Chapter 341

Chapter 341

The news of Rong Noble Consort’s assassination during the southern tour spread quickly, leaving those who had just hastily arranged the funeral rites for the late Imperial Noble Consort in stunned disbelief. They had resigned themselves to watching helplessly as Rong Noble Consort ascended to Empress, forced to bide their time for future opportunities. Who could have imagined such an unexpected windfall?

First came the loss of the Imperial Noble Consort, and now another Noble Consort was gone—both high-ranking positions left vacant. The oppressive weight that had loomed over them was finally lifted. The imperial harem was now presented with a suddenly favorable landscape.

Still, they had to put on a show of grief—a few strategic tears. This was no time to make missteps.

Upon hearing the news, Grand Empress Dowager herself felt a flicker of surprise—an unplanned advantage she hadn’t anticipated. She hadn’t expected the troublesome Rong Noble Consort to die during the southern tour. It saved her the trouble of scheming against the Emperor’s beloved favorite and risking damage to their relationship.

With Rong Noble Consort gone, the harem would soon settle back into quiet control. The Emperor would recall her careful guidance: it was his undue partiality that had ultimately led to Rong Noble Consort’s downfall.

Learning of the fates of the Cao and Li families made it clear that while there were reasons behind their punishment, the real cause was the Emperor venting his grief through wrath. He couldn’t yet accept her passing.

No matter. Once the Emperor had grieved, he would return to his former self—the restrained, wise, and impassive sovereign he was meant to be. As Emperor, even in sorrow, he must never give in to indulgence.

Grand Empress Dowager allowed herself a moment of relief. Rong Noble Consort’s influence over the Emperor had indeed been too great.

The harem was now thinly staffed. After this period passed, it would be time to fill it with new prospects. If the current consorts failed to win favor, then fresh faces would be brought in.

She wasn’t the only one thinking this way. After Rong Noble Consort’s funeral, their so-called “golden age” beckoned. The concubines were already secretly preparing new jewelry and garments, while court ministers combed their lineages for eligible young women, hurriedly grooming them for selection. Others sought to exploit the opening, hoping to find girls resembling Rong Noble Consort—perhaps even better ones—who might bring the greatest rewards.

But reality struck them like a slap so brutal it could kill.

Before the Emperor even returned from the southern tour, an edict arrived announcing the posthumous elevation of Rong Noble Consort to Empress.

The ministers: “Well, she did protect His Majesty… and she came from the Niohuru clan. Granting her the title of Empress isn’t unreasonable… Wait! This isn’t a posthumous honor?!”

Grand Empress Dowager, whose shrewd grandson had surprised her with such a glaring mistake: “Why aren’t they preparing the funeral first?”

Indeed, immediately after conferring the title of Empress, Kangxi ordered the Imperial Household Department to prepare for the imperial wedding at top speed, ensuring everything would be ready the moment he returned to the capital.

A sharp intake of breath.

This left the ministers and Grand Empress Dowager struck dumb. Upon returning, the Emperor’s first act wouldn’t be to hold Rong Noble Consort’s funeral—but to host an imperial wedding?!

As for the chosen Empress… oh right, it was Rong Noble Consort. That seemed logical.

As if!

Even if the Emperor wished to hold a grand ceremony upon his return, they wouldn’t normally object. But how do you hold a wedding with a corpse? The rituals, sacrifices to heaven, and ceremonies required her presence—how could any of it proceed without her?

Yet the Emperor had not yet returned, and any memorials of protest would take time to reach him. Surely the officials accompanying him on the journey wouldn’t stand by and let him commit such folly. They’d advise him once he returned.

The ministers stuck delivering unwelcome advice during the southern tour: “You think we didn’t try?! Do you even know what we’ve been through?!”

Of course they tried—they absolutely had to remonstrate. Such an irrational, unorthodox decision demanded it. They urged the Emperor to preserve his health, temper his grief, and not succumb to excessive sorrow.

And what happened next?

“Showing no sorrow as the Empress departs is disrespectful to her.”

They were politely executed and sent to apologize to her in the afterlife.

The problem? Without holding the funeral rites during the southern tour, they hadn’t been properly primed for performative mourning. At most, they maintained solemn expressions—no joy—but now they were expected to prostrate themselves in mourning?

The Emperor’s gaunt, grief-ravaged face bore witness to his profound sorrow. If even the Emperor mourned so deeply, how dare his subjects withhold even a single tear at the Empress’s passing? To do so would invite execution.

Fine, fine, immediately start mourning, wearing sackcloth and hemp with expressions of grief as if it were a state funeral.

Then those *"lucky ones"* who "failed to show proper sorrow" showed up again—homes seized, heads lopped off in one go.

After the poor bastards who dared not express grief at the Empress’s passing had already set a precedent, there were still thick-headed fools who couldn't even fake enough sorrow. It really depends who you ask.

And then there were provincial officials who didn’t submit condolence petitions right away, or submitted them but didn’t request permission to return to the capital to kneel before Her Majesty's coffin—clear proof of insincerity, of lack of true respect. Fine, fine, another batch for the chopping block.

Although this was a highest-level state funeral, requiring provincial officials to petition for return to the capital and wear mourning clothes, everyone knew such requests were just formalities—officials were expected to prioritize governance, and the Emperor usually rejected them anyway.

Not to mention those without a precedent—the example from the last Empress’s death was right there, and they thought following it would be safe. Fine, fine, the death toll climbed higher yet again.

Forget arguing whether it was appropriate for the Emperor to return to the capital to hold an imperial wedding now. They were all a hair's breadth from death, praying not to draw his attention. One wrong look, one misstep, one twitch of the face—snap—you're dead.

The killings left them too scared to even think of disagreeing with the Emperor. No one understood better than they did that the seemingly calm Emperor was coldly unhinged—quietly mad, cutting down anyone in his way with no room for appeal.

The capital was blanketed in white mourning cloth. The ministers who had been waiting for the Emperor’s return to advise him no longer wore their earlier smug grins or casual disregard. Their faces were twisted with grief. As the day of the Emperor’s return drew closer, the atmosphere grew heavier and heavier. They now fully grasped how severe the consequences could be for failing to mourn the Empress properly.

He cut a bloody path back from the south. Those who thought distance would protect them? Death warrants were already signed. In this climate, they were all panicking—some had even gone to beg the Grand Empress Dowager to intervene, hoping her reasoned pleas might bring the Emperor back to sanity.

The Imperial Household Department was running at full speed, practically throwing sparks. Each person was stretched three ways at once, working around the clock to prepare for the imperial wedding—especially the Empress’s wedding robes. Though preparations had begun earlier, now they were racing against time. Even palace concubines had to step aside, with every available hand thrown into this effort. The concubines weren’t happy about it, but it didn’t matter—if everything wasn’t ready before the Emperor returned, they’d lose their heads.

With the Emperor in such a volatile, unpredictable mood—where crossing him meant certain death—no one dared take chances or hope for mercy.

The Grand Empress Dowager was so furious she fell ill, completely unprepared for how things had turned out. Did the Emperor even know what he was doing?!

He'd truly gone mad!

But worse than simple madness was that his insanity came with chilling clarity—he continued handling official business as usual, filling vacancies, keeping tight control over key powers.

Among the growing pile of corpses were those who had schemed during the southern tour and those plotting to sabotage Rong Noble Consort’s posthumous promotion to Empress upon his return. It was terrifying.

On the day of the Emperor’s return from the southern tour, everyone’s hearts were heavy indeed. Their grief-stricken faces looked more sincere than if their own parents had died.

They had no choice. The Emperor, who once carried himself as a benevolent ruler—decisive yet measured, always leaving room for mercy—now left them dreading what lay ahead.

Those who had planned to offer advice upon his return now dared not raise their heads, fearing any glance, gesture, or micro-expression might mean instant death.

Though elderly, the Grand Empress Dowager could no longer sit still. Leading the inner court to greet the Emperor, her kind grandmotherly demeanor was gone. Now, her brow was furrowed, lips downturned, her face drawn and stern from sleepless nights and endless worry.

It wasn’t just that she had intended to wear court robes—the entire city was in mourning, and no one dared wear finery now. Not even plain silver ornaments were allowed; only stark white clothing, stripped of all decoration. Even the Grand Empress Dowager, despite her status as elder, had removed all jewelry and worn plain mourning clothes—though deep inside, she seethed with resentment.

A unified chorus rang out: “We welcome Your Majesty’s return to the palace! Long live the Emperor, ten thousand years!”

When the Grand Empress Dowager saw Kangxi after more than two months, her eyelids tightened. He was too calm—eerily calm, like still water, showing no trace of the brutal killing spree he had unleashed on his return. The terror, the chill—it should have shown, but not a flicker passed through his eyes.

Kangxi’s bright yellow court robes had been replaced with dark black. He had grown gaunt, his features sharper, his gaze colder. Even facing the Grand Empress Dowager, his pitch-black eyes remained utterly emotionless. Previously, he would have played the part of the devoted grandson for political effect. Now, he responded to her concern about his journey with cold detachment, like a machine reciting protocol. He told her to rest early and said he would visit the Palace of Compassionate Tranquility later after finishing his duties.

The Grand Empress Dowager, burdened by guilt, felt the Emperor’s icy formality—as if treating her like any other minister. No warmth, no pretense of affection, as if the Empress’s death had drained him of all feeling. Or perhaps he had discovered something, hardening even his familial bonds.

Previously, he had valued these displays. Now, even before the assembled ministers, he made no move to soften the oppressive air.

But the Empress would never return. Her schemes had come to nothing. Knowing she wouldn’t come back, she had quickly cleaned up loose ends before the Emperor returned, ensuring nothing could be traced back. Once the Emperor was consumed by grief, he wouldn’t have the strength to investigate further.

Composing herself, the Grand Empress Dowager maintained her composed, grandmotherly facade and retreated to the inner palace. If she wanted to speak with the Emperor, she would wait until he came to pay respects first. Speaking now was too risky—she might lose face before the court.

Yet the Grand Empress Dowager, waiting for the Emperor’s visit, had assumed he would come after meeting his ministers and handling urgent matters. Instead, his first priority was personally inspecting the preparations for the Empress’s posthumous enthronement—even insisting on a full imperial wedding procession through the Great Qing Gate.

The ceremonial protocols had been repeatedly revised after Kangxi expressed dissatisfaction each time. They were eventually elevated to a level of grandeur nearly matching that of the emperor’s enthronement ceremony before His Majesty was finally satisfied.

Is this appropriate? Is this really acceptable?!

Of course, the Ministry of Rites found it unreasonable. But those who dared to object—well, the headstrong ones had already been removed. Who would dare provoke the emperor at a time like this? Only someone with a death wish.

Because when an emperor like him is determined to do something, he will stop at nothing to see it done. The court officials could never win against him, especially during one of his rages—who would dare stand in his way then?

Even if you somehow won the argument, you’d still end up dead. What’s the point?

They felt sympathy for their colleagues whose suicidal protests actually ended in death.

Those who risked their lives to object ended up literally dying for their cause—now that’s a disaster.

Everyone was only making token protests, not seriously intending to die over it.

Wasn’t all this just for the sake of giving the empress a magnificent wedding?

Hey, what’s the big deal? It’s fine. Just humor His Majesty and let him have his way.

After all, the emperor hasn’t even decided on the deceased empress’s posthumous title yet. He clearly refuses to accept that she has passed away. Officials even hesitate to refer to her as “the departed empress” when mentioning her.

This is simply pure survival instinct.