As he was about to speak, she desperately broke free from his embrace, pulled her clothes together, and got out of bed, saying: “Your subject has never feared Your Highness’s anger. Your subject knows that my feelings are insignificant to Your Highness. I do not expect Your Highness to return my true feelings; I only hope that Your Highness will trust me and not abandon me.”

She looked at the purple robes and red skirts on the bed, now in complete disarray, and continued: “Since Your Highness believes I have overstepped my position, at Your Highness’s coronation ceremony, I should only wear ordinary clothes. After all, these ceremonial robes have already been soiled by me tonight. What face would I have to wear them to the Purple Glory Palace?”

He leaned against the headboard watching her, his eyes deep and unfathomable.

That steep, handsome face was both so alluring and so cold, making her heart constantly yearn yet feel inferior. What more must she do, and what else must she do… Giving her heart, her feelings, her body, her life—yet still not enough… Unable to discern his heart, unable to express her intentions, unable to understand herself, and unable to comprehend him.

She lowered her head extremely low, as if only this way could she hide the deep disappointment in her heart, and said: “Since Your Highness gives no response, your subject will take leave.” Then she quickly gave him a shallow bow and ran barefoot to the outer hall to gather her skirts, pants, and official boots, hurriedly putting them on before pushing the door open and leaving.

The palace steps were long, high, and layered, appearing even more cold and desolate in the night’s candlelight.

She shouldn’t have been like this.

Before him, she had always greeted him with smiles, never alarmed by anything. Even when she challenged him, it was mostly in jest. When had she ever been so emotional and impulsive as tonight, recklessly speaking such willful words before him?

Was it that after tasting a bit of his tenderness, she had become so ungrateful? She shook her head, then nodded slightly. The corners of her eyes stung from the wind, with half a trace of moisture.

Just as she passed the north horizontal gate in front of Xuande Pavilion, she saw Huang Bo waiting with a horse.

Her hastily arranged hair bun was a mess. Her official robes and skirts were also in disarray. All along the way, she had received many sideways glances from palace servants and eunuchs. Now seeing Huang Bo, she felt even more uncomfortable. Without even raising her eyelids, she got into the carriage and said: “Let’s go back.”

Huang urged the horse forward and carefully asked her from outside: “Master Meng, did everything go well?”

She gave a faint grunt.

Huang Bo laughed heartily and asked again: “Is the Crown Prince well?”

She sat in the carriage, dazed for a while before answering: “Well.”

The Crown Prince… how could he not be well? He controlled the world and balanced the officials. What affairs in this world could he not calculate or utilize? Who could match his unfathomable imperial mind?

She closed her eyes, suddenly feeling a heavy weariness.

If there were anyone in this world who could love him more than she did, if there were anyone in this world more willing to bear the name of a sycophantic favorite, she would willingly step aside.

A month later, an edict was issued to the officials and civil and military ministers regarding the abdication and coronation ceremonies. After the various positions were determined, another edict announced to the court that Meng Tinghui, Right Remonstrance Counselor and Longtu Pavilion Direct Scholar, would be the lead official for the Crown Prince’s coronation ceremony.

The shock throughout the court needn’t be mentioned; even the common people in the capital and major counties were astonished after seeing the court bulletin.

According to protocol, one would expect Meng Tinghui to submit a memorial declining such a favor. Unexpectedly, three days later, she only submitted a memorial expressing gratitude, shamelessly accepting this position that the entire court had noticed.

As criticism surged, the senior ministers became increasingly dissatisfied with her, repeatedly refusing to stand with her in court to show their indignation. Yet within half a month, news spread that Censorate Inspector Cao Jing had been promoted to Left Remonstrator in the Chancellery, filling the vacancy left by Meng Tinghui’s transfer. There were rumors in the palace that Cao Jing’s promotion was recommended by Meng Tinghui to the Crown Prince, and since Cao Jing had not impeached Meng Tinghui for disregarding protocols, everyone believed that Cao Jing was in Meng Tinghui’s faction. New officials entering court service were even more eager to associate with Meng Tinghui to seek glory and benefits.

That night before leaving the Eastern Palace, although she had verbally refused to wear the ceremonial robes, the palace still sent the garments to the Meng residence half a month before the grand ceremony, presenting them before her eyes.

It was the Crown Prince’s will, and no one dared disobey.

Those crimson purple robes and red gauze skirts appeared even more splendid than that night, each piece clean and pressed as if newly made. Even the cuffs and collars were adorned with gold patterns. Along with these came the crown with pendants, rhinoceros horn hairpins, and golden ornaments. Even items like hair supports, which female officials were normally not allowed to wear to court, were prominently included, all made with palace gold and pearls, each one dazzlingly brilliant.

Meng Tinghui accepted them all, thanked the imperial grace, and showed no sign of refusal, further astonishing the eunuchs and officials who had come to deliver the garments.

The next day, this matter was told to the gossip at court, causing another uproar.

As the day of the Emperor’s abdication and the Crown Prince’s coronation drew closer, the people of the capital were excited, eagerly anticipating the new emperor’s policies and tax reductions. Among court officials, there were many exchanges of cards and visits, showing their intention to build relationships at the beginning of the new reign.

Only within the Meng residence was there silence and stillness, with an appearance of proud indifference. No one knew what Meng Tinghui intended to do in the future.

On the day of the grand ceremony, even before the hour of Yin (3-5am), the servants at the Meng residence had risen to light lamps, preparing for Meng Tinghui’s entry into the palace to participate in the ceremony.

The sky was still dark, the night at its blackest, with the heavens like a raven-colored canopy pressing down, seemingly obscuring all light and color between heaven and earth.

A maid carried washing items to knock on her door. After receiving no response from Meng Tinghui for a long time, she entered quietly. Just as she was about to wake her, she saw her lying at the side of the bed, drenched in sweat and trembling all over.

“Master Meng…” The maid was instantly alarmed and fumbled to find the tinderbox to light the lamp.

Meng Tinghui frowned slightly and said softly: “It’s nothing. I caught a chill during the night, and now my stomach is churning uncomfortably…”

The maid reached out to feel her forehead, which was burning hot, and exclaimed in shock: “How can the Master enter the palace in this condition? We should send someone to inform the palace that you—”

Meng Tinghui sat up with effort, her face increasingly pale. “I’m not dead, how could I not enter the palace?” She asked the maid to bring her clothes and added: “Today, dress me well.”

The maid bit her lip and turned to get the things, muttering: “It’s the height of summer heat; how could the Master catch a chill at night… If it’s some acute epidemic, how can we delay like this!”

Tinghui opened her mouth to rebuke her but had no strength. She just closed her eyes and let the maid dress her piece by piece. After a brief washing, she was supported to have her hair combed and her crown placed.

She usually wore no rouge, but today a touch of red on her pale complexion made her look as pretty as others, hiding her true feelings.

By the time she was fully dressed in her splendid ceremonial robes and left the residence to board the carriage, the sky had begun to lighten slightly.

Huang Bo had been waiting anxiously outside. Seeing her, he hurriedly urged her into the carriage. Only when lowering the curtain did he notice her unwell appearance and asked in surprise: “Master Meng, are you feeling unwell?”

Meng Tinghui’s temples were covered in sweat, but she said: “I am still fine. Quickly have someone drive the carriage. I think by now the people from the Court of Imperial Sacrifices and the Censorate have already lined up outside Deshou Palace.”

So they drove the carriage at full speed. Upon reaching the palace gate, they heard that the Emperor had already left Deshou Palace. Whips sounded on both sides, and the imperial guards and ceremonial escorts welcomed the procession to the throne, about to perform the abdication ceremony.

Meng Tinghui hurried along. At the red steps below the Purple Glory Palace, she saw the Minister of Ceremonies and the Gate Officials lined up waiting. A secretary came from Deshou Palace, saying that the ministers had finished speaking, the Emperor had descended to the throne to announce the edict, and the Crown Prince had already donned his robes and left the Eastern Palace.

After hearing this, she dared not delay and hurriedly followed the messenger toward the western corridor that led from the Eastern Palace to the Purple Glory Palace.

Just as she reached a hundred paces before the corridor, she saw a group of yellow-robed sedan carriers walking in formation, bringing the sedan chair rapidly towards them.

The secretary stopped, and she also stood still, lowering her head to wait.

Cold sweat suddenly poured down her back, her head burning and dizzy. She could only see the sedan chair slowly stopping and a figure descending, walking towards her with a dignified gait.

Her vision was blurry, and she couldn’t see clearly, but she didn’t need to—this person, who else could it be but him? Who else but that supremely noble, elegant, and formidable man?

She involuntarily stepped back half a pace, her knees bending as she began to kneel in obeisance: “Your subject Meng Tinghui has come by imperial order to escort Your Highness to the Purple Glory Palace, to lead the way…”

Before she could finish speaking or complete her kneeling, in front of all the ceremony attendants, she was pulled up by him and dragged before him.

His movement was swift, precise, and efficient. He gripped her hand and would not let go, examining her with knitted brows and intense eyes. His voice was deep and agitated: “You are ill?”

Around them were small whispers, and several gazes swept over, all surprised.

She tried forcefully to pull her hand away but could not free herself from his grip. Feeling another wave of dizziness, she said: “Your subject is not ill. The ceremony is urgent. The Emperor has already taken his seat at Deshou Palace. Please, Crown Prince, enter the hall quickly…”

He stood still for half a moment, then said: “Very well.”

She took a small breath, about to step back to make way, but was yanked forcefully by him. Stumbling, she was pulled along by him toward the Purple Glory Palace.