Shiliu brought in the letters sent from the Qi family.
There weren’t many—only seven in total.
The first four were all from the first year of the Yanli era, roughly one letter every three months. But it seemed that since the original Qi Daiyu never replied, the Qi family gradually reduced the frequency of their letters, eventually sending only two per year.
The last letter from the third year of Yanli was the very one Qi Daiyu had first seen.
Qi Daiyu carried the letters into her room and opened the first one.
The content of this letter was almost entirely devoted to praising the emperor’s enthronement, expressing how fortunate the Qi family was to have produced an imperial consort. It mentioned that the imperial decree appointing the original Qi Daiyu as Jieyu had already been delivered to their home, and how Old Madam Qi had been so happy she ate three bowls of rice, and so on.
The letter was written by Qi Caishang. From his writing style and tone, one could roughly tell what kind of person he was: slick, petty, and with a hint of humor.
It was hard to imagine someone like him could hold an official position—especially at the Guozijian, the Imperial Academy.
However, recalling the appearance of this “stepfather,” Qi Daiyu realized it was quite deceptive.
The second letter, probably written after seeing the lack of response to the first, mainly inquired about the original Qi Daiyu’s condition.
Qi Daiyu sighed inwardly. At that time, Qi Caishang was only a minor official of the eighth rank, without the privilege to attend court sessions. The Qi family had no connections in the palace. Not only did the original Qi Daiyu not mention her illness, but the Qi family had no idea she was bedridden.
The emotions in the third and fourth letters were much more subdued. Besides asking about her health, they mostly talked about family matters. Up to this point, the letters still showed genuine concern for the original Qi Daiyu.
Until the fifth letter.
In it, Qi Caishang explained that the family patriarch was gravely ill, that all their savings had been spent on his treatment, but they still couldn’t keep him alive.
“My father has passed westward. Only now do I realize a father should be like a towering mountain, standing firm and tall. From now on, as an orphan, I endure the pain of a sword piercing my heart. I wish my son good health, free from illness, and a long life.”
The original Qi Daiyu never saw this letter.
Recalling the original’s memories, when news of the grandfather’s death reached the palace, the original had already been bedridden for two years. Her lower body was paralyzed, causing chronic sores. Despite the Empress’s care and ample warmth from the brazier during winter, the room was still cold and damp. She had also developed eczema, suffering unbearable pain daily.
Upon hearing of her grandfather’s passing, the original cried through the night and ran a fever for half a month. Shiliu, receiving this fifth letter, feared it would add to her burden and chose not to inform her.
After several letters without replies, Qi Caishang must have grown cold-hearted. The sixth and seventh letters contained only a few brief words, and the humor that once colored his writing was nowhere to be found.
By the eighth letter, which Qi Daiyu read after her time-travel, the Qi family had undergone great upheaval. Qi Chuchu’s ex-wife had run off with the family’s money, the matriarch had fallen ill, and Qi Caishang, at his wit’s end, had written to his daughter asking to “borrow money.”
After finishing the letters, Qi Daiyu was silent for a long while. Then, quietly, she took photos to preserve them before burning the letters to ashes.
Although she retained the memories of her original self, she had no emotional foundation with the Qi family. While the original self’s experiences with her family were truly heartrending, she wouldn’t go out of her way to do anything extra.
That didn’t mean she intended to sever ties with the Qi family.
Nor could she.
If the Qi family strived for progress, it would only be beneficial to her. If they held her back, she simply wouldn’t bother with them.
Besides, being constantly on someone’s mind wasn’t such a bad thing.
…
After the Lantern Festival, court affairs grew busy once more. The emperor was so overwhelmed that he barely had time to set foot in the harem. Day after day, ministers came to pay their respects at the Palace of Heavenly Purity, and for over ten consecutive days, the emperor was completely absorbed in state matters.
The concubines in the harem looked on anxiously. Only the Empress and Concubine Shu could bring a bowl of ginseng soup to visit the emperor; the others had no choice but to wait.
As the central figure of the palace, the Empress had the duty to advise the emperor to balance work and rest. Even if she knew it might disturb him, she still had to do it.
Otherwise, she would face reprimands from the Empress Dowager.
When the Empress arrived at the Palace of Heavenly Purity, Jiang Yuan was still bent over his desk, reviewing memorials. Days of insufficient sleep had taken a toll on his appearance—his stubble was unkempt, and the dark circles under his eyes were unmistakably pronounced.
Hearing the movement, Jiang Yuan looked up and relaxed the slight frown on his brow when he saw the Empress. “The Empress has come.”
The Empress looked at him with a tender, worried expression. “If I don’t come to see you, Your Majesty will wear yourself down to illness. State affairs are important, but Your Majesty’s health is even more so. Seeing you like this, I’m sure not only I but the Empress Dowager would be deeply concerned.”
Only the Empress dared to speak with such a mixture of affection and reproach in the entire harem.
Jiang Yuan pressed his fingers to his forehead and forced a bitter smile. “A few days ago, Nanny Zhao came by, but I didn’t dare let her in.”
He pointed to the stack of memorials, which reached half his height. “Spring planting in Huzhou, the annual national court assembly, the imperial examinations... every single one is important. If I rest even a day, every department below will delay a day, and the common people will suffer a day longer.”
As the supreme ruler of the nation, there were countless matters demanding his attention. Take spring planting, for example: the two lakes region was fertile, and grain production had to be meticulously planned. The people needed enough food, official grain reserves had to be maintained, and the treasury had to be stocked with sufficient grain.
But what “enough” meant changed every year.
This year, news arrived of a regime change among the nomadic tribes to the north. Those barbarians loved to harass the borders of Zhao, raiding grain stores and abducting people. It was possible that a punitive expedition would be launched against them this year, which would require even more grain to be collected.
Then there was the national court assembly. Every February, Zhao held this assembly, summoning officials from all over to report on their duties. It was also an opportunity for local officials to receive the emperor’s audience.
The assembly lasted ten days, discussing matters both national and local, and was extremely important.
Finally, there were the imperial examinations. Although not the special exams held in the first year of the reign, this year’s exams were the first under the new emperor in a strict sense. Countless scholars eagerly awaited the results, and appointing the chief examiner was a headache for Jiang Yuan.
He had far too many state affairs demanding his attention and little heart for the matters of the harem.
However, in the end, he was still mindful of the Empress’s dignity. Seeing Mei Yi carrying a food box behind the Empress, he stood up and took the Empress’s hand, walking together to the side chamber.
The Empress personally brought out the soup. “This cordyceps pigeon soup was made by Consort Zhuang. She is well-versed in dietary practices and knows the Emperor’s tastes best. I asked her to prepare this soup to send to His Majesty. Please, Your Majesty, have a taste.”
She did not shy away from giving credit where it was due, openly acknowledging that the soup was made by Consort Zhuang. This showed both her concern for the Emperor’s well-being and her magnanimity.
Jiang Yuan took a sip and nodded in approval, then casually asked, “How have things been in the harem lately?”
“Actually, there is some good news to share with Your Majesty. Concubine Miao has some joyful tidings!” The Empress’s eyes sparkled with a gentle smile.
“Oh?” Jiang Yuan was surprised, and a pleased expression appeared on his face. “Is that so?”
The Empress replied, “Just yesterday, Concubine Miao came specially to the Kunning Palace to inform me. I also summoned the imperial physician for a diagnosis. The doctor confirmed that Concubine Miao is pregnant, though it’s not yet a full month along.”
So, she must have conceived sometime around the turn of the year.
One must admit, Concubine Miao was truly fortunate. Having just been promoted in rank, she now had the blessing of pregnancy—truly a double celebration.
“The investiture ceremony for Consort Zhuang and the others is set for February 18th. I was thinking, since Concubine Miao has such joyous news, perhaps we should elevate her rank a little more,” the Empress said. Since Concubine Miao was under the Empress’s wing, she was naturally inclined to advance her.
“These are minor matters,” Jiang Yuan said with ease. His favored consort was pregnant, so naturally, he was happy. “Concubine Miao was just promoted recently; it wouldn’t be appropriate to advance her rank again so soon. Instead, we’ll grant her a new title to add to the celebration.”
He quickly chose a character. “Let it be ‘Mei’.”
Mei—meaning ‘beautiful jade.’
Though Concubine Miao was indeed beautiful, her impulsive and quick-tempered nature was well known. If she were granted a title with characters like ‘Good,’ ‘Gentle,’ or ‘Dutiful,’ it would only invite ridicule.
Better to give her a simple yet elegant name like “Mei.”
The Empress quickly understood the implication and nodded. “Very well. By the way, Your Majesty, it’s time to arrange the selection of candidates. Portraits of eligible young women from all regions have already been sent to the Imperial Household Department...”
“Decide as you see fit,” Jiang Yuan replied indifferently.
The selection of portraits was merely the first step in the grand selection process. From there, they would sift through candidates based on household registration, age, health, and other factors.
Those who passed this second stage would be invited to the capital, where they would reside in designated palaces and undergo a month of instruction in palace etiquette under the supervision of the court’s matrons. During this month, those whose character or manners were found lacking would be eliminated. This was the third stage of the selection.
Those who passed would enter the palace in March for the final selection.
Those chosen would naturally become imperial consorts, while those who were not selected would face no obstacles in their future marriages—in fact, their prospects might even improve.
After all, those who made it through the third stage were all women of exceptional character and beauty. Not being chosen simply meant they did not meet the personal preferences of the Emperor, the Empress Dowager, or the Empress.
This was only the first step in selecting portraits, and Jiang Yuan couldn’t have cared less. Which candidates would never enter the palace, which ones absolutely had to—these had long been part of his plan. The rest were of little importance to him.
Besides, there was no way they would pick someone unattractive.
Seeing his indifferent attitude, the Empress could only nod. “Very well.”
“By the way, how has Lingyi been lately?” Jiang Yuan suddenly asked.
The Empress paused for a moment. “She’s much better now. Recently, she’s been insisting on going outside. Although she hasn’t relapsed, I’m still worried and won’t let her out.”
Jiang Yuan gently patted the Empress’s hand. “You can’t keep her confined forever.”
The Empress naturally understood that she couldn’t keep the eldest princess locked away her entire life. At three years old, children are naturally curious about everything.
As the winter snow melted, the eldest princess grew even more eager to go outside.
But she was sensible and somewhat aware of her serious illness. After the Empress refused her once when she asked to go out, the princess never brought it up again.
Unable to leave the Kunning Palace, the princess focused her energy on the flowers and plants inside.
After accidentally damaging several plants, the princess suddenly had a bright idea—she wanted to plant a tree herself!
She asked Zhuyi to find her a small shovel. She refused help, insisting on doing it herself.
There she was, a tiny figure squatting in the corner, digging away with all her might.
Qi Daiyu came upon this scene and immediately recognized how fitting it was.
A familiar melody instantly sprang to her mind: “In the little garden, dig, dig, dig…”
Ahem.
Qi Daiyu cleared her throat twice, suppressing the urge to burst into laughter at her own mental tune.
The eldest princess turned around and saw Qi Daiyu’s bright eyes. “Lady Qi, what are you doing here?”
She still remembered Qi Daiyu.
Qi Daiyu smiled. “The Empress called for me, so I came.”
“But Mother isn’t here right now. Lady Qi, will you help me plant the tree?” The princess felt that since her mother was absent, she had to help entertain guests.
She reached out to take Qi Daiyu’s hand and then noticed the mud smeared on her own hands. Embarrassed, she smiled sheepishly and withdrew her hand.
Qi Daiyu gently grasped it in return. “Of course.”
“What kind of tree will Your Highness plant?”
“A peach tree! It will bear lots and lots of peaches!” The princess’s eyes sparkled with excitement.
“Wonderful!” Qi Daiyu encouraged her as usual. “You’ve already dug so deep.”
Rolling up her sleeves, Qi Daiyu didn’t care about getting dirty. Together, they dug into the soil.
After a while, both were sweating profusely. The princess, forgetting all etiquette, was about to plop down on the ground.
The snow had only just melted recently, and the earth was still cold and damp. If she sat down, her clothes would get wet. Without hesitation, Qi Daiyu caught the princess in her arms.
“Your Highness, you mustn’t sit down.” As she tried to stand, Qi Daiyu underestimated her own strength.
“Ah—”
