Wanwan was so angry her face turned deathly pale. What had he done wrong to be made to kneel in punishment! Asking others yielded no answers, so she had a eunuch bring an umbrella and headed straight for Ninghe Hall.

Yu Qixia followed behind, saying nothing, only coming up to support her. She walked too urgently, her waist and abdomen aching, forcing her to stop and rest. Looking up, she saw mist rising in the distance, pavilions and towers seeming to float in clouds and smoke. She braced her knees while gasping, saying with a tearful voice: “How can he make him kneel in punishment, in such heavy rain…”

Her own husband—naturally she felt the pain for him. Since having the child, husband and wife were even more united as one. Any grievance he suffered hurt her more than it hurt him. He was a prince, below one but above ten thousand, yet here he was reduced to such a wretched state—how could her heart bear it!

Yu Qixia held the umbrella with one hand and firmly supported her with the other. “Your Highness, if you feel distressed, lean on this subject. Don’t worry—His Highness is a martial artist. This small trial cannot break him.”

She took two difficult breaths, straightened up and continued forward, only hating that this embankment was too long, seeming endless no matter how far she walked. Finally entering Ninghe Gate and turning past the screen wall, she indeed saw someone kneeling at the end of the central path. His round-collared robe was soaked through with rain, the red color even more brilliant. He always appeared to stand tall and upright, his spine straight as a rod. Even in wind and rain, he would bend but not break.

Seeing this scene, Wanwan’s heart was already torn apart. Her own brother treating him this way—caught in the middle, what could she do?

Suddenly timid, afraid he would harbor resentment and things would backfire in the end. She took the umbrella and walked to his side. He looked up at her, those deep eyes full of storm clouds. Some things needn’t be said—she already knew the outcome.

She couldn’t stop crying. The couple gazed at each other, truly like a pair of tragic mandarin ducks. He was too dejected to speak. How could he explain to her that he couldn’t take her away, that she must remain alone in the capital until the day the city fell… He could only say hoarsely that he was sorry. “Only now do I realize how incompetent I am.”

Wanwan’s hands gripped the umbrella handle tightly, her fingertips white. She rolled up her sleeves to wipe the rain from his face, smiling miserably. “I don’t blame you—I simply lack good fortune. Before, Father had the Director of the Celestial Observatory calculate my fate. He said my bones and flesh were most noble, but I would have no relatives to depend on. Father was furious then—how could a princess have no relatives to rely on? But now it seems it came true after all. So I won’t resent heaven or blame others—it’s just my destiny.”

Her despondency made him feel even more guilty. Actually, his prolonged kneeling had purpose—he truly wanted to push things to the extreme. Whether for Murong Gaogong or himself, once committed to a path, there could be no turning back. They must walk it steadfastly to the end. Another meaning was to let her see clearly what kind of good brother she had, forcing her to choose between the two. Future calamity was inevitable. Making preparations now would prevent husband and wife from turning against each other when the time came. He hoped she could continue being his princess consort with peace of mind, even his empress. Severing her attachment to the Murong family—this corrupt surname was no longer worth her protection.

She wanted to kneel with him, but he stopped her sharply. “If you won’t consider yourself, at least consider the child. Go back, go home and wait for me. I won’t let you have no relatives to depend on. That director should not only be punished but killed!”

How could she go back at this moment? All she could think of was sharing his hardships. Summer had passed; one autumn rain brought one chill. His face was turning blue—she feared he was cold and removed her cloak to drape over him.

“I’ll go reason with the Emperor. He can’t bully people like this.” She handed the umbrella to Yu Qixia, ordering him to wait there while she entered Ninghe Hall in the rain. Asking the palace attendants inside, they said His Majesty had gone to Yingcui Hall, where he had his meditation chamber. If he was sitting in meditation, he wouldn’t emerge for two hours.

He shouted behind her, forbidding her to go, but she turned a deaf ear. How long could this kneeling continue?

Wind scattered her hair ornaments, her skirt hem and shoes soaked through. When she entered Yingcui Hall, she left a winding trail of water on the floor, stretching from the front hall to the rear hall.

Giggling and flirtatious sounds came from the warm chamber. This emperor who sought the Way was neither pure-hearted nor ascetic—he knew well how to indulge himself and never mistreated himself.

Seeing her arrival, Chong Mau hurried forward to dissuade her. Just as he was about to speak, she swept her sleeve and harshly told him to get lost. Chong Mau was also startled by her appearance, staring in shock as she kicked open the rhombus-patterned door of the warm chamber.

The Emperor was embracing a woman, their naked bodies entwined on meditation cushions. Just as he was about to enter port, the door suddenly burst open. Frightened, he shuddered and nearly lost his concentration. He was about to curse, but looking closely saw it was his sister. Immediately both shocked and panicked, he grabbed clothes to cover himself, unable to tend to the woman.

“Out… outrageous!” He was furious with shame. “What madness has possessed you!”

Wanwan looked at him with contempt in her eyes. “Brother, what fine spirits you’re in! You’re living in pleasure here while making my husband kneel in the street—what kind of heart do you have!”

The Emperor was truly driven to distraction, dizzy and clutching a pile of clothes to his chest. That woman was still shrieking until he kicked her away. “Stop your wailing! Get out, out, out!” The woman fled in his repeated shouts while he pleaded, “Wanwan, turn around first and let me dress…”

She glared at him coldly. “I’m going to Fengxian Hall to weep for our parents!”

The Emperor choked. “When did you learn such shameless behavior? Your brother isn’t dressed, yet you keep staring at me?”

Naked people are usually psychologically fragile. Though Wanwan was still alarmed by such a scene, she was stronger than the Emperor. She said: “I request Your Majesty issue an order for my husband to rise. If anything happens to him from this kneeling, I’ll never forgive my brother, even in death.”

The Emperor thought he’d truly encountered a ghost—it wasn’t even he who made him kneel. But this wasn’t the time to argue right and wrong. He hastily shouted outside: “Chong Mau! Let the Prince of Nanyuan rise—stop kneeling.” Then he put on airs to scold his sister: “Always saying ‘my husband’—you’re a princess, not some country peasant woman. Where did you learn such crude language!”

Wanwan snorted coldly. “I love calling him that—so what? When you initially traded me for someone’s concubine, why didn’t you tell me you planned to make things difficult for him later? Now I’m carrying his child, and you torment him like this—do you want me to live or not?”

The Emperor’s calves were cramping, trembling as he said: “Don’t argue now—let your brother put on clothes first, all right…”

She just watched his ugly state, grinding her teeth: “You’ve done things that cast aside all shame—why bother with clothes!”

The Emperor shouted until his voice cracked: “Outrageous… lawless… you’re too arrogant! You want to weep for our parents—I should go weep too… Turn around, do you hear!”

But he knew this sister’s temperament—once stubborn, ten oxen couldn’t pull her back. Helpless, the Emperor had to run naked behind a screen and hurriedly put on his robe.

Once fully dressed, he appeared human again. Coming out and seeing her wet garments, his tone became gentle: “Wet feet will make you ill—change your shoes first.”

Wanwan was moved to tears by his anger, standing there wiping her eyes: “Brother has loved me since childhood. When Mother had just passed away and I was deliriously ill, Brother stayed by my side daily, caring for me. But when people grow up, their hearts grow big too. Do you still remember how we siblings once depended on each other? Now your mind is full of schemes against me—how can my heart not grow cold? Since you never planned to spare him, you shouldn’t have let me become entangled with him. Using such methods now—this isn’t punishing him, it’s punishing me.”

She had grievances to vent, and the Emperor let her. She was indeed wronged in this matter, but imperial family members were never easy to be. Throughout history, many prince consorts had usurped power. If he didn’t control him early, when he grew powerful later, things would be difficult to handle.

He looked intently at her, saying word by word: “You only blame me—what about yourself? Before you married down, what did I tell you? Yet after marriage, you lost even your backbone along with yourself. What do you see in the Prince of Nanyuan? Seeing Jiangnan’s prosperity, do you think he has governing talent and take his side? Remember this—no matter how wealthy Jiangnan is, it’s still Great Ye territory. I can let him rule one region today and remove him tomorrow! I hold six reins in hand to balance the realm. The Prince of Nanyuan isn’t the only one I must control. Great Ye has eight princes. Since Emperor Qinzong advocated reducing princely power, but after all these years, has it succeeded? Princely power isn’t to be underestimated. Breaking them individually with court power is impossible—I must use force against force. In your last letter, you mentioned grain sent to Guizhou. I know Wang Ding has been restless, but fearing other princes, he hasn’t dared act. Princes not maintaining troops is pure self-deception. I won’t hide from you—what I guard against now isn’t anything else, but Nanyuan and Guizhou joining forces. If these two connect, half of Great Ye would collapse. Yuwen Liangshi usually attracts hatred, but when it comes to cooperation, he’s a sweet morsel. If I let him be comfortable, what if he develops treasonous thoughts? What would I do then?”

He spoke at length—it all sounded like twisted logic, but careful consideration revealed valid points. Wanwan hung her sleeves and asked: “Has Brother never considered winning him over, only planning to pressure him relentlessly?”

The Emperor said no. “How haven’t I won him over? I even married my own sister to him—what more could I do?”

Being generous with others’ sacrifice, trading her away then reclaiming what was given—this was his so-called “winning over.”

Wanwan looked at him despondently. “This approach is worse than doing nothing. Others warm something in their embrace, then you suddenly change your mind—won’t this push people further away?”

The Emperor looked at her and smiled lightly. “It won’t. With you there, the Prince of Nanyuan can’t go far. Remember one more thing: when a prince consort rebels, the princess shares the crime. Wanwan, Imperial Father’s realm cannot be lost in our hands, or we’ll have no face to meet our ancestors after death.”

“When a prince consort rebels, the princess shares the crime”—these words truly hit the vital point. Wanwan never expected him to say this, momentarily feeling as if she’d fallen into an ice cellar, chills running through her entire body. Fearing she might collapse, she grasped a crescent table and asked: “When will Your Majesty let me return to Nanyuan? Tell me—is there any hope in this lifetime?”

He thought and said: “It depends on circumstances. If the Prince of Nanyuan behaves and I’m completely reassured about him, naturally I’ll let you reunite as husband and wife.”

How she later walked out of the palace gates, she couldn’t even remember. Seeing Liangshi running through the rain from afar, water from under his winged good crown flowing down the hair at his temples, he grasped her arms to examine her. “The Emperor didn’t make things difficult for you, did he? Encountering such a thing and still forcing your way in—are you foolish?”

Tears mixed with rainwater, she squinted and choked softly. “Let’s go home.”

Home was only the Grand Princess Mansion in Beijing. That morning when leaving, they’d heard crows calling—not a good omen. Indeed, everything had fallen apart. The Emperor had new orders: unless there were military or governmental matters, the Prince of Nanyuan could not leave his domain. Both sides were confined, completely severing their hopes.

Wanwan said nothing, having hot water prepared and personally washing his back. He had broad shoulders and a narrow waist without an ounce of excess flesh. Scooping up water to pour over him, droplets scattered and fell across his shoulders and back, making his shoulder blades appear full and lustrous. She smiled reluctantly and kissed him. “My prince consort is truly a perfect man.”

He turned and embraced her tightly. “Wanwan, you see how he forces us…”

She lowered her eyes, considering before saying: “I can’t give you anything anymore. When the child is born, I’ll care for him well. Listen to me—I won’t be there, but you can’t be without someone by your side. Bring back the three secondary consorts. The children need support, and someone should attend the Dowager Consort.”

He frowned in displeasure. “What are you saying? Not going back now means never going back? Wait a bit longer—I have ways to force him to send you back to Nanyuan.”

If it truly came to that, they’d probably have torn off all pretenses, followed by chaos throughout the realm and people’s misery.

She looked intently at him. “Liangshi, have you ever had treasonous thoughts?”

Her sudden question truly startled him.

How should he answer? Say he was currently plotting? That would confirm the Emperor’s suspicions and make her feel everything was ultimately his own fault. He lacked the courage to admit it. Even pressured to this degree, he still had to maintain appearances. So he said no. “My loyalty to the Emperor is complete—heaven and earth can witness.”

She sighed in relief. “Good that you haven’t. As long as he’s reassured, we’ll have a day of reunion.”

She wasn’t like those pampered, mad Tang dynasty princesses after all. Asking her to usurp her brother’s throne—he knew it would never be possible. But what to do now? Could they really only endure? The Emperor had a new idea every moment—today was like this, who knew what new tricks tomorrow would bring!

Yet she was soft as spring water, snuggling close in her pale green sleeping robe that outlined her willow-like figure. In the steamy heat, seeing her through the mist, she was as beautiful as when first meeting. He raised his hand, fingertips still wet with water, lightly tracing her brow. “I paint my lady’s eyebrows—eyes like flowing waves, brows like distant mountains… If you ask where my heart goes, it’s where eyes and brows shine with beauty.”

She giggled. “Changing someone’s poem like that—if Wang Guan were alive, he’d surely beat you.”

He said: “I know martial arts—he couldn’t beat me.” While speaking, he nimbly leaped from the bath, swept her up horizontally, and they both tumbled into soft bedding.

“Three months have long passed, haven’t they?” The high-burning candle on the table reddened her face. He examined her carefully—this face he’d seen so many times yet never tired of. Sometimes he felt fearful; somehow he could never remember her appearance. Though familiar when meeting, once separated he retained only a vague outline. His longing could never be filled.

Wanwan was somewhat shy yet brave, clasping her hands and hanging them delicately on his shoulders. “Last night you fell asleep quickly… I know you were tired…”

Her tone couldn’t hide disappointment. So she too had hoped for entanglement—a brief separation being better than a new marriage shouldn’t have been like last night.

He smiled, gold glinting in his eyes, temporarily forgetting the troubles the Emperor had created for them. At least tonight shouldn’t be wasted.

Lowering his head to kiss her nose: “With you beside me last night, I slept well. This past month, I’ve never slept as soundly as last night. Having recharged my energy, today we can do other things.”

She blushed, saying softly: “I’m afraid… of disturbing the baby.”

His kisses began trailing downward, mumbling in response: “I know the proper limits—I’ll be careful.”

Wanwan looked at the canopy top, those light gauze curtains thin as wisps of smoke. Her eyes filled with tears. She thought closing her eyes could stop the flood, but it was useless. He noticed, kissed the corner of her eye, then sighed deeply, crushing her heart and liver.