Beyond Chongren Alley where Prince Hui's residence stood, the eastern view revealed the majestic vermilion walls and golden tiles of the imperial palace—towering and unapproachable.
Prince Hui was unwell, so his carriage moved slower than usual, yet it took only half a quarter of an hour to reach the western gate of the palace, Xihua Gate. Unless state affairs demanded otherwise, imperial relatives typically entered or exited through either Donghua Gate or Xihua Gate, whichever was closer.
Once the carriage halted, Yao Huang glanced at Prince Hui. Seeing no objection in his expression, she confidently stepped to the wheelchair, unfastened its restraints, and waited as Zhang Yue opened the carriage door from outside. By then, Yao Huang had already positioned the wheelchair in the center of the compartment.
Outside, Qingai fetched a ramp to place against the carriage, while Feiquan removed his boots and stood on a clean blue silk cushion, ready to board. Both froze at the sight inside.
Just as Zhao Sui was about to call Feiquan up, Yao Huang’s cheerful voice rang above him: "I’ll push His Highness out. You two just be ready to receive him below."
Qingai and Feiquan had served Prince Hui closely for over a decade. In his healthier days, they’d bantered freely to amuse him. But after his affliction, the entire household had treaded carefully. Though their deep bond spared them from treating him like a monster, they’d adopted utmost reverence, never daring another careless word.
A tone as light as Yao Huang’s hadn’t been heard in the prince’s household for a year.
Cold sweat prickled Qingai’s back—how could the princess be so bold?
Feiquan’s pulse raced—they couldn’t let her recklessness risk the prince’s safety!
Before the thought fully formed, Feiquan spoke, voice deferential: "No need to trouble Yourself, Princess. This servant will assist."
Yao Huang replied, "The carriage is cramped. If you come up, it’ll be too crowded. Qingai, set the ramp."
Qingai looked to the prince in the wheelchair.
Zhao Sui’s gaze rested indifferently on the ramp in Qingai’s hands.
Understanding the silent permission, Qingai lowered his eyes and secured the ramp. Feiquan had no choice but to retreat to put his boots back on, while guard Zhang Yue stepped forward, poised to help.
The ramp bridging the carriage and ground was long and sloped, its surface carved with auspicious motifs—though it did little to prevent boots or wheels from slipping.
Qingai ascended first, bending to grip the wheelchair’s sides. From his angle, the prince’s hands clenched the armrests, tendons taut.
As the chair tilted, Zhao Sui, with no strength in his legs, had to rely entirely on his arms to maintain balance.
Yao Huang, seeing both were ready, said, "Let’s go."
Qingai immediately exerted his full strength.
Yao Huang had intended to lift the wheelchair slightly to ease Qingai’s burden, but his sudden force sent the chair sliding backward into the carriage instead.
Yao Huang: "..."
Realizing his misjudgment, Qingai adjusted his effort.
The wheelchair finally descended. Yao Huang, sensing Qingai’s rhythm, gradually reduced her own force to sixty percent, allowing both to proceed smoothly.
Coordination was mutual. Recognizing the princess wasn’t as frail as he’d assumed, Qingai relaxed.
Zhao Sui couldn’t see his bride, but he noticed the veins on Qingai’s hands receding to normal.
So, the princess wasn’t naive or reckless—she’d known exactly what she was doing.
Once safely disembarked, the journey ahead proved less straightforward than Yao Huang expected. From Xihua Gate to the central palace, thresholds and stone steps of varying heights demanded frequent lifts by Qingai and Feiquan. Each time, Prince Hui’s "helplessness" was laid bare before palace servants—and his new wife.
Yao Huang fell half a step behind, watching the lowered eyes of Qingai and Feiquan as they strained to appear effortless, and the prince’s face, still as stagnant water. Her heart ached.
It wasn’t affection—just the instinctive sympathy any able-bodied person might feel toward physical frailty.
Yet even without the physician’s warnings, Yao Huang knew pity was the last thing Prince Hui wanted.
On level ground again, she tried lifting the mood, dabbing her forehead with a handkerchief: "The weather’s truly warmed. Just this short walk has me sweating."
Qingai now pushed the wheelchair; Feiquan lingered two paces behind, urgently signaling at the word "walk"—such terms were forbidden before the prince!
Yao Huang, bending to speak to Zhao Sui, missed his warning.
The prince glanced at her elaborate ceremonial robes, then her flushed cheeks—genuinely sun-kissed.
He said simply, "We’re nearly there."
Palace protocols demanded endurance for many discomforts.
Yao Huang, meanwhile, noted how the sunlight exposed the unnatural pallor of the prince’s skin—the result of prolonged confinement indoors.
Old folks claimed children needed sun to grow strong. Yao Huang wasn’t sure of its truth, but a healthy glow always looked better.
On impulse, she shifted to the wheelchair’s other side, casting Zhao Sui into the light.
Her move was abrupt. Qingai and Feiquan’s eyes followed her arc; the prince, though curious, asked nothing.
After more lifts and pushes, the four finally reached the central palace.
Emperor Yongchang, Empress Zhou, three consorts, and the Eldest and Second Princesses—whom Yao Huang had briefly met the prior evening—awaited.
The newlyweds served three ceremonial teas: to the emperor as father, Empress Zhou as mother, and Imperial Consort Du as Prince Hui’s adoptive mother.
Multiple mothers-in-law meant extra gifts. Empress Zhou bestowed a ruby hairpin; Imperial Consort Du matched it with ruby earrings—smaller stones, but generous enough that Yao Huang’s "Mother Consort" rang sweetly.
Consort Liu Xian and Consort Shen Rou also offered presents—less remarkable without familial ties: an emerald-green jade bangle and a milky-white mutton-fat jade bracelet respectively.
As Yao Huang thanked them, she mused—if only Emperor Yongchang had more consorts, she could’ve collected enough bracelets to wear a new one each month.
The gathering proceeded with polite formalities until the emperor departed for state affairs. Empress Zhou then directed Imperial Consort Du to take the couple to Yikun Palace for private words.
To all appearances, Prince Hui had been raised by Imperial Consort Du since birth, their bond no less than blood. At least, her care and upbringing of him suggested as much.
En route to Yikun Palace, Imperial Consort Du walked between the newlyweds. Knowing Zhao Sui’s disinterest in chatter, she addressed only Yao Huang: "Is this the maid you brought from home?"
She referred to Aji trailing behind.
Yao Huang: "Yes. Aji’s been with me since she was four. I’m accustomed to having her nearby."
Imperial Consort Du: "Bold of you, risking her breaching palace decorum."
Yao Huang smiled: "No need for concern. I had Huamei tutor her for a full month. Huamei’s methods—honed under Your guidance—were impeccable."
Imperial Consort Du: "...And how do Huamei and the other three serve you?"
Yao Huang: "Excellently. Each more capable than the last. With their help, I’ve little to fret over."
Imperial Consort Du said, "Chunyan and Qiuchan are both new. I specifically arranged for Huamei to go and help train them. Huamei was originally my top choice for head palace maid, but since Sui'er is getting married and selecting a consort now, I reluctantly gave her to you. Make good use of her to assist Sui'er in managing the affairs of the princely residence. Don’t give me cause for worry."
Yao Huang replied, "Understood."
When they arrived at Yikun Palace, Imperial Consort Du sipped floral tea while inquiring about Yao Huang’s family background.
Yao Huang pretended not to notice the condescension and disdain in Imperial Consort Du’s expression, answering each question dutifully.
Imperial Consort Du glanced at Prince Hui, who sat as still as a statue, and sighed to Yao Huang, "You’re truly fortunate. Originally, Sui'er was meant for a far better match. But alas, fate was unkind—he was injured on the battlefield, and that’s how you ended up with this great opportunity."
Yao Huang: "..."
The fifteen-year-old Second Princess coughed lightly, as if kindly reminding her mother, "Second Brother and Sister-in-law are newlyweds. Why bring up such unpleasant talk?"
Imperial Consort Du feigned regret, "My mistake. Don’t take it to heart, Huang Huang. I’m just heartbroken for Sui'er—I meant nothing by it."
Yao Huang: "..."
She was definitely doing this on purpose—calling her "Huang Huang"!
It was said that when she was born, her parents had painstakingly chosen the name "Yao Huang," inspired by the peony, the queen of flowers. They hoped she would grow into a woman as noble and radiant as the peony. But when it came to choosing a nickname, they realized "Huang Huang" or "A Huang" sounded like names people gave to yellow-furred dogs. So, in a stroke of inspiration, they settled on calling her "Yao Yao" instead.
Throughout her life, close friends and family called her "Yao Yao." Only troublemakers like Li Tingwang deliberately taunted her with "Huang Huang."
Imperial Consort Du’s malice was unmistakable, but Yao Huang couldn’t very well correct her on the nickname.
The Second Princess giggled, her eyes bright with mischief as she looked at Yao Huang. "Do your parents call you that too, Sister-in-law?"
Yao Huang smiled sweetly. "Sometimes Yao Yao, sometimes Huang Huang."
The mother-daughter pair clearly wanted to see her flustered, but she refused to give them the satisfaction.
So what if it was "Huang Huang"? Yellow was a bright, vibrant color, one that royalty had long associated with nobility and prestige. As long as she didn’t feel ashamed, "Huang Huang" could be a perfectly fine name.
Zhao Sui suddenly spoke. "I’m tired. If Mother has nothing further, my consort and I will take our leave."
Imperial Consort Du had no reason to stop him and instructed her daughter to escort the couple out of Yikun Palace.
The Second Princess cheerfully walked them to the gates. Before parting, she leaned in close to Yao Huang’s ear and whispered, "You must be curious about who Second Brother’s original match was, right? I’ll tell you—it was Zheng Yuanzhen, my future Third Sister-in-law."
Princess Fucheng, their aunt, was ambitious. Three years ago, she had favored Prince Hui and intended to marry her daughter to him, ensuring she would one day become empress. But just as Princess Fucheng broached the idea with Imperial Consort Du, war broke out at the border. Prince Hui led the troops and returned disabled, forever losing his chance at the throne.
Princess Fucheng would never sacrifice her daughter to a prince with no future. So when Emperor Yongchang announced a selection of imperial consorts, she swiftly entered Zheng Yuanzhen into the competition.
This way, she could arrange for Consort Shen Rou, Prince Qing’s mother, to choose Zheng Yuanzhen, avoiding the awkwardness of breaking the engagement unilaterally. Otherwise, why would a grand princess resort to the selection process to secure a marriage for her daughter?
Now Yao Huang understood the meaningful glances exchanged between the Second Princess and Princess Fucheng during last night’s banquet.
---
On the way out of the palace, Yao Huang pondered many things.
Emperor Yongchang’s favoritism toward his sister, Princess Fucheng, was well-known even among commoners. He valued her opinions so much that when she recommended officials, he seriously considered them—and had even appointed a few.
Given that, if Princess Fucheng backed a prince for the throne, her influence would carry significant weight with the emperor.
Yao Huang glanced at Prince Hui in his wheelchair.
A prince was already an exalted position, but today she learned that her husband had once stood a real chance at becoming emperor.
Yet with his legs crippled, he would remain a prince for the rest of his life.
Yao Huang didn’t feel particularly regretful. In fact, she found this outcome safer. With three other princes vying for the throne, their rivalry would inevitably turn vicious. Whoever succeeded would punish the others to some degree—only Prince Hui, having withdrawn from the race early, would be spared. The new emperor might even treat him with extra kindness to showcase fraternal harmony.
Being a princess consort was already prestigious enough. Yao Huang had no greater ambitions.
The only question was whether, in Prince Hui’s heart, losing the throne weighed as heavily as losing the ability to walk.
Back in the carriage, Yao Huang couldn’t recapture the ease she had felt earlier. Prince Hui had just had his wounds reopened by Imperial Consort Du, and the veiled insults directed at her likely embarrassed him as well.
The silence was suffocating. Yao Huang lowered her gaze, nervously pinching her fingertips.
Her cheeks were soft and full, and when she bowed her head, they naturally took on a slightly pouty appearance, as if she were upset.
Zhao Sui glanced at her several times before finally asking, "Why are you so subdued?"
Yao Huang looked up, startled.
Zhao Sui met her eyes directly. "What’s troubling you?"
She blinked, then explained, "Nothing’s wrong. I’m just nervous because you’re quiet. I didn’t dare speak out of turn."
Zhao Sui: "You weren’t so reserved on the way here." And you certainly weren’t shy about acting boldly.
His eyes were usually lifeless, but when they fixed on someone, they became sharp and commanding. After a moment’s hesitation, Yao Huang chose the safest answer. In a small voice, she admitted, "Because of my family background and nickname, I’ve made you lose face."
Zhao Sui was silent for a beat before replying, "I knew about your family the day of the selection. If it bothered me, I wouldn’t have chosen you."
"As for your nickname, I see nothing laughable about it."
Yao Huang understood—the prince didn’t care at all about the two things Imperial Consort Du had mocked!
"Your Highness is so kind! The Consort was right about one thing—I really am lucky to marry you!"
Zhao Sui: "..."
He closed his eyes, no longer looking at her bright, sparkling gaze.
Since the prince was in the mood to console her, it meant he wasn’t too affected by the earlier exchange. Yao Huang relaxed completely and leaned closer, whispering, "Your Highness, you and the Consort aren’t very close, are you?"
Zhao Sui gave her a sidelong glance. "What makes you say that?"
Yao Huang huffed. "Love me, love my dog. If she truly cared for you, she’d at least be polite to me for your sake—not mock me outright."
Zhao Sui: "...And if that’s the case?"
Yao Huang: "Then it depends on how you feel. If you want me to respect and defer to her, I’ll be the perfect daughter-in-law. But if you dislike her behavior, I won’t take it lying down—I’ll stand my ground when needed."
Zhao Sui had already noticed last night that this girl had a bold streak. She cooperated with him but showed no fear, and now she dared to critique Imperial Consort Du without hesitation.
But after all, Imperial Consort Du was still a consort—one who had countless ways to make life difficult for a lowborn princess consort.
"Bear with minor grievances when possible, but don’t force yourself to endure what truly cannot be tolerated. Prioritize keeping things harmonious."
Suffering physical harm just to save face isn’t worth it.
Yao Huang smiled and said, "Your Highness, rest assured—I know my limits. But let’s agree on this: in the future, no matter whom I quarrel with, as long as I’m in the right, if the matter ever comes before you, you must stand by me. Otherwise, I’d rather swallow my pride than have you side with outsiders and rebuke me, leaving me humiliated and defeated for no gain."
Without a powerful family to back her, a princess consort’s confidence came solely from her husband. Only when they stood united could she hold her head high.
Zhao Sui studied her upturned, radiant face and suddenly grew suspicious. "You wouldn’t dare contradict even His Majesty the Emperor, would you?"
Yao Huang laughed at his question. "Of course not. Whatever the Emperor says to me, I’ll listen with utmost respect."
Zhao Sui tilted his head slightly and gave his assurance. "As long as you’re in the right, I’ll stand with you."
Overjoyed, Yao Huang braced one hand on his wheelchair, leaned in swiftly, and planted a kiss on the prince’s cheek.
Zhao Sui tightened his grip on the armrest and scolded in a low voice, "Don’t be improper."
Seeing not a trace of pleasure in his expression—unlike her father, who would beam after her mother kissed him—Yao Huang quickly retreated to her seat, muttering in self-defense, "I thought you might like it. I won’t dare do it again."
Zhao Sui said nothing more.
