Seeing Pang Xiao’s cautious and careful demeanor, Bingtang helplessly nodded.

After Pang Xiao left, looking back every few steps, she said to Qin Yining: “Princess Consort, please don’t be angry with His Highness. When you gave birth to the two young masters, you suffered so much that it truly frightened His Highness. For a grown man to think of such a method just to prevent you from suffering shows how sincere his feelings are for you.”

Seeing that Qin Yining only slightly lowered her head and wouldn’t speak, Bingtang continued: “I was afraid you would blame yourself if you knew, which is why I didn’t want to tell you. His Highness did everything for you—we mustn’t waste his devotion. Besides, I’m truly confident that medicine won’t harm His Highness’s fundamentals. I thought it would be good if you didn’t conceive these years—first, because the court situation is unstable and you’ve lived through too many days of displacement, making it unsuitable for childbearing now; second, to give your body proper rest and recuperation.”

“I understand your good intentions.” Qin Yining sighed lightly. “We’ve been together since early on. Although I had no choice but to take you as a servant then, I’ve always regarded you as a sister in my heart. Naturally, I trust you.”

Thinking of those past events, Bingtang’s heart filled with emotion. Her long eyelashes fluttered, and her large eyes were already covered with a layer of mist.

“Princess Consort, I know your difficulties, and I know you’re a kindhearted person. I also know your predicament. Over these years, the suffering you’ve endured for His Highness is unknown to others, but I’m by your side all day—how could I not know?

“Fortunately, His Highness has remained constant toward you. His feelings have never diminished because of prosperity, nor changed with the passage of time.

“When His Highness asked me about such medicine, I dared to give it because I knew His Highness cared about you and would consider your feelings. Even if His Highness didn’t care about me, he would be tolerant for your sake.”

Qin Yining was moved by Bingtang’s sincere words and took her hand: “I understand everything. I can also comprehend His Highness’s and your thinking at the time. I just… this feeling is indescribable. I’m also very worried—if he truly can’t have more children in the future, it would all be my fault. It’s not that I doubt his feelings for me, but look at my father. His whole life, for the sake of offspring, ultimately he also…”

Bingtang nodded. She had an apple-shaped face and petite stature, looking like she was only fourteen or fifteen, but because she had studied medicine for many years and seen various illnesses, her understanding of life, death, and worldly matters was deeper.

“Princess Consort, the most genuine thing in this world is emotion, but emotion is also the most fragile. His Highness truly treats you very well, but no one can guarantee there won’t be changes in the future. I’m not saying this to make you guard against anything—after all, emotions in this world are inherently so elusive. I just want to say that having these concerns isn’t bad, but you really needn’t take them too much to heart.”

Qin Yining felt she seemed to have entered a mental trap, constantly unable to help overthinking, even unable to control her emotions. Given the current situation, this wasn’t the time for such wild thoughts—thinking about these things was quite inappropriate.

“I understand everything you’re saying. It’s just that emotions aren’t so easy to control. Thinking about it, I really shouldn’t be like this. His Highness has already been very good to me. Who can say for certain what the future holds? Things don’t necessarily have to develop as I imagine. Starting to worry about the future now is a bit too early.”

Bingtang smiled and nodded. Seeing that Qin Yining’s worried frown still hadn’t cleared, she couldn’t help saying: “Princess Consort, though your pulse doesn’t show signs of pregnancy now, I feel that you’re just like when you were first pregnant with the young masters—particularly emotional, with thoughts becoming more sensitive and tender.”

Qin Yining’s slender, pale hand gently caressed her lower abdomen, and she smiled: “Actually, even if it can’t be seen from the pulse, a mother’s intuition is very accurate. I also feel I might truly be pregnant. I didn’t mention it initially because I didn’t want to have false joy.”

Bingtang smiled: “It doesn’t matter. Princess Consort, don’t worry. I’ll work hard to regulate your condition. You must listen to me well—eat whatever I tell you to eat, sleep however long I tell you to sleep. I guarantee that when you truly give birth in the future, there will be no problems whatsoever.”

Qin Yining’s mood suddenly brightened, and she nodded repeatedly.

Pang Xiao, however, was quite anxious. When he returned after dark and saw that Qin Yining was no different from usual, and Bingtang also nodded to indicate everything was fine, only then did he relax.

After a simple dinner, Qin Yining helped Pang Xiao undress.

“Have any battle reports come from the court? How is the situation with Marquis Dingbei?”

Pang Xiao sat on the edge of the bed wearing snow-white undergarments, took the outer robe from Qin Yining’s hands and tossed it onto the screen, then pulled her into the bedding warmed by hot water bottles, breathing a long sigh of relief.

“The battle reports haven’t arrived yet—perhaps the cold weather has delayed our messengers. But the situation up front definitely won’t be good.”

During this period, the war between Great Zhou and the Tatars had already shown signs of defeat. Although Great Zhou had just been established and should be at its strongest militarily, the court lacked sufficient funds. Moreover, the Tatars seemed to have realized that Great Zhou couldn’t afford a prolonged war, so they avoided direct confrontation and deliberately dragged out the conflict.

No matter how capable Ji Zeyu was, he couldn’t motivate soldiers who were underfed and full of resentment.

After several battles, Huichuan County had long since fallen, and the forces had retreated several hundred li further, now very close to the capital.

If there were no improvements, the Tatars might attack directly under the capital walls. Wouldn’t that be dangerous?

Thinking of the intense warfare, both felt somewhat heavy-hearted.

After a good night’s sleep, the latest battle reports arrived the next morning.

After reading them, Pang Xiao couldn’t even eat breakfast.

“The situation isn’t good. Alan and Gao Wenliang have already led the Huben Army to defend the last fortified city outside the capital.”

“What?” Qin Yining was shocked, dropping her chopsticks. “The Tatars are almost at the capital?”

Pang Xiao nodded gravely, put down the battle report, and unfolded a secret message that clearly described the current situation in the capital, the attitudes of various factions, and public opinion.

After glancing through it, Pang Xiao handed it to Qin Yining: “Yining, take a look at this.”

Qin Yining gave her dropped chopsticks to Bingtang to wash and took the secret report from Pang Xiao.

After reading it, she was actually amused by anger.

“How interesting! The foolish emperor spent all the silver himself and can’t produce money to buy grain for disaster relief or to feed the army, yet he blames you instead!”

The secret report clearly stated: The Prince’s disaster relief efforts and grain procurement had led many wealthy households and grain merchants from the north to travel thousands of li to sell grain to the Prince for relief rather than to the court to feed the Huben Army and resist the Tatars.

“Those wealthy households and merchants care most about profit. They’re not fools—given the same grain, they’ll naturally choose the side offering reasonable prices. The Son of Heaven only promises payment verbally, but his actions are no different from plunder—either forcing down prices or issuing IOUs. He doesn’t pay for grain and constantly defaults on debts, which is no different from expecting people to give grain away for free. Of course those people would sell grain to the side that pays cash.”

Qin Yining returned the secret report to Pang Xiao and frowned: “Once such news spreads, I’m afraid the court ministers will also resent us. All along the route, you worked so hard to procure grain, dealing with those people and gradually opening up opportunities, using purchased grain to save so many common people. But now, according to them, you’ve become the villain instead.”

“Come now, it’s not worth getting angry over this.” Pang Xiao laughed with magnanimity. “In any case, my conscience is clear. Besides, using that money for the people makes me feel very comfortable.”

His cheerfulness made Qin Yining smile too: “Your actions have received the best reward from Heaven—you’ve gained the people’s hearts and the love and trust of your subordinates. If Li Qitian learns of this, he’ll probably be so angry he’ll overturn tables. He didn’t want you to regain control of the Huben Army, but unexpectedly allowed you to win the people’s hearts. Gao Wenliang’s abilities are inferior to yours, the war situation grows increasingly dire, and with the Tatars about to break through the last defensive position and approach the city walls, Li Qitian must be both angry and helpless now.”

Pang Xiao nodded with a smile. He understood Li Qitian’s character too well. Right now, he was probably regretting so much his intestines had turned green. But the choices he made originally were his own—no one influenced his thinking, and now that things had reached this point, he could blame no one.

Relief efforts in the former capital proceeded in an orderly manner. While Pang Xiao and Qin Yining were busy feeding and housing the people, the court was already in chaos.

During the grand court assembly, Li Qitian sat upright in the Golden Throne Hall while court ministers argued endlessly about the war situation.

Some agreed with dismissing Gao Wenliang and recalling Pang Xiao to assist Ji Zeyu, while others, trying to read the emperor’s intentions, portrayed Pang Xiao regaining military authority as a terrible threat, as if Pang Xiao would rebel the moment he returned.

Li Qitian listened with a splitting headache. The situation had been too intense these past days—he hadn’t slept well for two days. When he came to court, they argued. When he returned to the rear palace, the women there were also panic-stricken, forcing smiles as if the Tatars would storm the imperial palace the next day.

The Empress Dowager had even grasped his hand, demanding he send people to secretly move all the palace women to safety.

Li Qitian’s panic was compounded by anger. As the emperor, even he hadn’t thought of fleeing. Yet this group of women who ate for free but couldn’t help—instead only adding to his troubles—thought of escape at the first sign of danger.

Li Qitian now felt too exhausted even to argue, so he hadn’t settled accounts in the rear palace. He simply ordered: The Tatars won’t break through, but even if they truly did, the imperial family would rather die than have anyone survive in disgrace.

When the Empress Dowager and Li Helan heard this, they held each other and wept bitterly.

Li Qitian was so annoyed his head ached. Now the ministers were still arguing endlessly without proposing any useful suggestions. Unable to bear it any longer, he sternly rebuked: “All of you, be silent! I support you precisely so that in critical moments you can speak freely and contribute to the nation. Yet look at what you’re thinking about now!”

With the dragon’s wrath aroused, those who had been arguing had no choice but to fall silent.

Li Qitian felt he couldn’t rely on these people and simply issued a direct edict: “The Tatar war situation is urgent. To defend orthodoxy, commanders from all regions are ordered to come to the capital to serve the king and jointly resist the Tatars.”