Chapter 125

Chapter 125

Now, the question of where Ming Zhu would end up once again became a thorny issue.

Jun Mulan stepped slightly away from Emperor Shunyuan and spoke a little louder: “Your Majesty shows me great compassion by hesitating over the matter of the Tartar woman, Ming Zhu. I have heard that Tartar women are skilled horsewomen. Since I often ride at the Southern Park, why not assign her to attend me? That way, she would have a legitimate reason to enter the palace.”

Emperor Shunyuan’s expression brightened with approval. “That is excellent.”

Somehow, he felt Jun Mulan was no longer as impetuous as before—instead, she had grown increasingly perceptive, gentle, and considerate.

In contrast, Consort Zhen… The memory of her hysterical outburst and wailing before the Hall of Mental Cultivation at noon left Emperor Shunyuan feeling as though his chest were stuffed with cotton—a vague, indescribable discomfort.

Wanye had never expected Ming Zhu to become an imperial consort in Da Qian anyway; after all, she was merely the daughter of an ordinary herdsman. Now, serving beside the Noble Consort was already a position of considerable honor.

Thus, his expression softened entirely, and he gave a respectful cupped-hand salute in assent.

Only then did Ming Zhu cease trembling, lifting her gaze gratefully toward Jun Mulan.

A minor disturbance thus subsided, and the night banquet regained its lively atmosphere—pleasing everyone present.

Only Shen Chen’s face remained grim, utterly incapable of mustering even the faintest smile.

He had not anticipated that Jun Mulan would intervene at this critical juncture to extricate Shen Zheng from his predicament—effectively pulling the wool over Emperor Shunyuan’s eyes.

But fortunately, the Emperor’s earlier stern reprimand of Shen Zheng suggested he must have recalled Xie Langyang’s blood-written letter.

Once the seed of suspicion had been sown, it required only the right catalyst to bring about Shen Zheng’s and Wen Zuo’s utter ruin.

At the second quarter of the Dog Hour, as the final drop of wine was drained, the clear moon overhead vanished behind a veil of hazy mist, and the air abruptly turned damp and chilly.

Wanye, thoroughly intoxicated, was propped up by his trusted aides and stumbled unsteadily toward the Donghua Gate.

Emperor Shunyuan, too, appeared visibly fatigued. After withdrawing from the banquet, he boarded his palanquin and returned to his resting palace.

As the crowd dispersed from before the hall, Wen Zuo stood alone beneath the corridor, enveloped by the deep night, gazing pensively at the ashen moon above.

Suddenly, a weight settled upon his shoulder, followed by a wave of warmth wrapping around him—a robe, still holding the residual heat of its owner, draped over his shoulders.

Wen Zuo turned his head. Shen Zheng reached out, gently guiding him by the shoulder—half-supporting, half-leading him toward a secluded corner of the corridor.

“Your Highness!” Wen Zuo whispered, voice hushed and hurried, fearful of being seen.

“You are one of the Crown Prince’s Three Masters. What harm is there in my caring for you?” Shen Zheng replied matter-of-factly, taking Wen Zuo’s hand as he spoke. His fingertips brushed the thin layer of sweat on Wen Zuo’s palm and gently squeezed the soft skin. “What is Wanshan thinking about?”

Wen Zuo lowered his voice further. “Shen Chen’s move against us today was certainly no spur-of-the-moment decision. He must still hold another card—one designed to sow suspicion in His Majesty’s mind regarding both you and me.”

Shen Zheng nodded, tightening his grip slightly. “I think so too. This matter likely relates to Xie Langyang. It is also my fault—I was too enraged back then. Though striking at his heart felt satisfying, it left hidden dangers in its wake.”

Wen Zuo shook his head. “Even if you hadn’t exposed it, Xie Langyang already knew. During the court hearing, he said, ‘You know perfectly well that I like men.’ Who knows when he first noticed.”

Shen Zheng: “Fortunately, Her Majesty is clever—and shielded me this time. I suspect she already knows about our relationship, yet she has never raised it with me nor shown any opposition. Perhaps it is because she grew up in the northern deserts, unbound by Central Plains doctrines.”

Wen Zuo, initially still somewhat tense, glanced around to confirm they were alone before relaxing—and allowing Shen Zheng to draw him into an embrace. The two stood side by side, bathed in the quiet of the night.

“Perhaps it is because Her Ladyship herself has suffered deeply in love, making her more compassionate toward us.” Wen Zuo paused, looking up at Shen Zheng. “But now that we understand Shen Chen’s intentions, I have a countermeasure.”

“There is one thing today that greatly pleases me,” Shen Zheng suddenly smiled, reaching out to stroke Wen Zuo’s cheek. He leaned down and pressed a light kiss onto the very spot that had been touched by someone else earlier.

Wen Zuo was momentarily dazed by the kiss. “Hmm?”

Shen Zheng’s hand slowly traced down his back, his tone teasing. “Teacher did not put on airs or urge me to make a sacrifice—telling me to temporarily accept Ming Zhu to avoid arousing Father’s suspicion.”

“…”

Wen Zuo’s heart skipped a beat.

He had to admit that such a thought had indeed crossed his mind. Years of conditioning and ingrained habit had made him instinctively prioritize the ‘greater situation.’

Yet, after spending so much time with Shen Zheng, those deep-rooted notions had subtly shifted.

He had begun confronting his possessive desires—began caring about so-called ownership—and justified them with sound reasoning.

“I do not wish for Your Highness to be with anyone else—even feigning it is absolutely unacceptable. I will exhaust every effort and scheme to ensure I never endure that heart-wrenching pain again.” Wen Zuo confessed honestly.

Even as he spoke, he felt a pang of shame. For a future emperor, this was undoubtedly an excessively harsh demand—yet he had laid bare all the darkness and obsession within his heart before Shen Zheng.

Shen Zheng, however, smiled—pleased, even surprised. “Remember when I confessed my feelings to Teacher? I said, from this day forward, Teacher may belong only to me. This is a matter of utmost seriousness.”

Wen Zuo nodded. He remembered it vividly. Shen Zheng had even solemnly warned him back then to keep away from female confidantes—though he had never had any.

“In Da Qian, it is considered natural and proper for a man to take three wives and four concubines—a universal consensus. But in the future era I come from, one person may marry only one other person. That, too, is the universal consensus.” Shen Zheng explained cheerfully. “If someone is fickle or unfaithful, they are despised. So Teacher need not reproach yourself. Wanting me to belong solely to you is entirely correct—and entirely justified. It also makes me feel profoundly loved by you.”

“Is the future era truly that good?” Wen Zuo found it hard to believe—yet could not conceal his yearning.

When startled, his lips parted slightly, his eyes round, clear, and bright.

Shen Zheng’s heart warmed. Unable to resist, he leaned down to taste Wen Zuo’s lips—lingering, nibbling, until they flushed—before sighing, “If given the chance, I must write Teacher into my thesis, so that the ‘you’ in my writing will forever exist in core academic journals—across millennia—becoming an indispensable trace for future researchers.”

Wen Zuo fell silent for a moment.

He did not fully understand—but it sounded like tender, loving words.

So he tightly embraced Shen Zheng’s waist, lifted his face to meet his kiss, and murmured softly, “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Somewhere along the way, puddles had formed on the palace path.

Jun Mulan had just passed the Hall of Union when her embroidered shoes stepped into a puddle—the chill instantly soaking through the soles.

She had just resolved the matter concerning the Tartar woman Ming Zhu, and upon learning that Consort Zhen was still kneeling before the Hall of Mental Cultivation, she diverted her route to take a look.

A palace maid hurried forward and whispered anxiously, “Your Ladyship, the ground is slippery—let this servant change your shoes!”

Jun Mulan waved her off and quickened her pace instead.

Passing beneath the vermilion gate arch, she suddenly saw a figure clad in pink-purple kneeling on the golden bricks—swaying unsteadily, on the verge of collapse, her body nearly curled into a ball, supported only by her hands braced against the ground.

The doors of the Hall of Mental Cultivation remained tightly shut. Her personal maid had been crying and pleading for hours—but Consort Zhen stubbornly refused to budge.

Jun Mulan had never held much affection for Consort Zhen and knew full well that the incident involving the mute palace maid had been orchestrated by her. Yet she had not come here to gloat.

Judging by the Emperor’s attitude, the marriage alliance with Zhao Yue was likely already decided. Consort Zhen’s agonized kneeling before the hall mirrored her own past suffering.

Only, Shen Zheng’s status as a hostage still held the possibility of return—whereas Zhao Yue’s departure almost certainly meant Consort Zhen would never see her again in this lifetime.

The Emperor had doted on Consort Zhen for over a decade—yet when matters of state arose, he could be this ruthless. The grievances, hatreds, loves, and resentments of women in the inner court were ultimately too insignificant.

By this hour, Consort Zhen’s legs had long since lost all sensation.

She had consumed neither food nor water all day. Her lips were parched and cracked, peeling. Layers of cold sweat had soaked through her robes. The pearl hairpin atop her head could no longer stay fixed—clattering to the ground.

She was sustained by nothing but sheer willpower. Only now did she realize that there was no such thing as lofty status or the Emperor's favor—her only weapon was a pair of knees that knew how to bend and kneel.

She stared fixedly into the Hall of Mental Cultivation, waiting for the Emperor’s response. Even a rebuke would be better than being ignored.

But just then, the candles inside the Hall of Mental Cultivation suddenly went out, and the light behind the windowpanes vanished in an instant.

The Emperor was retiring for the night. He clearly didn't care that Consort Zhen was still kneeling outside.

In that moment, the fire in Consort Zhen’s heart seemed to extinguish as well. The pain and despair she had suppressed all day surged through her chest, no longer containable.

She scrambled to her feet and screamed hysterically toward the Hall of Mental Cultivation: “I, Li Rouzhen, have served Your Majesty for twenty years! I have observed propriety, maintained decorum, and conducted myself with grace! Yet only today have I seen my true place—nothing but a temporary raft for Your Majesty to lean on when weary! I wonder if anyone in this world is worthy of Your Majesty’s true heart? If Imperial Consort Chen were still alive, would you have been willing to send her daughter away for a political marriage?”

A heavy thud echoed from inside the Hall of Mental Cultivation, shaking the doors as if they might tremble apart.

Imperial Consort Chen was the Emperor’s sore spot. In the past, aside from Empress Cao, who had shown kindness to Imperial Consort Chen, no one dared even mention her.

Consort Zhen clearly had nothing left to lose.

But before the Emperor could issue any punishment from the Hall of Mental Cultivation, Consort Zhen suddenly clutched her chest, gasping for breath with her neck craned back. Then her body convulsed violently, and she collapsed stiffly to the ground.

“Mother!”

A heart-wrenching scream pierced the air as a figure in warm yellow robes rushed out from the gate arch and threw herself over Consort Zhen’s body.

Zhao Yue had been locked in her room by her nanny for an entire day. Though still young, she had vaguely picked up on something from her parents’ conversation.

Seizing the moment when her nanny dozed off, she quietly pushed the door open, carefully avoiding the palace servants as she searched everywhere for her mother.

Finally, she heard that hysterical cry. But when she ran over, she saw her mother collapsed on the ground.

“Your Highness! Your Highness, what’s wrong? Don’t scare me!” Consort Zhen’s personal maid panicked, her horn lantern clattering to the ground and extinguishing.

Zhao Yue lay over Consort Zhen, seeing her pained expression and rigid body. Tears streamed down uncontrollably as she patted Consort Zhen’s face with her small hands, sobbing, “Mother, wake up…”

“Move aside!”

Jun Mulan strode forward, pulling Zhao Yue up and setting her aside. She bent down, turned Consort Zhen’s face, and immediately recognized it as a sudden heart seizure.

Only then did the personal maid snap out of her daze. Scrambling to her feet and wiping her tears, she replied, “Yes! Yes! I’ll go right away!”

She had completely forgotten the longstanding enmity between her mistress and Consort Liang, and hurriedly ran outside.

Zhao Yue was utterly terrified, her eyes red from crying as she gazed tearfully at Jun Mulan. “Auntie Jun… will my mother be…”

Jun Mulan kept a cold expression, her hands continuing the rhythmic patting while her other hand reached out, pressing her nail hard into Consort Zhen’s philtrum until the skin bruised.

But her tone toward Zhao Yue softened considerably. “Warm your mother’s hands. On the battlefield, many suffer sudden heart attacks. With this method of treatment, she’ll be fine.”

Zhao Yue nodded vigorously, crawling over to tightly grasp Consort Zhen’s icy hands and tucking them inside her own clothes to warm them.

She couldn’t help shivering, only then realizing how cold her mother’s hands were—like ice. She hadn’t known her mother had a heart condition.

Jun Mulan’s maid also hurriedly warmed Consort Zhen’s other hand against her chest.

After Jun Mulan’s vigorous patting for a quarter of an hour, Consort Zhen finally stirred in her throat, letting out a ragged breath, and color gradually returned to her face.

The imperial physicians arrived in a frantic rush. The chief physician knelt to take her pulse, then wiped cold sweat from his forehead and exclaimed repeatedly, “How perilous! How perilous! Thankfully Consort Liang acted swiftly, or if blood had stagnated in her chest, it would have been fatal! Quick! Quickly carry Her Highness back to her palace! I must administer acupuncture at once!”

Jun Mulan handed Consort Zhen over to the physicians, straightened up, and smoothed her robes.

A young eunuch peeked out from the Hall of Mental Cultivation. Seeing Consort Zhen being carried away, he ducked his head back and silently retreated inside.

Thus, Emperor Shunyuan’s reprimand never came.

Consort Zhen’s sudden heart attack, nearly fatal, sobered Shen He instantly when he received the news. He hurried over with premium aged ginseng to visit.

Consort Zhen lay in bed, her face still pale. Zhao Yue stayed by her side, not leaving an inch. When Shen He entered, Consort Zhen turned her head toward the wall, refusing to look at him.

Shen He stood by the bed, silent for a long while before stammering, “Mother, please take care of yourself first. Torturing yourself like this won’t change anything…”

His voice grew softer until he trailed off completely.

He truly cared for Consort Zhen and Zhao Yue, but his cowardly nature meant he could do nothing before imperial authority—he couldn’t save anyone.

Consort Zhen closed her eyes, tears streaming silently.

“Then… I’ll take my leave now.” Shen He hung his head, voice choked, then instructed Zhao Yue, “Stay with Mother. If anything happens, send for me immediately.”

Zhao Yue gave a slight bow. “Yes.”

She seemed to have grown up in an instant. Though her face still held childishness, the innocent sparkle from yesterday was gone from her eyes.

She knew why her mother and father had argued, and she knew her own fate was like duckweed, soon to drift toward the bitter, cold, and unfamiliar frontier.

She was afraid. She didn’t want to leave home or her mother, no matter what. But she was a princess of Da Qian, and this seemed to be her inevitable destiny.

She didn’t want her mother to break with her father over her. If sacrificing herself alone could spare everyone else hardship, she was willing.

After Shen He left, Zhao Yue turned back and gently stroked Consort Zhen’s shoulder. “Mother, I’m willing to go to the Tatars. Please don’t defy Father anymore. When I’m gone, Brother will stay by your side, keeping you company in my place.”

As she spoke, Zhao Yue’s eyes reddened.

Consort Zhen could no longer hold back. She pulled Zhao Yue into her arms and broke down sobbing. “I only want Zhao Yue! Mother only wants Zhao Yue!”

Outside Donghua Gate.

After confessing their feelings, Shen Zheng suppressed the urge to carry Wen Zuo back to the Eastern Palace and instead accompanied him all the way to the small red-lacquered sedan.

He watched as Wen Zuo lifted the curtain and entered the sedan, gradually disappearing into the night, before leisurely making his way back.

Just as he reached the Eastern Palace gate, Chen Ping stepped forward to report Consort Zhen’s incident. Upon hearing it, Shen Zheng’s brow instantly furrowed.

He remembered the records in *The Veritable Records of Da Qian*: after Zhao Yue’s death, when the news reached the capital, Consort Zhen, heartbroken with grief, hanged herself. Emperor Shengde, furious that she had violated the imperial palace’s dragon energy and feng shui, stripped her of all titles, severed her royal status, buried her in a plain coffin with no ceremony, and forbade anyone from mourning her.

Once dead, all humiliation and pain became as light as a goose feather.

Only by living did anything hold meaning.

In Yikun Palace, candles wept tears, dripping onto the floor and forming a thick layer.

Consort Zhen held Zhao Yue, cried until she had no tears left, then fell silent, staring blankly at the canopy, her mind in turmoil.

She was utterly exhausted, out of ideas, and knew that mentioning Imperial Consort Chen in front of the Hall of Mental Cultivation today would surely earn the Emperor’s disdain.

The Emperor hated most when others were compared to Imperial Consort Chen. In his heart, no one in the world could match her flawlessness.

She truly wanted to know: if Zhao Yue were Imperial Consort Chen’s daughter, would the Emperor show any mercy? Was it her own lack of charm that harmed her child, or was the Emperor’s heartlessness simply impartial?

Lost in these chaotic thoughts, her personal maid, eyes swollen like walnuts, softly announced, “Your Highness, Consort Liang has arrived with the Crown Prince.”

Consort Zhen was stunned for a moment.

The palace maid whispered a reminder, "You fainted outside the Hall of Mental Cultivation. It was Consort Liang who saved you."

A flicker passed through Consort Zhen's eyes—first shock, then narrowing as she assumed a guarded posture.

She struggled to push back the covers, slipped her feet into shoes, and pulled a robe around her shoulders, clutching Zhao Yue's hand, her appearance somewhat disheveled.

Though she had just narrowly escaped death's door, she now donned her armor of resilience and raised her thorns once more.

Jun Mulan and Shen Zheng soon arrived in the courtyard. Shen Zheng still wore the dragon-patterned robe from the evening banquet, while Jun Mulan had changed out of her formal attire into a crisp, martial-style outfit.

Leaning against the doorframe, Consort Zhen lifted her head slightly. Despite her pale lips and haggard appearance, her presence remained undiminished.

Her gaze was filled with suspicion. "Why have you come? Did you save me just to collect a debt? I have nothing left to give. Jun Mulan, you've won. Soon, you'll have it all, while I... I will lose everything!"

Jun Mulan's expression remained unchanged, her gaze coldly fixed on her.

This woman was as suspicious and sharp-tongued as ever, impossible to like.

She couldn't quite explain why she had intervened to save her—perhaps it was that primal maternal empathy that resonated within her.

Consort Zhen shielded Zhao Yue fiercely, like a cornered, furious rabbit, she roared, "Why are you staring at me? Out of pity? My Zhao Yue is a delicate princess, yet she must journey to the distant north for a political marriage, while you, Crown Prince, will inherit the throne and rule the world, and my adopted son roams free and untroubled. Why? Why must only my Zhao Yue suffer?"

Shen Zheng watched her near-hysterical state and sighed softly. "I will not permit Zhao Yue to be sent for the marriage alliance."

"You've grabbed every benefit, while I—"

Still mired in her own resentment, Consort Zhen's outburst abruptly halted mid-sentence.

Her tear-reddened eyes widened in disbelief as she stared at Shen Zheng, her words catching in her throat before she managed to force out, "You... what did you say?"

Shen Zheng repeated firmly, "I said, the Tatars are cunning and brutal, their intentions impure. Zhao Yue must never be sent into that den of wolves."

Consort Zhen stared at him blankly. All the strength she had mustered, all her thorns and armor, crumbled away in an instant.

Shen Zheng added, "In the coming days, do everything you can to delay matters with His Majesty. I will ensure Zhao Yue's safety."

Her legs suddenly gave way, and she collapsed onto the cold threshold.

Covering her face with her hands, her emotions completely overflowed, leaving only humble sobs and pleas.

"Your Highness, please don't deceive me... I beg you, don't deceive me..."

Zhao Yue clenched the hem of her dress tightly, tears she had been holding back finally spilling over. "Brother Crown Prince..."