When Kangxi rushed into the inner chamber, Nanny Dong and Ruizhu widened their eyes in shock. Their hurried steps faltered and slowed.
They hadn’t been mistaken—His Majesty’s demeanor suggested he was even more familiar with the situation than they were. Would he next barge into the birthing chamber to oversee the imperial consort’s labor?
Amidst the chorus of frantic "This must not be!" Yunxiu leaned into Kangxi’s embrace, her lips curling into a faint smile as a delicate flush colored her cheeks. She thought to herself, All those years of medical texts His Majesty pored over certainly weren’t wasted.
Having already borne three children, Yunxiu had steadied her breathing after the initial surprise of labor. The familiar waves of pain were still within her tolerance.
"Your Majesty, the midwives have long been waiting in the warm chamber, and everything else is prepared," she murmured softly, shifting from his embrace to his supporting arm. "This is my third time—I am the most practiced here. Why are you so anxious?"
Her tone carried a hint of amusement, and Kangxi’s tightly wound nerves eased slightly. He opened his mouth but found no words, frowning instead. How could he not be anxious?
He feared her pain, feared a difficult birth. No matter which child it was, worry was inevitable.
This time, the emotion was even stronger than when the Eleventh Prince was born. Holding Yunxiu’s arm, Kangxi strode forward without pause, lifting the curtain as if ready to dismiss the attendants and step in himself.
Ruizhu watched him hesitantly, torn between speaking up and holding her tongue, nearly bursting with indecision.
Just as the emperor was about to enter the birthing chamber, Yunxiu arched a brow and, suppressing a contraction, uttered a quiet but firm, "Stop."
Kangxi froze instantly, his gaze dropping to her, unmoving.
"Your Majesty must wait outside. When it comes to delivering a child, ten emperors couldn’t match one midwife," she said sternly, her brow furrowed. "Each has their expertise—you’d only cause chaos in there."
Catching her breath, she added, "Ruizhu, come support me."
For the first time in his life, Kangxi found himself being dismissed so bluntly. Yet, he obediently released Yunxiu’s hand.
Liang Jiugong’s head nearly touched the floor tiles. No one in the palace would dare call the emperor "chaotic"—except the Imperial Noble Consort.
Finally snapping out of his daze, Kangxi clasped his hands behind his back and paced restlessly. After a long silence, he broke Liang Jiugong’s nervous reverie with a grumble, "How am I less capable than a midwife?"
"..." Liang Jiugong hesitated before forcing a smile. "Her Highness’s safe delivery is paramount, Your Majesty."
Yunxiu no longer cared for the old superstitions about the birthing chamber being unclean.
She simply didn’t want Kangxi to see her drenched in sweat, face contorted in pain—far from her usual grace.
Moreover, given how vigorously this child had kicked in her womb, even more robust than her brothers, the birth might prove long and arduous.
Her brow furrowed deeply as she settled onto the bed. Meanwhile, Grand Imperial Physician Chen arrived at Yikun Palace in a flurry, his assistant trailing behind with an assortment of herbs—bird’s nest, ginseng, and more.
"This old servant greets Your Majesty—"
"No formalities!" Kangxi’s gaze lingered on the warm chamber before he turned to the physician, his voice grave. "The Imperial Noble Consort’s safety is in your hands. Ensure both mother and child are well."
"Understood." Grand Imperial Physician Chen bowed, his expression solemn, not daring to dwell on the emperor’s earlier longing stare.
"Your Highness, push! You’re already two fingers dilated!"
Time blurred until a cry finally rang out from the warm chamber. Kangxi’s hands clenched, his restlessness returning in full force.
By nightfall, candles had long been lit in Yikun Palace. News of the Imperial Noble Consort’s labor spread swiftly through the six palaces. Noble Consort Wen clasped her hands in prayer, her face alight with joy. "Prepare my sedan. Once the good news arrives, I shall be the first to offer congratulations."
In the Palace of Universal Happiness, Concubine Cheng sighed to her attendants. "The Imperial Noble Consort is blessed indeed. All she lacks now is a daughter to complete the perfect family."
With the emperor’s decree against disturbances and the Empress Dowager’s arrival from Ningshou Palace, Concubine An and Concubine Jing dared not intrude. Yet others had no such reservations. Soon, a flurry of announcements echoed through the hall:
"The Fifth Prince, Ninth Prince, and Eleventh Prince request an audience!"
Kangxi halted his pacing, his voice softening. "Let them in."
A half-grown youth hurried in, two little boys trailing behind. Yinqi’s eyes brimmed with worry, while Yintang stared eagerly toward the warm chamber. Yinzi, tears welling, tugged at Kangxi’s robe. "Imperial Father, when will Mother give birth to our sister and stop suffering?"
His Ninth Brother had told him—one younger brother was enough; they weren’t as precious. A sweet, delicate sister, especially one who resembled their mother, would be far better.
"Soon," Kangxi murmured, lifting the boy into his arms as father and son waited together.
Let it be a sister, the Fifth Prince silently willed.
Let it be a sister, the Ninth Prince prayed.
By the time the Empress Dowager arrived, the moon hung over the willow branches. Yunxiu was drenched, her dark hair fanned out like ink, her grip on the sheets white-knuckled.
Fortunately, the labor-inducing herbs went unused. As Grand Imperial Physician Chen assured, this wasn’t her first birth, and the child was strong. The Empress Dowager exhaled in relief, embracing Yinqi and Yintang. "Praise the heavens. All is well."
At dawn, Kangxi persuaded the Empress Dowager to rest. The princes, too exhausted to stay awake, were coaxed to the side chamber—Yinzi nodding off before his head touched the pillow.
Kangxi, however, grew more alert, pacing ceaselessly until Liang Jiugong felt dizzy watching. His fists tightened and loosened in turn.
Then, in the stillness before daybreak, a piercing cry shattered the silence, followed by a flood of jubilant voices:
"Congratulations, Your Majesty! The Imperial Noble Consort has delivered a healthy princess! Both mother and daughter are safe!"
Nanny Dong emerged, cradling the newborn—now peacefully asleep after her first cries—her face radiant. With three princes already, her mistress had longed for a daughter as doting as the Fourth Princess. Now, her wish was fulfilled.
"Your Majesty, Her Highness has fallen asleep from exhaustion. The Sixth Princess weighs seven pounds and six ounces. Look—here, and here—she resembles you so!"
Kangxi’s arms trembled slightly as he took the swaddled infant.
Peeling back the cloth, he glimpsed a tiny, plump hand curled against a rosy cheek. The baby’s eyes were shut tight, her nose and lips equally pink, her breaths puffing like tiny bubbles.
In a few days, the redness would fade, leaving her fair and exquisite. The thought melted Kangxi’s heart into tenderness.
Carefully rewrapping the bundle, he mused aloud, then declared warmly, "Wu Linzhu. Her name is Wu Linzhu."
Nanny Dong beamed. "As you command, Your Majesty."
The little princess was given a name the moment she was born, a testament to the Emperor’s boundless affection. "Wu Linzhu" symbolized beauty and prosperity, and at the thought of it, Nanny Dong’s eyes crinkled with laughter.
It was only natural—with her mother, the Imperial Noble Consort, and her brothers by her side, the little princess would never want for silver.
Murmuring the name "Wu Linzhu," Kangxi felt an overwhelming warmth surge in his chest. After a long pause, his voice was hoarse as he said, "Has the Imperial Noble Consort retired for the night? I shall go see her."
Without waiting for Nanny Dong’s reply, Kangxi strode into the birthing chamber with his daughter in his arms, unfazed by the lingering scent of blood. His hurried steps betrayed his eagerness even before he disappeared from view.
"Your Majes—"
The sudden movement startled Ruizhu, who froze mid-motion while lighting incense. Before she could finish, the Emperor silenced her with a gesture. "Quiet now. Do not disturb your mistress."
Behind the embroidered curtains, Yunxiu lay in deep slumber, her breathing soft and even, though traces of exhaustion lingered on her delicate features. Her inner garments and bedding had been freshly changed, but her dark hair still carried a faint dampness. Kangxi leaned over, gently placing the swaddled infant beside her before settling onto the edge of the bed. He brushed aside the stray strands clinging to her forehead and gazed at her, motionless.
Time slipped away unnoticed until Liang Jiugong’s hushed voice called from beyond the curtains, "Your Majesty, it is nearly dawn. It is time to change into court attire."
Since the Emperor visited daily, both his ceremonial robes and casual garments were always kept ready in the Palace of Earthly Tranquility.
Though his body ached from sitting too long and his eyes burned from sleeplessness, Kangxi felt none of it. With a spirited laugh, he rose and left the chamber.
"Prepare my robes," he commanded.
The next day.
Exhausted from giving birth to Wu Linzhu, Yunxiu had fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep, losing all sense of time. In her drowsy haze, she faintly registered the lively chatter outside.
"Why is our sister’s face so red?"
That was Yinqi’s voice.
"She’s not as pretty as Yinzi," the Eleventh Prince mused, hesitating before tactfully avoiding the word "ugly." "How will she wear beautiful dresses in the future?"
He added with concern, "Wu Linzhu doesn’t look like Mother."
Ninth Prince Yintang studied the baby from every angle, suddenly feeling enlightened while the others remained oblivious.
Little fools, he thought smugly. As someone who’s been a father before and held no fewer than eight or ten newborns, I can tell you—none of those girls were half as lovely as Wu Linzhu.
Our sister is a true beauty in the making.
Yintang grinned to himself, already envisioning the process of selecting her future consort. His thoughts then drifted further—Wu Linzhu was a splendid name. For once, the old man had shown some wisdom.
He’d sooner let the world suffer than allow his sister to want for anything. Once he struck it rich—earning at least fifty thousand taels—the lion’s share would go toward Wu Linzhu’s dowry.
Just then, He Zhuer, an attendant of the Crown Prince, hurried over with an ornate brocade box. He greeted the princes with a bow and a smile. "This humble servant pays his respects to Your Highnesses."
Without pausing for breath, he continued, "The Crown Prince is unable to come in person, so he sent this servant to deliver a gift."
Opening the box, he beamed. "These two hundred thousand taels of silver are for the little princess—to tuck under her pillow, store in her dowry chest, or even scatter for fun if she pleases!"
