Inside, Hua Chun’s heart was in shambles—yet a woman’s body is a strange thing: mouth saying no while the rest of her felt otherwise. Seeing how gently the Emperor kept kissing her face, Hua Chun decided to just endure it.
“His Majesty hasn’t come out all day.”
In the Hall of Wisdom and Brightness, Consort Hui said to the Empress Dowager with great concern: “He didn’t hold morning court, hasn’t reviewed a single memorial, and no one in the palace dares go summon him.”
The Empress Dowager rubbed her temples and waved a hand. “You’ve been at the Emperor’s side long enough—don’t you understand his heart by now? The Prime Minister was executed. However he handles it, he needs time to recover.”
“But…” Consort Hui pursed her lips. Recovery came in different forms, didn’t it? If he’d stayed in the Purple Star Hall, no one would have said a word. But instead the Emperor was staying in the palace of that brothel woman—how were the other consorts supposed to interpret that?
With Prime Minister Hua gone, every consort in the harem besides Consort Shu ought to be setting off firecrackers in celebration. Without him around, the Emperor would surely have more time for the harem.
And yet, unexpectedly, Hua Jinghua had died only for a Hua Chun to appear in his place—arriving and immediately winning favor, even more unwelcome to everyone than Prime Minister Hua had been.
Judging by the Empress Dowager’s tone, she had no intention of admonishing the Emperor either. Consort Hui rose helplessly. “Then this concubine will take her leave.”
“Go rest well.” Empress Dowager Ning waved a hand, her face full of exhaustion.
Once Consort Hui had withdrawn, the Empress Dowager leaned against Attendant Yuejian and let two lines of tears fall. “What a pity…”
Yuejian comforted her softly: “Your Majesty need not grieve. The rest of the Hua family has already left the capital. This servant had people quietly make arrangements—aside from Consort Shu’s birth mother, Madam Wu, everyone else has settled in towns near the capital.”
“Mm.” Empress Dowager Ning asked: “Has the Prime Minister already been properly buried?”
“He has.” Yuejian pursed her lips. “His Majesty must have arranged it himself. Though he couldn’t enter the Hua family’s ancestral cemetery, a fine grave was built near the Hua family’s burial grounds.”
“Ai.” The Empress Dowager closed her eyes. “The Emperor truly could not bear to lose the Prime Minister. Even though he wronged him many times out of ignorance in the past, now that he’s gone, he must be filled with regret. Send someone to burn incense on my behalf.”
“Yes.” Yuejian agreed.
At the Marquis of Gongyu’s estate.
Since returning from the execution ground, He Chang’an had been sitting on the veranda, throwing stones into the pond in front, from dawn until dusk, his face utterly blank.
The steward glanced at the servant beside him, who had spent the entire day fishing stones back out, and finally couldn’t help but ask: “Is the Marquis still grieving over Prime Minister Hua?”
He Chang’an said nothing, closing his eyes.
“Ai, many commoners in the streets today burned paper money for the Prime Minister and paid their respects. This old servant understands that the Marquis and the Prime Minister were close, but the dead are gone. You mustn’t grieve too much.”
More importantly, if this continued, the household servants would collapse from exhaustion at the pond’s edge.
The Marquis of Gongyu finally spoke, his voice somewhat hoarse from a day of silence: “I’m fine. It’ll pass by tonight.”
But he looked nothing like someone who was fine. Their Marquis was normally unmatched in cheerful clarity, always smiling, full of spirit. Today, he’d been like an eggplant struck by frost the entire day, lifeless all over, as though the sky were about to fall.
Such an expression—in all his years serving the Marquis, the old steward had only seen it twice before. The other time was when the old Marquis and his wife had both passed from illness.
The old steward sighed, had someone bring a cloak, and sent a fresh batch of servants to continue fishing stones for the Marquis.
Dark clouds hung over the capital, yet the rain never fell.
That night, many people in the court slept soundly—without Hua Jinghua around, the future looked bright. Many others lay awake all night, worried about the future of the Great Liang dynasty.
The Western Xia envoys had already quietly set off on the road home; Prince Xi assisted from behind, and the Emperor made no move to stop it, turning a blind eye and letting them return—after all, the promised gold mines still had to be handed over regardless.
The next morning’s court session, the civil and military officials all assumed the Emperor would surely be in low spirits, perhaps even skip court again. Yet when the hour came, the Emperor appeared full of energy, his eyes bright, even the corner of his mouth carrying a smile!
He was… smiling?!
Everyone’s hearts jolted; an old official muttered: “It’s over, it’s over. The moment the Prime Minister dies, His Majesty goes mad?”
Prince Xi was also rather astonished, frowning at the Emperor for a moment before joining the others in bowing: “Long live Your Majesty, ten thousand years.”
“Rise, all of you.” the Emperor said lightly, his gaze unusually gentle as it swept across the hall. “Is there any important matter today?”
There had actually been many matters to report, but the officials below exchanged glances, cautiously studying the Emperor’s expression, hearts uneasy, unable to guess his mood—so all of them stayed silent.
“Since there’s nothing, then I’ll issue a decree.” Yuwen Jie turned his head. “Eunuch Qin.”
Eunuch Qin bowed and brought forward the imperial edict: “By the Mandate of Heaven, the Emperor decrees: the position of Prime Minister stands vacant, and We are deeply grieved. Let one of capability fill it once more. Upon investigation, the Minister of Rites, Tang Yue, is accomplished in both letters and arms, with considerable political insight. We hereby grant him the position of Prime Minister. May he serve the court loyally and not disappoint Our great expectations. So decreed.”
Before the assembled officials could react, a young man standing at the very back of the ranks stepped forward and knelt: “This humble servant thanks Your Majesty.”
The Emperor nodded, his mood evidently good. “Since none of you seem to have objections, then it is settled. Prime Minister Tang, come with me to the Purple Star Hall. Court is dismissed.”
“Yes.”
Prince Xi came back to himself just in time to see the Emperor sweep out of the throne hall like a gust of wind, leaving behind a crowd of people with words on their lips who had already missed their chance.
What was going on? How could the position of Prime Minister be handed so easily to a mere Minister of Rites? He found it utterly incomprehensible, and turned to Li Zhongtang.
Li Zhongtang’s face had gone pale. He watched the young man’s retreating back, then leaned in to whisper to Prince Xi: “That is Grand Tutor Tang’s legitimate son.”
Prince Xi froze.
Grand Tutor Tang had already been exiled—how had his legitimate son entered court as Minister of Rites without anyone knowing? And now, in one leap, he’d become Prime Minister—wasn’t this just continuing to help the Emperor consolidate control over the court?
Brows knit tightly, Yuwen Xi swept his sleeves and left the hall.
He Chang’an’s expression remained somewhat dazed as he followed the Emperor to the Purple Star Hall, watching Tang Yue kneeling below, unable to focus his thoughts.
He hadn’t slept the night before; now even walking felt like treading on clouds in a dream, and he could barely register what the Emperor was saying.
“Do well,” the Emperor said, looking at Tang Yue. “Prime Minister Hua’s former network and connections will all be transferred to you quickly. Don’t disappoint me.”
Was this what they called being entrusted with duty in a time of crisis? Tang Yue kowtowed solemnly: “This humble servant understands!”
Waving him off, the Emperor turned to He Chang’an at his side: “Come, let me take you to see her.”
“See who?” He Chang’an still hadn’t fully returned to himself, his eyes filled with confusion.
“Your sworn sibling.” the Emperor considered. “Or perhaps, your sworn sister.”
He Chang’an stilled.
From the very beginning of planning how to save Hua Jinghua up until now, he had been in a constant state of bewilderment, because the Emperor had said he intended to bring Hua Jinghua into the harem. His worst-case expectation had simply been that Jinghua would become the Emperor’s favored companion.
He had wanted to object—how could the dignified Prime Minister become a mere favorite? Hua Jinghua’s face could never be concealed; how would the Emperor even protect him then? But after struggling with it for so long, he had ultimately been defeated by the Emperor’s words: “He was already mine from the start.”
His mind raced through so many things; He Chang’an felt he finally understood why the Emperor’s attitude toward Jinghua had changed so much, why he’d had him stay overnight at the Purple Star Hall night after night—so it turned out that, without his knowledge, Jinghua had already belonged to the Emperor.
Did it hurt? It hurt terribly—hurt so much that filling the pond all day couldn’t fill the hole torn open in his own heart. If he’d known this would be the outcome, would acting first have changed anything?
And yet, now, the Emperor was saying: sworn sister.
He Chang’an’s entire mind was in disarray; his steps stumbled slightly as he followed the Emperor all the way to the Hall of Nurturing the Heart.
The hall doors opened, and someone came bounding out—dressed in a full palace gown, hair piled high in an elaborate bun, adorned with vermillion hairpins and jade ornaments, a floral mark painted between the brows, the whole face stunningly lovely, every glance brimming with charm.
The doors shut behind them. This person immediately smiled and waved at him, voice noticeably softer and higher: “Second Brother.”
He Chang’an instinctively stepped back, staring at her in a daze.
Hua Chun tugged self-consciously at her skirt, somewhat unused to it, and looked at Yuwen Jie: “Is it that strange?”
“The way you walk is a bit odd.” the Emperor said with a curl of his lips. “Everything else is quite good.”
Her face reddened; Hua Chun glared at him and bit back a retort, then looked to He Chang’an: “Second Brother, I didn’t mean to hide this from you for so long.”
Her chest was full, her waist slender, the delicate collarbone visible—this was nothing like the frail-seeming young man he remembered; this was, unmistakably, truly a woman’s body.
“You…” His throat ached slightly; He Chang’an forced a smile. “You’re really a woman?”
“It’s a long story, but yes, I’m a woman. Don’t worry, there’s no threat now.” Hua Chun looked at him earnestly. “Before, for certain reasons, I couldn’t tell you the truth. I apologize for that now. We may have sworn ourselves as brothers, but I suppose it turns out to be brother and sister instead.”
He Chang’an stared blankly at her for a moment, then turned to ask the Emperor: “You knew all along?”
“Mm.” the Emperor nodded. “In light of her service to the realm, I forgave her crime.”
And, having acted first, secured his exclusive claim.
He Chang’an frowned, closing his eyes.
“Second Brother, are you not feeling well?” Noticing his complexion, Hua Chun leaned in closer and touched his forehead. “Sure enough, you’re running a fever!”
Her wrist was suddenly seized; her heart jumped, and she immediately remembered her current status, smoothly redirecting her hand to the Emperor’s forehead instead, pretending nothing had happened, frowning: “Your Majesty’s temperature is completely normal—Second Brother really does have a fever. Someone fetch the imperial physician quickly!”
“From now on,” the Emperor said, his gaze darkening, displeased, “you may only call him ‘Marquis.’ Forget everything from before—all of it.”