Regarding the tension between his family and the Gan family… Meng Xizhao felt little concern.
Aside from the incident in which Grand Tutor Gan intervened, forcing him to be exiled to Qinzhou, he had seldom seen any direct conflict between the families.
After much thought, Meng Xizhao decided to pursue both avenues—ask around and see who knows more.
He first went to see Madam Meng, who had already risen for the day and was arranging her hair before the mirror. While the Meng household maintained the custom of formal greetings, it wasn’t rigidly scheduled. A daughter-in-law didn’t have to prostrate herself before dawn; a simple “good morning” before breakfast sufficed.
A maid styled Madam Meng’s hair while the County Lady stood nearby, selecting a suitable hairpin and chatting quietly. Both women laughed softly at amusing points in their conversation.
Seeing Meng Xizhao arrive, the County Lady merely smiled in greeting, while Madam Meng raised an eyebrow teasingly: “Ning daughter, look who’s here. Has red rain fallen from the sky? Why else would I see Second Master paying respects so early?”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
The County Lady smiled without a word. Meng Xizhao, displeased, strode over: “Mother, I came to see you, and you mock me.”
Madam Meng gave an ambiguous smile, returning her gaze to the bronze mirror, scrutinizing her hairstyle, and asked: “Speak, how much silver do you need this time?”
Meng Xizhao: “…I’m not here for silver, Mother. I have plenty now. His Majesty previously granted me farmland and estates, then gave me a great amount of gold and silver, and yesterday even rewarded me with spoils from Nanzhao. Just the jade bed I chose alone is priceless!”
Madam Meng let out a soft chuckle: “Your grandfather’s family had three warehouses of such items. What use is it? All are imperial gifts; they cannot be sold, cannot be used freely, and must be constantly inspected and maintained. If any damage occurs, you’d worry endlessly someone would report it to the emperor. Are you choosing gifts, or choosing ancestors?”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
He pouted: “These are spoils of war. I earned them too, and I intend to use them. I already placed them on my bed yesterday.”
Madam Meng: “…………”
She turned, ready to scold, but the County Lady quickly intervened: “Mother, the items from Nanzhao—let him use them. They aren’t from our Daqi imperial treasury. Even the emperor himself wouldn’t mind.”
Considering her daughter-in-law, Madam Meng didn’t argue. Instead, she asked: “So, what brings you here today?”
Meng Xizhao quickly smiled in appeasement: “Mother, there’s something I want to ask you. Do you still remember Grand Matriarch Gan?”
At the mention, Madam Meng’s face darkened immediately. She held an agate earring, which snapped sharply onto the table, splitting.
“That old shrew!”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
County Lady: “…………”
Madam Meng first cursed, then looked at Meng Xizhao suspiciously: “Why bring up that old shrew? She’s been dead for six years and nine months.”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
Mother, you remember far too well!
Wiping the sweat from his brow, Meng Xizhao hurriedly explained: “I’ll be attending court more regularly soon, and I’ll be the Yingtian Prefecture Magistrate. The family we mustn’t offend most in Yingtian Mansion is the Gan family. I want to understand their past and background.”
Madam Meng fixed her gaze on him and, instead of answering, countered with a question: “The past and their secrets? If you want to know the past and the family’s background, why ask Grand Tutor Gan’s mother? To inquire into her family, you should be asking about her ancestors or her father. That old woman, who only harmed virtue and is now suffering in the eighteenth level of hell, what useful details could she possibly offer you? Are you asking about her family’s background, or are you interested in some immoral act she handled?”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
His expression stiffened as he looked at Madam Meng, who returned his gaze unflinchingly, clearly unwilling to let him off easily.
Mother had grown clever.
Or perhaps she had always been this clever, only now she had started to keep account.
After a pause, Meng Xizhao could only speak honestly: “I heard that when Grand Matriarch Gan was alive, all the women of the Gan household were under her control, and even Grand Tutor Gan obeyed her completely. So I thought, when Consort Gan was betrothed, her engagement broken, and later entered the palace, it must have had something to do with her.”
Madam Meng’s expression shifted, even the County Lady nearby looked on in surprise. As the matriarch of the household, she was like this—aware of both the large and small matters of Yingtian Mansion, knowing as much as the men.
Meng Xizhao braced himself, expecting a scolding. After all, the name “Consort Gan” was taboo to everyone else; only Grand Tutor Gan could mention it freely. Anyone else would risk death for speaking it.
He lowered his head, waiting for his mother’s roaring rebuke. To his surprise, Madam Meng simply gave him a complex look, pressed her lips together, and turned back, roughly placing the broken earring back into her jewelry box.
She said: “I don’t know. Back when I was a young lady at the Duke’s mansion, we had no dealings with the Gan family. Their daughters were peculiar—overly virtuous and maternal even before marriage, acting above the rank of a young lady. If it weren’t for that later incident, I wouldn’t have had any connection with them. After that, no one dared mention them in my presence; just bringing them up made me nauseous.”
Having gained nothing from his mother, Meng Xizhao scratched his head and left. The County Lady glanced at the expressionless Madam Meng, then at Meng Xizhao’s retreating figure.
She said: “Mother, I’ll go back first. I’ll come again at mealtime.”
Madam Meng cast a look at her, letting her gaze linger a moment longer on the young woman’s face, then nodded: “Go.”
The County Lady lifted her skirts and ran off. Though already married, having spent so much time with the eldest son and Jiao Jiao, no one in the household constrained her. Even when trying to appear mature, her youthful disposition often showed.
Madam Meng smiled lightly, then turned her head back to the mirror, sighing softly.
Children are debts…
Outside, Meng Xizhao was contemplating whether to go out for breakfast or eat in the mansion first. Suddenly, the County Lady came rushing over, slightly out of breath: “Second Master!”
“Second Master, come with me to the East Courtyard.”
Meng Xizhao, puzzled, turned his head but followed her nonetheless.
Meng Xizhao’s elder brother had already left early to report at the Censorate. Only the County Lady remained in the courtyard. Without preamble, she spoke directly: “Second Master, I know about Consort Gan.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
He was stunned: “Sister-in-law, how do you know?”
The County Lady smiled faintly: “The Gan family’s third branch had a concubine daughter at the Prince’s mansion. She was troublesome, and my mother despised her, often gossiping about her. Over time, she would inevitably mention Consort Gan a few times.”
Meng Xizhao was at a loss for words.
How prolific is this Gan family? Their daughters seem to appear everywhere!
Silently closing his dropped jaw, Meng Xizhao hurriedly asked: “Then, Sister-in-law, what do you know?”
The County Lady paused, uncertain where to begin: “Second Master, what exactly do you want to know? Are you suspecting that someone orchestrated Consort Gan’s meeting with His Majesty? According to my mother, it wasn’t so. Before entering the palace, the six formal rites had been half completed. After catching the emperor’s attention, she had no choice but to enter the palace. At home, she caused a fuss, and the man she was engaged to initially accepted her parents’ arrangement but later refused. It was smoothed over by the Gan family. The month Consort Gan entered the palace, that family relocated to Mingzhou Prefecture and became naval commanders. His Majesty, realizing he had no just claim, turned a blind eye, allowing their family to dominate locally.”
Sighing, the County Lady continued: “Unfortunately, that family was reckless. They accepted bribes from pirates from the Eastern Isles. After a pirate massacre of an entire fishing village, they tried to cover it up. When the matter reached the throne, the family was destroyed. The men were executed; the women forced into government brothels. Originally, the punishment need not have been so harsh, but His Majesty had a grudge against them, hence the severe measures.”
Meng Xizhao: “…The Princess of the Commandery even knows this?”
He felt deeply ashamed of his bias. He had thought royal women spent their days in the harem idly eating melon seeds; who knew they were so well-informed about the previous dynasty’s affairs?
The County Lady paused, then smiled: “Oh, no, this wasn’t gossip from my mother. It was told by my father. The emperor was quite close to my father. In the second year of the Tianshou era, the emperor often invited him into the palace to play chess or go on excursions. Most outings were accompanied by my father, though eventually, the emperor gradually stopped seeking him.”
Meng Xizhao absorbed this, nodding slowly. After a moment, he asked: “Sister-in-law, what was that family’s surname?”
The County Lady blinked: “Ping. Their ancestors were a scholarly family, producing two chancellors. The branch involved in Consort Gan’s betrothal took a military route. Had it not been for that incident, perhaps the current Cavalry General would have been someone else.”
Meng Xizhao looked at her with admiration: “Sister-in-law, you’re far sharper than my eldest brother.”
The County Lady smiled faintly: “My eldest brother studied the sages, excels in scholarship, but in dealing with people, he was indeed naive. No matter. You needn’t worry about him. After running into a few obstacles, he’s learned caution. I’ll also assist, teaching him how to discreetly gather information on other families.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Only now did he truly understand the weight behind the phrase “marry a virtuous wife.”
Still… were this husband-and-wife pair really not considering changing professions? Why insist on heading down the path of intelligence masterminds?
The County Princess had told him everything she knew. Having gotten what he wanted, Meng Xizhao rose happily, thanked her, and took his leave. From beginning to end, she never once asked what he intended to do with the information.
Lowering her gaze, she did not immediately go out for breakfast. Instead, she took a sip of tea, her thoughts drifting back to her years in the Prince’s residence.
Her mother had seemed glamorous on the surface, but in truth had lived a bitter life. Married into the Commandery Prince’s household for five years, she had borne three children—two sons and a daughter—none of whom survived. Later she gave birth to her, and though she was finally raised to adulthood, her mother’s health was damaged, leaving her unable to conceive again.
Her father did not despise her mother for this. He even allowed her to remain the principal consort. Yet the number of concubines in the residence grew with each passing season. Even so, outsiders still praised her father as a man of deep affection.
The Prince’s residence had no legitimate son, no heir apparent—only her, the sole legitimate daughter. Thus, throughout her upbringing, she endured the subtle gazes of others: pitying her for lacking brothers to support her, envying her wealth, saying whoever married her would gain without loss. If she was honest with herself, a life of fine clothes and rich food was already something countless people could only dream of. Her mother, aware of the resentment in her heart, would always console her with the same words: How can anything in this world be perfect?
But she could never understand—why not? Why must marriage mean compromise? Why, upon gaining wealth and status, must she give up a harmonious life and step into a household full of petty strife?
When she was only eight or nine, families had already begun probing for a betrothal. Back then, her mother declined on her behalf. Later, when she grew older, she declined them herself.
Her mother was patient, her father fickle, but fortunately they were both loving parents who doted on their only legitimate daughter. Thus, when the marriage with the Meng family was proposed, she was the one who first agreed, and only then did her parents accept the betrothal letter.
At the time, she had not thought too deeply about it—merely choosing the best among imperfect options. She had heard that the Meng parents were harmonious, that there were no concubines in the household, and that the family upheld proper values. After marriage, there would be no need to worry about internal strife. But in truth, the Meng family had plenty of flaws—far from a perfect match.
Her mother-in-law was formidable. Her father-in-law had a habit of offending others. Her husband had many unsavory friends and was said to spend money recklessly. Her husband’s younger brother was the most notorious of wastrels, embarrassing the family even as far away as Kievan Rus. And the only younger sister-in-law was spoiled to the extreme, with no genuine friendships among the noble ladies of the capital.
But there were few people in the household. Fewer people meant fewer troubles. Having been taught by her mother for over a decade, she believed that her future days would not be bad.
Back then, how could she have imagined what things would become today?
Her mother-in-law was still formidable, but she loved her children and treated her daughter-in-law like her own. Her father-in-law still offended people, yet with both sons now in official posts, he had grown more restrained, quietly paving the way for them instead of speaking out unnecessarily. Her husband, who cherished both his younger brother and her, had learned after marriage to become a pillar of support, devoting himself wholeheartedly to building his career at court. Her brother-in-law had changed the most drastically—becoming the most capable person in the family, with a broad and promising path now unfolding before him. Even her once-spoiled sister-in-law had matured after being shaken by the family’s recent trials. Though she still lacked close friends among noblewomen, she no longer needed them.
The County Princess was clear-eyed about herself. A family like this, a life like this—such fortune could not be earned even in several lifetimes. Therefore, she had to protect it.
She wanted to continue living a life of ease and contentment, and she wanted the same for her children. For that to happen, the family could not decline, and the unity of their hearts could not fracture. The harmony they currently enjoyed was like a frozen river: the ice only a thin layer. One wrong step, and with a crack, they would plunge into the freezing depths, never to climb out again.
Second Brother rose swiftly, but no one could confidently say that he advanced steadily. Whether it was herself or her mother-in-law, both were likely worried—that he might climb too fast, only to be tripped and fall. Perhaps he himself shared this concern, which was why he often spoke startling words and did things others felt he should not.
Treading on thin ice…
Second Brother’s official career, the stability of the Meng family, and the perfect life she desired—all were tied to him. She knew she could not help with court affairs, but within and beyond the palace, she had more connections than most.
It could not be left to him alone. This concerned the entire family. As the elder sister-in-law, how could she sit idly by?
She gazed thoughtfully at her teacup.
In the future, she should visit her maiden family more often. Ah, and the Grand Princess of Chu—she had prior ties with Second Brother. Now widowed for nearly a year, and since members of the imperial family did not need to observe extended mourning, surely one year was enough. The Grand Princess herself would not wish to mourn for three full years for that chanyu.
Then she should be able to receive guests by now, shouldn’t she?
＊
After leaving the east courtyard, Meng Xizhao went straight out. At a restaurant, he ordered seven or eight breakfast dishes and ate alone with great relish.
Although he had already learned some things from the County Princess, he still sent someone to find Heir Apparent Fu.
It had been over a year since he last saw him. When Heir Apparent Fu met him, his face was full of grievance, accusing him of forgetting old friends now that he had risen in status.
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
What kind of friend are you to me? You actually took those words seriously?
Of course, such thoughts could only remain in his mind. Outwardly, he hurried to placate him, saying he truly had been busy—even his own second cousin he had not seen for a long time, much less the heir apparent.
Considering Meng Xizhao’s repeated near-death experiences abroad and safe returns, Heir Apparent Fu’s expression softened somewhat, and he finally dropped the matter.
Fu Jicai had been foolish before, and he had not grown much wiser. After a few sweet words from Meng Xizhao, he quickly became as friendly as ever. Meng Xizhao casually probed for information, and Fu Jicai, seeing nothing amiss, answered freely. What he said was largely the same as what the County Princess had told—only with a bit more detail.
The Gan family had never thought highly of the Ping family. They believed the Pings had disgraced their ancestors—choosing to join the military instead of pursuing scholarly paths. Even though they had produced a general, how could a military official ever compare to a civil one?
Old Madam Gan had opposed the marriage, but Gan Jingyue’s temperament was almost identical to hers. In the entire family, she alone dared to defy the old matriarch. Moreover, as Grand Preceptor Gan’s youngest legitimate daughter, she held a certain standing. And so, the marriage went ahead.
Meng Xizhao quietly committed all this to memory, then continued smiling brightly as he kept Fu Jicai company over drinks.
Only after they had eaten and drunk their fill did Fu Jicai—the genuine wastrel that he was—leave to seek out his favorite courtesan. Meng Xizhao stayed behind, had the dishes cleared, and ordered a pot of light tea for himself.
Qingfu lifted the curtain. Seeing that the heir apparent was gone, he gestured behind him, signaling Yinliu—who had long been waiting next door—to come in.
Meng Xizhao rinsed his mouth with tea, then looked at Yinliu. “All done?”
Yinliu smiled. “It wasn’t anything major. I just slipped a bit of silver to the manager at the land registry office, and the property transfer went through.”
Meng Xizhao chuckled. “Even if it’s not a big matter, doing it quietly isn’t easy—especially in this heat. Sit, have a cup of warm tea.”
Yinliu responded with a cheerful acknowledgment. Qingfu, without needing to be told, came over and sat beside her, eagerly lifting the teapot to pour tea for both of them.
Seeing how proactive he was, Meng Xizhao let out a laugh.
Ever since he had personally seen Yinliu lying in a pool of blood, Qingfu had become the most meticulous of attendants—sometimes to the point that even Yinliu felt embarrassed.
The tea was warm, but Yinliu did not feel like drinking it yet. She simply held the cup and asked Meng Xizhao, “My lord, when will you submit your memorial to request the construction of your residence?”
A residence could be built privately, but most people preferred to have the Ministry of Works handle it. That way, they did not have to pay out of pocket and could even choose a plot of unclaimed land.
As it happened, the current Minister of Works was the former Prefect of Yingtian—someone who had stumbled into his position through sheer luck. Meng Xizhao figured he could probably secure a particularly fine piece of land.
“Hmm…” The weather was hot. Even though the private room had ice set out, it could not counter the oppressive heat. Meng Xizhao felt a bit languid.
After a long pause, he propped his head on his hand and said, “In another two or three days. The handover at the Yingtian Prefecture office is rather complicated—I do not even know when I will officially take up my post yet. Naturally, the matter of building a residence can wait a little longer. By the way, Qingfu, you said earlier it has not rained for seven or eight days?”
Qingfu was taken aback, then nodded. “Yes. The last rain was at night. By morning, the ground was already dry—it was as if it had never rained at all.”
Meng Xizhao gave a soft “oh.”
Then the next rain should be coming soon.
Yingtian’s climate was fairly humid. Aside from winter, the other three seasons saw frequent rain. Mushrooms sprouted layer upon layer in the mountains, and the monks of Jiming Temple were adept at making use of local conditions—aside from the numerous sweeping monks, there were also monks who went up the mountains to gather mushrooms for the temple kitchens.
Moreover, rain did nothing to alleviate Yingtian’s heat. As soon as the rain stopped, the sun would immediately reappear, baking people until their scalps ached.
With late summer approaching, the weather was not only hot but stifling. It was said that for every one-degree rise in temperature during summer, incidents of public fights increased by five percent.
Sultry heat was the perfect catalyst for emotion.
Meng Xizhao leisurely blew on his tea, in a good mood, even asking the two across from him with a pleasant expression, “Hungry? Shall we eat some more?”
Qingfu and Yinliu exchanged a glance, then smiled. “Sure, sure.”
…………
The downpour came without warning. By the second watch of the night, thunder and lightning filled the sky. The booming thunderclaps were so loud that even the nearby dogs did not dare to bark. Meng Xizhao was woken by the noise, grumbled, pulled the covers over his head, turned over—and promptly went back to sleep.
The rain continued until morning. When the Emperor learned it was raining outside, he immediately waved his hand.
Understanding that this meant he did not wish to hold court, Qin Feimang went out to inform the others.
Meanwhile, the Emperor remained seated on his dragon bed, absently rolling the stone sphere in his hand—so often handled it had nearly developed a polished sheen.
He was not entirely certain whether the sphere in his dreams was the same as this one. But he had dreamed that dream for twelve—no, thirteen—years, and never once had such a sphere appeared before. This was the first time he felt that faint sense of destiny tied to it.
And how could it not feel destined… Meng Xizhao had laid so much groundwork beforehand—rosy clouds, dense fog, luring him toward Nanzhao. To outsiders, it might seem like he was building his own legend, trying to link his achievements in Nanzhao with divine omens to gain the Emperor’s trust.
But that was not quite the case. At first, he had indeed intended to use auspicious signs to prove he could not possibly have colluded with Nanzhao. But later, he had even captured Zhen’anluo and brought him back—any accusation of collusion no longer held water.
So in truth, he had been building momentum for this “heavenly stone.”
Nanzhao was already steeped in mystery, and in the Central Plains, dream interpretation was a common practice. The Emperor had consulted no fewer than a hundred monks and Daoist priests, all in an effort to understand the meaning of his recurring dream. Naturally, he only believed what he wished to hear—such as that he was destined to reclaim Nanzhao.
Now that Nanzhao had been reclaimed and the sphere had appeared, the dream could not simply end there. Meng Xizhao wanted the Emperor to understand: reclaiming Nanzhao was the first layer; obtaining this miraculous sphere was the second; and the immortal Changxian guiding a kindred woman to him would be the third.
However, each layer required a different degree of suggestion. For the stone sphere, Meng Xizhao intended a direct and unmistakable confirmation—he wanted the Emperor to firmly believe that this was the sphere from his dream. As for the “kindred woman,” a subtle hint would suffice—just enough for the Emperor to recognize her as special.
Qin Feimang watched from the side. He could not tell whether the Emperor truly believed this sphere to be the one from his dream. But over the past few days, the Emperor had indeed grown fond of it—carrying it wherever he went, taking it out from time to time to examine it carefully, as if pondering something.
Meng Xizhao had said that if the Emperor ever lost interest in the sphere, Qin Feimang should give him a reminder. But if the Emperor’s interest never waned, then there was no need to do anything—just carry on as usual.
Because the mere effect of repeated exposure was powerful enough. Seeing it every day, again and again, the suggestion would take deeper root in his mind. Without anyone saying a word, he would come to believe on his own that this was indeed the sphere from his dream.
But a sphere was still just a sphere. It was not a beauty, nor could it move. Staring at it for too long inevitably grew dull.
When the sound of rain outside the hall faded, the Emperor rose, tucked the sphere into his robe, and prepared to stretch his limbs. As he felt the coolness left behind by the rain, his mood suddenly lifted.
It had been quite a while since he last left the palace. Perhaps it was time to go admire some beauties.
……
From the moment they heard the rain begin the night before, Su Ruocun and Madam Guan had already gone on alert. As soon as the rain stopped, Su Ruocun changed her clothes, took up an oiled-paper umbrella, and headed out.
Madam Guan accompanied her to a spot near Zhuangyuan Bridge outside the Donghua Gate, then moved aside to a secluded place, waiting nervously.
Back then, when Gan Jingyue had encountered the Emperor, she had simply stood beneath a tree in a bustling area, doing nothing at all—just standing there quietly.
Su Ruocun did the same, but chose a different location: a path the Emperor would inevitably pass when leaving the palace. The scenery here was even better. Holding her umbrella, she gazed into the distance, her carefully cultivated fair and delicate face tinged with faint loneliness and sorrow.
Anyone who saw her would pause for a moment or two, drawn by her presence, wondering what she might be thinking.
But no one knew that her position on the bridge, the angle of her umbrella, the expression on her face, and even her plain white attire resembling mourning clothes had all been rehearsed countless times.
Meng Xizhao had been extremely particular about her appearance—even the white crystal flower pinned in her hair had been changed over a dozen times.
He had emphasized first impressions so much that Su Ruocun became deeply nervous. The longer she stood there, the more uncertain she felt.
And when she spotted, not far away, a group of people whose bearing clearly set them apart from ordinary citizens, her heart leapt into her throat.
She cast them a faint glance, then turned back to the flowing water beneath the bridge.
From a distance, the Emperor wondered why the young woman lingered on the bridge. After walking a few steps closer and seeing her face clearly, he finally took a genuine interest in her.
Beautiful—and pitiable.
But it was not as though he immediately wished to take her back to the palace or pursue anything further. After all, he had seen countless beauties.
Still, he was willing to ask what troubled her and perhaps do a good deed. Toward those with pleasing appearances, he was always inclined to show extra favor.
When the Emperor left the palace, he only brought a small retinue—Qin Feimang and Wen Shiji were always present; the guards and attendants varied. Occasionally Wan Huaixin accompanied him, though most of the time he was too busy interrogating prisoners.
Wen Shiji stayed by the Emperor’s side for protection, so naturally he did not step forward. Qin Feimang, resigned to the task, approached instead.
“Young lady, what troubles you? Tell my master—perhaps he can help you resolve it.”
Su Ruocun turned her head, saw Qin Feimang’s faintly smiling face—and gave no reaction at all. She simply ignored him and continued looking ahead.
Qin Feimang: “…………”
Do you even know who I am? You dare ignore me?!
Just as he was about to take offense, the young woman seemed irritated by their persistence. She turned to leave with her umbrella. Perhaps she had stood too long, or perhaps she was in poor health—either way, her umbrella snagged on a stone post at the bridge’s edge. With a startled cry, the umbrella fell into the river, and she nearly stumbled to the ground.
A beauty in distress naturally stirred protective instincts. Given Su Ruocun’s appearance, there was no need for Qin Feimang to act—this time, the Emperor himself stepped forward quickly and caught her.
Leaning against him, she first glanced at the river, then quickly looked up at him. Biting her lower lip, her eyes glistening with tears—pleading, dependent—she said, “My lord, please help me. That was the only keepsake Pingtíng left me…”
The Emperor’s heart tightened at her gaze. He immediately ordered Wen Shiji, “Why are you still standing there? Go retrieve it!”
At the same time, he felt a strange lightness. It had been many years since anyone had addressed him as “my lord.”
Qin Feimang watched the scene with a peculiar expression. Su Ruocun remained leaning against the Emperor, not rising, and he did not let go of her either. Soon enough, Wen Shiji retrieved the umbrella. Su Ruocun let out a sigh of relief and hugged the soaked umbrella tightly to her chest.
She was dressed in white—white fabric soaked with water…
Even Qin Feimang turned his head away.
In her urgency, Su Ruocun failed to notice. She kept thanking the Emperor, calling him “my lord” again and again—saying that by saving the umbrella, he had saved her life. By the end, her gaze toward him was filled with admiration and affection.
Compared to how she had treated Qin Feimang earlier, the Emperor was no longer merely pleased—he was practically floating.
At that moment, he heard the name “Pingtíng” for the second time and suddenly found it familiar. Realization dawned, and he asked in surprise, “Are you Su Ruocun?”
Su Ruocun froze, appearing even more startled than he was. Clutching the umbrella, she seemed flustered like a startled deer, not daring to look at him directly, yet stealing glances. “My lord… how do you know my name?”
The Emperor: “……”
Heavens—so she was Su Ruocun? The moment he left the palace, he encountered her. Did this not mean it was fate?
Qin Feimang: “……”
Heavens—Meng Xizhao, did you go to Nanzhao as a spy, or to study there? How do you have endless tricks like this?!
……
As Su Ruocun followed the script step by step, observing the Emperor’s reactions, she realized he was even easier to handle than she had imagined. In an instant, all her nervousness vanished.
She even began to improvise, making her performance more vivid and enchanting.
When the Emperor revealed his identity, Su Ruocun showed shock, then immediately dropped to her knees in gratitude, saying that he had saved her not once but twice. She played the role of an admirer to perfection.
Yet in her heart, she thought—perhaps fate truly did exist in this world.
I, Su Ruocun, was born to do this.