Song Shanggong was struck speechless.

At this moment, a female official arrived to report: His Majesty had arranged a marriage for Prince Chu, to the eldest legitimate daughter of Marquis Dingyuan Wang Bi.

Prince Chu’s wedding, Princess Chu’s investiture ceremony…

The harem had yet another grand affair to handle.

The seven senior officials felt their spirits sink, devoid of any celebratory mood. It was Fan Gongzheng who finally spoke: “The wedding date must have the eight characters matched by the Imperial Astronomical Bureau and an auspicious date selected—typically three to six months from now.”

This was relatively good news, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief, as long as everything wasn’t crammed into the sweltering heat. In hot weather, even sitting made one sweat profusely, and working under the blazing sun would truly be deadly.

Cao Shanggong calculated on her fingers, “Prince Chu’s marriage is settled, but Prince Qi, Prince Zhao, and Princess Huaiqing in the palace have all reached marriageable age. Each of these is a major affair—everyone prepare to be busy from New Year to year’s end. Stop this idle chatter and let’s discuss serious business…”

Cao Shanggong was thirty-four this year, at the peak of a woman’s energy. She assisted Empress Ma in managing palace affairs with the greatest authority and was also the busiest. She was accustomed to being busy; when idle, she felt uncomfortable instead.

Cao Shanggong was the youngest “Shang”-rank female official in the history of the Great Ming court. Among the seven senior officials of the six bureaus and one department, she was the youngest yet wielded the greatest official authority. Her vigorous and decisive work style, quick temper, and somewhat arrogant demeanor meant she wasn’t afraid of offending people.

However, precisely because of this, she could suppress the complex interpersonal relationships of the vast court, making her Empress Ma’s most capable assistant.

Only when Cao Shanggong was busy could Empress Ma free her hands and mind to play more complex games.

Kunning Palace

Consort Sun came to express gratitude.

Empress Ma pulled her to sit beside her, “Your health isn’t good. You could have waited until the heat passes before coming to give thanks.”

Consort Sun smiled, “It was precisely because of Your Majesty’s careful consideration—having this sister stop taking medicine for several days, pretending to grow sicker with no effect from treatments, thus earning His Majesty’s pity—that this sister could be elevated to Noble Consort so quickly. Since Your Majesty has shown such favor, even if I had to crawl, I would crawl to Kunning Palace to express gratitude.”

Empress Ma said, “It was you helping me, rather. In the palace, every position is accounted for. When that Hu woman died, the Noble Consort position became vacant, and though the concubines of the Eastern and Western Six Palaces seemed calm on the surface, they were all eyeing this position. Look at Consort Li—so virtuous, so indifferent to fame and fortune, seemingly above worldly concerns. I merely tested her with the little princess, and she immediately showed her true colors.”

“Consort Li has no sons or daughters, so those concubines who have borne princes and princesses are even more restless. They test each other to see who will make the first move, each having become shrewd through experience, watching to see who loses composure first, ready to target whoever sticks their neck out. But they never expected I would emerge halfway and pluck this peach for you.”

Indeed, it was all Empress Ma’s palace scheming.

Consort Sun praised, “Your Majesty’s strategies are flawless.”

Empress Ma sighed, “I don’t want to see a second Noble Consort who dares to challenge me—even if the challenge is feigned, that Hu woman had other ulterior motives. Since there will inevitably be a second Noble Consort, I only hope that person is you.”

Consort Sun was naturally grateful: “This sister has failed to bear a prince, only having two princesses. I never dreamed of being made Noble Consort, yet Your Majesty has given me this position. I will take good care of my health and always accompany Your Majesty.”

Empress Ma said, “I also only have two princesses. Actually, in the imperial family, not having princes is also a kind of blessing. The princes are all growing up gradually, and their hearts are growing too, along with the hearts of their mother consorts… You know, the Crown Prince wasn’t born to me. I can already sense the approaching storm clouds—this Great Ming court is destined to be buffeted by wind and rain. To be mother to the nation and stabilize the imperial family—how easy is that to say? Without your companionship, I would be too lonely…”

While Empress Ma and Consort Sun were having their private conversation, Prince Chu came to Kunning Palace to thank the Empress Mother for selecting his princess consort. Liu Siyan said Empress Ma was taking her afternoon nap and that Prince Chu could simply kowtow outside in thanks.

Prince Chu complied, bowed his head, and left Kunning Palace. As he was about to be married and have a wife, his heart was filled with countless emotions. His legs, as if possessed by spirits, carried him to Yanxi Palace in the Western Six Palaces.

Mother, your son is about to be married. Do you know this in the netherworld?

Prince Chu saw no one around and quietly pushed open the palace gate, entering the main hall of Yanxi Palace.

Without a master, Yanxi Palace presented a scene of decay—weeds grew between the floor tiles, and spider webs covered the artificial mountains.

Prince Chu heard a woman’s suppressed crying from the entrance to the main hall.

In broad daylight, could there be ghosts?

Prince Chu didn’t believe in such things. He pushed open the great doors and shouted loudly, “Who dares to play ghost here!”

Jiang Quan spun around suddenly. The midday sunlight struck like a sharp sword toward her eyes, but more dazzling than the sunlight was the four-clawed python robe on the young man’s body.

Jiang Quan’s heart began racing wildly. The bond of blood made her realize who this young man was.

Prince Chu Zhu Zhen, her grandson.

Jiang Quan wiped away her tears, restraining her excitement, and bowed, “This subordinate is Jiang Quan from the Imperial Wardrobe Bureau. Previously, I received much care and favor from that Hu woman. Today marks her forty-ninth day memorial. This subordinate dares not burn incense at night for fear of violating palace rules, so in broad daylight I’ve placed a few items that Hu woman loved to eat during her lifetime in Yanxi Palace’s main hall, to express my sentiments.”

Prince Chu looked and saw only a crab, a plate of pickled garlic, and two fresh lotus pods on the table in the main hall.

Prince Chu knew his mother had loved eating crabs and lotus pods during her lifetime, but pickled garlic—such a coarse and pungent food—he had no memory of his mother ever eating.

Prince Chu found the female official before him suspicious, “You look quite unfamiliar. You must be a newcomer to the palace.”

Jiang Quan said, “Yes. This subordinate just passed the examination to enter the palace this spring.”

That was when Prince Chu had just gone with Crown Prince Zhu Biao to their ancestral home in Zhongdu Fengyang.

Prince Chu pointed to the pickled garlic, “Haven’t you remembered incorrectly? My moth— that Hu woman didn’t like eating pickled garlic.”

Jiang Quan said, “This isn’t garlic, this is pickled shallot bulbs. They only look similar on the surface. Garlic is round, while shallot bulbs naturally grow in segments. They taste delicious, not as pungent as garlic. That Hu woman liked to eat them with rice porridge.”

Prince Chu looked closely and indeed saw they were different from garlic. When had his mother eaten such things? He’d have to find an opportunity to ask the old servants from Yanxi Palace whether this female official named Jiang Quan was lying.

When a tree falls, the monkeys scatter—the old palace servants from Yanxi Palace, to protect themselves, didn’t dare step foot inside. Regardless of whether Jiang Quan’s claims were true or false, the fact that she still remembered his mother’s forty-ninth day memorial showed she had sincere intentions.

Prince Chu said, “You may go. That Hu woman should know your intentions. Yanxi Palace will eventually have a new master, so don’t come here again.”

Things change while people remain, only adding to the sadness.

“Yes.” Jiang Quan didn’t dare look at Prince Chu again and withdrew—she was afraid that once she looked, she wouldn’t be able to look away and would unconsciously want to draw closer.

Empress Ma had said she could remain in the palace to serve, silently protecting the little princess, but she must conceal her identity. Otherwise, the day her identity was revealed would be the day she was expelled from the palace. Under no circumstances could Prince Chu and the little princess know of their grandmother’s existence.

As Jiang Quan brushed past Prince Chu, he noticed that the female official already had white hairs at her temples—not many, like spider silk quietly weaving webs at her temples.

Prince Chu thought to himself: New female officials entering the palace are aged between thirteen to nineteen, or twenty-nine to thirty-nine. How could this female official already have white hair? She must be at least in her forties, right?

Why was this female official like this? Prince Chu made note of Jiang Quan’s name.

Meanwhile, the Mu and Feng families’ celebration banquet had turned into a Hongmen Feast, with actual fighting breaking out, becoming a farce among the capital’s elite families. The Great Ming court was full of undercurrents, with Empress Ma strategizing behind the scenes, remaining composed while having the last laugh as the ultimate winner. Whether among wealthy noble families or the imperial court, all were locked in fierce struggle. But Hu Shanwei and Mu Chun, who had traveled far to Hangzhou to print books, were enjoying a rare period of leisure in their lives.

Hu Shanwei had spent the first half of her life dealing with books, and with sufficient silver in hand—two thousand taels of silver for five hundred books, averaging a full four taels of silver per book budget!

With money, printing books became as natural as a fish taking to water. Hu Shanwei selected twenty famous engravers from Hangzhou, each responsible for carving wooden templates for only two pages, with a deadline of one day for completion.

These experienced engravers all had skilled apprentices assisting them, making one day and night sufficient time.

While waiting for the engraving to be completed, Hu Shanwei visited various shops selling paper and writing materials, selecting ink and paper. Good ink was extremely expensive, and many books used coal ash mixed with flour to save costs, which looked like ink but would fade or even fall off over time.

She chose the finest white cotton paper, with covers and backs reinforced with large red insect-proof paper. This paper was soaked with anti-bookworm medicine, making it both beautiful and protective for preservation.

Seeing considerable money still remaining, Hu Shanwei had the book titles on the covers gilded with gold, creating gleaming golden characters that displayed imperial dignity.

Rather than ordinary thread binding, she used Song Dynasty-style “butterfly binding,” which required no holes drilled in the books. Instead, paste was used for alignment and pasting, with neat trimming, making reading very smooth, like a butterfly fluttering its wings in flight.

Hu Shanwei had money and had not yet developed the bad habit of lining her own pockets—all the silver was spent on the books. With adequate wages, the skilled Hangzhou craftsmen worked day and night, completing five hundred and fifty copies of the artistic “Records of Virtuous Song Dynasty Consorts’ Teachings” by the seventh day.

To prepare for unexpected situations, Hu Shanwei deliberately printed fifty extra copies.

Stroking the gilded characters on the covers, Hu Shanwei was very satisfied. She told the two female historians and Mei Xiang, “Check each book once to ensure there are no wrong or missing pages. We cannot have any errors.”

While Hu Shanwei’s progress went smoothly, needless to say, Mu Chun’s situation was even better. Far from the capital, he didn’t have to endure the pressure from both the Feng and Mu families, didn’t have to serve as a guard at the Jinyiwei, didn’t have to curry favor with the Emperor and Empress. Every day he slept until the sun warmed his backside, then after getting up would wander around Hangzhou, eating delicious food, looking at beautiful women, boating on West Lake—this life couldn’t be more comfortable!

Even his face, which had been swollen from mosquito bites, began to improve, restoring his handsome appearance (as he believed).

Mu Chun even pulled the busy Hu Shanwei up to Leifeng Pagoda to admire the scenery together. Full of high spirits, he recited a poem: “Evening sun over distant pavilion trees, spring clouds scatter over the clear river.”

“No boatman in sight, only facing twin white gulls.” Hu Shanwei couldn’t help but continue the second half, asking, “This is from the poetry collection ‘Solitary Hermitage Collection’ by the eminent monk Master Dao Yan. Do you also admire Master Dao Yan? Besides this ‘Green Island Song,’ which other of his poems do you appreciate?”

More than ten years ago, when Zhang Shicheng was defeated and Suzhou fell, Chang Yuchun massacred the city, nearly wiping out the Hu family. It was Master Dao Yan of Wofo Temple who protected the Hu father and daughter, saving their lives.

When everyone else was rushing into the temple, only Master Dao Yan moved against the crowd, standing guard at the entrance. This scene was unforgettable for young Hu Shanwei, who therefore held extreme reverence for Master Dao Yan and could recite his “Solitary Hermitage Collection” from memory.

Mu Chun felt somewhat embarrassed, “The others… I don’t remember. This poem is simple and easy to memorize, so I only remember this one.”

“Oh.” Hu Shanwei was somewhat disappointed, thinking Mu Chun shared her interest as a devoted reader of Master Dao Yan.

Seeing her gaze gradually cool, Mu Chun quickly said, “I can’t memorize poetry, but I can write it.”

Hu Shanwei said, “Then compose a poem with Leifeng Pagoda as the subject.”

“This…” Mu Chun touched his forehead, “It’s too sudden, I’m a bit nervous.”

Hu Shanwei said, “It’s fine, I can wait. The day is still young.”

Mu Chun thought for a while and finally managed to squeeze out a few words: “Look at this pagoda, it’s both tall and big. Look at this sun, it’s both round and bright. And look at this water, this water…”

The atmosphere became awkward, and Mu Chun very much wanted to jump off Leifeng Pagoda.

Hu Shanwei said, “I’m a bit hungry. Let’s find a place to eat.”

Mu Chun climbed down the ladder, quickly nodding, “Good.”

Author’s Note: Shanwei and Chun Chun are on a business trip vacation~~~