Chapter 137 Receiving the Scroll

Chapter 137: Retrieving the Scroll

"Your Majesty, Consort Zhen has not sought an audience for nearly ten days."

Such audacious words—had they come from anyone other than Xu Qingwu, Shen Huai would have had her banished long ago.

His heart was not for others to presume upon.

Shen Huai's expression turned glacial as he snapped icily, "Xu Qingwu, you presume too much."

"*I* presume too much?" Xu Qingwu let out a mirthless laugh, tears streaming down her face as she did.

Crushed by despair, her demeanor bordered on madness, a far cry from the proud noblewoman she once was. Shen Huai frowned deeply at the sight.

"I merely speak the truth!" Xu Qingwu sobbed, her tears flowing uncontrollably. "That Su Jiaojiao is nothing but a deceiver, pandering for status, wealth, and power! Where is the sincerity in that?"

Between sobs, she sneered, "Among the forty-some consorts and concubines in this Inner Palace, how many truly entered the palace out of love for Your Majesty? I don’t understand—why turn a blind eye to those who genuinely care for you, only to favor those with false devotion? Doesn’t it sicken you to think that every time you see them, they are merely submitting to please you?"

Consort Yu, now shrieking hysterically, stood in the courtyard of Tongxin Hall, drawing the attention of menial palace staff both inside and outside Yong'an Palace, their heads bowed low as eavesdropping servants.

Such disrespectful words, once heard, could only invite disaster. If word spread, it would make a mockery of imperial dignity.

"SILENCE!"

Seeing the reactions of the palace servants, Shen Huai's mood had soured completely. He rebuked her coldly, "You forget your place, Xu Qingwu! This is the Inner Palace, not the residence of the Marquis of Dingguo! You will not be permitted such insolence!"

"Since ancient times, consorts and concubines have entered the palace to serve the sovereign and bear heirs, ensuring the dynasty’s prosperity—not for frivolous love affairs." His gaze pierced her like a blade. "Out of past affection, I have indulged you time and again, yet you remain ungrateful, repeatedly overstepping. It is I who spoiled you. Moreover, you are you, and Consort Zhen is Consort Zhen. My affairs with her are none of your concern."

Xu Qingwu laughed bitterly, her eyes brimming with mockery. "Yes, consorts enter the palace to serve the sovereign and bear heirs. But Your Majesty, you must ask yourself—what are your true feelings for Su Jiaojiao?"

"Your partiality for her has long surpassed the bounds of mere imperial favor! *I* was the one unwilling to face it! *I* refused to acknowledge it! But I am a woman, and women understand women best. You lost your heart to her, lavishing her with devotion, yet Su Jiaojiao only feigned devotion in return."

Tears streamed down her face as she stared at the Emperor, her voice breaking. "Your Majesty, if you truly didn’t care, why would you suddenly ignore her? Others may not guess, but I’ve known you for years—I know you are cold on the outside but deeply sentimental at heart."

"If not for that, how could I have foolishly believed you held feelings for me, only to keep them unspoken?"

After Consort Yu’s hysterical outburst, Tongxin Hall fell into a prolonged silence.

Having said all she wanted, Xu Qingwu’s defiance bled away, leaving only despair and self-mockery.

The dignified eldest daughter of the Marquis of Dingguo had now lost all composure and face before so many menial palace staff—how laughable.

She wiped her tears with her sleeve, lifting her chin slightly as she stubbornly bit her lip. "Cousin, in your eyes, I must seem utterly repulsive now, don’t I? Vicious, jealous, possessive—foolishly dreaming of having you all to myself, resenting anyone you favor, wishing them dead. Every bit of me must disgust you, right?"

"But love is exactly like this—it demands exclusivity, it craves eternity. My only mistake was falling for you in a harem teeming with rivals, turning me into a despised, bitter woman. If you truly love Su Jiaojiao, just imagine—how would you feel if she were surrounded by countless men?"

With a sorrowful smile, she tilted her head back and closed her eyes. "I know my words today were unforgivably disrespectful, but I do not regret them."

"Cousin, whether you execute me or have me flayed, I submit to your will."

Shen Huai studied Xu Qingwu for a long moment, his gaze glacial and detached.

Yet in the end, he said nothing more. Turning away, he spoke indifferently, "Consort Yu is unwell and has spoken out of turn. Summon the imperial physician to attend to her thoroughly. The palace servants of Tongxin Hall have failed in their duties—condemn them all to hard labor. Replace them with new attendants to serve Consort Yu properly."

Without another glance, he swept out of Tongxin Hall.

Watching his resolute retreating figure, Xu Qingwu’s tears spilled anew.

In the anteroom of Taiji Hall, Shen Huai stood alone, lost in contemplation as he studied the hanging scroll.

The figure in the painting was the Moonlit Beauty painting he had personally created, depicting Su Jiaojiao with delicate, drowsy features, leaning over a desk with a scroll in hand, her figure graceful and slender.

He still remembered how, when painting this piece, he had struggled to capture her face accurately, using his fingers like a brush to meticulously imprint her likeness in his mind.

Perhaps even then, he had already begun to harbor feelings for Su Jiaojiao—until Nanny Sun revealed his past to her, creating a rift between them.

In recent days, though Shen Huai had never spoken the word "love" to Su Jiaojiao, he knew deep down that he’d probably fallen for her.

That was why he wanted to give her the very best, to share joy with her alone, to show her his undivided favor.

And for the same reason, when he realized that Su Jiaojiao’s emotions toward him were merely pleasant and docile, never truly heartfelt, he grew deeply displeased.

Because it had never occurred to him before that Su Jiaojiao might not love him.

When he first began favoring her, she’d seemed so delicate by nature—timid and prone to tears, making him feel both tender and mischievous. She had seemed to need him so much, unable to bear being apart. When they were together, her beautiful, clear eyes would glisten like pools of spring water.

The way she gazed at him was tender and shy, clearly the look of a girl in love.

So from the very beginning, he had grown accustomed to it, assuming that Su Jiaojiao’s affection was genuine—that this was simply how she expressed love.

But after Shen Huai realized his own feelings, experiencing the bittersweet twists of loving someone, and hearing Xu Qingwu’s words, he suddenly understood: Su Jiaojiao had merely been pretending to care.

As the emperor of the realm, it was he who had fallen first.

Not only had he fallen, but he had nearly lost himself to a two-faced woman. What angered him most was that despite all his efforts for her, she did not love him.

This truth was nothing short of a slap in the face, trampling his dignity as emperor.

He had his pride—he could never allow himself to lavish such care on a woman whose heart did not hold him.

Xu Qingwu’s words echoed relentlessly in his mind, sending Shen Huai’s mood into a deep freeze.

"Cai Shan."

Hearing the summons, Cai Shan hurried in, bowing deeply before cautiously lifting his head. "Your Majesty."

His face cold, Shen Huai stared at the painting on the wall and commanded, "Take this painting down and have it burned. I never wish to see it again."

This painting...

Sweat broke out on Cai Shan’s forehead as he glanced up—sure enough, His Majesty was referring to the portrait of Consort Zhen.

As the emperor’s daily attendant, he knew better than anyone how treasured this painting was. Even when Consort Zhen was absent, it hung in the study where His Majesty would often gaze upon it.

Lately, rumors had spread that Consort Zhen had fallen out of favor, but those closest to the emperor knew the truth: His Majesty was angry with her, yet still held her in his heart.

But now, after meeting with Consort Yu, the emperor wanted the painting burned—this was a dangerous task.

If he truly burned it, and His Majesty later regretted it, he would surely face blame for failing in his duty.

Yet if he did not burn it now, it would be open defiance of the emperor’s order.

With a groan, Cai Shan dropped to his knees. "Your Majesty, this puts your servant in a tough spot."

Shen Huai gave him a cold look, his voice indifferent. "If those serving before the throne can’t even have a painting burned properly, they don’t deserve their jobs."

Cai Shan hesitated before venturing carefully, "Forgive me for speaking out of turn. But once burned, a painting can’t be brought back. If it were gold, jade, or porcelain, perhaps it could be mended—but a painting turns to ash, blown away by the wind, leaving nothing behind."

"Your Majesty, this painting was meticulously crafted by your own hands. Are you truly certain about this?"

Shen Huai stared fixedly at Cai Shan, then turned his gaze back to the painting on the wall. Recalling Cai Shan's words about its irreversibility—how it would turn to ashes—an inexplicable irritation surged within him.

The mere thought of Su Jiaojiao had him wavering over whether to burn a mere painting.

He was angry with Su Jiaojiao, yet—

He couldn't bring himself to part with it.

Frustrated by his own indecisiveness, Shen Huai, in a rare outburst of temper—whether directed at Cai Shan or himself—barked, "Go on, take this painting down and toss it somewhere out of my sight! I don’t want to lay eyes on it again!"

"At once, Your Majesty." Cai Shan scrambled up from the floor to summon attendants for the task, his relief palpable.

Once the painting had been removed, Shen Huai sat stiffly in the wooden chair behind his desk, glaring at Cai Shan before asking tersely, "When was the last time Consort Zhen requested an audience with me, Your Majesty? How many days has it been?"

Cai Shan hesitated briefly before bowing deeply. "Reporting to Your Majesty, Consort Zhen came once the day after the autumn hunt concluded. You declined to see her then. It has been roughly ten days... since she last sought an audience..."

The Emperor's face grew thunderous with each word, and Cai Shan's voice grew quieter, his back drenched in cold sweat.

The atmosphere froze over, the vast side hall of Taiji Palace so silent you could hear a pin drop.

A chill autumn wind crept in, turning the sweat on Cai Shan’s back into a layer of icy dampness. He shuddered but dared not move an inch, fearing to provoke His Majesty’s displeasure.

After a long silence, Shen Huai finally drew a deep breath, pressing his fingers to his temples before speaking coldly, "You may go. When Consort Zhen comes again, report to me first immediately."