The Crown Prince lowered his gaze and murmured softly, "Is that so…"
"It is!" Wei Qingrong told him. "Once Your Highness recovers a bit more, I’ll take you out of the palace for a stroll. The common folk would surely be overjoyed to see you—they’d probably set off firecrackers in celebration."
A faint smile touched the Crown Prince’s lips.
Wei Qingrong’s heart stirred, and emboldened, she pressed a kiss to his forehead before quickly retreating to the bedside, nervously inhaling. "Forgive my audacity… I simply couldn’t help myself…"
Chu Heng froze, a faint blush creeping up his neck.
With the Crown Princess overseeing the Eastern Palace, harmony prevailed, and even the Crown Prince’s health gradually improved.
Half a year passed in the blink of an eye.
Yet rumors began circulating in the palace: "The Crown Prince is impotent. The Crown Princess is doomed to a lifeless marriage in the Eastern Palace."
It had started with the absence of blood on the bridal bedsheet on their wedding night, but back then, the Crown Prince’s frailty was common knowledge. However, as his health improved and no news of an heir followed, gossip inevitably spread.
Wei Qingrong and the Crown Prince heard the rumors together, both stiffening uncomfortably. They had silently avoided discussing such matters, never expecting outsiders to voice them so crudely.
The next morning, after the Crown Prince left, Wei Qingrong removed a hairpin and drew it across her arm.
Only when blood dripped steadily onto the bedsheets did she rise calmly—only to lock eyes with Chu Heng.
"Qingrong, I forgot my memorial," the Crown Prince said, watching her intently.
Wei Qingrong hid her hand behind her back like a thief caught in the act, forcing a smile. "Then go fetch it, Your Highness. It’s on the desk—I haven’t tidied it yet."
But the Crown Prince strode in, ignoring the memorial, and seized her hand. The wound was deeper than expected, soaking her sleeve as blood trickled down.
"You…" His voice was laced with pain.
Wei Qingrong quickly pulled away, retrieving a vial of wound powder from her robes and sprinkling it haphazardly over the cut. "Don’t worry, Your Highness. It’s just a scratch—this’ll stop the bleeding. Really, why did you come back? I’d have kept this unnoticed otherwise…"
She intended to use the blood to feign the bridal sheet’s proof, sparing him further humiliation.
The Crown Prince frowned at her careless treatment, swatting her hand aside. "Come here. Let me bandage it properly."
"Your Highness knows how to tend wounds?" Wei Qingrong asked, surprised.
As he wrapped the bandage, he explained, "When I practiced martial arts, no one dared strike me seriously due to my status. Only… only Zong Zhao would. After sparring injuries, we’d patch each other up—no one else knew."
"Zong Zhao…" It was the first time Wei Qingrong heard him mention the name. She knew only that he was the Crown Prince’s childhood friend, that they’d quarreled once, but never imagined their bond ran so deep.
Once finished, the Crown Prince eyed her. "You’re usually so clever. Why act so foolishly now?"
"What?" Wei Qingrong blinked, confused.
He pressed his lips together, murmuring, "You could’ve used animal blood…"
"Oh, I knew that," she admitted.
The Crown Prince stared. "Then why do this?"
Wei Qingrong nodded. "I feared animal blood might smell. I didn’t want to stain Your Highness’s bed."
She cherished him—and everything that belonged to him.
She wanted him to remain pristine, untouched by filth.
"You…" The Crown Prince faltered, at a loss before finally sighing. "Why torment yourself? I won’t live many more years, nor can I be a proper husband."
The rumors weren’t baseless.
Even he believed himself flawed.
Wei Qingrong’s eyes glistened. She cupped Chu Heng’s face, her voice tender. "Your Highness, don’t belittle yourself. Your health has improved these past six months. Ignore the vile talk—we have more than a few years ahead. We’ll have countless years, and you’re already the finest husband in my heart."
The Crown Prince’s eyes grew damp, his body trembling faintly.
Wei Qingrong rose on her toes, brushing her lips against his—a fleeting touch that sent sparks through them both.
Her hands rested on his shoulders as she kissed him again, just as lightly.
Knowing his reserved nature, she held back, afraid to startle him.
Softly, she whispered, "Your Highness… shall we try?"
Chu Heng stiffened, his grip on her shoulders tightening reflexively.
Wei Qingrong chuckled. "You’ve no urgent matters today. Why not delay until afternoon?"
The Crown Prince hardly realized how he ended up on the bed—until she pinned him beneath her, and the reality struck.
Wei Qingrong soothed him, "It’s all the same, Your Highness. Hush… No one will know of our marital affairs."
His tense body gradually relaxed as she undressed him. His jade-pale skin flushed pink, unfamiliar sensations painting his eyes red—his gaze fixed solely on the brave woman above him.
His wife.
"Your Highness, I adore you," she breathed into his ear, watching his blush deepen. "I want to bear your children, to stay by your side forever."
Later, when Wei Qingrong retrieved the bridal sheet, she teased, "Your Highness, seems I wasted that stab with my hairpin?"
The Crown Prince turned scarlet, curling into the blankets like a flustered child.
He hadn’t imagined… he truly could…
Wei Qingrong, mindful of his embarrassment, dismissed the attendants, requesting only hot water from the maids.
News of the Eastern Palace’s "joyous event" finally silenced the rumors.
The Crown Prince resumed his duties, laboring tirelessly for the court and people despite his fluctuating health.
Yet two years into their marriage, with no heir, whispers resurfaced: "The Crown Prince is too frail to impregnate a woman."
This time, the gossip spread from the inner palace to the court, amplified as if orchestrated.
Officials argued that without an heir, the Crown Prince was unfit to remain heir apparent—lest Great Chu be left without succession.
Debates raged between his supporters and detractors.
In the end, the Crown Princess quelled the storm.
Rumors spread that the Wei family had summoned a renowned physician, who diagnosed her—not the Crown Prince—as the one unlikely to conceive.
The court fell silent. If the fault lay with the Crown Princess, the solution was simple: concubines or secondary consorts could bear the heir.
When the Crown Prince, then at the censorate, heard the news, he rushed back to the Eastern Palace. "You arranged this lie, didn’t you?" he demanded without preamble.
Wei Qingrong didn’t deny it, smiling. "Don’t fret, Your Highness. I’m merely slow to conceive, not barren. Given time—"
"Lies," he interrupted, aching. "The truth is my failing, yet you shoulder the disgrace. Qingrong, I’m a man. I won’t let you sacrifice yourself to shield me."
Seeing him flushed with anxiety, Wei Qingrong couldn't help but feel delighted. She teased in return, "Your Highness, you're worried about me—does that mean you've grown fond of me too?"
"I…" Chu Heng was exasperated by her evasion. "Don’t change the subject. This is my fault—I shouldn’t have let you bear the blame alone. The rumors in the inner court are even more vicious than those in the political arena. You…"
Wei Qingrong wrapped her arms around him, resting her head against his chest as she listened to his rapid heartbeat. Softly, she reassured him, "As long as Your Highness is well, Qingrong pays no mind to such words. I came here to protect you, and nothing—no one—will ever harm my dearest prince."
Chu Heng was deeply moved.
He closed his eyes, a tear slipping down his cheek. "I don’t understand you… I truly don’t."
How could there be someone like her, who would dedicate her entire life to him so selflessly? She was her own person—how could she live solely for his sake? Didn’t she feel any resentment?
Yet Wei Qingrong simply soothed him, "Don’t fret, Your Highness. Focus on your duties with peace of mind. Qingrong will always be by your side."
