directly.
She, the hunter, had been outwitted by her prey.
Yunxiu gazed down at her, smiling faintly, offering no denial. "Courtesy demands reciprocity."
Little Eleventh was her weakness.
Secrets never stayed buried in the Forbidden City. No matter how deeply hidden, no matter how cunning the schemer, with enough patience, all truths surfaced.
Lady Cheng’s governess had ties to every palace? No matter—each connection could be traced. The day Little Eleventh was attacked, someone had arranged the assassin’s escape, leaving no trace behind? No matter—only a handful of consorts wielded such power.
Having reigned as the Emperor’s favorite for years, armed with foresight, Yunxiu’s resources far surpassed any rival. Countless eunuchs and maids secretly pledged allegiance to her, and in a palace where even the trees whispered, who could truly plot without flaw?
Uprooting spies was the first step; uncovering weaknesses, the second. She had the patience to wait—and the means to endure.
She had promised an equal exchange, but this was different. Unlike Lady Majia, who had schemed in silence for five years, Yunxiu struck with precision, ensuring no loose ends.
She despised hesitation.
This was as good as a confession.
Consort Rong’s chest heaved, her once-gentle face twisted in fury, the swollen right cheek stripping away any semblance of dignity.
Staggering to her feet, she burned with hatred, itching to claw at that fox-like beauty. Yet beneath the rage flickered fear.
If this viper knew about the Eleventh Prince’s incident, did the Emperor know as well?
Lately, she had acted recklessly, quick to anger, yet blind to her own unraveling. Fulu’s betrayal had shattered her plans, leaving Yin Zhi scarred—Consort Rong’s left cheek drained of color.
Her final, desperate strike had been a reckless move, orchestrated by Noble Consort Yi’s machinations.
Even with evidence and perfect timing, she had been outmaneuvered.
Whether the Emperor knew no longer mattered. Daring to slander a consort with rumors of infidelity—he would never forgive her.
The surroundings, the furnishings, the Emperor’s furious order to "take her away"—all spelled her doom.
Stripped of titles, reduced to a commoner, banished to the cold palace—
The Emperor lay on his deathbed, but before his last breath, he could cast her into the abyss, beyond redemption.
And her children—Princess Rongxian still unwed, Yin Zhi yet to marry—how could they survive without their mother?
For the first time, Consort Rong felt regret.
"Noble Consort Yi—" she began, voice thick with bitterness, but before she could finish, Ruizhu stepped forward, eyes blazing. "How dare you!"
"His Majesty decreed her Imperial Noble Consort! How can a condemned woman address her so disrespectfully?" she snapped. "Before the Imperial Noble Consort, the guilty must perform the double-kneel and six-kowtow ceremony. Consort Rong, proceed."
Imperial Noble Consort?
The double-kneel and six-kowtow?
Memories rushed back, and Consort Rong’s defiance crumbled.
A tidal wave of resentment surged—why did the Emperor see only this scheming, manipulative Mrs. Guoluoluo? Even in death, he bestowed upon her the highest honor any palace woman could dream of.
Were it not for the superstition of an emperor’s wives meeting tragic fates, he might have named her Empress outright.
Consort Rong clenched her fists, a long-buried memory surfacing.
Years ago, after Empress Renxiao died in childbirth and Empress Xiaozhao followed soon after, the Emperor, in a rare moment of vulnerability, had drunkenly asked her, "Am I truly cursed to outlive my wives?"
She had knelt, too afraid to answer. He sighed, bidding her rise. "Never mind. I’ve lost myself."
Mrs. Tongjia had once been Imperial Noble Consort, nearly ascending to Empress. Consort Rong sneered—had she become the third Empress, the Emperor would not have cared about curses.
But Mrs. Tongjia had never been his true love.
"To love someone is to wish them life," even back then, his eyes held only Consort Yi of Yikun Palace.
The cobwebs were tattered, and candlelight flickered.
"This consort is not a condemned criminal," Consort Rong spat through gritted teeth, her face twitching. "The Imperial Noble Consort wields quite the authority."
As she spoke, her heart overflowed with unwillingness, resentment, and fury, all rising uncontrollably.
Chengrui and the others had passed away one after another, yet the Emperor blamed her instead.
Who would willingly remain the lowest-ranked of the four consorts? Her seniority was the longest, on par with Concubine Hui.
Had the Emperor been willing to protect her and her children, she wouldn’t have only managed to raise Princess Rongxian and Yin Zhi.
Her nails dug deep into her flesh, blood dripping into the dust. Consort Rong seemed impervious to the pain as she sneered, "The Emperor treats you with such deep affection. Even while suffering from malaria, he never forgets to pave the way for his favored consort. Yet, even in death, he wouldn’t know that the one he cherishes most is a viper!"
Her eyes flashed with malice. "This consort demands an audience with the Emperor."
"What, failing to accuse me once wasn’t enough? You wish to try again?" Yunxiu met her gaze unflinchingly, smiling faintly. "Save your breath. The one who drugged him was Concubine Hui—what does that have to do with me? As for the evidence of collusion with Longkodo, I’ve prepared it. Tell me, when would be the best time to present it?"
With that, she turned to leave. Consort Rong froze momentarily before slowly loosening her grip, as if all strength had drained from her body.
The door creaked open.
Ruizhu held up the candlestick when a hoarse laugh sounded behind her. "What does your current glory matter? In the end, you’ll just be a pitiful wretch withered by time. That child in your womb—whether it’s a boy or girl—will be born without a father. Better it were never born at all!"
The words cut off abruptly.
Liang Jiugong stood respectfully outside the door, his expression shifting from shock to fury upon hearing the words.
"You—you—!" His voice rose to a shrill pitch as he trembled. "How dare you curse His Majesty and the Imperial Noble Consort! His Majesty has received divine medicine and will recover soon. Lady Majia, you have some nerve!"
Yunxiu remained unperturbed.
Glancing at Consort Rong, now frozen in place, she remarked lightly, "Only the right side of her face is swollen—that won’t do. Slap the left side as well."
A rough-handed maidservant wiped the cold sweat from her brow and hurriedly obeyed. "Yes, Your Highness."
Slap!
The crisp sound carried undeniable force.
Only then did Liang Jiugong’s anger subside slightly. Composing himself, he hurriedly smiled at Yunxiu. "Imperial Noble Consort, His Majesty was overjoyed to hear of Your Highness’s awakening and sent this servant to escort you."
Yunxiu’s expression softened slightly. "Has His Majesty eaten yet?" she asked quietly.
"His Majesty—His Majesty—" Liang Jiugong stammered.
After a brief pause, he gritted his teeth and leaned in, whispering smoothly, "His Majesty has no appetite. He insists on waiting for Your Highness to dine together."
