"But I don’t want you to suffer like this..."
"Qing Rong doesn’t feel like she’s suffering. She only feels happy."
…
In the silent palace, the two embraced each other for warmth.
The Crown Prince held her tightly in his arms.
Later, as expected, someone set their sights on his inner household. Even the Emperor sought to assign him a new concubine to bear him heirs.
Wei Qingrong remained unfazed by this.
From the moment she decided to marry into the Eastern Palace, she had prepared herself. The Crown Prince was the heir apparent, and one day, he would become the Son of Heaven. There would be countless women by his side, countless children born to him and others.
But so what?
As long as His Highness lived well, nothing else mattered.
She did not oppose the idea, and the Emperor, thinking it would proceed, was about to issue the decree.
But the Crown Prince calmly said, "Father, my health has not fully recovered, and I am currently occupied with affairs at the Ministry of Revenue. I have no mind for matters of the heart at the moment. If Father has a favored candidate for a daughter-in-law, perhaps she could be bestowed upon one of my younger brothers who remain unwed."
The Emperor raised an eyebrow in surprise, and even the Crown Princess was taken aback.
She pressed him, "Does Your Highness plan to take a concubine in a few years?"
The Crown Prince replied evenly, "Not even in a few years."
Wei Qingrong asked curiously, "Why not?"
She thought he would say he didn’t want to burden another innocent person.
Instead, he gazed at her and said, "It would wound your dignity."
She had already shouldered the reputation of being infertile for his sake. If another concubine entered the Eastern Palace, her name and face would become the subject of ridicule.
He had already wronged her enough.
He could not hurt her further.
Hearing this answer, Wei Qingrong felt a sweet warmth in her heart. Though she didn’t particularly care about a concubine entering the palace, the fact that His Highness was considering her feelings—didn’t that mean he was beginning to love her?
Five years into their marriage, their bond grew stronger.
Yet they still had no children.
Once, while leaving the palace, the Crown Prince encountered a grubby little boy. He patiently wiped the child’s face clean, gave him some silver, and upon learning the boy had no name, bestowed one upon him: "Let’s call you Jing Zhe."
A name brimming with hope.
Wei Qingrong watched his retreating figure and thought: His Highness must long for an heir of his own.
Then they met the child named Zong Jincheng. The Crown Prince showed clear fondness for him, and Wei Qingrong guessed it was because he missed his old playmate Zong Zhao, transferring that affection to Zong Zhao’s son.
Later, it was Zong Jincheng’s stepmother, Xu Wan, who suggested they take a trip to relax, as it might help with conception.
The Crown Prince had long given up hope. He threw himself into state affairs, determined to do as much as he could for the court and the people in his limited time.
When Wei Qingrong proposed the journey, he initially refused, fearing it would interfere with his duties. But under her hopeful gaze, he relented.
The streets were alight with lanterns.
Vendors called out their wares, children ran about with lanterns in hand, laughing and shouting.
Wei Qingrong tugged at his sleeve. "Your Highness, look! The lanterns are so beautiful—aren’t they lovelier than the ones in the palace?"
Following her gaze, the Crown Prince saw the bustling crowd—some releasing lanterns onto the river, others sending sky lanterns with wishes into the air, while the streets were lined with glowing decorations.
"The land is at peace, the realm prosperous." Wei Qingrong clung to his sleeve, beaming. "Your Highness, this is the fruit of your labor. The people are thriving."
A faint smile touched the Crown Prince’s lips.
Positive affirmation of one’s efforts would lift anyone’s spirits.
Wei Qingrong said excitedly, "Your Highness, let’s stay here tonight!"
"Here?" He glanced at the lively street.
She pointed to a building across the way. "Look, there’s an inn. It’s small, but from the window, we can see the lanterns. It’ll be so romantic!"
The Crown Prince studied the slightly open window, thinking that even if it were shut tight, the noise would make sleep impossible.
But… Qing Rong rarely showed such enthusiasm.
This was supposed to be a trip for enjoyment. Both of them should be happy.
"Alright," he agreed again.
Wei Qingrong led him upstairs, where they leaned by the window, taking in the view below. The perspective from above was different—it allowed them to take in the entire scene at once.
After a while, she said, "Your Highness, close the window. I’ll prepare the bed."
He obeyed, though he thought: At this distance, closing the window won’t block out the noise.
As the window shut, Chu Heng moved to help arrange the pillows—only to be abruptly tackled onto the bed, her smiling eyes reflected in his.
His gaze wavered. "Qing Rong…" he murmured, voice trembling.
She kissed his lips and whispered, "Does Your Highness want to… here?"
The Crown Prince stiffened. Outside, the roar of the crowd continued, separated only by a thin wall and window. It was as if they were in the middle of the street—and she wanted to… here?
Chu Heng flushed crimson. "No."
She kissed his eyelids soothingly. "Yes, yes. Don’t worry, Your Highness. It’s so loud outside, no one will hear."
Her hands were already tugging at his clothes.
He struggled, face burning. "No—we can go somewhere else—" Pink spread from his cheeks down to his neck.
"We must, we must! Just try it, Your Highness?" Wei Qingrong coaxed him like a wolf luring a rabbit, teasing and persuading.
"Qing Rong… you…" Trapped on the bed, Chu Heng had nowhere to retreat. In moments, he was stripped bare, their fingers entwined as half his face buried into the bedding.
The clamor outside felt as if it were right beside them.
And in his ear, her voice, sweet and enticing.
…
Afterward, Wei Qingrong curled against his chest, the blanket covering them both, and giggled. "See, Your Highness? There was nothing to fear. No one knew."
The Crown Prince’s blush hadn’t faded. He felt too ashamed to face the world—he had actually… done such a thing with his wife on the busiest street.
If anyone found out, he’d want to vanish into the earth.
But perhaps it was precisely because he feared being overheard that his mind, for once, held nothing else—no state affairs, no pressure for an heir, no tangled worries.
Free of burdens, he had given himself over completely.
This time, Wei Qingrong finally conceived.
When the Crown Prince learned, his face burned anew. He had tried to forget that night, but the child was a glaring reminder—there was no forgetting.
Wei Qingrong said joyfully, "Your Highness, can I believe this child was a gift from the people?"
He blinked. "What?"
"This child was conceived amid ten thousand lanterns, surrounded by countless commonfolk. How could it not mean that? Your Highness, this is Heaven’s reward to you."
The Crown Prince was stunned by her interpretation.
Could… could it really mean that?
Wei Qingrong nodded firmly. "Yes, that’s exactly what it means."
The Crown Prince: "…"
Ever since his wife became pregnant, the Crown Prince's mood had grown increasingly brighter. He hadn't originally been fixated on having a child, but now that one was on the way, his heart felt tender and full.
After the Empress Dowager's death, he had been lonely in the palace.
But now, he would soon have a child of his own blood.
In June, Zong Jincheng met with misfortune.
Realizing that Zong Zhao was still alive, the Crown Prince made a decision: he would dedicate all his efforts to raising and educating that child. Even in the worst-case scenario, he would mold him into the finest Emperor possible—even if the throne did not ultimately belong to him.
Late at night, the candlelight in his study flickered faintly.
To avoid disturbing his pregnant wife's rest, the Crown Prince had recently taken to sleeping in his study. Between bouts of coughing, his desk was strewn with books, along with ledgers and records from various ministries.
The Crown Prince was preparing his lessons.
Even if he could only visit the Marquis Manor once a month, he wanted to ensure that what he taught there was practical and refined.
"Cough, cough…" The Crown Prince stared at the bloodstained handkerchief.
He was coughing up blood again.
Ever since the incident at the dance troupe, his health had deteriorated further, as if confirming the possibility Qing Rong had once mentioned…
But it couldn’t be.
In Chu Heng's memories, his father had always been gentle and magnanimous, patient and dignified in his teachings. Even the art of rulership had been broken down and imparted to him early on—just as he now did for Zong Jincheng, holding nothing back.
"My father and I are the same kind of people, sharing the same ideals, the same ambitions. It’s impossible," he told himself.
