Sister A’Lei had made her request—never mind a few clocks, even a few golden mountains would be no problem.

After Zhu Zhanji delivered the clocks to A’Lei, he brought gifts to comfort uncle-in-law Mu Xin, who had sprained his foot.

Mu Xin had slipped on sesame oil and taken a hard fall, his ankle swelling up like a pig’s hoof. He was recuperating at the princess residence. Publicly, he only said he had accidentally fallen, deliberately concealing the truth to prevent people from discovering he had been secretly monitoring A’Lei.

Prince Consort Mu Xin had always maintained a neutral stance. When the Eastern Palace faced the storm of deposing the Crown Prince and was besieged on all sides, Mu Xin and the Mu residence never kicked them when they were down—this was already precious and rare. Hearing the prince consort had sprained his foot, the Crown Prince had the Crown Prince’s Grandson personally go to the princess residence to offer comfort.

Mu Xin: I thank you so much!

Looking at his bedridden uncle-in-law, Zhu Zhanji secretly rejoiced while showing nothing on his face, displaying concern and regret. Sweet-tongued but vicious-hearted, he continued wielding his forty-meter broadsword to stab at uncle-in-law’s pain points: “Sigh, the prince consort’s foot is badly swollen. It seems it won’t recover before the princess’s memorial day. What can be done?”

Mu Xin: I’ll endure it!

To avoid exposing his investigation of A’Lei, Mu Xin had to swallow his grievances like a mute eating bitter herbs, unable to voice his suffering.

However, Mu family’s fourth son wasn’t to be trifled with—after all, he was someone who had sucked his own snot as a child. That day when oil was smeared underfoot, he claimed publicly that he fell in his residence, but secretly sent trusted aides to investigate the wine house. How could oil coincidentally be spilled just as the wine house opened in the morning?

Moreover, when the server led him to the private room, both had stepped over the doorway without falling. The server had closed the door and gone down to bring food without falling. How was it that only when he saw A’Lei emerge from the foreign goods shop at the window and rushed to follow her, he stepped on the oil and slipped?

Someone definitely wanted to harm this prince consort.

And to act in such a short time, it shouldn’t be a customer from the first floor, but another second-floor customer. Mu Xin sent a trusted aide to tip the server and have him recall the upstairs customers that morning.

The server stated with certainty that there were only two customers upstairs then—one fell, while the other ordered a full table of dishes but only ate a crab roe bun before hurrying away, leaving just before and after the one who fell.

The customer who achieved crab roe bun freedom was a young, delicate, thin, and tall youth.

The server even sighed, “So thin, yet ate so little—even more refined than a young lady.”

Hearing the customer’s physical description, the first person who came to Mu Xin’s mind was Crown Prince’s Grandson Zhu Zhanji.

It was the Crown Prince’s Grandson who did it. That day at the foreign goods shop, encountering Zhu Zhanji who was also buying glasses…

Mu Xin felt he had inadvertently glimpsed some heavenly secret, having his trusted aide inquire whether the Crown Prince’s Grandson had recent dealings with the Hu residence.

The trusted aide quickly brought news—the Crown Prince’s Grandson had delivered clocks to the Hu residence.

Young men and women, childhood sweethearts, the usually gentle and harmless Crown Prince’s Grandson always inadvertently hitting his sore spots… Combining these suspicious points, Mu Xin, who had once loved, understood everything.

The Crown Prince’s Grandson saw him as a rival, thinking he harbored ill intentions toward A’Lei.

Well, previously Mu Xin felt he knew too little; now he felt he knew too much.

Worried about further targeting by the Crown Prince’s Grandson and bringing trouble upon himself, Mu Xin decided to stop following A’Lei and wholeheartedly await second brother’s reply.

As for A’Lei, she was at home dismantling eastern clocks to repair western ones, developing intense interest in mechanical wheel-axle braking systems. She simply took apart all the grandfather clocks the Crown Prince’s Grandson had sent, drawing each component on paper as she dismantled them, recording the sequence.

She discovered that grandfather clocks relied on wound springs to maintain automatic rotation—each tick was one second. When the minute hand completed one revolution, the pendulum swung like a hammer once. A’Lei thought of the large ships built at the Treasure Ship Shipyard and wondered if installing such mechanical wheel-axles in large ships, replacing the pendulum with ship oars, would allow ships to row automatically without human power or wind-powered sails.

Why not first build a desk-sized small ship to try? A’Lei found a new goal. She rolled up her sleeves, bought a complete set of carpentry tools, and daily cut wood and assembled mechanical wheel-axles, almost too busy to eat.

After seeing off Mu Chun, Hu Shanwei was also busy with work—another batch of Korean girl groups had arrived at the palace. She needed to settle these women who had traveled far in the palace.

Ming had decided to relocate the capital to Beijing, making it even more important to win over neighboring Joseon. There absolutely couldn’t be rebellious incidents like those in Jiaozhi, or ministers opposing the capital relocation would refuse to move, citing unsafe capital conditions.

Of course, Emperor Yongle would never directly state the real reason for these Korean girl groups entering the palace. Two years ago, in the ninth year of Yongle, Emperor Yongle had sent Joseon eunuch Hai Shou to Joseon to select tribute women, issuing an oral imperial edict saying:

“Last year the women sent from your place—the fat ones were fat, the pockmarked were pockmarked, the short ones were short—none were very good. Only seeing your king’s respectful heart, I enfeoffed them as consorts, beauties, and court ladies as appropriate. If your king now has good women selected, send two if many, one if few.”

Of course, Hu Shanwei had seen the palace’s numerous Joseon concubines—each dignified in appearance and elegant in speech. For example, Consort Quan who played excellent flute was outstanding among them. There was no one who was “fat, pockmarked, or short”—these were just excuses.

Through a year of selection and a long journey, this batch of tribute women finally arrived in the capital with the Joseon mission. They wore bright, puffy ponytail skirts with wide ponytail-woven hoops underneath, making the people inside look like fresh flowers in vases.

Half of Emperor Yongle’s harem consisted of Korean girl groups, and now another batch had arrived. Uninformed spectators thought Emperor Yongle simply had this preference.

When the King of Chu favored thin waists, many in the palace starved. Royal preferences led fashion trends, and people imitated Joseon women by using ponytail hoops under their skirts, like hiding open umbrellas beneath.

Starting with women, even men learned to modify their skirts. With enlarged hems, they walked with wind, appearing majestic.

This batch of Korean girl groups numbered over thirty, plus forty-some young eunuchs already castrated in Joseon to supplement the eunuch ranks.

Hu Shanwei checked the roster of new palace entrants—mostly daughters of Joseon yangban officials, with half being daughters of Joseon great merchants. Though their status wasn’t as high as officials’ daughters, their families were wealthy and traded with Ming. Through preliminary communication, these merchants’ daughters spoke no less eloquently than yangban officials’ daughters, able to listen, speak, read, and write fluent Chinese.

Called trade, it also provided Joseon intelligence. Emperor Yongle needed to ensure successful capital relocation by stabilizing Joseon, casting a wide net there. Those close to Ming and willing to serve as Ming’s eyes and ears had their daughters selected for the Ming court.

Ming’s reciprocation was official titles and ranks, elevating social status. For those already yangban officials, family children received promotion priority. Having a Ming concubine in the family was political capital.

For non-yangban commoners, like Lü Shi among this palace group whose father was a great Joseon merchant, he ambitiously sought to emulate Warring States period Lü Buwei, using beauty offerings to gain political capital and achieve class advancement.

Lü Shi successfully joined the girl group, her father receiving the title of Honglu Temple Vice Minister. Though only a nominal position without real power, in Joseon’s rigid class system where breaking social barriers was difficult, the Lü family leaped from merchants to fifth-rank officials. Henceforth, yangban officials dared not show off or extort before the Lü family—truly rocket-powered ascension.

However, for Hu Shanwei managing the harem, a large forest meant all kinds of birds, making management more difficult than before. She didn’t discriminate against merchants’ daughters—she herself was a book merchant’s daughter from an ordinary merchant family.

It was just that this batch of Joseon girl groups had too mixed and chaotic backgrounds. Compared to previous uniform, submissive, almost cookie-cutter Joseon concubines, they were more rebellious.

You are the worst class I’ve ever taught.

Too chaotic—the team was hard to lead.

Looking at the roster, Hu Shanwei went to Yanxi Palace to find Consort Zhang.

Consort Zhang’s brother, Duke Yingguo Zhang Fu, had been urgently appointed to lead the southern expedition army to Jiaozhi again. Emperor Yongle had generously rewarded both Duke Yingguo’s household and Consort Zhang.

However, Consort Zhang wasn’t happy. She gazed somewhat desolately out the window at a large tree. Strong wind made it rustle loudly, and a leaf fluttered down to the windowsill.

Consort Zhang picked up the withered yellow leaf and looked in her mirror. The beauty in the reflection remained youthful, curvaceous, and well-maintained, but her abdomen was flat. She desperately wanted a child, boy or girl—she longed for a child carrying the emperor’s bloodline as inheritance.

When Emperor Yongle previously campaigned far away in Beijing, that was acceptable, but now he had returned, and she… she remained empty-bellied.

She had consulted female physicians—her body was healthy, menstruation regular, at optimal childbearing age.

She never became pregnant for a reason difficult to mention—Emperor Yongle didn’t touch her.

According to palace records by female officials, after Emperor Yongle returned from personal campaigns, he summoned Consort Zhang about five times monthly. Each bedtime visit displayed the grand “Guarding the Gate Sleep” ceremony outside Yanxi Palace, with crowds inside and outside—quite prestigious.

“Guarding the Gate Sleep” was only displayed for bedtime visits by Empress of the Central Palace, Consort Zhang of the Eastern Palace, and Consort Quan of the Western Palace.

The next day after “bedtime service,” Emperor Yongle would grant jewelry and such as mementos. These were recorded in palace archives as proof of sleeping together, preventing pants-pulling denial situations and protecting future imperial heir interests.

But only Consort Zhang herself knew that each bedtime visit involved literally sleeping under covers with nothing happening—just sleeping in the literal sense.

The emperor had been back over half a year, monthly like this, each time like this. Consort Zhang progressed from initial shy anticipation to self-doubt. Whether she maintained egg-smooth skin, willow-swaying figure, or placed aphrodisiac foods like chives or oysters in pre-sleep meals, nothing worked.

Emperor Yongle always fell asleep immediately upon laying down. Her seductive glances were wasted on the blind—utterly useless.

Emperor Yongle wasn’t the gentle-natured fat Crown Prince, and Consort Zhang wasn’t like Crown Princess Zhang or Eastern Palace’s Lady Guo—women accustomed to surviving adversity.

The fat Crown Prince could obediently lie flat like cotton, letting Crown Princess and Lady Guo manipulate and play tricks, cooperatively helping women conceive and bear children, generously scattering seeds.

Emperor Yongle was a ruthless man who conquered the realm on horseback, possessing naturally imposing presence. Even sleeping, he remained majestically inviolable like a sword. Even noble-born Consort Zhang dared not touch him up and down like Crown Princess did with her pillow companion.

According to palace records, Western Palace’s Joseon Consort Quan also had bedtime visits about five times monthly, each time displaying “Guarding the Gate Sleep” ceremony at Changchun Palace.

Each of Consort Quan’s bedtime visits involved playing flute for Emperor Yongle, because late Empress Renxiao loved hearing her flute music.

After bedtime service, Emperor Yongle also granted Consort Quan corresponding items.

The next day, Consort Zhang as harem mistress had to receive Consort Quan’s greetings and grant her gifts, expressing “you worked hard.”

Looking at submissive, gentle-as-water Consort Quan, Consort Zhang couldn’t help speculating: The emperor never truly touched me, but what about Consort Quan? Has the emperor touched her?

This couldn’t be asked directly, only guessed. However, Consort Quan’s mouth was like a clamshell—impossible to pry open, only smiling and nodding, gentle as autumn clouds.

Consort Zhang couldn’t fathom it, though Consort Quan also never became pregnant.

Next year, in the twelfth year of Yongle, come spring, the emperor would again head north for personal campaigns and supervise construction of the new capital and imperial city in Beijing—roughly another two to three years before returning.

How many two-to-three-year periods could a woman endure?

It was already autumn—she had only about four months. If she still couldn’t sleep with the emperor in these four months, she’d have to wait another two to three years, when her body wouldn’t be as good as now.

Consort Zhang was anxious! Unconsciously she slowly crumbled the withered leaf in her hand, calm on the surface but internally anxious.

Now another batch of Joseon concubines had arrived at the palace, each fresh and tender as early spring buds. The emperor ordered her to properly settle these newcomers—presumably such women suited the emperor’s taste?

While pondering, Cao Siyan entered saying, “Your Majesty Consort, Palace Supervisor Hu has arrived.”

Consort Zhang snapped back to attention, threw the crumbled leaf fragments into the spittoon, wiped debris from her fingernails with a handkerchief, checked her mirror to ensure perfect makeup and neat clothing, then said, “Summon her.”

Hu Shanwei entered with a roster. “Your Majesty Consort, thirty-seven Joseon tribute women have been settled in Chuxiu Palace, first teaching them etiquette practice and palace regulations. They all know Chinese and have some knowledge of music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. Several write decent poetry—probably completing studies and leaving Chuxiu Palace within a month.”

“After leaving, they need to be scattered and distributed to various palaces for residence. This is my current draft allocation plan for Your Majesty Consort’s review.”

Consort Zhang looked at the roster and allocation chart. After a while she said, “Seems a bit crowded. New plus old residents—Consort Quan’s Changchun Palace houses thirteen concubines?”

Hu Shanwei said, “Harem foundation subsidence has worsened. Currently half the Eastern and Western Six Palaces are dangerous buildings, already evacuated and uninhabitable. The other habitable half shows beam warping with occasional tile falls, requiring constant repairs.”

“Your Majesty Consort instructed this subject to properly settle them. I felt problematic palaces shouldn’t house newcomers, so concentrated arrangements in palaces with stable foundations or those like Yanxi Palace and Changchun Palace that underwent second foundation reinforcement and proper renovation.”

“As for why Consort Quan was assigned the most concubines, it’s because they’re all Joseon tribute women with better language and background communication. Consort Quan has been in the palace for years, knows all palace rules, and has always been cautious. With her controlling these newcomers, Your Majesty Consort can better manage them.”

Ming’s harem could now be described as dilapidated, especially the Eastern and Western Six Palaces at the former Yanque Lake’s deepest center, suffering the most severe subsidence.

These years Ming had dredged the Grand Canal, relocated the capital, supported Eunuch Zheng He’s multiple Western Ocean voyages, and most critically, Emperor Yongle’s personal northern campaigns—each major undertaking spent silver like flowing water.

The Crown Prince supervised the state, strictly focusing on agricultural and commercial economy, desperately encouraging farming and trade to expand tax revenue and fill the treasury, like flood disaster relief, plugging one hole after another.

Major matters took priority, while palace building repairs were relegated to last, repeatedly delayed. Originally this year when the emperor returned from campaigns, the Crown Prince finally had some surplus money and wanted to repair father emperor’s harem, but then Chen Jikuo’s Jiaozhi rebellion occurred. Ming had to campaign south again for pacification—war was most expensive, so the Crown Prince had to stop palace repair plans and convert surplus money into military supplies like firearms and provisions.

Make do with living for now!

Looking at the densely packed allocation chart, Consort Zhang said, “Palace Supervisor Hu makes sense. The harem has housing shortages, but imperial families have imperial dignity—such crowding seems improper. Are there truly no livable rooms in the palace?”

Hu Shanwei thought and said, “There are ready ones. Behind the Eastern and Western Six Palaces, the Eastern Five Residences and Western Five Residences at Qianqing Palace have foundations on former lakeshores—quite stable with no current subsidence phenomena. With slight tidying they could house people, but the Eastern and Western Five Residences previously housed underage princes and are somewhat remote.”

The palace currently had no underage princes. The only older one, Crown Prince’s Grandson Zhu Zhanji, had his own Crown Prince’s Grandson Palace. Other grandsons were either nursing or losing teeth, all living with mothers in the Eastern Palace. Thus the Eastern and Western Five Residences remained empty.