The servants waiting outside rushed into the room upon hearing the commotion, only to discover that Song Ling had already stopped breathing.
Within moments, the entire Ping Prince's Mansion was ablaze with light.
"Your Highness, we must send someone to the palace immediately to report the passing..." The physician spoke with trembling lips. When he arrived, Prince Ping's hands were already cold. He had thought the prince would last a few more days—how had death come so swiftly?
Shen Hua'er's tears fell uncontrollably. She ordered Song Yanzheng to personally deliver the news to Emperor Yuanyou, then turned to the other children. "Go change into mourning clothes at once. No matter who comes, you must weep as if your hearts are broken—do you understand?" Song Yanchao and the others, stunned by the situation, could only nod repeatedly.
"I... I must inform the concubine. If you're frightened, wait in the courtyard first." Shen Hua'er bit her tongue to stay composed. Song Yanchao and Song Yanming followed her out of the room, leaving only Song Xiyan, who walked numbly to Song Ling's side and knelt before him.
"Father." But this time, the man on the bed could no longer answer her.
Tears streamed down Song Xiyan's face as she sobbed uncontrollably.
No matter how much she had schemed before, now that the moment had come, she realized her father's death was no different from the sky collapsing upon her.
Would Shen Hua'er, her stepmother, treat her kindly?
Or would her three brothers show her mercy?
......
Liyuan Garden.
When Concubine Chang heard the news of Song Ling's death, the Buddhist beads in her hand scattered across the floor.
"I know you and His Highness shared a deep bond. You should go see him one last time," Shen Hua'er sighed. "If you wish, I can also entrust you with overseeing the funeral arrangements."
Concubine Chang stood frozen for a moment before letting out a hollow laugh.
Retribution. All of this was retribution.
"Concubine?" Shen Hua'er took a step back at the woman's eerie expression.
"The prince's final rites should be handled by his principal wife. I have no place there."
"You won’t even see him one last time?" Shen Hua'er’s voice rose in disbelief.
"What lay between us was tangled beyond unraveling. Better to part without another meeting." Concubine Chang’s eyes were empty. All those years of love had been false, every promise a lie.
She refused to look upon that man again—even in death.
As Shen Hua'er left Liyuan Garden, she glanced up at the plaque bearing its name.
A mocking glint flashed in her eyes.
When they had moved into the Ping Prince's Mansion, the prince had personally decreed that Concubine Chang’s residence would retain the name "Liyuan."
Even the plaque had been brought from the Eastern Palace—a deliberate choice.
Everything remained as it was.
Yet somehow, everything had changed.
Purple Dawn Palace.
Emperor Yuanyou watched as Song Yanzheng wept before him, his own hands trembling beneath his sleeves.
"I will visit your father shortly."
"Grandfather, from now on, I... I have no father." Song Yanzheng’s tears and snot mingled as they streamed down his face. "And my brothers, and Xiyan—what will become of us?" He was determined to use his grief to secure some advantage for the Ping Prince's Mansion.
The boy’s wails twisted the emperor’s heart. To bury one’s own child was an agony beyond words.
"Grandfather." A familiar voice echoed from the hall’s entrance, and Emperor Yuanyou exhaled, the pain in his chest easing slightly.
Song Shihuan hurried into the room and stopped before the emperor. "Grandfather, are you unwell? Father and I came as soon as we heard. Please don’t grieve too deeply—Uncle wouldn’t want you to harm your health for his sake." Song Yu followed close behind, his sharp gaze fixed on the emperor.
At Song Shihuan’s words, Emperor Yuanyou relaxed. "You’ve both shown great filial piety. I... I wish to visit the Ping Prince's Mansion."
"Father and I will accompany you."
With Song Yu and Song Shihuan flanking him, the emperor left the hall—completely forgetting about Song Yanzheng.
A cold glint flickered in Song Shihuan’s eyes. Trying to profit from Song Ling’s death? Not a chance.
By now, white mourning cloth draped the Ping Prince's Mansion. Passersby averted their eyes and quickened their steps.
"His Majesty arrives—!" Wu Qi’s announcement sent a flood of mourners in white rushing to greet the emperor.
Emperor Yuanyou waved them off weakly and strode straight to Song Ling’s courtyard.
At the sight of his son, the emperor sighed heavily.
Memories surfaced—Song Ling’s furious accusations of unfairness.
"Enough. When you meet your mother in the afterlife, kowtow to her. She was kind-hearted—perhaps she won’t judge you too harshly."
Song Yanzheng’s face twisted briefly at the emperor’s words. Even in death, his grandfather could only recall his father’s faults.
Of course. His heart has always favored the Qin Prince's line.
Song Shihuan’s expression remained placid, revealing nothing.
After paying his respects, Emperor Yuanyou addressed the children. "In the coming days, keep vigil for your father. Stay with him through the nights—don’t let him depart alone." With that, he left the mansion.
None of the "compensation" Song Yanzheng had hoped for materialized.
The funeral hall was soon erected, and officials flocked to pay respects to the former crown prince.
Song Yanzheng and his siblings knelt in mourning, their cries stirring pity in all who heard.
Nearly every minister who left the mansion shook their heads, murmuring about fate’s cruelty.
Only a few elderly censors exited with frowns.
"Old Geng," Censor Han ventured, "shouldn’t Princess Fu'an also be keeping vigil? She is Prince Ping’s daughter."
Censor Geng nodded. "Great Qi’s rites must be upheld. Tomorrow at court, we’ll remind His Majesty."
"But the princess is no longer listed in the clan records as Prince Ping’s child," another censor fretted. If this matter were raised, it might spiral beyond control.
"Prince Zhuang ascended the throne as an adopted heir, yet he defied half the court to honor his birth father as ‘Retired Emperor.’ Blood ties cannot be erased," Censor Geng declared, flicking his sleeve. "A few nights of vigil are hardly an imposition."
With their consensus reached, the censors departed.
Meanwhile, Song Yu, buried in his studies at home, had no inkling of the storm brewing—until the next morning’s court session.
When the censors’ arguments struck his ears, cold fury radiated from his entire being.
"Censor Geng," he said, voice icy, "are you suggesting that my daughter kneel in the Ping Prince's Mansion to mourn Prince Ping?"
