Before A’Lei’s marriage, Hu Shanwei gave her one-on-one instruction about marital intimate matters. At the end, she presented a small box filled with specially prepared fish bladders and sheep intestines. “Marriage is fine, but pay attention to contraception. Don’t have children. If you have children, it will be very difficult for you to leave when the time comes.”
Hu Shanwei still remembered being forced to stop breastfeeding five months after giving birth to A’Lei. To investigate the truth behind Fan Gongzheng’s death, she left baby A’Lei in swaddling clothes with Mu Chun and traveled alone to Yangzhou, piling up a mountain of silver to buy information, mobilizing water spirits to practically sieve through the entire Yangzhou section of the Yangtze River.
Sixteen years had passed, and whenever Hu Shanwei recalled the past, she could still feel the pain of mother-daughter separation. Back then, just thinking of A’Lei would cause her chest to swell with automatic pain. She had to drink hawthorn and roasted malt for a month to force the milk back.
However, the physical pain was less than one percent of the psychological agony of mother-daughter separation anxiety. The guilt toward A’Lei often caused nightmares, dreaming that A’Lei was lost, had fallen, was hungry with no one to care for her, or had been carried away by wolves. These nightmares only gradually decreased after Mu Chun entrusted A’Lei to her grandfather Hu Rong’s care and came to the capital to find her.
Father Hu Rong raised A’Lei very well. The granddaughter was like glue, mending the father-daughter relationship that had long since fallen apart.
Five years later, after Hu Shanwei successfully helped the Ming Dynasty change emperors and retired with honor, she returned to Yunnan. The chubby, soft, white dumpling in her memory had become a dark, blackened “braised egg” whose only white parts were the soles of her feet and the whites of her eyes. This “braised egg,” with mud on both legs from catching shrimp, looking like a wild person, asked her: “Who are you?”
That moment of heartbreak was etched in her bones—something Hu Shanwei would never forget for the rest of her life.
Whether man or woman, family and career can never truly be balanced or managed simultaneously. Everyone’s time and energy are limited. If you lean heavily toward one side, the other is destined to suffer.
Society has been fed too much inspirational nonsense, praising how if you just work hard enough, you can balance family and career, demanding people—especially women—to become so-called successful individuals who excel in both family and career.
If you can’t achieve this, they blame you for not trying hard enough, saying you don’t deserve to be a perfect mother, calling you selfish and cold.
The reality is that it’s impossible. In the ruthlessly competitive workplace, doing your job well requires focused and sustained effort—sometimes even hard work isn’t enough to succeed!
A working woman who can be a seventy percent mother is already remarkable. So screw the perfect, flawless mother ideal. Accept your imperfections, make peace with yourself, and living your own life well is what matters most. Don’t be fooled by inspirational drivel—human civilization is still far from truly respecting the value of full-time homemakers.
Hu Shanwei could choose to temporarily leave A’Lei with her father for “safekeeping,” then take A’Lei back later for a family reunion. But the imperial family would never allow A’Lei to take her child away.
Hu Shanwei had suffered through the agony of mother-daughter separation. She hoped A’Lei wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes. Her situation was a “fixed-term sentence,” while A’Lei’s would be “life imprisonment”—that would be very painful in the future.
This was a mother’s final protection for her daughter.
A’Lei blushed as she accepted this “great gift.”
After A’Lei’s marriage, the Hu Shanwei couple traveled far to Beijing to prepare the new imperial palace.
Three years later.
In the eighteenth year of Yongle, August, the Beijing imperial palace was completed. Emperor Yongle summoned the Crown Prince and Imperial Grandson to Beijing.
In November, Emperor Yongle announced to the world that the Ming capital would be established in Beijing. The former capital of Yingtian Prefecture became the southern capital, hence called Nanjing. Their ancestral home of Fengyang remained the central capital.
Since there was still a group opposing the capital relocation, Emperor Yongle didn’t fight them to the bitter end. He creatively initiated a “soft relocation” strategy, declaring that while Nanjing was like Beijing and the capital had moved north, Nanjing would retain a complete set of central leadership including the Six Ministries, the Jinyiwei, and the Imperial Academy, forming a distinctive “one country, two systems” governance model.
Two complete government systems—if one had problems, the second could immediately step in.
Those officials unwilling to relocate could stay in Nanjing to continue their posts with unchanged salaries and benefits, only distanced from the core political circle.
The Xu family of Duke Weiguo’s mansion was permanently stationed in Nanjing. Like the Mu family of Duke Qianguo eternally guarding Yunnan, the Xu family would henceforth guard Nanjing for generations, forever bound together in life and death, sharing wealth and decline alike.
In December, the Crown Prince and Imperial Grandson arrived in Beijing with their families. The Chunwei couple had waited with eager eyes and finally welcomed their daughter… and granddaughter.
Wait, why was there also a granddaughter? Was that whole box of sheep intestines and fish bladders given for nothing?
Time rewinds to last year. Upon hearing the shocking news that the Imperial Grandson’s consort was pregnant, both Hu Shanwei and Mu Chun in Beijing were stunned—not as if A’Lei was pregnant, but as if they’d been struck by lightning. Using the excuse of visiting their “younger sister,” they rushed day and night to Nanjing.
Hu Shanwei was absolutely furious, questioning A’Lei with almost the same words Ru Siyao had once used on her: “I clearly told you to be careful not to get pregnant. If you have a child, how can you retreat completely in the future? Why did you still get your belly big? Are the fish bladders no good, or are the sheep intestines useless? What exactly were you thinking? Have you forgotten your original intention?”
Mu Chun helplessly stood between them. “Calm down, speak slowly. She’s carrying a child now—don’t frighten her. Sigh, since she’s already pregnant, she can’t very well not give birth, can she? Her health is what matters!”
Mu Chun felt more heartache than anger because A’Lei looked unwell.
A’Lei was already four months pregnant. She had suffered severe morning sickness early on and had a somewhat difficult pregnancy. While others gained weight during pregnancy, she had actually lost weight. Therefore, she had kept it secret until after three months when the fetus stabilized before announcing it. Now she had gained some weight back, but with the loss and gain, her figure was about the same as before marriage.
A’Lei hid behind Mu Chun like when she was small and had caused mischief, seeking her brother-in-law’s protection. “I didn’t forget. We used them, every single time, really. Otherwise, how would my belly only show signs after two years of marriage? I don’t know what happened either. Maybe… that thing had a hole in it.”
Hearing this, Hu Shanwei and Mu Chun exchanged a glance: A’Lei herself had come about the same way—she too was an unexpected child.
Seeing that Hu Shanwei seemed to have calmed down, A’Lei tremblingly came out from behind Mu Chun and hugged Hu Shanwei’s arm, acting coquettish: “Mother, I was very scared at first and didn’t want this child, thinking it was a burden. But as the child grew day by day in my belly, I began to slowly look forward to this child.”
Hu Shanwei reached out to touch A’Lei’s small abdomen, still flat as before, showing no sign of the peanut-sprout-sized fetus inside.
A’Lei’s face glowed with maternal radiance. Hu Shanwei suddenly remembered when she had unexpectedly conceived A’Lei—she too had gone from fear to anticipation.
Ru Siyao had warned that older mothers faced high risks and advised contraception. But just that one time, that thing somehow broke without anyone knowing. She thought she wouldn’t be that unlucky, but who could have predicted a single strike would hit the target? Thus A’Lei came to be. At thirty-eight, Hu Shanwei’s “advanced age” nearly cost her life giving birth to A’Lei with Ru Siyao’s help.
Did she regret it?
Never regretted it.
Hu Shanwei sighed and embraced A’Lei. “Since you’re already pregnant, take good care of yourself. From today, your brother-in-law and I will start eating vegetarian food and doing daily good deeds, praying for your blessing. I hope you give birth to a daughter—that will save you much worry in the future.”
Compared to princesses of all previous dynasties, Ming princesses had the best lives. All princesses found consorts nearby in the capital without needing to marry far away for political alliances in foreign lands.
If she gave birth to a son… as the legitimate eldest grandson, A’Lei would probably be trapped in the imperial palace for life.
The Imperial Grandson personally saw off his father-in-law and mother-in-law, saying carefully: “Please rest assured, I will take good care of A’Lei.”
How could they be assured? Could he carry the pregnancy for her or give birth for her?
Sigh, when would women be freed from the suffering of childbirth? Hu Shanwei was annoyed and disliked her son-in-law no matter how she looked at him. She said coldly: “The Imperial Grandson’s palace also has Consort Sun and three concubines. All four were personally selected by me from among the palace maidens to bear children for the imperial family. Now that A’Lei is pregnant and cannot share a bed with the Imperial Grandson, what arrangements does the Imperial Grandson have for these four? The Eastern Palace must have been urging the Imperial Grandson about this, hasn’t it?”
After A’Lei was made Imperial Grandson’s consort, Consort Sun and three concubines were successively promoted to the Imperial Grandson’s palace, but none had yet served in bed.
The imperial family valued many sons and grandsons but placed greater importance on legitimate lineage. So for these two years of marriage, Zhu Zhanji and A’Lei had lived in their own sweet world, enjoying love—the happiest time of life.
But now it was different. A’Lei was pregnant, and according to imperial family rules, the Imperial Grandson’s palace consorts should be arranged for bedchamber service.
A’Lei never mentioned this matter in front of Hu Shanwei, but Hu Shanwei could sense A’Lei’s pressure and anxiety. No woman would willingly share her husband with others—unless she no longer loved him. Love is inherently possessive and exclusive.
Hu Shanwei had witnessed three generations of imperial couples’ love and marriages. She knew love wasn’t eternal—it was gradually worn away by time, suspicion, interests, conflicts, and so on. In the end, love would transform into political alliance and partnership, or even enmity, sharing the same bed with different dreams. When that time came and love was completely exhausted, women no longer minded sharing men.
At that point, men were no longer lovers but sperm banks and shared bicycles that could be used by scanning a code. The Eastern Palace had been like this from the beginning—the Crown Prince and Crown Princess were a political couple.
But A’Lei still looked like she was in the passionate love period. Sharing Zhu Zhanji at this time would sadden her.
Faced with his mother-in-law wolf’s questioning, Zhu Zhanji said: “To be honest with Palace Lady Hu, the Crown Princess has mentioned this matter briefly, but I refused. The distinction between legitimate and illegitimate concerns the Ming Dynasty’s thousand-year foundation. Until there is a legitimate son, illegitimate children are not urgent for the moment. The Crown Princess also agrees with my decision.”
Meaning that before A’Lei gave birth to a legitimate son, the four decorative vases in the Imperial Grandson’s palace would remain mere decorations, and the Crown Princess wouldn’t pressure A’Lei.
However, Hu Shanwei wasn’t satisfied with this answer. She hoped A’Lei would give birth to a daughter. “I know the imperial family’s rules. An heir without offspring cannot last long. However, I also have my rules. The day the Imperial Grandson favors his consorts will be the day I take A’Lei away. This was the rule we privately established when we agreed to this marriage. When feelings are gone, marriage is gone. The Imperial Grandson must not forget this.”
Zhu Zhanji was still immersed in love and the wild joy of becoming a father. “I won’t forget. Whether A’Lei gives birth to a legitimate son or legitimate daughter, she will be my only one. Those words were just to appease the Crown Princess. Having given my word, the Crown Princess won’t pressure A’Lei.”
Looking at Zhu Zhanji’s smile that couldn’t close his mouth, Hu Shanwei felt mixed emotions. The happier they were now, the more tormented they would be if anything happened in the future.
Sigh, no point thinking so much. Everyone can only live in the present. At least now they were a happy couple.
Hu Shanwei and Mu Chun returned to the capital. Mu Chun, who couldn’t live without meat, sincerely observed vegetarian fasting. The old couple prayed day and night for A’Lei to give birth to a daughter. More than five months later, good news arrived: A’Lei had given birth to a daughter—the imperial family’s first great-granddaughter.
The Chunwei couple were so happy they set off fireworks all night.
In the depths of winter, the Crown Prince and Imperial Grandson arrived in Beijing with their families. The Chunwei couple saw their granddaughter for the first time, and Emperor Yongle also met his great-granddaughter for the first time.
Upon seeing his great-granddaughter, Emperor Yongle held her and wouldn’t let go, repeatedly saying the little baby looked like her great-grandmother.
Everyone was speechless—it was truly difficult to see any resemblance to the dignified and solemn Empress Renxiao from the portrait in this chubby white baby who looked like a silkworm.
But since the Emperor said she resembled her, who dared say otherwise? They all agreed she looked very much like her.
Thus, in this harmonious atmosphere of family reunion, they entered the nineteenth year of Yongle. The Ming Dynasty stepped into a new era, with Beijing as its political center from then on.
With the formal capital relocation completed, it was time for Hu Shanwei to retire with honor. Emperor Yongle kept his promise, hosting a grand banquet to ceremoniously bid farewell to Palace Lady Hu.
This time Hu Shanwei was determined to leave because the Imperial Grandson’s palace had moved to Beijing’s Forbidden City. Given her relationship with A’Lei, she needed to avoid suspicion.
During the three years of preparing palace personnel, Hu Shanwei had secretly placed several “nails.” Originally she hadn’t planned to do this, but with A’Lei in the palace, she had to make arrangements for her, keeping some backup plans.
Since she was retiring, she should retire completely and not drag things out. After the farewell banquet, Hu Shanwei and Mu Chun left the next day, claiming they would travel together with unknown destinations.
In the nineteenth year of Yongle, first month, new year, new atmosphere. To celebrate the Ming capital relocation, Emperor Yongle went to the Imperial Ancestral Temple to present the spirit tablets of five temples. Crown Prince Zhu Gaochi went to the suburban altar to present the spirit tablets of heaven and earth. Imperial Grandson Zhu Zhanji went to the Altar of Soil and Grain to present the spirit tablets there. Duke Qianguo Mu Sheng was summoned back to the capital for duty reports and went to the Mountain and River Altar to present the spirit tablets of mountains, rivers, and various deities.
Mu Sheng was Prince Zhao Zhu Gaosui’s father-in-law. With his father-in-law receiving such treatment, Prince Zhao was very proud.
Emperor Yongle received grand court congratulations from his officials in the Fengtian Hall, formally announcing Beijing as the new capital.
Everything seemed to go smoothly.
However, in April, the three great halls in the palace—Fengtian Hall, Huagai Hall, and Jinshen Hall—suffered fires. The newly built palace was destroyed in an instant!
Immediately, officials submitted memorials saying this was a heavenly disaster and warning, demanding a return to Nanjing. In early spring Beijing was cold and dry with strong winds and sand. Officials accustomed to Nanjing’s southern climate couldn’t adapt to the north—many fell ill with homesickness.
The Crown Prince also fell ill and supported returning to Nanjing.
But the Imperial Grandson believed Beijing was the Ming capital. If the palace burned down, they should rebuild it. Beijing naturally had dry weather prone to fires—suffering fire disasters wasn’t rare and wasn’t any heavenly warning.
This was the first time this father and son disagreed.
Emperor Yongle was a generation’s hero. Burning three palace halls couldn’t shake his determination at all, and with the Imperial Grandson’s support, he insisted Beijing remain the capital.
In the twentieth year of Yongle, Emperor Yongle personally campaigned against Arutai, with the Crown Prince serving as regent.
During the Crown Prince’s regency, he governed well with officials praising him universally. He also uncovered his third brother Prince Zhao Zhu Gaosui’s rebellion plot. When Emperor Yongle saw the succession edict the Crown Prince had searched from Prince Zhao’s mansion on his return journey, he exclaimed, “How could there be such a thing!”
Prince Zhao, now a prisoner, refused to admit guilt, claiming the Crown Prince had deliberately framed him. However, evidence was conclusive—besides physical evidence, there were witnesses. He had no defense.
The Crown Prince again knelt to beg Emperor Yongle to forgive his third brother, saying “Gaosui certainly wouldn’t conspire in this—this was done by his subordinates,” using the same reasoning as when he had pleaded for Prince Han—saying it wasn’t his brother’s fault but that he’d been led astray by those below.
After all, he was his own son, and Prince Zhao’s consort was Duke Qianguo Mu Sheng’s daughter. Emperor Yongle only punished the accomplices, bloodily purging the official ranks with thousands losing their heads.
Emperor Yongle released Prince Zhao, commanding him to stay home reading and reform himself.
Thus, both Prince Han and Prince Zhao completely withdrew from succession struggles. With the Crown Prince having served as regent for many years, officials had submitted to him. The Crown Prince’s position as heir was as stable as Mount Tai.
With no more competitors, the Eastern Palace achieved unprecedented tranquility. However, Crown Princess Zhang became increasingly silent. She told the Imperial Grandson: “In the future… you must maintain consistent positions with the Crown Prince. He is your father.”
Thinking of his third uncle Prince Zhao’s fate, Zhu Zhanji felt a chill. “Yes, I will remember and won’t oppose father.”
Unknowingly, though the Crown Prince hadn’t yet ascended the throne, he had already gained control of the Ming Empire in advance.
In the twenty-second year of Yongle, Emperor Yongle again personally campaigned against Arutai. Falling seriously ill during the campaign, he had to begin the return journey.
On July 18th, as the army reached Yumu River, a bowl-sized meteor appeared in the night sky—red and brilliantly dazzling. Afterward, wind and rain raged, with tile-sized hailstones falling. Horses broke their necks and died, while soldiers without helmets even had their heads smashed open.
Emperor Yongle summoned Grand Secretaries Yang Rong and Jin Youzi: “The Eastern Palace has been involved for many years and is familiar with government affairs. After returning to the capital, all military and national affairs should be entrusted to him.”
The two Grand Secretaries drafted the succession edict according to Emperor Yongle’s wishes.
In his dying moments, the ship clock on the table reached the hour and began to automatically sail. The deck ejected two embracing small figures riding the wind and breaking the waves.
Emperor Yongle felt his body becoming lighter and lighter, the ship growing larger and larger, the people on the ship coming alive. The person he thought of day and night stood at the bow, looking just as she had in their youth, smiling and waving at him.
“Miaoyi, you’ve come to receive me!” In his trance, Emperor Yongle boarded the ship, took that person’s hand, and they would never be separated again.