Chapter 344

Chapter 344

The 24th Year of Kangxi's Reign

The cat with the pudding-bowl haircut was taken back by the young Crown Prince to be cared for. Although all the maids and eunuchs of Yonghe Palace, except for Qinxin, were executed as burial companions, the entire Yonghe Palace was sealed off.

At the funeral hall that day, Emperor Kangxi had ordered everyone to leave and stayed alone before the symbolic coffin—which actually contained no remains—for some time before departing. Only upon leaving did he return the amulet pendant to Baocheng.

Before Empress Xiaokangzhang embarked on her southern inspection tour, she had casually mentioned to him that he should give it to the Emperor at the appropriate time, and then His Majesty would know what to do.

Baocheng hadn’t known what the "appropriate time" was back then, but now he understood. His mother must have had her reasons for doing so.

That was a temporary jade slip Empress Xiaokangzhang had prepared before her departure, storing various things she had recalled from the depths of her memory—high-yield crop variants, farming methods, mechanical schematics, and even future historical trends. It would become invalid after two uses, activated only by imperial aura.

Giving these was in hopes of shaping a better future. If even this couldn't prevent a pathetic collapse, then it must simply be fate.

When Empress Xiaokangzhang, who didn’t believe in fate, said this, it was purely sarcasm.

After the funeral rites, Emperor Kangxi seemed to return to his former composed and steady self, immersing himself in state affairs, beginning to govern diligently and wisely again, finally acting like a normal emperor.

Though the ministers were now busier than before, they much preferred this to the Emperor’s previous unnervingly composed outbursts. Working twice as hard was nothing compared to the sheer despair they had felt earlier. Thankfully, after the Empress’s funeral, the Emperor became even more diligent, spending most of the year on imperial tours outside the capital.

The ministers: deeply relieved.

So, if the Emperor wanted to observe widower’s mourning, there was no need to oppose him.

Now that His Majesty was behaving normally again, what harm was there in letting him mourn his wife? Right?

As for the Grand Empress Dowager falling ill—with symptoms eerily resembling those of Empress Xiaokangzhang—well…

Oh, the Grand Empress Dowager was advanced in years, and her health had indeed declined. She needed proper rest.

Laughable. If there wasn’t something fishy going on here, they’d have failed all their years of weathering political storms.

The mere existence of such rumors spoke volumes—this was a royal scandal to die for. Anyone who got involved would be doomed.

The Grand Empress Dowager could only be ailing from advanced age. There was no other explanation.

As for the Emperor ordering the construction of the Changchun Garden? That wasn’t even worth mentioning. It was perfectly normal for the Emperor to want a private retreat after growing tired of palace life.

Honestly, the Emperor’s previous deceptively controlled fury had lowered their standards so much that they now found even his eccentricities tolerable. The Manchu nobility and imperial relatives, who had once held so many expectations for Kangxi—since he hadn’t been their chosen candidate—had learned their lesson.

As for the Crown Prince, he aligned with Han traditions of orthodoxy and legitimacy.

In short, before, they had been ungrateful, nitpicking, and unwilling to accept anyone they couldn’t control—always stirring up trouble.

Now? They just wanted things to stay normal!

They never wanted to relive those dark days again—when not only Manchu officials but even nobles and relatives had been purged!

All because of their defiant posturing during the funeral rites—though this defiance was only noticeable in contrast to the exaggerated performances of others. Those who had merely followed protocol without standing out suddenly seemed rebellious amid the overzealous mourners.

Predictable outcome.

Fine, fine. Now that the Emperor had finished his silent reign of terror and the Empress was buried, he had finally returned to normal.

Suddenly, a reprieve appeared. Hope rekindled. Why would they risk disrupting this balance again? Even if they were stretched thin, working twice as hard, they gritted their teeth and endured the Emperor’s demands.

By following this course, the Qing dynasty would grow even stronger, and the Emperor would be remembered as a wise ruler. Their names being immortalized in history would no longer be a mere dream.

——The chubby cat had wandered out to play, only to be found later drowned in the lake.

The Crown Prince immediately detained all those responsible for its care and interrogated them, bent on uncovering the mastermind. Alone, he carefully dried the damp fur of that lazy, cheeky furball—its eyes would never open again, its body stiff and no longer soft. Having already lost its first mistress, even it could not be kept.

In the end, the investigation led to some lowly Junior Concubine.

He knew this was a scapegoat, and those who died were merely discarded pawns. Yet he still ensured that these fools met the same fate, their bodies found in the lake the next day just like the cat.

When Kangxi learned of this while on his inspection tour, his grip on power never slackened—even outside the palace, he demanded updates on every movement within the Forbidden City. Outwardly calm, he reviewed the daily reports from the capital without betraying a shred of feeling. But Liang Jiugong thought to himself, *What fresh hell is this?* Though the chubby cat had been entrusted to the Crown Prince's care, His Majesty had long stopped paying attention to it.

Thing is, Kangxi maintained tight control over the palace, especially over the Crown Prince. The cat had been raised right by the Crown Prince's side.

And yet, it 'accidentally' drowned while His Majesty was away on his tour.

Splendid. As if my neck weren't on the line too! Liang Jiugong mused. Since the Empress’s passing, these past moons had been more nerve-wracking than the previous decade. Just as things were finally settling down with His Majesty engrossed in state affairs, someone had to test their luck again.

Bloody hell—it's not like you're the ones serving him day and night! New lines etched themselves across Liang Jiugong’s already careworn face.

After finishing the memorials, Kangxi set them aside and picked up another batch to review. Whether it was the cat’s accidental drowning or the Crown Prince’s blatant retaliation—both conveniently deemed "accidents"—his expression remained unreadable. Almost simultaneously, memorials criticizing the Crown Prince’s actions arrived before Kangxi.

Once the daily memorials were processed, Liang Jiugong noticed that those particular ones were pigeonholed—left to gather dust.

That cat had been a test. The mourning period for the Empress was nearing its end, and His Majesty’s tour was coming to a close. The remaining time would be spent in the palace. No matter how deeply he grieved for the Empress, there had to be limits. Seeing the Emperor restored to his former wisdom and composure—even surpassing it—some couldn’t help but test their luck.

Of course, they had to test the waters first. That cat had once belonged to Empress Jingxi—an animal, an easy target, far simpler than targeting a person. The Crown Prince’s fury was expected, so they prepared a scapegoat and disposable pawns to give him an outlet. Moreover, by using the Junior Concubine—nominally his elder—they could accuse the Crown Prince of acting without waiting for His Majesty’s return.

On the surface, it was an "accident." But who would believe that? The moment the scapegoat was identified, she was found in the same lake, drowned just like the cat—a hair’s breadth from outright murder.

Kangxi showed no intention of altering his plans or rushing back. He returned at his stately pace, unaffected.

As for the withheld memorials, it was no surprise. The Emperor valued the Crown Prince highly; his position wasn’t so easily shaken. If one attempt failed, there would always be another.

Seeing His Majesty return at his stately pace, some counted their chickens before they hatched.

Upon his return, Kangxi summoned the Crown Prince. The prince knelt deep inside the imperial study for two hours and needed arms to bear him up when dismissed.

Before those with ulterior motives could celebrate or analyze the implications of the punishment—though it seemed the Crown Prince had been reprimanded for acting rashly, the fact that he *was* punished suggested His Majesty still cared that he had overstepped by handling a palace consort without authorization.

The Crown Prince, favored by the Emperor, often blurred the boundaries of imperial authority. At first, the Emperor might overlook it, but as the prince grew older, these issues would accumulate and erupt with devastating effect.

This was long-term scheming, a game of patience.

Yet a month after the Emperor's return, Consort Yi "accidentally" fell into the lake and drowned.

The same familiar lake.

Now, with the last remaining consort gone in such a manner, it was like a thunderclap over the palace.

On the day Consort Yi drowned, Kangxi was taking his tea in a pavilion not far away, watching calmly as she struggled in waist-deep water. She flailed and choked, exhausting herself until she sank lifeless in water shallow enough to stand in.

At one point, as she fought to surface, her eyes met Kangxi’s. He neither looked away nor reacted, simply observing her dying moments like a spectator at a puppet show.

The attendants behind him kept their heads bowed, pretending invisibility, while Consort Yi’s own servants were conspicuously absent.

Only after all movement in the water ceased did Kangxi rise leisurely. “Consort Yi slipped and drowned. Bury her according to protocol.”

Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Have it filled.”

The posthumous judgment on Consort Yi’s accidental drowning was sealed with a perfunctory funeral arrangement that hardly reflected the dignity befitting the sole remaining Consort. The Emperor showed no interest in intervening, so the rites were carried out in extreme haste—dredging the lake was even prioritized over her funeral. It was obvious to anyone what was really happening.

Now all the Consort positions were vacant, and even the ranks of Concubines were sparse. It was practically an open invitation for families to send their eligible daughters into the harem to fill these vacancies.

Her death meant nothing. Though she wasn’t even worth an animal, she had never been a rival either, having long fallen out of favor. Even if the Emperor turned his favor back to the harem, she likely wouldn’t have regained it. Better to pin hopes on fresh blood.

Then they realized—the Emperor might seem normal now, but in truth, he was far from sane!

Liang Jiugong: Heavens damn it, do you have any idea what my life has been like?! You just keep stirring up trouble—do you know how precarious my position is?!

The imperial consorts and concubines began dying off through various “accidents” and sudden illnesses. Some even contracted plagues, infecting many before the imperial physicians could devise a remedy. Those who didn’t survive the initial outbreak perished, while those who held on long enough to receive treatment were left irreparably weakened, lingering in illness before passing soon after.

In a short span, the harem was wiped out—only Noble Lady Hui, Xian Noble Lady, and a few others with imperial children remained.

This wholesale slaughter was no joke. No one in their right mind would believe such complete annihilation was mere coincidence. The harem had been cleansed.

The surviving Noble Lady Hui and Xian Noble Lady were terrified, falling ill from fright. Le Guiren, holding onto her princess, was equally shaken. When her elder sister died, she had only worried about the princess’s future—but now, she considered herself fortunate just to remain alive to care for her child. She dared not hope for more, fearing even her current safety was fragile.

She knew the truth: they were spared not because they had imperial children, but because she had never involved herself in matters concerning Empress Jingxi. Unlike her sister, who had clung to resentment and schemes, she had remained uninvolved.

Noble Lady Hui’s spirit had already been broken during Empress Jingxi’s funeral rites. Fearing repercussions for the Eldest Prince, she dared not act—especially since his standing with the Emperor had waned. Once favored as the eldest son, second only to the Crown Prince and surpassing the Third and Fourth Princes in attention, he had enjoyed some leniency even when clashing with the Crown Prince. But now, the Emperor’s indifference was palpable.

Noble Lady Hui, her health ruined, lacked the energy for schemes and feared further actions would only deepen the Eldest Prince’s estrangement.

Xian Noble Lady was even more terrified, finally understanding the dread court officials had felt witnessing those who fell during Empress Jingxi’s funeral rites. The ruthlessness had been unpredictable—and utterly deranged.

Harboring resentment over her title, she had thought that with the Empress gone, she could take out her anger on the little beast the late Empress had left behind—after all, an animal was easier to handle than a person.

But the Third Prince, though only eight, was wise beyond his age and fiercely dissuaded her. Even if it was just an animal, it had been raised by the Empress—it was forbidden!

The Third Prince was far more clear-headed.

Back then, the Emperor had nearly run him through with a sword in the Empress’s mourning hall over his attitude—had it not been for the Crown Prince’s intervention, he might not have survived. The kick he endured had left him recuperating for days, and he had endured silently through the entire funeral.

He knew he couldn’t compare to the Eldest Prince or the Crown Prince. Even the Eldest Prince had suffered—afterward, the Emperor’s moods became even more erratic. Only the Crown Prince could still retain some favor before him.

Beyond the Crown Prince’s status, it was because Empress Jingxi had cherished him in life!

The cat might not have been raised by the Emperor himself, but the fact that the Crown Prince kept it was proof enough—it was forbidden.

In the end, they truly might not measure up to that animal.

Xian Noble Lady had only the Third Prince and a princess left—the Third Prince was her sole hope. Fearing any misstep would further alienate him from the Emperor, and knowing she was no longer young enough to compete, she abandoned all schemes, focusing solely on her children.

The sheer scale of the recent deaths left her shaken and ill, horrified by the thoughts she had once entertained. Thankfully, the Third Prince had stopped her in time. Only by holding her children close could she find any peace.

Hadn’t they seen? Even Imperial Noble Consort Tongjia and Noble Lady Qing—the Emperor’s own maternal cousins—had not been spared.

As for the rest—whether innocent or not—the harem’s schemes and covert methods were second nature. Covering tracks, framing scapegoats—these were skills honed in their domain, intricacies men seldom grasped.

After all, those who acted knew the importance of clean exits, obfuscating the evidence thoroughly.

Investigating each case would be tedious and exhausting.

And really—was there any point?

Did evidence even matter?

To the Emperor, evidence was not that important.

Kangxi's patience was not something everyone could possess. When he withheld his patience from you, even the slightest bit of unrest or trouble you caused would only make him swiftly remove the source of the problem in the quickest way he saw fit—even if he could have exercised a little more patience to make matters appear more reasonable on the surface.

These imperial consorts were pampered in silks and jewels; all they had to do was remain quietly in the harem. Wealth, status, and family prestige—these women served as status symbols for their families. With such privileges already secured, yet still they could not stay obedient.

How ungrateful.

If the Emperor deemed you ungrateful, then you were practically at death’s door.

Especially now, when his mind was fully occupied with state affairs. Those who obstructed him used to receive some leniency before—but now, even death would bring him peace.

It made people realize clearly that the Emperor’s blade was far from dull. Things might seem normal on the surface, but in truth, nothing was normal—it was just that his attention had shifted to national governance, making him appear composed amid his busyness!

Even though the harem was left with barely anyone—so empty it was absurd—not one minister dared to cleverly suggest replenishing it.

Why? Because entering the harem no longer meant gaining wealth and honor—it meant walking straight into death.

The harem was no longer a coveted prize. It had become a death trap—wherever one stepped foot, misfortune followed.

Before any benefits could reach their families, they might instead drag them down with themselves. Who could have imagined the harem being completely purged like this? Everyone silently understood what had happened, but not one person dared raise doubts at this critical moment.

They feared the Emperor would accuse them of interfering in the harem and have their heads cut off. No one would have thought the Emperor capable of such cruelty before.

But now? Forget it. No one dared gamble with their life—it was a losing bet.

For a time, ministers turned a blind eye to the matter. There were too many affairs to manage already—how could they possibly find time to meddle in the Emperor’s household?

If the Emperor were simply a tyrant, it wouldn’t be so confusing. But in terms of state affairs, he ruled with wisdom—diligent in governance and compassionate toward the people. Among the common folk, life was gradually improving, and the Emperor’s acclaim only grew—he was seen as a benevolent ruler.

As for those among the upper echelons—the ministers, nobles, and royal relatives—who were executed, people felt they deserved it. Not one regarded the Emperor as a tyrant.

The Crown Prince had been punished with kneeling for showing impatience and displaying emotions too openly, handling matters in a half-hearted manner. He had initially felt some resentment over how lightly the Emperor dismissed the matter of the humiliating bowl-cut hairstyle.

But now, seeing how things had unfolded, he reflected and realized his own actions had indeed been pathetically trivial.

A year after mourning his wife ended, the ministers began considering the next round of selection for consorts—to bring good fortune. They remained calm and waited until the proper time, knowing they could propose it according to protocol. After all, the three-year cycle was tradition. Moreover, the eldest prince was of age to take a principal wife, and the Crown Prince had also reached the age where he would be given consorts.

With the harem so empty, it was only natural to select new consorts. Families had already instructed those chosen to enter the palace to cause no trouble—they must remain obedient, gentle, and toe the line.

In the twenty-fifth year of Kangxi’s reign, the Grand Empress Dowager passed away.

After ailing for over a year, the imperial physicians had exhausted every remedy. Her time had come, and she finally succumbed.

Managing to hold on for over a year was already a testament to their efforts—given her advanced age, her passing could even be considered a timely departure.

With three years of national mourning, the selection of consorts was naturally canceled.

In the Grand Empress Dowager’s final moments, the Emperor personally fed her medicine and attended to her without rest—a model of filial devotion.

During the funeral rites, the Emperor’s face was heavy with grief, sorrow plainly visible. He even collapsed from overwhelming grief, his body visibly thinner in just a short time, his face gaunt with exhaustion.

He appeared even more heartbroken than during Empress Jingxi’s funeral.

Moreover, the Emperor entered three years of mourning for the Grand Empress Dowager.

Such actions left none to doubt the Emperor’s unmatched filial piety. His grief over her passing ran so deep that he neglected his health entirely. Ministers had to urge him repeatedly to preserve his strength and moderate his grief.

It had only been a little over a year, and now another state mourning arrived—God knows how wrecked they were!

They were still traumatized from Empress Jingxi's funeral rites. As ministers, they couldn't refrain from offering condolences, but even the slightest misstep in expression, tone, or gesture could spell disaster, leaving them completely drained.

Just over a year later, another state mourning descended—their PTSD was still fresh!

This time, when their official pleas for the Emperor not to grieve excessively received positive feedback, they almost cried happy tears—if only the timing and setting had been appropriate.

Now this was the proper way to conduct funeral rites!

The last time was absolute hell!

The Emperor even vowed to observe three years of mourning for the Grand Empress Dowager—talk about filial piety that moves heaven.

The ministers: [crickets]

As for the Emperor's decision to mourn the Grand Empress Dowager, the ministers couldn't exactly say no. How could they stop the Emperor from expressing his filial devotion??

They certainly couldn't say, "Your Majesty, skip the mourning—filling the imperial harem with new consorts is more important than honoring the Grand Empress Dowager."

They weren't stupid. Even if that's what they privately thought, saying it out loud? No way!

Still, the whole grief act felt weirdly... familiar to the point of exasperation. When they put on their own mourning acts, wasn't this the exact same script?

It was all about putting on a show—making sure everyone saw how broken up they were, even going so far as to show visible physical changes to highlight the difference before and after.