Chapter 110: Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Chapter 110: Caught Between Two Extremes

The path through the palace was long, and by the time Jiang Wanrou reached the Qian Yuan Hall, night had fallen completely. The eunuchs and palace maids had been dismissed by Lu Feng, leaving the surroundings so silent that only the flickering of candle flames could be heard. As Jiang Wanrou stepped inside, in the shifting light, she saw Lu Feng seated alone on the Dragon Throne, his face obscured in darkness, his expression unreadable.

Jiang Wanrou paused. Lu Feng was now dressed in the imperial dragon robes, the black brocade embroidered with golden dragons, their claws outstretched and eyes glaring. She slowed her steps, hesitating: *Should I kneel and pay respects?*

By protocol, kneeling before the Emperor was proper. When the late emperor had summoned her in the past, she had knelt and kowtowed until her knees were reddened by the palace’s stone floors, never daring to show the slightest resentment. But now… the one seated above was Lu Feng. The idea of kneeling to him chafed.

After a moment’s deliberation, she placed her hands at her waist, about to perform a woman's bow instead. Before her knees could bend, Lu Feng’s hoarse voice came from above.

“Come here.”

Jiang Wanrou straightened and ascended the jade steps gracefully, stopping before him. She rested a hand on his shoulder and said, “Husband… Your Majesty, summoning your consort so late at night—ah!”

A startled cry escaped her as her arm was abruptly pulled, sending her stumbling into Lu Feng’s embrace.

“What's gotten into you?”

Her beautiful eyes widened in shock. She pushed against his shoulders, forgetting all formalities in her urgency. “Lu Feng, let go of me at once! This is improper!”

This was the Dragon Throne! Anyone else who dared touch it would lose their head! Though she was merely sitting on his lap, such a breach of protocol terrified Jiang Wanrou, who had always been cautious since childhood.

“What is there to fear?”

Lu Feng’s voice was calm. “What rule is greater than mine?”

With the late emperor’s passing, he was now the highest authority in Great Qi.

Jiang Wanrou fell silent. His arms were like iron, and she had long learned the futility of resisting his strength. Smoothing her skirts, she cautiously settled into his arms while ensuring her robes did not brush against the throne.

For a woman who had once not dared to even look directly at the Son of Heaven’s face, this violation of protocol terrified her.

Unaware of her inner turmoil, Lu Feng was pleased by her unconscious movement toward him. A low chuckle escaped him as he called her by her pet name, “Rou’er.”

Jiang Wanrou stilled. In the flickering light, she lifted her gaze to him and reached up to touch his cheek.

His face had grown gaunt, the exhaustion of recent days having stripped away even the last traces of softness. His face was all hard edges, his brows stern, an intimidating sight.

Suddenly, she said, “If you don’t feel like smiling, don’t force it.”

Lu Feng had once spoken these words to her. Now, it was her turn to say them. He had grown thinner, his brow furrowed with tension. She hadn’t seen him like this in a long time. As Commander Lu or even as the Prince of Qi, he had always seemed at ease. Now, as Emperor, why did he seem less free than before?

At her words, he went very still. He exhaled softly and buried his face in the crook of her pale neck.

He was weary.

These past few days—the grief of the late emperor’s passing, the backlog of state affairs awaiting his judgment, the delicate balancing of court factions… The Son of Heaven was a position he had once coveted. Yet now that he sat upon the throne, surrounded by ministers with their own agendas, he suddenly understood the isolation his father must have felt.

An emperor was fated to be alone.

After reviewing memorials late into the night, he had summoned her for no other reason than to hold her. Her familiar scent calmed his strained nerves.

Jiang Wanrou gently stroked his chest. Though Lu Feng's larger form all but swallowed hers, in this moment, it was unclear who relied on whom more.

After a long moment, she whispered, “We promised—as husband and wife, we share everything. You mustn’t hide things from me.”

With the late emperor’s passing and Lu Feng’s sudden ascension, even Jiang Wanrou—though she now lived in the Phoenix Harmony Palace—often forgot she was the “Empress.”

The burden of the throne weighed heavily, its responsibilities even heavier. She understood his burdens, but Lu Feng was not one to tire from mere paperwork. Something had happened—something even the ruler of a nation struggled with.

Even the Emperor was powerless, and Jiang Wanrou didn’t think she could solve it either. She simply couldn’t bear to see Lu Feng in such a gloomy state. Married for years, she had witnessed him emerge from the shadow of a broken leg, from despondency to strategic brilliance, to the awe-inspiring dignity when he was granted his princely title... He shouldn’t be like this.

Lu Feng said, “It’s nothing. Don’t overthink it.”

Jiang Wanrou didn’t believe him. Her dark, liquid eyes stared at him stubbornly. “You’re going back on your word!”

Lu Feng sighed helplessly, rubbing his temples. “The harem must not interfere in state affairs.”

Jiang Wanrou wrapped her arms around his neck, nagging him playfully. “What ‘state affairs’? We’re just a married couple having a private chat at night. How is that interfering?”

“...”

Lu Feng, worn down by her persistence, finally relented and casually handed her an unopened memorial.

Had he already known what was inside without opening it?

Suspicious, Jiang Wanrou took it. In the past, she had often tidied Lu Feng’s desk, even sneaking glances at his military reports back in Blackgold City. She had no reverence for such things, unlike the imperial throne. Boldly, she began reading under the guttering candlelight, taking a long time to grasp its meaning.

Beyond the opening pleasantries and the flattery at the end, the verbose memorial conveyed only one message: punish the Duke of Lu’s household severely.

The Dowager, confined to the Buddhist hall, had stabbed the late Emperor to death. With so many witnesses, the matter couldn’t be brushed aside. Chaos had ensued—the Emperor was stabbed, and the Dowager, seemingly stunned, collapsed in a faint. She remained imprisoned in the dungeons to this day.

Assassinating the Emperor was a crime punishable by the extermination of one’s clan. But the Dowager was Lu Feng’s adoptive mother, and the Duke of Lu had campaigned alongside the founding Emperor, a true pillar of the state. The ancestral hall still housed the ironclad immunity decree bestowed by the late Emperor.

Thus, the matter became a dilemma. Ordinary crimes could be pardoned, but this was regicide! The late Emperor’s body was barely cold—how could his death go unavenged?

Yet the Lu family had also raised Lu Feng. Could the Emperor order the execution of his own adoptive mother and former brothers? He had shown no mercy to the English princes, but he had always cared for the two sons of the Duke of Lu, whether as Commander Lu or the Prince of Qi.

New emperors bring new ministers. With the new Emperor’s ascension, some were eager to curry favor, submitting memorials pleading for leniency for the Duke of Lu’s household. While the death penalty might be waived, punishment was unavoidable—the culprit must die, the dukedom revoked, and the family reduced to common status, sparing their lives.

The memorials before Lu Feng fell into two categories: one fiercely demanding the extermination of the Lu clan to avenge the late Emperor, and the other—the majority—advocating for the execution of the Dowager alone, stripping the family of their title, erasing the Lu name from the capital’s nobility.

Neither option satisfied Lu Feng. The idea of exterminating the Lu clan was absurd, but even executing just the Dowager was a decision he couldn’t bring himself to make.

The Dowager had never treated him well—theirs was a nominal relationship only. Yet the Duke of Lu had regarded him as a true son, leaving a final wish for him to take care of her.

As for revoking the title, Lu Feng knew all too well the character of the second and third sons. Without rank or stipend, how would the family survive? The Duke of Lu had campaigned half his life, losing a son in the process. His descendants shouldn’t meet such a fate.

Lu Feng had always been decisive, but now he was torn. It wasn’t the courtiers’ pressure—he simply didn’t know how to settle this tangled, age-old mess.

On his deathbed, the late Emperor had remained silent about the assassination, murmuring only, “Su’e…”

Zhao Su’e—the Dowager’s name. In her youth, she hadn’t been a sheltered maiden. While men fought on the battlefield, women like her transported supplies and relayed messages, their courage matching any man’s. Later, as prosperity came and they entered the capital with the Emperor, they became noble ladies, their past glories seldom mentioned.

Zhao Su’e became Lady Zhao, then Lady Lu after marriage, and finally the Dowager when her sons grew up and took wives. When the Emperor uttered “Su’e,” Lu Feng froze for a moment before realizing whom he meant.

As an old friend's blade pierced his chest, had the Emperor felt shock? Rage? Guilt? Or perhaps relief? Lu Feng didn’t know. He didn’t even know what the Emperor had meant to say after “Su’e…” Those unfinished words were buried with him, a secret forever.

On one side was the debt for his life, on the other the debt for his upbringing. Both the Duke of Lu and the late Emperor had treated Lu Feng well. With the imperial bier yet to enter the mausoleum, the entire court awaited his decision. He cared not for reputation—but he truly didn’t know what to do.

The succession, once thought impossibly difficult, had unfolded smoothly with the late Emperor’s decree, without a ripple. Yet the first challenge after his ascension had left Lu Feng utterly stumped, his head splitting with pain.

...

Jiang Wanrou lowered her eyes. This was a muddled account with no clear right or wrong. Years ago, the Lu family’s child had died instead of Lu Feng—it was only natural for the Dowager to hate him. But after all these years, especially after the old Duke’s passing, the family’s prestige had rested solely on Lu Feng’s shoulders. Her other two sons indulged in poetry and painting under the Duke’s protection, while the silver they spent came from Lu Feng’s blood and steel on the battlefield.

Though Jiang Wanrou herself dipped into household funds, she couldn’t help but feel resentful on his behalf.

After a moment's thought, she said, "Even an honest judge finds it hard to settle a family quarrel. Why not leave this matter to the Dali Temple..."

"No."

Lu Feng cut her off, his voice low and firm. "I have my own decision."

The matter had come suddenly, tangled with other pressing affairs, leaving him momentarily bewildered and worn out. Lu Feng thought: Give him a few more days to ponder, and he would surely find a solution that satisfied both sides.

He was merely exhausted, but he had never considered running away.

Jiang Wanrou had countless questions in her heart—had the late emperor really left a will? Why had the crown prince been enthroned so quickly? And what of Lu Feng’s promise to help her aunt leave the Marquis of Ning'an's household? She wasn’t sure if he’d keep it.

But seeing the man’s furrowed brow, she said nothing. Instead, she pressed her cheek against his chest, snuggling closer.

He loved how she clung to him like this. Jiang Wanrou didn’t know how to help, but she wanted to make him happy. The great hall stood empty and hushed, the candles nearly burnt out, their flickering flames lengthening their entwined shadows.

***

Since visiting the Qian Yuan Palace, Jiang Wanrou had also grown troubled, her thoughts lingering on the matter even during meals and sleep. As it turned out, she had been right—even an honest judge couldn’t settle this family quarrel. A man as decisive as Lu Feng was now caught in the middle, torn between impossible choices.

With the late emperor’s seventh-day mourning rites approaching, Jiang Wanrou kept a close watch on the court’s movements. Petitions piled up like snowdrifts. Regardless of the Duke of Lu’s household, the culprit who had slain the late emperor must be executed to appease his spirit in the afterlife.

Yet Lu Feng remained silent. Jiang Wanrou knew the conflict between gratitude for his birth and upbringing had stretched him to his limits. He was in agony.

...

One night, Jiang Wanrou and Lu Feng lay in each other’s arms. These past days had been busy, and with the mourning period still in effect, neither had the mind for intimacy. Lu Feng had drunk some wine that evening and, unusually, fell asleep before Jiang Wanrou.

Once his breathing steadied into soft snores, she carefully lifted his heavy hand from her waist, slipped out from under the brocade quilt, and tiptoed out of the room.

Outside, Jintao was already waiting. Jiang Wanrou draped a black cloak over her shoulders and asked, "Is everything prepared?"

Jintao nodded. "I’ve checked—all are of the finest quality."

Jiang Wanrou lowered her lashes, her dark lashes casting faint shadows over her snow-white cheeks. Under the moonlight, her face was radiantly beautiful, yet the words she spoke were cold as frost.

Softly, she said, "Let’s go. We mustn’t miss the right moment."