On the day Wei Qingrong went into labor,
The Crown Prince waited anxiously outside the birthing chamber. Hearing her agonized cries, he tried to rush in, only to be stopped by the midwife: "Your Highness, you mustn’t! The birthing room is unclean—you are of noble stature, it would be improper!"
Barred from entering, the Crown Prince could only listen as his wife faced death’s door.
When he was finally permitted inside, he bypassed the midwife holding the newborn and hurried straight to the bedside. Before he could voice his concern, he saw Wei Qingrong’s pale, sweat-drenched face, her hair disheveled, her exhaustion mirroring Luo Shu’s in his memories.
It was as if the sharpest thorn in his heart had been struck.
His eyes widened, his breath quickened.
Wei Qingrong knew she looked unkempt after childbirth, but when Chu Heng rushed in, her heart still swelled with warmth—until she noticed his reddened gaze, his stunned expression, as though he’d been struck by something unbearable.
"Your Highness, what’s wrong?" she asked worriedly, rising from the bed.
Her robust physique from years of martial training had ensured a smooth delivery. Aside from fatigue, she was unharmed.
Yet when she approached, the Crown Prince recoiled slightly, his body trembling, his face filled with panic.
"Your Highness, did I frighten you?" Never had she seen him so terrified, as if she were some monstrous apparition.
Just as she was about to call for someone to escort him out, the Crown Prince suddenly whispered, voice quivering, "I didn’t kill you."
Wei Qingrong was baffled. "Your Highness, what do you mean? I’m right here—of course you didn’t kill me."
His eyes grew redder. Like a wronged child, he repeated, "I didn’t kill you."
She quickly embraced him, arms encircling his waist, soothing him: "You didn’t kill me, Your Highness. Don’t be afraid. Nothing happened. It’s alright, it’s alright."
The Crown Prince buried his face in her neck, choking out, "I didn’t come to kill you…"
Though confused, Wei Qingrong reassured him: "I know, I know. My Crown Prince is the kindest man in the world—how could you ever harm me?"
Her gentle pats and soft words gradually calmed him.
Traditionally, the Crown Princess should not share a bed with the Crown Prince after childbirth. But he refused to leave, staying to sleep beside her. Since the Eastern Palace obeyed her orders, no one dared object.
As he slept, his jade-like skin glowed faintly, carrying the subtle scent of medicine from years of remedies. Compared to her post-birth state, he still seemed fresh and untroubled.
Wei Qingrong lightly brushed his eyelashes, murmuring, "Your Highness, what have you endured? Why won’t you tell me?"
The next day,
Once fully awake, the Crown Prince finally met their daughter. Wei Qingrong teased him: "Your Highness only had eyes for me—you didn’t even glance at the child."
Gazing at the swaddled infant—her tiny fists, her peaceful slumber—he smiled. The imperial physician had confirmed that since his health had been relatively stable when she was conceived, the child bore no ill effects.
"Qingrong, why don’t you name her?" he suggested.
She raised a brow. "Your Highness, I thought you’d choose. With your literary talent, surely you’d pick something lovelier than I could."
Chu Heng chuckled. "Very well, I’ll name her."
He pressed the baby’s small hand to his cheek and softly declared, "Chu Rongyue."
Wei Qingrong’s heart skipped. Tentatively, she asked, "Rong as in Zhao Rong?"
Zhao Rong was the Eighteenth Princess, his most beloved sister.
Surely he didn’t mean—
The Crown Prince lowered his gaze, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Rong as in Qingrong."
Her joy was so immense she could barely keep her eyes open.
Rongyue.
So it wasn’t that he favored the character "Rong"—it was because it was part of her name.
The young couple exchanged a glance, their hearts sweeter than honeyed dates.
Little Princess Chu Rongyue’s arrival brought liveliness to the Eastern Palace. Though the child was spirited, she grew quiet in her father’s presence, as though transformed.
Wei Qingrong joked, "Rongyue must know her father is busy championing the people’s welfare, so she dares not disturb him."
The Crown Prince smiled. "Rongyue is very well-behaved."
Wei Qingrong thought: If only time could freeze this year—it would be the happiest of her life.
By year’s end,
The court’s high-ranking officials were locked in a deadly struggle for the position of Chancellor. On a day when ginkgo leaves drifted like golden snow, the Crown Prince summoned Shen Qixian, the Minister of Rites.
Assuming it was a routine political discussion, Wei Qingrong was surprised when he invited her to join.
Then he declared, "I intend to support you as Chancellor."
Shen Qixian, terrified by the court’s infighting, stammered, "Your Highness, this old servant… has no such ambition."
The Crown Prince replied serenely, "I believe you are the most suitable candidate."
Wei Qingrong didn’t understand. Shen Qixian was no match for the other contenders. Was this because her closest friend was his daughter-in-law?
But no—the Crown Prince would never act on personal bias alone.
He offered no further explanation, only saying, "I trust you will surpass all others in this role. In time, you’ll understand why."
Once the Crown Prince made his decision, he began paving Shen Qixian’s path—introducing him to the Emperor, securing imperial favor. Even after assuming the Chancellorship, Shen Qixian remained perplexed.
It wasn’t until Zong Jincheng’s ascension that realization struck: The Crown Prince hadn’t been elevating him—he’d been preparing a guardian for the Young Emperor.
His plan was for Shen Qixian and Zong Zhao to jointly assist the new ruler, counterbalancing the Luo family and stabilizing the court.
Zong Zhao would act openly; Shen Qixian, in secret.
And in the end… had he risen thanks to his grandchild?
The year Chu Rongyue turned one, the imperial physicians delivered their final verdict: Chu Heng’s time was nearly spent.
Wei Qingrong stood before his desk, weeping uncontrollably. "Your Highness, why couldn’t I save you? I’ve failed, I’ve failed…"
In the warmth of spring, the Crown Prince still wore heavy robes. Seated in his lounge chair, his hands and feet icy, he held textbooks meant for Zong Jincheng’s lessons.
Chu Heng smiled peacefully. "It’s alright, Qingrong. You’ve done all you could. So have I."
This was his destined path.
Helpless, yet unresentful.
The Crown Princess shook her head in despair. "Your Highness, I can’t accept this. This shouldn’t be our ending. I refuse it."
His lashes fluttered. Softly, he said, "This outcome is far better than I ever imagined."
Without her, he wouldn’t have had these extra years.
Driven by grief, Wei Qingrong rose abruptly. "I’ll search beyond the palace! There must be physicians who can heal you!"
The Crown Prince watched her retreating figure until she disappeared from sight, reluctantly withdrawing his gaze. He let out a soft sigh, his heart heavy with emotion. "Wei Qingrong," he murmured, "you must live well."
Supporting himself, he rose and sat at the desk, picking up a brush to write his final letter.
When the day of his end came, the Crown Prince closed his eyes heavily.
Despite all his worries, all the helplessness, and all the regrets, they would ultimately fade into oblivion with the passing of life.
He wondered: After death, could one still see their loved ones in this world? He was uneasy about leaving his wife behind and longed to witness how his daughter would grow.
Carrying these regrets, he drifted into a deep slumber—so long and profound that all sensation left his mind—until he heard a mature, steady voice calling to him:
"Your Highness, it is I, Zong Zhao. I have returned."
