Qianqing Palace.
"Your Highness, His Majesty has suspended court today and hasn't touched a bite of his midday meal. This servant tried to persuade him but dared not insist..." Liang Jiugong rushed toward Yunxiu as if she were his lifeline, his voice hushed despite his visible distress, careful not to disturb the figure inside.
Clad in plain white mourning robes, Yunxiu's peach-blossom eyes were still slightly reddened. The palace maids behind her carried a food box, holding their breath in nervous silence.
She glanced toward the inner chamber, then took the food box and whispered, "All of you, withdraw."
"Yes."
With a soft creak, the palace doors opened. The bedchamber was dim, its windows tightly shut, turning the daylight into a gloomy twilight. Kangxi sat hunched over his desk, his brush unmoving, allowing a single drop of ink to bleed across the half-finished memorial for the departed.
"Your Majesty." Yunxiu stepped forward, covering his cold hand with hers. She set down the food box and murmured, "I had the kitchen prepare these dishes—light and refreshing. If you refuse to eat or drink, wouldn’t Wu Linzhu laugh at you? How could our ancestors rest peacefully if they saw you like this?"
Kangxi's face remained shadowed, but she felt his hand tremble slightly. After a long pause, he finally uttered a quiet, "Alright."
His phoenix eyes were bloodshot, his unkempt stubble unshaven. Stiffly, he reached for the food box, peeling back each layer. When he picked up his chopsticks, a piece of tofu slipped and splattered onto the desk.
Seeing this, Yunxiu moved closer. She took the unsteady bowl and chopsticks from his hands, then leaned in to wrap her arms around his neck, drawing him against her.
"This servant oversteps," she said softly.
The warmth from her body seeped through the thin fabric of her mourning robes, spreading from his cheek to his limbs, thawing the bone-deep chill that had settled in him.
Kangxi froze, stunned. In all his years as emperor, no one had ever dared hold him like this. If word got out, it would stir a storm—who wouldn’t say the Imperial Noble Consort had overstepped all bounds?
Yet he didn’t push her away. Instead, he buried his face against her, his arms tightening around her slender waist.
Time stretched until the steam from the dishes faded. Yunxiu felt dampness seep into her robes where his face rested.
Much later, his hoarse voice broke the silence. "The food is cold."
Yunxiu, lost in thought, gave a faint smile. "This servant will have them prepare another meal."
The Grand Empress Dowager’s passing had been a peaceful one. Though the Empress Dowager wept at the funeral, she soon composed herself, heeding the late matriarch’s final wishes.
But Kangxi grieved in solitude—suspending court, shutting himself away, refusing all visitors—leaving the court and the harem uneasy. Just as the Empress Dowager was about to intervene, the Imperial Noble Consort arrived with a food box, coaxing him until he finally ate, regaining some semblance of composure.
Liang Jiugong exhaled in relief, thanking heaven and earth—until Kangxi suddenly reached for a pair of scissors, intent on cutting his hair.
The chief eunuch’s legs nearly gave out. This was still the mourning period! How could the emperor defy ancestral tradition by shearing his queue?
"Your Majesty, you mustn’t!" The attendants dropped to their knees in panic. Liang Jiugong lunged forward, wrestling the scissors away while signaling Little Lizi to fetch reinforcements.
The commotion startled Kangxi, but he was far from the distraught mess Liang Jiugong assumed. His expression darkened. "How dare you! My grandmother raised me. If I prioritize ritual over gratitude, that would be true unfiliality."
But with the eunuch clinging to him and the others wailing protests, a stalemate ensued.
Then, a trembling voice announced from outside: "Your Majesty, the Imperial Noble Consort and the Sixth Princess request an audience."
Kangxi’s lips parted, but he couldn’t bring himself to refuse. He shot Liang Jiugong a glare, and the eunuch hastily released him, collapsing to his knees with a look of sheer relief.
Before they entered, a gentle voice carried through: "Your Majesty, Wu Linzhu misses her father dearly. This servant brought her to see you."
Wu Linzhu, eight months old, had her mother’s delicate features—tiny nose, rosy lips, serene as a golden child beneath the Goddess of Mercy’s statue. Nestled in Yunxiu’s arms, she blinked her large, dark eyes at Kangxi’s disheveled state before recognizing him and stretching her arms out with a happy babble.
Kangxi hesitated, but Yunxiu sighed. "Does Your Majesty truly value a cold pair of scissors over Wu Linzhu?"
The little princess’s lip wobbled as if she understood, her eyes welling up instantly.
"Nonsense." Kangxi’s voice softened. "I’m... unfit to hold her."
Before he could finish, a small, warm body crashed into him. He caught her instinctively as Yunxiu chuckled. "She doesn’t mind."
Then, gently, she added, "Does Your Majesty recall our ancestors’ final wish?"
Her voice was soothing. "To you, cutting your hair is filial. But the Grand Empress Dowager said she wished to see you rule with diligence, emulating the great emperors of the past. That is the duty she entrusted to you. If she watches from heaven now, would she want her grandson to torment himself? She might even visit my dreams to scold me—and Liang Jiugong."
Liang Jiugong, still trembling, nearly wept in gratitude. If even the Imperial Noble Consort failed to dissuade Kangxi, his head would roll for nothing!
But her words struck true. Kangxi’s grip on Wu Linzhu tightened as he repeated, "Her wish..."
Yunxiu nodded. "This servant knows Your Majesty would never defy her."
Slowly, the grief and frustration in Kangxi’s heart eased. After a long silence, his gaze sharpened. "Yunxiu, I... lost my way."
Cutting his hair wasn’t what his grandmother would have wanted.
Her greatest concerns had been Yinreng’s future—and the matter of an empress.
Yunxiu smiled, meeting his eyes, but a flicker of unease stirred in her chest.
Was his intensity too sudden?
The Grand Empress Dowager’s passing marked a national mourning. The emperor would observe filial rites for a year; the crown prince and other imperial children for five months. During this period, weddings and the imperial selection were suspended—the 31st-year draft postponed indefinitely.
With the birth of the Crown Prince’s legitimate heir, the taboos surrounding taking on concubines and lesser consorts were lifted. Yuqing Palace had only the Crown Princess as its mistress, and the empty rear courtyard had long been a topic of discussion among court officials. Now that Hongchen had arrived, the Crown Princess’s position was unshakable, and it was time to fill the rear courtyard.
While the Grand Empress Dowager was still alive, the Emperor had intended to assign two lesser consorts to the Crown Prince the following year and had hinted as much to Yunxiu. Jingchu was aware of this.
Her heart wavered for only a moment before settling back into calm. Yinreng was the Crown Prince; once he ascended the throne, he would have a palace full of consorts. If he were to have only her as his legitimate wife, even if the Emperor permitted it, the world would not.
She had prepared herself to welcome two small sedan chairs into Yuqing Palace, but due to the national mourning for the Grand Empress Dowager, the imperial selection of consorts in the thirty-first year was canceled.
This meant that for the next three years, no new women would enter Yuqing Palace.
By the time three years had passed, the Third and Fourth Princes would be marrying, and the Fifth Prince would also be of age. The Imperial Household Department would be too busy arranging grand weddings to spare much attention to Yinreng’s rear courtyard.
For some reason, Jingchu felt a surge of genuine joy and smiled as she teased Hongchen in his cradle.
It was now the twelfth month of the thirty-first year of Kangxi’s reign. The mourning period for the Crown Prince and the other imperial princes had ended, and in a few days, the Emperor would also conclude his mourning.
After her confinement, the Crown Princess had begun assisting Noble Consort Wen in managing palace affairs. While she couldn’t claim to know every detail of the Forbidden City’s happenings, she was well-informed. Thus, she was aware that Kangxi had recently been frequently summoning the head of the Imperial Astronomy Bureau.
"The Imperial Astronomy Bureau oversees celestial phenomena and divines auspiciousness and inauspiciousness. What could His Majesty intend?" The head matron organizing the account books for her mistress looked puzzled.
Jingchu paused her brush, lost in thought for a moment before her almond-shaped eyes brightened slightly.
"Just yesterday, the Crown Prince mentioned that the court has been unusually quiet, and the number of memorials he’s had to review has decreased." If it wasn’t related to the court, it must concern the inner palace. But the princes’ marriages were still far off. The only matter involving the Imperial Astronomy Bureau must be the appointment of an Empress.
The appointment of an Empress was not merely a family affair but a matter of state—one that affected the nation’s fortune and thus required the Imperial Astronomy Bureau’s calculations and divinations.
Who would it be?
Jingchu smiled, her eyes shimmering with quiet delight. "Mother Yi’s destiny is naturally excellent, worthy of the position of Empress to mother the realm. What could His Majesty still be uncertain about?"
The matter of appointing an Empress unfolded exactly as the Crown Princess had anticipated. However, the content of the Imperial Astronomy Bureau’s calculations was far from what she had imagined.
The head of the Imperial Astronomy Bureau had been losing sleep night after night, his short beard thinning from worry.
Because every day, the Emperor demanded of him: "Does my birth chart align with the Imperial Noble Consort’s? Will my fate bring her harm? Select the most auspicious dates and calculate them all in detail—divine whether my birth chart is fortunate or ill-fated!"
The first time he heard this, the head astronomer nearly stumbled in shock.
Since ancient times, when appointing an Empress, had anyone ever calculated whether the Emperor’s birth chart matched hers? The Emperor was, without question, the one and only True Dragon of Destiny. Whether the Empress was a True Phoenix was another matter entirely. Your Majesty, you’ve got it backward, haven’t you?
Every strand of his hair seemed to bristle with bewilderment, and he wondered if he had misheard.
But he had not.
His Majesty truly wanted him to calculate this.
And now, it was the seventh time.
The head astronomer glanced at the red paper in his hand, took a deep breath, smoothed out his troubled expression, and approached the throne with a respectful bow, beaming as he said, "Your Majesty, after pooling the efforts of the entire Imperial Astronomy Bureau for divination and calculation, we have determined that your birth chart and the Imperial Noble Consort’s are perfectly matched. As for any possibility of mutual harm—utterly impossible. The fifth day of the first lunar month, the sixteenth day, and the seventeenth day of the second month are all supremely auspicious dates for the coming year."
Kangxi set down the memorial, nodded gravely as if relieved, then slowly rose from the throne and began pacing.
The head astronomer also exhaled in relief—only to hear the Emperor ask, "Tell me, in what ways are the Imperial Noble Consort and I well-matched?" Then, after a pause, he added, "Aside from the matter of birth charts."
The head astronomer replied, "Allow this servant… to give it some thought."
