Meng Xizhao stared blankly at Cui Ye.
Cui Ye waited patiently for a moment, then called, “Erlang?”
Startled, Meng Xizhao came to his senses. His first reaction was to lower his head and count on his fingers: “Consort Gan’s funeral was at the end of the third year of Tianshou. That was thirteen years ago… and you… were only seven years old then?”
Cui Ye lowered his eyes, smiling faintly. “Some things are best done by a child, by chance.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
He gaped at Cui Ye in disbelief. Cui Ye remained calm, though inwardly his heart was slightly uneasy. After all, there’s a fundamental difference between an adult killing and a child killing.
Cui Ye pressed his lips together, feeling his internal organs twist with a dull, familiar ache.
At that moment, Meng Xizhao suddenly moved without warning, sliding in front of Cui Ye in a swift drift. His eyes shone as he grabbed Cui Ye’s arm, shaking it. “How did you kill her? Tell me carefully!”
Cui Ye: “…………”
In reality, it wasn’t as complicated as Meng Xizhao imagined.
By usual logic, Emperor Tianshou had been fairly decent in the past, only changing after meeting his true love, Consort Gan—suddenly obsessed with her, disregarding his empress and eldest son.
But the truth was, even without Consort Gan, Emperor Tianshou had always been like this.
…
Lustful, selfish, capricious, indulgent.
Since Cui Ye could remember, his father was essentially absent. His mother cared for him, taught him literacy, reason, and how to handle flattery or mockery from others. When his mother was busy, his father was either in a brothel drinking with others or at poetry gatherings, listening to sycophants.
Four years into marriage, the emperor had a legitimate son. Free of outside pressure, he and Empress Xie quickly developed a courteous co-existence. The emperor indulged in worldly pleasures but didn’t randomly bring concubines into the palace. Empress Xie, managing the eastern palace, gave him face externally while focusing entirely on raising their child internally.
Without Consort Gan, they could have lived like this their entire lives.
Unfortunately, the “if not” itself was a paradox.
Three months into his reign, Emperor Tianshou could not wait to take a new consort. If not for ancestral rules restraining him, he would have begun the selection immediately after his father’s death.
Over the years, Empress Xie had done everything well except being beloved by him. To appear merciful, the emperor left the selection to her.
Empress Xie had no objection and followed procedure, announcing the search for palace and commoner girls. According to the founding emperor’s edict, high-ranking consorts had to be of common birth. But strictly following this was impractical; after all, Empress Xie herself was a governor’s daughter.
So she compromised, choosing girls without strong family backgrounds. With only one court official present, selections were filtered by family status first, then appearance—since the emperor preferred beautiful girls.
Empress Xie was merely following protocol, unaware she had invited disaster.
During this imperial selection, Grand Tutor Gan secretly submitted the name of his second daughter, who was not yet betrothed. However, she was eliminated in the first round by Empress Xie, so it caused no stir at all.
Yet, two months after the selection ended, Emperor Tianshou went out to enjoy the Qixi Festival. He saw Gan Jingyue standing under a tree with a flower lantern, quietly watching the river. He was immediately struck by her beauty, chasing after her to ask who she was, but by the time he arrived, Gan Jingyue had already left.
From that moment, Emperor Tianshou lost his appetite. The palace administration fell into chaos under his neglect as he obsessed over finding her. When he discovered that the girl was indeed Grand Tutor Gan’s second daughter and unmarried, he immediately issued an imperial edict bringing Gan Jingyue into the palace. She was granted the highest-ranking title among concubines—Guifei, Imperial Noble Consort—outranking a woman previously selected by Empress Xie.
Thus, the meeting between Emperor Tianshou and Consort Gan was entirely coincidental, yet Gan Jingyue’s presence alone was enough to captivate him at first sight. For Grand Tutor Gan, this was an unexpected boon—he had thought all hope was lost, only to see his daughter rise directly to such prominence.
Gan Jingyue herself was difficult to describe. She had been forced into the palace; she was already betrothed and was supposed to marry in half a year. Suddenly becoming a royal concubine, she was naturally furious. Initially, she treated Emperor Tianshou coldly, forcing him to spend all his free time coaxing her.
The ministers, seeing this, feared she would become a disruptive concubine and sought Empress Xie’s help. The Empress was reluctant but eventually went, only to be rebuked and dismissed by the Emperor after just a few words.
Gan Jingyue, surprisingly, felt touched. The Emperor had scolded even the Empress for her sake. To her, this proved he truly loved her. With this realization, she finally began to respond to his advances.
But this was only the beginning of her schemes.
Believing the Emperor’s devotion to be exclusive, she saw all other women in the palace as obstacles to their love. The first to suffer her wrath was the woman who had nearly become Guifei. For a woman of such appearance and family, almost claiming her position, Gan Jingyue showed her fierce displeasure. She had all the woman’s belongings removed, left her with no bedding or fire in the middle of winter, and when she tried to escape, the eunuchs sent by Gan Jingyue forced her back. Three days later, during a rare snowfall in the capital, the woman froze to death in her palace.
When Emperor Tianshou learned of this, he intended to punish Gan Jingyue. But after she tearfully explained her reasons, he was moved—her actions proved she truly cared for him—and he let the matter drop.
Terrifyingly, this was only the first person she forced to die. Within two years of Gan Jingyue’s entry to the palace, over ten old attendants died one after another. This was why everyone had opposed deposing Empress Xie: it wasn’t sentimentality for the Empress, but fear that if Gan Jingyue became Empress, the dynasty wouldn’t last.
Gan Jingyue treated this like leveling up in a game—starting with minor figures and gradually eliminating obstacles until her sights fell on Empress Xie. She likely did not anticipate the ministers’ fierce resistance. No exaggeration: all opposed her becoming Empress, and even Grand Tutor Gan’s voice was drowned out.
Gan Jingyue was unwilling to accept this. Coupled with past grievances and new resentments, she regarded Empress Xie as her most unforgivable enemy.
Television dramas often portray imperial consorts as merely headstrong—perhaps clashing with the Empress verbally. Gan Guifei, however, dared to strike the Empress’s face. The reason? She saw the Empress wearing a beautiful crescent jade pendant and felt Empress Xie was shamelessly imitating her, which made her furious.
She did not hit her that time, as Yu Fulan’s father, the palace commander, arrived and restrained her. Yet for this, he was punished by Emperor Tianshou the next day—beaten twenty times with the military rod, bedridden for half a month. Yu Fulan’s father had been summoned by Cui Ye.
Cui Ye, at six years old, had stood tensely in front of his mother, watching this stunning yet infuriating woman, hating his own powerlessness.
Afterwards, his mother removed the crescent jade pendant she had worn for nearly her entire life, never wearing it again.
Cui Ye did not understand. He could not comprehend why his mother, the Empress, would fear a concubine or yield in every matter. Yet his confusion was never explained. Instead, his mother instructed him to never provoke Gan Guifei again.
But it was never a matter of provocation; even if he did nothing, she would not relent.
…
Emperor Tianshou had always considered deposing Empress Xie. After Gan Guifei bore the sixth prince, his desire grew stronger. Yet the ministers refused, even threatening self-harm. The political unrest and opportunism among some officials made the Emperor fear for his throne, forcing him to relent.
But was he the type to give up so easily?
Because of the scandal surrounding the attempt to depose the Empress, Emperor Tianshou and Empress Xie’s relationship had completely broken down. Every time the Emperor was frustrated by the ministers, he vented his anger on the Empress, demanding that she petition for her own removal. Empress Xie, however, remained steadfast—strangely more resolute than the Emperor—declaring that unless she died, she would remain Empress forever.
The Emperor was enraged beyond reason and thought, Then go die if you dare.
One night, after another fierce quarrel that ended in mutual resentment, Emperor Tianshou left the palace, his eyes radiating danger. Cui Ye, hiding at a distance, sensed something was amiss and followed him. Small in size and familiar with every corner of the palace, Cui Ye could move undetected, even when trying to eavesdrop.
That night, he discovered that Emperor Tianshou intended to poison his mother.
Cui Ye was only seven years old then—not the Crown Prince, and far from mature. Fear gripped him, and he wanted to run back to his mother, but he remembered her constant words: Endure. Yield. Don’t make a scene. His feet froze in place.
Turning back, he gazed at the tall lattice window, and slowly, resolutely, he made a decision.
That night, he pretended he didn’t want to sleep alone. Empress Xie, unable to refuse, allowed him to rest beside her. In the dead of night, Emperor Tianshou suddenly burst in, his expression feral. His rationality seemed completely gone; his eyes were bloodshot. He strode over, grabbed the Empress by her hair, and tried to force a jug of wine into her mouth.
Empress Xie struggled desperately but could not prevail. At that moment, Cui Ye dashed forward, pushing against the Emperor with all his might. When he couldn’t move him, he snatched the jug and drank from it himself.
He only managed two sips before Empress Xie screamed and knocked the jug away. Even in moments of mortal danger, she had never exerted such force—but upon seeing her child drink the deadly liquid, she went into a frenzy. No one, not even Emperor Tianshou, could get close. She clutched Cui Ye and forced him to spit the wine out, hoarsely shouting for the imperial physician. The Emperor froze, his murderous intent toward the Empress temporarily blunted by the intervention of his surrogate child.
That night, Consort Gan passed away. The ministers outwardly mourned, but in private, some almost celebrated. No one noticed that the imperial physician had visited not only Consort Gan’s quarters but also the Empress’s. During Consort Gan’s funeral, neither the Empress nor the Crown Prince appeared.
Cui Ye said quietly, “…I only wanted to save my mother. The wine barely passed my throat before I spat it out. Yet even after the imperial physician came, he declared there was no remedy. My mother begged him to save me. By chance, he was trained in medicine by the Lingshu Sect, skilled in concocting remedies. He could not neutralize the poison, but he could suppress it, ensuring it would only flare up mildly each month. He warned, though, that taking the suppressing medicine meant I would never walk in full health again, and even then, suppression could fail one day.”
Meng Xizhao lowered his head in silence.
Cui Ye smiled faintly and continued, “I didn’t know any of this at the time. I had fainted. When I woke, my mother comforted me, telling me to grow up and seek out renowned physicians myself. She said, ‘The world is vast; there are always those who can help.’”
His voice dropped slightly. “Back then, my mind was in chaos, the near-death fear overwhelming me. I failed to realize that my mother was sending me to find a cure alone because she knew she could not live to watch me grow up.”
Meng Xizhao finally lifted his head. “You already drank the wine… why didn’t he go after the Empress, then?”
Cui Ye looked at him calmly, as if he had repeated this question countless times over the years. “Because I am only his son. He will gradually forget that I nearly died, but he will never forget that Consort Gan died by his hand. My mother is the root of it; as long as she lives, he cannot forgive her.”
Meng Xizhao asked, “Then… the Empress—”
Cui Ye shook his head. “She did not die because of him. Her health had already declined after Gan Jingyue entered the palace. It worsened over time. In the fifth year of Tianshou, General Zhan Shenyu sent good news from Nanzhao. The Empress spent two hours in the imperial garden celebrating, caught a cold, and returned home gravely ill. She died of acute illness—not because of me.”
Meng Xizhao pressed his lips together, feeling a strange sense of relief. Dying of exposure and illness was better than dying at the hands of Emperor Tianshou. Though Cui Ye might have thought the same, Meng Xizhao could not voice it.
The night had delivered too much information. As the listener, Meng Xizhao looked even more despondent than Cui Ye.
Seeing him lost in thought, Cui Ye did not know what else to say. He continued, recounting his relationship with Empress Xie. “Mother did not want me to become Emperor.”
Meng Xizhao looked up, and Cui Ye met his gaze, smiling faintly. “She also did not wish to remain Empress. During her remaining years, I observed her closely. She lived by a single thought: that when I grew up, I would petition for my fief and live happily. If circumstances allowed, she might then petition for her own removal and leave with me. If circumstances were unfavorable, at least one of us would gain freedom.”
Meng Xizhao murmured, “Such painstaking care… this is a mother’s love.”
Cui Ye nodded. “But I know my mother. If she could see the life I live now, she would not worry so.”
He straightened his somewhat stiff body, then reached out, gently taking Meng Xizhao’s hand. “Every day now, I am happy. Freedom is not leaving voluntarily—it is choosing to stay. I wish to stay by your side, to be a pair of rulers and ministers remembered for eternity. From the day I met you, I have been far luckier than my mother ever was. What she lacked, I now possess.”
Meng Xizhao stared at him steadily. After a moment, he suddenly straightened up, then knelt beside Cui Ye. He cupped Cui Ye’s face in his hands and pressed his lips forcefully against his.
Cui Ye’s eyes shot wide open, while Meng Xizhao kept his eyes closed. His expression was not one of lingering affection—it was resolute, almost fierce.
They stayed frozen in that moment for three or four seconds before Meng Xizhao pulled back. The look on his face was less that of having kissed Cui Ye, and more like someone who had just signed a do-or-die military pledge. His hands remained near Cui Ye’s ears.
Cui Ye stared at him in a daze. Meng Xizhao, towering slightly above him, pursed his lips before saying, “This… is called a seal.”
Cui Ye: “……”
Meng Xizhao: “With this, it’s official and legitimate. From now on, you cannot go after anyone else, and I will only have you. You said so many clingy, sticky things before—I remember every single word. If you dare betray me, if you act like that Chen Shimei character, I will leave, and we’ll never meet again in life or death.”
Cui Ye didn’t know who Chen Shimei was, but from the context, he guessed it was a faithless man. Hearing this, he instinctively lifted his hand and gripped Meng Xizhao’s wrist.
Meng Xizhao glanced at where his hand was held, then met Cui Ye’s gaze.
“Don’t leave. If that day ever comes, I’ll be possessed by a lost spirit, and that person will no longer be me. You should deal with him first.”
Meng Xizhao squinted. “Always so slick with words.”
Cui Ye smiled helplessly. “They are plainly my heartfelt words.”
In matters of love talk, Cui Ye was a master. Meng Xizhao, feeling outmatched, inhaled deeply and blinked. “Cui Ye,” he said.
Cui Ye caressed his wrist and hummed, “What is it you want to say, Erlang?”
Meng Xizhao smiled faintly. “I want to say… hurry up and become Emperor.”
Cui Ye paused, lifting his face. The two of them met eyes, each seeing their own reflection in the other. After a long moment, he laughed softly and replied, “All right.”
＊
The next morning, Meng Xizhao emerged from inside. Yu Fulan now made it a point to check in every hour, standing outside to inquire but never going in.
Seeing Meng Xizhao step out, Yu Fulan first regarded him strangely, then respectfully asked, “Governor Meng, how is His Highness?”
He had always been courteous to Meng Xizhao, so Meng barely noticed the oddity in his attitude.
Meng Xizhao shook his head. “The divine physician was right—there’s no healing before the medicinal bath. But compared to yesterday, there is some improvement. Yesterday, he broke out in a cold sweat, feared the wind even in the heat. Today, none of that has happened.”
Yu Fulan frowned. “Seeing His Highness like this, my heart…”
Meng Xizhao patted his shoulder. “Don’t overthink it. It’s just these few days. By the way, has Zhen Anluo caused any more trouble?”
At the mention of Zhen Anluo, Yu Fulan snorted. “Of course he has. Ever since he learned his daughter escaped, he’s gone mad, rambling every day, saying that Rosa Flower will come to save him, and when she does, he’ll torment every one of us in turn.”
Just a few harsh words—Meng Xizhao didn’t concern himself further.
Yu Fulan, who had heard such threats daily, was curious. “Governor Meng, do you think Rosa Flower will really return to save him?”
Meng Xizhao: “…Impossible. By now, she’s likely crossed seven or eight mountains. Who knows where she is?”
Not to mention rescuing him—Meng Xizhao even doubted whether she could collect ransom for Zhen Anluo later. He worried the ordeal might awaken her to seal her heart and abandon all ties, including her father.
Waving his hand, he said, “Let’s not talk about him. Yu Dutou, what of Wang Sili, who was captured with us?”
Yu Fulan paused, initially unable to recall Wang Sili, then a figure slowly surfaced in his mind. “Oh, you mean the man who was crying at the palace gate?”
Usually, only abandoned women would wail at a faithless lover. Seeing a middle-aged man in that state, everyone couldn’t help but stare in disbelief.
Meng Xizhao: “…”
Embarrassed, he admitted, “Yes, it’s him.”
He had promised well initially, but later matters distracted him, and Wang Sili was forgotten. Reportedly, Wang Sili had been stuck in the house for three days, not even having a warm meal. Had it not been for the impending departure of the Daqi army, he would have continued his miserable wait.
Meng Xizhao sent Yu Fulan to fetch him. After a few days of ready meals in the palace, Wang Sili’s once-thin face had regained its weight. Upon seeing Meng Xizhao, he was genuinely delighted.
“Great-nephew, what do you need of me?”
Meng Xizhao: “…You don’t need to call me ‘Great-nephew’ anymore.”
Wang Sili realized and quickly corrected himself. “Sir, what are your orders?”
Meng Xizhao beckoned him closer and asked, “Do you still remember when you said you saw the auspicious sign?”
Wang Sili stammered, “…Sir, I’ve been reflecting these past days… perhaps, maybe, I misjudged it back then.”
Meng Xizhao frowned. “Misjudged? Impossible. That day on the mountain, I saw the sign with my own eyes.”
Wang Sili stared blankly. “Ah?”
Meng Xizhao’s gaze grew stern. “Not just me—Assistant Xie and Registrar Jia saw it too. So, Wang Sili, are you the only one who didn’t?”
Wang Sili: “…”
Seeing Meng Xizhao’s increasingly dangerous stare, Wang Sili shivered and hastily changed his story. “N-No, I saw it too! It’s just that… my eyesight failed me at the moment, so I couldn’t be certain. Hearing you say it now, I realize I truly did see the auspicious sign!”
Meng Xizhao finally nodded in satisfaction.
Wang Sili wiped his sweat and asked, “Sir, may I ask what auspicious sign I actually saw?”
Meng Xizhao cast him a glance and replied slowly, “Naturally, it was a heavenly anomaly. After ascending the mountain, we saw a vast expanse of colorful clouds in the south, all concentrated in a single direction. By chance—or perhaps by fate—that direction pointed toward the Ningren Prefecture. The reason we couldn’t find our way down the mountain wasn’t because you’re bad with directions, Wang Sili, but because the mountain was guarded by divine forces. They didn’t want us to descend, which is why we encountered white mist, pythons, ghostly illusions—everything in our path—to ensure we met the Nanzhao people and completed our mission.”
At this, Meng Xizhao looked at Wang Sili with admiration. “Wang Sili, you may look plain and unremarkable, but no one could have guessed that you were blessed by fate. Otherwise, how could a deity specifically seek you out and then lead me up the mountain? Brilliant… absolutely brilliant.”
Wang Sili: “…………”
You—this is some story you can spin!