Chapter 347

Chapter 347

OP: #The favoritism acknowledged by history books doesn’t even come close to the love between Emperor Kangxi and Empress Jingxi!!

[What history recognizes as true love—not just favoritism!!! Emperor Kangxi was utterly devoted. Keeping the harem vacant, dining and living together like commoners—these were just trivial details in comparison.]

[Ever since I started obsessing over this couple, no other "favoritism" stories move me anymore. Favoritism still allows others to bear children—there might be some affection, but it’s mostly for show. This? This is the real feast!]

[When Empress Jingxi entered the palace, her very first title was Consort Rong. Was it just luck coinciding with a large-scale harem promotion? No! Among the newly entered imperial consorts, she was the only one granted the rank of concubine. Especially since there was already another Rongpin whose title could easily be confused with Empress Jingxi's, which actually sparked real tension. Yet in the end, it was another concubine who had their title changed—no one else received such preferential treatment from the start!]

[What’s more, she had her own sister, the Imperial Noble Consort, outranking her, yet her position wasn’t suppressed. In cases where sisters entered the palace together, if one held a high rank, the other’s would typically be kept lower to maintain balance.]

[Back then, only a few concubines had been granted the concubine rank—either long-serving or those who had borne imperial sons. Early in Kangxi’s reign, climbing the ranks in the harem was notoriously difficult. Later, it became hell-difficulty harem survival mode where almost everyone was demoted, turning the palace into a brutal battleground with only a handful of survivors.]

[She entered the palace as a concubine, then skipped the consort rank entirely to become an imperial noble consort, and finally, unsurprisingly, became empress without bearing sons.]

[There have been childless empresses in history, but their endings were rarely favorable. Dynasties seem to prove one truth: favor without sons doesn’t guarantee a happy ending, while sons without favor can still secure victory. In feudal times, lacking a son in the harem was a fatal disadvantage.]

[It’s said she was frail early on and unfit for childbirth. Empress Dowager Xiaozhuang, that vicious old crone, despised her and sought to torment her, making pregnancy even more impossible. Had we not dug deeper, we wouldn’t have known this bitter crone, who’d never experienced favoritism herself, couldn’t stand others receiving it so easily. Tsk.]

[But it didn’t matter—Kangxi adored her regardless. The crown prince was also a good child. In any other scenario, she might have lost favor once the novelty wore off, and an adopted son might not remember her kindness, leaving her to a desolate old age. But none of that applied to Empress Jingxi.]

[To Kangxi, she was his eternal first love glow. Even the daily imperial logs recorded sweet romance tropes, striving for solemnity but drowning in sweetness. To the crown prince, she was the epitome of maternal warmth. These filters never faded.]

[Jing Mausoleum holds no trace of Kangxi. Instead, he lies in the empress’s tomb, and to this day, no joint burial site for Kangxi and Empress Jingxi has been found. Were it not for historical records in Jingling, we wouldn’t even know the full story.]

[It’s reasonable to suspect he didn’t want outsiders disturbing his eternal rest with his wife. Jingling may lack occupants, but its records are exhaustive—likely because he wanted to flaunt their match made in heaven. Otherwise, he might not have bothered including them at all.]

[Exactly—showing off yet jealously guarding his wife, not even leaving behind a single portrait of her.]

[After her entry into the palace, no children by other women were born again! His devotion never wavered. Even during her years of convalescence away from him, he remained faithful, tirelessly elevating her reputation and ensuring her inclusion in everything.]

[Before Empress Jingxi entered the palace, despite numerous child deaths, Kangxi still fathered four surviving princes. This proves his virility—had he not remained devoted to her, his offspring could’ve filled enough for two soccer teams, even accounting for palace strife.]

[He barred other consorts from influencing the crown prince but never stopped the prince from bonding with Empress Jingxi—effectively securing his son’s future. Though Kangxi likely never expected to live so long, the prince’s smooth succession as history’s only crown prince to safely inherit the throne with a happy ending owes much to Empress Jingxi.]

[Kangxi’s longevity was exceptional among emperors. He ascended young, ruled with thunderous authority, and maintained power for decades. As history shows, long-reigning emperors often start wise but grow tyrannical with age, clinging to power until the end.]

[A child ruler invites instability. Kangxi was eight when he took the throne, too young to rule. With the Grand Empress Dowager above him and rebellious Oboi below, his early years were unstable—but he proved capable enough to avoid being sidelined. After taking power, he methodically eliminated threats. Such a strong-willed emperor with decades of control—who hasn’t read the histories and seen how terrifyingly erratic an aging monarch can become in his twilight years?]

[Tang Xuanzong Li Longji, we’re talking about you! Both called “Third Son,” how did you end up so pathetic?]

[An aging emperor, still vigorous, with a capable adult crown prince—distrust was inevitable. That the prince survived, let alone succeeded, was miraculous, especially with his birth mother long gone, leaving no one to mediate with his father. Without support from the Imperial Father’s side, he’d be totally screwed.]

[Take Li Chengqian as an example—once his empress mother died, his relationship with his father deteriorated rapidly, leading to madness and ruin.]

[Kangxi abdicated to the crown prince in the 45th year of his reign and lived until the 16th year of Qianfeng’s rule. Had he not stepped down, the question wouldn’t have been whether the prince could ascend, but whether he’d outlive his father!]

[Laughs—because Kangxi was in a hurry to retire and wander freely with his wife.]

[Without his wife, the crown prince’s fate might’ve mirrored other infamous heirs—destroyed not by sibling rivalry, but by their own fathers. Emperor Wu of Han’s crown prince, Liu Ju, for instance, couldn’t defeat his father and met a tragic end after decades as heir.]

[The virtuous Crown Prince Yiwen died young. The title sounds glorious, but most crown princes either go mad from hopelessness, die prematurely, or face their fathers’ abrupt turn from love to hostility—a cursed position.]

[Or worse—once beloved by their fathers, only to be treated as enemies later. How could a crown prince not break under that? After all, his father had truly loved him once.]

[True. Just imagining it is suffocating. That said, the crown prince did have his low points—the years when Empress Jingxi was absent. Without his Imperial Mother, and with his Imperial Father turning cold, it was like having neither parent. His only hardships were during that period; afterward, he was the pampered little crown prince—aside from the ever-increasing workload.]

Ironically, it was officially described as training the Crown Prince's abilities, but in reality, the Emperor simply handed off work to his competent sons while overseeing major decisions—all to make more time for his wife.

The Crown Prince caught on fast too, sharing responsibilities with his brothers. And his brothers? They were deeply touched, believing the Crown Prince trusted and valued them so much. Hilariously ironic.

Diplomatic view: Valuing. Blunt truth: Exploiting.

Even then, the future Emperor Qianfeng held a rock-solid position—capable, outstanding, and the legitimate heir. He had both legitimacy and moral authority. What possessed the First Prince and others to even think of competing with him? As if Emperor Kangxi would ever allow Empress Jingxi to live at anyone else’s mercy.

Only if the Crown Prince met with an unfortunate accident and no other choice remained would another prince ascend. Even then, any new emperor with a living birth mother would likely see her removed first by Emperor Kangxi, who would also prepare safeguards to control the new ruler, teaching the Empress how to manage him. He’d absolutely do it.

During his period of mourning, he probably eliminated the First Prince and others preemptively, preventing any cooling of affection toward the Crown Prince later. The disparity in treatment might lead others to believe the Crown Prince’s position was unstable, so he crushed the First and Third Princes early.

One must admit, during this time Emperor Kangxi was at his most ruthless—a brutal succession struggle that spared no one, male or female. It remains an indelible blemish that cannot be justified.

Though it only targeted specific circles. Commoners actually lived better afterward and thus showed him mercy. After all, he was a grieving widower.

Heaven help us.

What else could you expect? No one but his wife could handle Emperor Kangxi at this point.

While he excessively praised his wife, other records hint that Empress Jingxi’s true temperament may not have been so gentle.

Han Dynasty empresses wielded considerable power as "lesser sovereigns," unlike later periods when their authority steadily declined. Emperor Shunzhi even instituted a ban on imperial consorts interfering in politics—a rule he couldn’t enforce against his own mother. Laughably, despite the dynasty being newly established, he still called it "ancestral tradition."

Getting sidetracked. After Empress Jingxi returned, she mostly resided in Changchun Garden, returning to the palace only for grand banquets. Emperor Kangxi had no objections—in fact, he rushed through his duties to return to her quickly. The two lived quite comfortably together without interference from others.

Some foolish courtiers thought they could manipulate Empress Jingxi, invoking standards of virtuous queens to urge her to manage the harem and bear heirs.

Control the Empress, and you control the Emperor?

So bold. Even Emperor Kangxi dared not provoke his wife lightly. He knew her temper—he endured it daily. Yet these people had the audacity to lecture her? Clearly tired of living.

His wife, who normally never rose early, suddenly joined him for morning court—bright-eyed and glowing. The old ministers were devastated. Was that really just a routine court session?

More like a death sentence announcement. Those who dared criticize already had secrets waiting to be exposed, and were publicly humiliated before execution right at the Hall of Supreme Harmony gates. Talk about adding insult to injury. “Thanks to your nonsense, we finally had an excuse to act.” So gently lethal.

Deaths were immediate. The couple shared a frightening unity when unleashing chaos. Emperor Kangxi wasn’t like this before—he once maintained some dignity, striving to be a wise ruler. Then he cast aside pretenses and embraced a whole new approach.

Empress Jingxi: “I’m no delicate flower. I’ve got strength and means. You dare tell me what to do?”

Vacant positions were immediately filled, some by women. These replacements weren’t only capable and efficient—they also knew their place. That era saw a surge of capable officials. If someone had time to stir up trouble, clearly they weren’t busy enough or competitive enough.

Fail to perform, and someone else will take your spot. Be useless long enough, and you’ll wait only for someone to remove you. Empress Jingxi rarely interfered openly, yet her influence was everywhere. A born leader.

Those who understand, understand. If you can’t lead a team and insist on doing everything yourself, you’re doomed.

Under Emperor Kangxi, the diminished authority of empresses was restored—she could directly appoint or dismiss officials, even mobilize troops, directly influencing state affairs.

Her governance even mirrored Emperor Kangxi’s style—proof he’d been coaching her behind the scenes. Her own approach was swift and decisive; his was subtle and strategic. She rarely attended court, but when she did, officials trembled in fear.

Looking back now, it’s clear that era was a critical turning point. Missing it could have led to catastrophic consequences. While attention was focused on guarding against the Han Chinese, enemies were quietly rising elsewhere to challenge dominance. Chilling to realize. Fortunately, Emperor Kangxi shifted direction decisively, ensuring the nation not only kept pace but led the Industrial Revolution.

Emperor Qianfeng continued this legacy. Even when imperial rule became obsolete, he stepped down gracefully and adapted to change. His family members continued to excel across various fields. Since Emperor Kangxi’s reign, a previously declining dynasty surged ahead—in ideas, in progress, in every way.

Still, Emperor Kangxi had strong interfering patriarch tendencies. Before the Crown Prince even married his primary consort, he tried to bestow concubines upon him. His wife was dumbfounded—she, the stepmother-in-law, hadn’t even meddled, yet here he was playing the overbearing father-in-law. She blocked it, allowing the Crown Prince to marry and produce a legitimate heir first before ceasing opposition.

Precisely. The First Prince’s primary consort avoided the troubles of favorite concubines and illegitimate sons at the start because he needed a legitimate heir. Just look at the Third and Fourth Princes—concubines bore children before their weddings, causing endless turmoil. The primary consort’s son didn’t survive, leaving only one heir despite multiple women bearing children.

Emperor Kangxi had those interfering tendencies too, though he never saw it that way. For himself and his wife, it was true love. For his sons? Never show favoritism—primary consorts could hold authority but not affection. He mastered the art of imperial balance. The double standard was glaringly obvious.

[I dare not imagine how chaotic the Crown Prince's household would have been if Empress Jingxi hadn't intervened. The Crown Princess’s suffering must have been unbearable, but Emperor Qianfeng clearly couldn’t care less about her pain. Tsk, this old fool—no wonder his wife once considered leaving him. You should reflect on why she wanted to abandon you, Qianfeng.]

[He did reflect—otherwise he’d be facing lifelong bachelorhood with no future ahead. Talk about a trainwreck—getting sick and refusing treatment just to gamble that his wife would come see him before he died. During the years she was away, he buried himself in work, but once he fell ill? Oh well, that hopeless romantic in him couldn’t be contained anymore.]

[No wonder he ended up with a wife. Back then, though he refused to admit her death, he still observed mourning for her. Within one year of her passing, the palace consorts died in "accidents" until only a few remained—the birth mothers of the eldest prince and princesses. Such a large-scale culling of concubines is hard to believe was coincidental.]

[Those women were pitiable—locked in the palace, rotting in solitude, their youth wasted behind palace walls. And even then, they weren’t given a path to survival.]

[Oh sure, the emperor should sacrifice himself daily just to keep those women from feeling slighted, right?]

[Laughable. What kind of emperor has to grovel and prostitute himself to please his consorts? Some Qing-era trophy husband? Afraid of the *Guifei*’s father, the flood-control official; afraid of the wet nurse’s powerful family; afraid of tributes from vassals? Even a woman from a minor Mongol tribe could threaten him with “my tribe will take offense,” and he’d back down.]

[Those women entered the palace for family status and luxury. If they stayed obedient, it would’ve been fine to simply maintain them as ornamental consorts. But instead, they stirred trouble. Qianfeng could be ruthless even toward his own sons—did those women really think they mattered to him? Did they think numbers alone would protect them?]

[The killings during that time came in waves. Qianfeng had little patience even for his beloved Crown Prince—do you really think he had any left for the harem women? He was cutting everyone down without discrimination—gender meant nothing.]

[The bowl-cut cat became infamous. Originally, Qianfeng likely had no intention of touching the harem—he could afford to keep them in luxury as long as they behaved. But then the bowl-cut cat drowned in the lake while he was away. Ugh—couldn’t even spare a cat!]

[He got another cat later, but it wasn’t the same bowl-cut one. Sob.]

[Some say the purge of the harem was triggered by a cat—an incident that became another black mark on Qianfeng’s record for cold-heartedness and cruelty. He didn’t have to go so far, yet he did, mercilessly wiping out even a group of women.]

[Let’s be real—that widower may have seemed normal after losing his wife, but he was anything but. And yet some still couldn’t behave, even targeting a cat. Seriously? Practically begging Qianfeng to execute you.]

[Qianfeng didn’t like cats—except those his wife kept. Even if he didn’t raise them himself, he entrusted them to the Crown Prince, who truly cared for them. Probably because seeing them reminded him too much of his wife and broke him.]

[Losing even his wife’s cat was the final trigger—no wonder he snapped. Those who died weren’t entirely innocent either, thinking they could get away with everything.]

[At the time, the Crown Prince was praised across the court—brilliant, refined, graceful, and noble. Yet this incident enraged him. Even when scapegoats were offered, he didn’t let things drag on overnight. Because the scapegoat’s background could be used to attack the Crown Prince, these people were sheer spite incarnate—unable to tolerate peace, always scheming.]

[Probably because after the mourning period, Qianfeng seemed to return to normal, focusing on governance, making people think he wouldn’t act again.]

[But he never stopped—he was faking it. And you actually believed him? Their deaths weren’t undeserved. Never provoke a grieving widower—his last shred of decency is letting you die in an “accident.”]

[Unbelievable. Qianfeng scolded the Crown Prince for acting rashly and handling the matter so poorly, then immediately launched into his own killing spree. Guess he was mad his son couldn’t even find the real culprits—only managing to deal with a scapegoat.]

[When an emperor investigates, evidence doesn’t matter. If he suspects you, you’re guilty.]

[During the time Jingxi left him, he couldn’t be judged by the standards of a typical ruler. A madman isn’t scary enough—it’s terrifying when that madness comes with absolute power, unshaken reason, and cold calculation. Methodical madness is next-level horror.]

[Ask yourself: didn’t everyone suddenly fall into line?]

[Everyone knew this wasn’t normal. There are no “accidents” or coincidences in the palace.]

[Otherwise, who dares confront the emperor directly about treating the harem women like trash? In Qianfeng’s state, accusing someone of snooping into the inner court and executing them would be easy enough.]

[Before, remonstrating to death might not kill you—but at that time, guaranteed death. Even if you didn’t speak up, still guaranteed death.]

[Qianfeng’s excuse of the empress “recovering” was exposed in Emperor Qianfeng’s private diary. The truth? She left him. HAHAHAHAHA.]

[Truly broken. He held funeral rites but refused to burn paper offerings for her. If anyone’s grief seemed insincere, he’d fly into a rage—classic case of “if I can’t be at peace, none of you will either!”]

[One year of mourning for his wife, three years of national mourning. Ministers hoped for a new selection of consorts, but the harem remained empty. All they could do was bury themselves in work.]

[The Grand Empress Dowager’s death was… suspiciously timely. Wild histories claim Empress Dowager Xiaozhuang died the same way as Empress Dowager Xiaokangzhang—likely from a lingering poison rather than natural causes.]

[After all, Empress Dowager Xiaozhuang hailed from the Khorchin Mongols. It’s plausible they passed down secret poisons through generations. Empress Dowager Xiaokangzhang’s death was also suspiciously timed. She survived Shunzhi’s harem full of Mongol women, yet died right after her son ascended the throne. What, couldn’t stomach success?]

[When Qianfeng first ascended, he was a boy emperor with two dowager empresses. Officially, the Grand Empress Dowager outranked the Empress Dowager, but naturally, the emperor favored his birth mother. So, shortly after Qianfeng’s reign began, Empress Dowager Xiaokangzhang conveniently succumbed to illness.]

[Empress Dowager Xiaozhuang was a practitioner of impartial favoritism. Having witnessed her husband’s partiality, and later her son’s, she could not bear to see her grandson follow the same path.]

[Who would have thought Emperor Kang would go even further—this time, it was genuine love. Previously, he had been a master of impartiality, but once he abandoned that stance, she could no longer accept it. Her grandson was now treading the same path as his father.]

[Empress Dowager Xiaozhuang, a veteran of three dynasties, had navigated palace intrigues where her aunt preceded her as empress and was later overshadowed by the favored Consort Hailanzhu. Yet she still managed to elevate her own son to the throne. The most dangerous rival—the favored consort’s son—died young, and her aunt passed away shortly after becoming empress dowager, leaving no one to suppress her. She emerged victorious in the end; her skills in palace intrigue were honed in a veritable battlefield.]

[So she was unlikely to remain passive either. After all, she was adept at tormenting Consort Donggo, forcing her to attend despite illness. With her already fragile health and such exhaustion, an early death was inevitable—yet they still blamed it on "beauty fated to die young." How hypocritical.]

[She set her sights on Empress Jingxi, but Emperor Kang, more resolute than his father, shielded her. The scheming matriarch likely realized that direct confrontation would not succeed this time—she could no longer manipulate her grandson as easily as she had her son. So she lay in wait, just as she had during her days as Consort Zhuang, patiently awaiting an opportunity. It is likely she was still plotting, knowing that if she did not act soon, the aging emperor might elevate his beloved wife to empress—a stunning, favored empress at that, with none of the dignified virtues expected of the mother of the realm.]

[How preposterous. “Dignified virtues”? If beauty was a requirement for concubines, then it seemed beauty doomed one to be nothing more than a concubine.]

[Empress Jingxi probably found it distasteful too. In another funerary edict Emperor Kang wrote, not a single word praised her using the conventional terms of feminine virtue typical of that feudal era—terms that were considered high praise for women. He likely knew his wife would dislike such hollow compliments.]

[Amusingly, he openly praised her beauty, wit, and kindness, showering her with admiration from every angle—an unconventional form of praise far ahead of its time.]

[Though his wife left before these tactics could be used, Emperor Kang must have discovered the scheming matriarch’s plans—just as she had eliminated Empress Dowager Xiaokangzhang, his birth mother, she now aimed to eliminate Empress Jingxi. Had she become empress, she might have died of mysterious causes shortly afterward~]

[Although she failed because his wife fled, it still provoked Emperor Kang. The cause of Empress Dowager Xiaokangzhang’s death had long been suspected as unnatural—if she truly died of slow poisoning, then this ruthless dowager had not only killed his mother but now sought to kill his wife. Old scores and new grudges merged into one. Otherwise, how could Empress Dowager Xiaozhuang, who supposedly fell ill and missed the imperial wedding, linger for over a year before finally passing?]

[After all, the dowager, despite her age and minor ailments, lived in luxury and meticulous care—she could have lived much longer, especially since she was still determined to reform harem conduct~]

[You are all citing unofficial histories and speculation! Emperor Kang was clearly filial—he tended to Empress Dowager Xiaozhuang tirelessly on her deathbed, mourned deeply during the state funeral, fainted multiple times from grief, grew visibly thinner, and even insisted on observing three years of mourning! Such devotion!]

[You are absolutely right.]

[Of course, it had to be recorded this way. In a society governed by filial piety, the emperor had to perform his devotion publicly. Retaining one empress dowager was merely political theater—to display harmonious mother-son relations and dutiful respect.]

[Serves him right for eventually having a wife. With endless palace conflicts—even under Emperor Kang’s protection—it must have been exhausting. Add an old witch lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike? No wonder she ran. I’d have run too.]

[Empress Jingxi had the means to escape. Rumors say she never aged, retaining her youthful beauty, while even Emperor Kang remained handsome until his death. Some speculate she was no ordinary woman. Were we in her place, fleeing would have been our only option—otherwise survival would have been unlikely.]

[With so many modern novels involving time travel or supernatural advantages, unless one possessed divine powers or cultivation abilities, ordinary people transported back would either crumble under feudal oppression or be assimilated completely.]

[Even after being abandoned, Emperor Kang could only win her back with earnest pleas—no force, only heartfelt persuasion.]

[Before Empress Jingxi entered the palace, Emperor Kang was no different from other emperors. Haunted by his father Emperor Shunzhi’s favoritism and shaped by Empress Dowager Xiaozhuang’s teachings, he practiced equal treatment in the harem, determined to avoid his father’s mistakes. How ironic—yes, no favoritism indeed.]

[But what can you do? True love isn’t favoritism. Some people win the moment they appear.]

[The proof? As long as he didn’t want you to lose, you would keep winning.]

[Even her posthumous title, “Jingxi,” was unique—reflecting exactly how he saw her.]

[He wrote two versions of her eulogy: one formal and conventional, the other buried in their shared mausoleum, overflowing with praise for her and their love.]

[Amusingly, this was after she had left him! He coldly penned the official eulogy while secretly writing another, pretending their bond had never broken. Emperor Qianfeng’s diary later exposed it all—still couldn’t help but chuckle.]

[Though official histories are restrained, the scribes must have struggled to record it without sounding like sensational gossip. Any other emperor would have executed historians for less—Emperor Kang simply let it all slip through.]

[An empress dies, the emperor loses control, marries her spirit tablet, holds a wedding turned funeral—how is this not the wildest of unofficial tales? Pure chaos.]

[Then Empress Jingxi returned. After her wanderings, Emperor Kang abandoned all decorum, fabricating a pretext of convalescence to bring her back. Without hesitation, only urgency—lest she leave again.]

[In those years, the aging Emperor Kang was truly unbalanced. The only thing that could break him? “Your wife doesn’t want you.”]

[Learning she was alive but had rejected him, he furiously staged a funeral he had no desire to attend—yet punished any perceived disrespect. Officials were purged in waves, leaving ministers stunned. Even his wedding to her spirit tablet went unchallenged—fear kept dissent silent.]

[The ministers were numb, but Emperor Kang spared no one, not even his sons. When the Eldest and Third Princes failed to weep convincingly at Empress Jingxi’s bier, he struck the Eldest Prince’s maternal family—suddenly, the tears flowed. Sounds like sensational fiction, but historical accounts corroborate it!]

He didn’t spare the Third Prince either. Although the Third Prince knew how to speak nicely, Emperor Kang hit him with a deadly question—ordering him to serve and show filial piety at the Empress’s knee. At the time, everyone believed the Empress had truly passed away, meaning this was essentially sending a son to the afterlife to fulfill his duty. No one took it as a joke, given just how unhinged Emperor Kang was back then.

Exactly. Two sons were ruined in one fell swoop. The accusation of disrespecting the Empress alone ended their political careers. At the time, only the Crown Prince dared to intervene.

Though the Crown Prince wasn’t Empress Jingxi’s biological son, simply having been raised by her and watched over as he grew allowed him to play the emotional card for years and remain unchallenged. Those years, he was the only son Emperor Kang kept close for special training. The other princes might as well have been outsiders, completely unable to compete with the Crown Prince.

Indeed, the Eldest Prince used to openly oppose the Crown Prince, priding himself on being the eldest son. Later, though, he had no choice but to fall in line—Emperor Kang had become a ruthless pragmatist. Any paternal affection before had been minimal, and later, it disappeared entirely. He suppressed the Eldest Prince early on to prevent future struggles over succession, leaving no room for chaos.

To be fair, aside from laying the groundwork for the Crown Prince, his urgency in training him also seemed like preparation—ensuring that even if the Crown Prince ascended the throne suddenly, he’d still be capable of stabilizing the nation. He really—ugh, I’m tearing up—he loved him so much.

Considering the state of Emperor Kang’s harem in those early days, the number of children who died young alone shows it was a battlefield. Only the older women—those with seniority, deep connections, or established influence—could survive. Newcomers were especially vulnerable, particularly if they entered the palace already holding the rank of pin, which naturally invited jealousy. Yet Empress Jingxi never suffered—she, once known for fairness, clearly showed bias.

Who actually believes nonsense like “a ruler mustn’t show favoritism in the harem” or “coldness is the best protection”? That’s the kind of logic only an inept fool would follow. Why not admit your own failures instead of blaming weakness on fate?

As a ruler, if you truly want to protect someone, you can. In the end, it always comes down to will—not ability. If it didn’t happen, it just meant she wasn’t important enough.

Emperor Kang shared meals and sleeping quarters with Empress Jingxi. Early on, beyond the standard allowances for consorts, he quietly supplemented her provisions to care for her like a delicate flower. He even applied the emperor’s strict protocols for detecting poison, all because she had entered the palace sickly since her recovery from a serious illness. Rather than fading into obscurity due to poor health, she captivated Emperor Kang completely.

She mastered the charm of a delicate beauty perfectly.

People thought he liked frail beauties in general—but no, it was only *her* type.

They both passed away on the same day. Fittingly, neither was left behind. They left together.

…

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