Within the side gate of the Hua Family residence, Ying Chun and Bao Xia were pacing back and forth, pressing their ears to the gate from time to time to listen for any sound from outside.

“Still not back?” Wu Shi and Zhu Shi came together, both visibly anxious. During a period of national mourning there were many prohibitions — it would not do for someone to be absent from home.

After the two maids performed their greetings, both shook their heads.

Wu Shi looked at Ying Chun. “You returned from Zhi’s side. Did she give you any instructions?”

She had, of course. But the young miss had said to share it only if she had not returned by nightfall. Even though Ying Chun was so worried she could hardly breathe, she had to hold her tongue.

Wu Shi saw through her and gave a helpless sigh. These few maids all had minds of their own and listened only to Zhi. Even if she pressed hard, she likely would not get a word out of them.

Zhu Shi, standing beside her, spoke up. “I am her mother. Surely I am allowed to know where Zhi has gone.”

Ying Chun bit her lip and ultimately told the truth. “The young miss… has entered the palace.”

Zhu Shi blinked. “The Emperor summoned her to the palace?”

Ying Chun lowered her head and made up her mind to say nothing more. The First Madam knew nothing of what went on outside — and the young miss had deliberately shielded her from it. She would naturally help the young miss maintain that.

Wu Shi understood more, and knowing how badly Zhi had fared on her previous visits to the palace, her heart immediately rose into her throat without her needing to ask another question. She knew well that all the stability the Hua Family enjoyed now rested entirely on Zhi’s shoulders. She also believed that as long as Zhi was here, the Hua Family would continue to be safe — until the men of the Hua Family returned, or until the Hua Family’s younger sons grew up. Zhi was indispensable to the Hua Family. So indispensable that she dared not think too long on what would become of the Hua Family if anything were to happen to her.

Bao Xia suddenly turned around and pulled the gate open in one swift motion. Sure enough — the young miss’s carriage, bearing no family crest, was slowly rolling toward them. And following behind the carriage were… Imperial Guards!

Without thinking, Bao Xia immediately bolted out. Ying Chun was no slower. Seeing the two of them react this way, Wu Shi and Zhu Shi exchanged a glance and found themselves stepping out of the gate as well.

The captain of the escort guards dismounted along with his men, taking hold of their horses and advancing no further. Even at the lowest point of its fall, the Hua Family had never truly sunk to the bottom. Now, given the relationship between the new sovereign and the eldest daughter of the Hua Family, a return to its former glory was only a matter of time. Being assigned this errand today was already something of a favor he was doing for the Hua Family.

The carriage came to a stop, but Hua Zhi did not step out. An impatient Bao Xia reached forward and lifted the curtain — and immediately regretted that her motion had been so rough. Had the young miss not been utterly exhausted, she would never have fallen asleep with no trusted person nearby.

Hua Zhi slept lightly. The moment the curtain was lifted she opened her eyes. Upon recognizing who it was, she covered a yawn with her hand and, adjusting the cloak around her shoulders — a cloak that clearly did not belong to her — she pressed a hand against the wall of the carriage and stepped down. The movement tugged at her wound and she drew a quiet hiss of breath. The two maids, whose hearts had already been on edge, felt them lurch upward in an instant. Their young miss and the palace were at odds — she had never once walked away unscathed. This time was likely no different. Ying Chun clearly remembered that the outer robe the young miss had worn when she entered the palace was not the one she was wearing now.

The two of them stepped forward, one on each side, and supported her. After walking a few steps, Hua Zhi thought of Little Six, who had arranged the escort, and stopped to look back. She gave those men a slight, measured incline of her body — neither beneath her dignity, nor lacking in courtesy.

The men hastily returned the gesture, watching until she had entered the residence before exchanging glances and departing. The Imperial Guards were no ordinary army — their ranks were drawn largely from the sons of aristocratic families in the capital. Some might not be firstborn sons; some might come from households long since fallen. Yet by birth they were not common folk, and even they found themselves with a high opinion of this Hua Zhi. Small wonder she had been personally appointed Grand Preceptor by the late Emperor — the first female official in all of Daqing.

The Hua Family’s resurgence was within sight.

Inside, Hua Zhi smiled softly and offered her mother and Fourth Aunt an explanation. “I accidentally soiled my clothes in the palace. Little Six found one for me to change into. All is well.”

Hua Zhi’s smile held a rare, unguarded joy. “The Hua Family — all is well.”

Wu Shi pressed her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.

Hua Zhi nodded to her. “It is exactly as you are thinking. By the late Emperor’s decree — Little Six is named Crown Prince, and I am named Grand Preceptor.”

At this, even Zhu Shi pressed her hand to her mouth. Grand — Grand — Grand Preceptor?

Hua Zhi was indifferent to the title itself. The late Emperor had done little more than use it to bind her, to demand she give everything for his son. No court attendance required, no participation in governance permitted — it looked like an official position, but in the end it was little more than a name.

Fortunately, she had no desire to pursue a career in officialdom anyway. She only hoped Little Six would grow up quickly, become a competent ruler quickly, and marry quickly — and when that day came, the sky would be wide and the sea open before her.

“First Madam, Fourth Madam — your servant oversteps, but the young miss is exhausted. Perhaps let the young miss rest first?”

Ying Chun’s reminder filled the First Madam’s heart with remorse, and she nodded repeatedly. “Yes, yes — she does look worn out. Go rest quickly.”

Hua Zhi was indeed utterly drained. Without standing on ceremony with her own family, she gave a nod and walked back toward her courtyard. She missed her own bed desperately. And she was hungry — so hungry she could have eaten a whole ox.

Little maids had already gone running back ahead of her, and the entire courtyard came to life. Hot water was carried into the room. Fresh clothes were laid out. Dishes that had been kept warm over the stove were brought to the table. Watching these familiar scenes unfold one after another, Hua Zhi felt her very bones go soft with relief. This was the life she wanted — no rushing about, no wearisome toil, no exhausting herself like a dog while keeping a composed face through it all.

She wanted a world where those around her were the ones holding up the sky, so she could curl herself into a corner and with perfect justification be the one who was protected — rather than what she was now, bracing herself as the one who did the protecting.

“Young miss, drink a bowl of soup first to warm yourself.”

Hua Zhi received the cloth and wiped her hands clean, then drained the bowl of soup at what was likely the fastest speed of her life. The sensation of cold seeping through even her bones finally began to recede.

Ying Chun’s eyes reddened. She quickly moved several of the easier-to-digest dishes to the front of the young miss’s setting, then shot a look at Bao Xia to hurry and urge the kitchen to send more.

Hua Zhi ate with her head down, not lifting it once. Her eyes were more eager than her stomach — she wanted to stuff every dish into her mouth at once.

“Eat slowly.” Ying Chun refilled half a bowl of soup, and her hands never stopped serving food.

Wu Shi and Zhu Shi, still not entirely at ease, had followed and come along. They had intended to ask more about the matter of the Grand Preceptor title — but standing in the outer room, watching Zhi’s manner, the two of them wordlessly lightened their footsteps. After watching for a moment, they joined hands and slipped away. Their questions could be asked at any time. Zhi was truly hungry. Truly exhausted.

Even without asking, they knew. How difficult it must have been for a woman to attain the title of Grand Preceptor, and how much she must have paid for it. What she had endured in the palace — how much danger she had weathered to come out the other side — they could not begin to imagine.

They shared a look, and both let out a long sigh at the same time. The Hua Family’s crisis might well have passed. They were safe. But what would become of Zhi in the future? What was to be done about her marriage? When it came down to it, a woman still needed to marry someone who would be good to her.