Even the most beautiful dreams must have a day of awakening.
In the reckless days of youth, they had always believed love could solve everything. Six years later, A’Lei and Zhu Zhanji were twenty-two, parents themselves, with Emperor Hongxi pressing them from above and Noble Consort Guo and Prince Teng aggressively threatening from below. Under such pressure, their identities as lovers transformed into Crown Prince and Crown Princess.
Love remained, but fate was exhausted.
First, as a great family with an imperial throne to inherit, an heir without offspring was easily vulnerable to attack. Emperor Hongxi’s ability to endure twenty-one years was largely because he could produce sons—especially an exceptional son like Zhu Zhanji.
Crown Princess Hu Shanxiang no longer monopolized the Eastern Palace. She obtained the menstrual records of Consort Sun and the three concubines, calculating away the menstrual period and seven days before and eight days after, precisely identifying each woman’s five-day golden fertility window.
This was a method secretly taught by female officials from the Imperial Medical Bureau—all connections from Hu Shanwei’s network who wanted to help the Crown Princess, after all, she was Palace Lady Hu’s younger sister.
Four women, five days each. The Crown Princess arranged the Crown Prince’s monthly “sowing” schedule with crystal clarity—no competing for favor, no intercepting halfway, to avoid wasting each woman’s golden pregnancy period.
The Crown Princess showed the prepared “attendance schedule” to the Crown Prince: “Following this plan, Your Highness should see results within three months.”
Thirty days in a month—twenty days for plowing and sowing, ten days rest. Work-rest balance was essential. They couldn’t ruin his health just to produce sons—Emperor Hongxi was a cautionary tale.
Four plots of land—surely one would bloom and bear fruit.
A’Lei truly was a hardcore science and engineering student, emphasizing planning, regularity, calculation, and of course science. She didn’t engage in feudal superstitions like praying to Guanyin for children, insisting on a scientific development approach.
Looking at the densely filled schedule, Zhu Zhanji said half-jokingly, half-seriously: “Such precise calculations—you’re treating me like a clock.”
A’Lei applied clockmaking craftsmanship to producing imperial heirs. The A’Lei who had once focused intently on mechanics in her workshop was gradually returning.
After agreeing to break up and become allies, they would work together with one heart against external forces. In each other’s presence, they wouldn’t show sadness or difficulty—they had no time for sorrow, striving to appear relaxed before each other.
A’Lei clasped her hands respectfully, smiling: “Your Highness works hard.”
Zhu Zhanji closed the schedule: “Not hard work—sacrificing for the Eastern Palace.”
That night, Consort Sun attended the bedchamber. Five days later came concubine Wu’s turn, and so forth. A month later, Consort Sun’s menstruation was delayed. After the female physician took her pulse, she announced Consort Sun was pregnant.
A’Lei generously rewarded Consort Sun, Empress Zhang also provided rewards, and Emperor Hongxi directly promoted Consort Sun to Good Lady!
Empress Zhang said: “Sun Shi is merely pregnant—we don’t know if it’s male or female. Promoting her to Good Lady so quickly seems hasty. Why not wait until she bears a son?”
Emperor Hongxi replied: “The Eastern Palace hasn’t heard a baby’s cry for three years.”
Emperor Hongxi also kept his guard up. Sun Shi was his placement beside the Crown Prince—she shouldn’t forget her benefactor after having children. If she bore a son, promoting her to Good Lady would be natural, but promoting her immediately upon pregnancy was definitely imperial grace.
Emperor Hongxi wanted Sun Shi to understand who truly controlled her destiny.
With Sun Shi pregnant and promoted to Good Lady, when A’Lei arranged next month’s bedchamber schedule, she removed Sun Shi’s name. With the schedule missing one person, A’Lei didn’t want to waste this slot and planned to bring a healthy girl who appeared capable of childbearing into the Eastern Palace to fill the five-day gap.
Zhu Zhanji felt heart-piercing, bone-deep pain, his legs trembling, though he could still joke casually on the surface: “That’s unnecessary. Consider it giving me five days off—I find this quite exhausting.”
“This matter needs no discussion. I don’t want what you think, I want what I think.” A’Lei placed a nourishing oyster in his bowl. “Follow my arrangements. The Crown Prince achieved initial victory—don’t be arrogant or rash, but continue working hard.”
A’Lei went to Kunning Palace to ask mother-in-law Empress Zhang for personnel: “I’m young and fear poor judgment might delay imperial heirs. Mother has keen insight—if there are suitable candidates, the Eastern Palace welcomes them.”
Since their last deep mother-daughter-in-law conversation (mainly Empress Zhang speaking), A’Lei had become a different person. This eager child-seeking behavior was exactly like young Empress Zhang.
Being a seventy percent Crown Princess. If she bore a legitimate son like Empress Zhang, she’d be a perfect Crown Princess. However, the Eastern Palace could never have legitimate sons. Since Zhu Zhanji began following A’Lei’s plowing and sowing schedule, they were purely platonic allies. Even sharing the same room and bed, there would be no intimacy—just chatting under covers.
Empress Zhang saw her own reflection in A’Lei and felt some heartache: “Good child, with you in the Eastern Palace, how could we fail to emerge victorious?”
Empress Zhang gave A’Lei one of her attending maids: “She’s from official slave background with no surname. Since she follows you now, bestow her a name.”
A’Lei saw this young girl had well-proportioned features, dignified appearance, and beautiful eyes that sparkled like rippling forest streams, clear and bright. She named her Lin Xi.
Lin Xi entered the Eastern Palace, filling Consort Sun’s five-day vacancy. Due to her low birth, she had no formal rank yet—just an ordinary palace servant.
With four women assembled, the Crown Prince’s nighttime work was fully scheduled. A’Lei began feeling unwell—chest tightness, shortness of breath, poor appetite, and her belly seemed bloated, growing larger. When she called the female physician for examination, the diagnosis shocked the Eastern Palace:
The Crown Princess was pregnant—at least four months along, conceived before Emperor Taizong’s death.
A’Lei was astonished. Her monthly menstruation had continued, though with less flow. She’d attributed this to exhaustion from Emperor Taizong’s funeral affairs and recent pressure from Emperor Hongxi’s attacks on the Eastern Palace, causing poor mood. She hadn’t paid attention, never expecting pregnancy!
The fish bladder had failed again.
The female physician said some women continue menstruating during pregnancy.
Hearing this news, Zhu Zhanji rushed back to the palace. It was now late autumn—Beijing’s late autumn was colder than Nanjing’s winter. Floor heating and braziers had been lit early, making the room warm as spring.
Zhu Zhanji tore up A’Lei’s attendance schedule and threw it in the brazier: “I’ll only stay with you from now on.”
A’Lei touched her slightly protruding belly: “Still don’t know if it’s male or female. I hope it’s a girl. I don’t want my descendants repeating the previous generation’s tragedy of father-son estrangement, mutual harm and suspicion. Let it end here.”
“I won’t do that.” Zhu Zhanji placed his palm on A’Lei’s belly. “If it’s a legitimate son, I’ll carefully nurture him to adulthood. When he’s capable of handling government affairs, I’ll immediately abdicate, giving him the throne while I become a carefree retired emperor, far from politics and the capital, sailing the seas with you and traveling the world. A’Lei, dear sister, you must believe me. I’m not someone who covets imperial power.”
“We grew up together, knowing each other completely, childhood sweethearts—I believe you.” A’Lei placed her palm over Zhu Zhanji’s hand back. “But I don’t trust our next generation. Imperial power corrupts hearts. If you abdicate to become retired emperor, will our child trust you? Will he let you go? What about the generation after that? Initially, you and father also had a father-son relationship of mutual dependence and support, but now it’s become unrecognizable. I don’t want future generations repeating such tragedy.”
“We can never go back.” A’Lei gently but firmly pulled Zhu Zhanji’s octopus-like grip from her belly. “Tonight is Lin girl’s turn—don’t keep her waiting too long.”
We can never go back—even with a child, we can’t go back. A heart shattered to extremes is like plum rain season, chaotic and disturbing, desolate to the bone.
Zhu Zhanji walked out swaying like stepping on cotton, unsteady.
The most painful breakup lacks hysterical shouting and heart-rending tears.
Maintaining dignity with all their might, like actors taking final bows, they’d become too immersed in their roles, integrating themselves into a passionate romance, unable to distinguish between person and character, infatuated and intoxicated. But even the most beautiful play must end. As stage lights extinguish one by one, they awaken actors too deep in character. Before their eyes float scenes of their passionate love, like production stills.
Five-year-old A’Lei—a bald little dumpling with muddy legs from catching shrimp, waking sleeping him. They sat under the corridor, splitting a watermelon in half, each taking a spoon to eat.
Eight-year-old A’Lei—when he couldn’t eat meat or watch opera during mourning, she secretly hid meat to share with him, saying “I’ll help you eat half the vegetarian food, so you won’t break precepts.” Wearing a Monkey King mask, she practiced somersaults under a tree, saying “Since you can’t watch opera, I’ll perform for you—don’t be sad.”
Ten-year-old A’Lei entering the palace for the first time, front teeth missing, not daring to smile. Understanding her embarrassment, he punched himself, knocking out his own loose front tooth. When they reunited, he deliberately smiled first, showing his gap-toothed grin, making A’Lei burst into laughter.
At thirteen, returning from northern campaigns with grandfather emperor, he found A’Lei had grown into a lovely young lady. Wanting to get closer, the more he cared, the more foolish his words and actions. While chasing A’Lei, her glasses fell and were trampled by his horse—she eventually forgave him. Whenever he sincerely apologized, she forgave him. She’d always had a magnanimous nature.
At fifteen, he deliberately smashed his pocket watch, giving it to A’Lei as scrap to dismantle. He secretly hid a note written in lemon juice in the box’s hidden compartment. A’Lei saw through it, using fire to reveal his embarrassingly foolish message: “Hearts connected by mutual understanding—you truly understand me.”
At sixteen, on the pirate island, she limping, he feeding her water. When he embraced her from behind, she didn’t refuse, confirming she liked him too.
At Taicang Port, candles could be extinguished but heart fires burned fiercely. What seemed a farewell kiss made him unable to suppress his emotions: “Stay.” She said: “Can you accept a wife who only plans to be seventy percent perfect?”
At nineteen, she became a mother, he a father. Holding their baby daughter, he briefly fantasized she might stay forever.
At twenty-two, she said: “We can never go back.”
A snowflake landed on Zhu Zhanji’s nose tip, immediately melting into icy water, awakening him from memories. Beijing’s snow came earlier than Nanjing’s—barely days after cicadas quieted, winter eagerly embraced the world.
Bone-chilling cold.
If he had courage to love then, why was he now so defeated, lacking strength to face heartbreak?
Zhu Zhanji half-crouched, using his hands to gather thin snow on the ground. The first snow was fine, like his heart—scattered across mountains and valleys. After gathering for a long time, clearing a large patch of ground, he barely formed a heart-sized snowball.
His heart was as cold as the snowball.
Zhu Zhanji hurled it forcefully. The snowball whooshed through air, smashing against Eastern Palace’s blue glazed tiles and exploding.
Simultaneously, tears that had circled A’Lei’s eyes countless times finally fell, unable to bear the weight, dripping into the brazier with a hiss and rising blue smoke.
With the Crown Prince obediently complying with all Emperor Hongxi’s demands, showing no defiance, and both Crown Princess and Good Lady Sun pregnant, Emperor Hongxi couldn’t find fault with the Eastern Palace. This troubled him greatly. Noble Consort Guo seized the opportunity for pillow talk: “Though Your Majesty has announced your accession to the world, you haven’t yet visited the mausoleums in Nanjing to honor Emperor Taizu or ancestral tombs in Fengyang. Since the Crown Prince is heir apparent, why not send him to offer sacrifices in Nanjing?”
Emperor Hongxi exclaimed: “Beloved consort, what a brilliant plan!”
Emperor Hongxi summoned the Crown Prince.
Hearing this, the Crown Prince doubted his ears: “Relocate the capital? Father, didn’t we already move to Beijing?”
“I want to move back to Nanjing.” Emperor Hongxi said: “I’ve issued an edict to Yunnan for former Palace Lady Hu to go to Nanjing’s old palace. Together with Eunuch Zheng He guarding Nanjing, they’ll first repair the old palace. You’ll take the Eastern Palace to live in Nanjing’s old palace, completely renovating the entire palace, then I’ll move back.”
This was utterly fantastical. The Crown Prince said: “Nanjing palace buildings aren’t the problem—the problem is the palace was built on Yanque Lake. It sinks annually, especially the rear palace. I heard in recent years it’s collapsed into a small lake. With such foundations, renovating the buildings above is futile—it’ll collapse again in a few years.”
Emperor Hongxi naturally knew Nanjing palace’s condition. He was just finding excuses to send the Eastern Palace far away. If it were merely Noble Consort Guo’s suggested ancestral sacrifices, they’d return after a few months. But capital relocation was different—he could use this excuse to keep the Crown Prince in Nanjing year-round.
Emperor Hongxi said: “That’s just rumors—you haven’t seen it personally. Go to Nanjing first, have Ministry of Works personnel survey and measure. If it’s truly impossible, select a new site in Nanjing for a new palace.”
The Crown Prince understood clearly. He knew Emperor Hongxi, who cherished people’s labor so much he’d banned Western Ocean voyages, would never undertake such absurd back-and-forth capital relocations. He just wanted to send him away—out of sight, out of mind.
Having been worn down to emotional numbness, the Crown Prince said: “Capital relocation is a major matter requiring prior consultation with ministers.”
Having practiced tai chi for twenty-one years, Emperor Hongxi was familiar with all circuitous tactics: “Our dynasty currently emphasizes rest and recuperation, filling empty treasuries. Openly proposing capital relocation now would certainly cause controversy and panic. Therefore, I shouldn’t raise this matter yet. I need you to go to Nanjing as advance guard, preparing for relocation. Once everything’s ready, I can persuade ministers to relocate.”
The Crown Prince said: “But my going to Nanjing will surely make ministers guess father’s intentions.”
The Crown Prince had walked right into Emperor Hongxi’s trap.
Emperor Hongxi quickly filled the pit with dirt, burying his eldest son: “The Crown Prince considers things thoroughly. Here’s what we’ll do—since ascending the throne, I’ve been busy with court affairs, having no time to visit imperial mausoleums in Fengyang and Nanjing. As Crown Prince, make this trip for me. Going to Nanjing under the name of ancestral sacrifice shows great filial piety—ministers won’t suspect anything.”
The Crown Prince said: “I’ll immediately prepare to go to Nanjing.”
Emperor Hongxi said: “Be quick. Carriages would jostle the Eastern Palace’s two pregnant women—you must travel by water. The Eastern Palace must depart before the Grand Canal freezes. Don’t bring much—Palace Lady Hu and Eunuch Zheng He in Nanjing will prepare everything to welcome the Eastern Palace.”
Hu Shanwei never expected to serve a fourth term.
Emperor Hongxi never expected Hu Shanwei wasn’t in Kunming, Yunnan—she was in Beijing!
Having sent away the Crown Prince, Emperor Hongxi felt greatly relieved. After tea, he went to the privy to urinate. Immediately after, a young eunuch carried out the soiled chamber pot.
Palace sewers were for rainwater drainage. All excrement required human or animal transport to processing pools for fertilizer. The young eunuch secretly filled a bamboo tube with the “dragon urine,” sealed it with wax, and mixed it among chamber pot transport carts. Outside the palace, someone retrieved the tube, delivering it to an ordinary-looking residence.
Someone inserted a bamboo strip into the tube, soaking it in urine, then removed and placed it on a rack to dry slightly. After moisture evaporated, a semi-transparent paste-like substance remained. When attempting to remove the strip from the rack, it stuck—requiring forceful tearing.
Ground ants, attracted by the sweet smell, climbed up the rack to the bamboo strip. Soon the rack swarmed densely with ants.
“Physician Ru, based on your experience, how long can the emperor live?” Hu Shanwei handed the woman conducting experiments a hand warmer.
Having just washed her hands with snow water, Ru Siyao quickly accepted the warmer: “With diabetes this severe, time is short. If he continues dietary indulgence without restraint, within a year his cranial blood vessels will become brittle as ice. Any strong stimulus could cause rupture—like stroke symptoms, starting with total paralysis and inability to speak, then death in confusion.”
Hu Shanwei produced a small box, taking out a pastry to put in Ru Siyao’s mouth: “If he ate these daily, how long would he live?”
Though the pastry appeared crispy, it melted instantly, absolutely irresistible. Curious, Ru Siyao ate another: “What is this?”
Hu Shanwei said: “Basically oil and sugar—a Western pastry chef’s recipe. Fat extracted from milk makes it completely non-greasy. Sugar ground powder-fine, mixed with eggs and a little flour, molded and charcoal-baked. Though each piece is just a small bite, the sugar and oil content equals half a plate of osmanthus cake, yet doesn’t taste cloying.”
“This recipe has been given to Palace Lady Huang for the Imperial Kitchen Bureau to test. In a few days, it should reach Noble Consort Guo. Since she seeks favor while maintaining her figure, she won’t touch such pastries. So the emperor will consume them all.”
Ru Siyao said: “Eating these, I’d say six months at most before the Ming faces national mourning. You’re too impatient—judging from that urine sample, the emperor can hardly last a year anyway.”
Hu Shanwei sighed toward the palace: “With the Eastern Palace’s current situation, Good Lady Sun pregnant, A’Lei has definitely decided to leave. If the Crown Prince can’t ascend the throne, A’Lei can’t escape. Helping the Crown Prince helps A’Lei. Everything I’ve done is just because I feel sorry for my daughter.”
Author’s Note: This chapter borrows from Ming studies~ “I don’t want what you think, I want what I think.”
Hu Shanwei: “Man, you’re playing with fire.”