Huo Qiqian had left the capital, and while the mother could still restrain her longing for her children, the children who missed their mother didn’t know how to hide it.

Chen Family’s only little girl, Chen Yixiao, was still fine—she had many aunts who all doted on her, and no matter whose house she was in, she could be coaxed easily, told that her mother had gone into the city to buy her cakes. She was young, so she believed it.

This was no longer the days of An’er and Gennu’er, when Chen Dasheng and his wife had light duties and could keep the children in their arms to care for them personally. Now that there were more children, they could only rely on wet nurses to help out.

Chen Yixiao had a wet nurse, maidservants, and attendants following her, and being pretty, sweet-tongued and soft-spoken, she was easy to love. The moment word got out that someone was needed to look after her for a few days, Zhang Wanru came bounding over first, taking her to the Yandu General’s Mansion as if afraid someone would snatch her away.

The one who truly gave people trouble was the Chen family’s six-year-old little puppy—this little brat was at exactly the age where his temperament was hard to manage and hard to fool.

Ever since his mother left, he had been crying. Later his father coaxed him, saying that by the next day his mother would be back. But that “next day” turned into three days, then four. On the morning of the fifth day, no matter what anyone said, little Chen Gou would not be fooled anymore—nothing anyone said worked. The moment he woke and opened his eyes he wanted his mother, and when she wasn’t there, he shut his eyes and began to wail…

Chen Dasheng couldn’t stay home coaxing him all day, so this black-hearted father turned around and sent the child off to Prince Furui’s manor.

The old prince, She Qingling, had shown some signs of aging these past few years. How could one tell a person was getting old? Not by the teeth, not by the hair, but by the fact that sleep no longer came easily. He had always been a man of many thoughts, worrying easily, and so he slept poorly—at most two or three good hours a night.

This day was no different. He had spent the whole night thinking over the past, and only as the sky grew hazy did he doze off. But he had barely fallen half-asleep when a demonic, mind-piercing sound reached his ears.

“Mama…!”

“Your mother isn’t dead, Father! I have a lot to do today and an important appointment, so I won’t come in—I’m off!”

The old prince had no choice but to prop himself up against his forehead and sit up. After drinking a cup of tea from a young eunuch’s hand, he finally said, “Bring… him in.”

He didn’t even need to ask who was crying—in this household, the only one who could wail like a ghost or howl like a wolf all day long was little Chen Gou.

Before long, the wet-nurse carried in little Chen Gou, his face smeared with snot.

Seeing his grandfather, Chen Gou’s cries only grew sharper: “I want my mother… ahh, ahh, yiyi yi~ I want my mother… not smelly grandpa!”

She Qingling frowned but didn’t try to coax him, instead telling him plainly: “Your mother has gone to the estate and won’t be back for some days yet. Even if you cry yourself to death today, she still won’t come back.”

Chen Gou’s expression collapsed as though the sky had fallen. He actually stopped his crying momentarily and loudly ordered his grandfather: “Call her back, then I won’t cry myself to death. I want my mother, ahh ahh, yiyi yi~ hic~!”

She Qingling shook his head honestly: “She can’t come back.”

Well, that did it—having broken through some sort of energy meridian, the mind-piercing wail resumed at full power: “I want my mother, I want my mother, I want my mother…”

Helpless, She Qingling could only pin the blame on An’er, muttering, “Ah, Chen Changfan, you really are a Chen Changfan. That name really suited you—you truly are a nuisance.”

Indeed, little Chen Gou had a proper name—Chen Changfan.

Chen Dasheng had four biological sons, one adopted son, and one young daughter under his roof. Among them, She Wanlin naturally belonged to the She family. The rest were ranked according to the Chen family order: the second son, Gaoxing, was called Chen Changhuan; the third son, Lingguan’er, was called Chen Changyu; and this fourth son, little puppy, was called Chen Changfan. There was also a treasured little daughter named Chen Yixiao, and if there were more daughters later, they would be Erxiao, Sanxiao, and so on.

One could see the Chen family’s attitude toward their children from their names—happy that the family had descendants, hoping the household would always have surplus wealth and blessings, and that future generations would flourish and spread like branches and leaves.

Their approach to educating the children followed the same pattern. No matter how capable the parents were, when raising the eldest and second sons, they hadn’t dared say it aloud, but they’d had the patience to teach them as if raising a crown prince. Yet as the children multiplied, no matter how unrivaled one’s martial skill might be, these little brats always found ways to exhaust every ounce of one’s energy.

Teaching them like a crown prince indeed—if he could go even a moment without stirring up trouble, Chen Dasheng and Huo Qiqian would already be reciting prayers of gratitude in their hearts.

Especially once the fourth son, little puppy, was born—by then his father’s official career had entered a new stage, formally stepping into the ranks of high officials. As for his mother, aside from managing all the household’s trivial matters daily, the hereditary lands alone numbered five thousand households, not even counting Chen Dasheng’s own holdings or the land Huo Qiqian had purchased herself.

Wealthy, truly wealthy. Exhausted, truly exhausted at heart.

Fortunately this household had no concubines or secondary sons to complicate things, and fortunately Huo Qiqian was a woman of renowned capability, so she barely managed to keep things running smoothly. But those trivial matters consumed enormous amounts of time, and truthfully, she couldn’t properly look after the children she herself had borne.

Whatever else one might say about the Chen children, each of them was clever enough, no less talented than An’er, yet the resources available to them diminished with each passing generation. This, too, was simply unavoidable.

Back in An’er and Gennu’s time, their grandfather had personally tutored them. By the time of Gaoxing, it was Chen Dasheng who took him along to gain experience. By the time of Lingguan’er, he had been taken into the palace from the moment of his early education, growing up alongside the imperial family’s children. But by the time little Chen Gou came along, no one had any particular expectations left—they simply waited for him to grow older and see what he wanted to do.

Children have an animal instinct—he could sense that certain things simply had to be fought for. And so, little Chen Gou grew into a child of fierce, unyielding character: whatever he wanted, he had to have. He wasn’t unreasonable, exactly—it was more that he couldn’t be overlooked; he had to be valued, had to have everyone revolve around him.

The youngest child received a youngest child’s treatment—besides being raised more leniently, his personality had also, to some degree, simply been allowed to develop as it would.

Right now, little Chen Gou had one single goal: he wanted his mother, his fragrant, wonderful mother.

The old prince’s method of raising children amounted to a single trick: if you don’t behave, I’ll punish you by making you study and recite texts.

Little Gou was a stubborn child, and so his recitation came out as: “Cangjie created writing, to teach later generations—I want my mother! The youngest son received the edict, cautious and reverent—I want my mother! Diligently recite and chant, day and night without stopping—I want! My mother…”

The little fellow wasn’t the least bit afraid of studying, and his recitation was crystal clear, word for word without error—but every line had to be followed by “I want my mother.”

Back when Huo Qiqian was home, this child’s stubbornness hadn’t been so obvious—his mother had known how to handle him. As for anyone else’s face or dignity, well, the young master simply didn’t care to give it, and what could you do about it?

She Qingling found himself caught between laughter and tears—line after line, the boy recited all six chapters of the Cangjie primer with “I want my mother” tacked onto each one, until foam appeared at the corners of little Gou’s mouth, with faint streaks of blood mixed in.

He looked utterly pitiful.

Only afterward did the old prince discover that the little one had, at some point, bitten through his own lip without complaint, without crying out in grievance—simply pursuing his goal with single-minded determination. In short: today, you must give me a mother.

Unable to bear punishing him any further out of pity, She Qingling could only carry his young grandson to the back workshop and have the craftsmen bring him toys to play with.

Fine—he was given a kite. He accepted it, handed it to the wet-nurse, then turned back to his grandfather: I want my mother.

He was given a little wooden dog that could move. He had the wet-nurse set it aside: I want my mother…

He was given a cloth tiger. This one he actually liked, hugging it to his chest: I want my mother.

It was only then that She Qingling remembered his grandson had another nickname—”Accepts Everything, Changes Nothing.”

Well then—you could beat him to death and he still wouldn’t change; you could give him all manner of fine things and he still wouldn’t be satisfied; you had to first resolve his actual matter. Truly, he had the makings of a fine future official in the Ministry of Justice.

Utterly worn down by the boy’s persistence, She Qingling could only carry him out of the mansion, standing right at the gate and saying, “Fine, let’s go find your mother! Tell me, where is your mother?”

It was the fifth month, and outside Prince Furui’s mansion, the streets were quiet, carriages and pedestrians scarce.

This matched exactly the dream little Gou had had the night before—Grandfather gone, Mother gone, Father running off with his older brothers, leaving him alone at home, only to be eaten up bite by bite by some monster. Thinking of this sorrow, the little one, still clutching his cloth tiger, sobbed hoarsely: “Grandpa, want… Mama.”

This was genuine heartbreak. She Qingling’s heart ached hearing it, and he carried his little grandson up into the carriage.

In his heart, he added yet another mark against She Wanlin’s account. When he gets back, beat him to death, dig a deep pit—bury him!

Unable to find his mother, once he left the mansion and saw the bustling world outside, the child finally stopped crying, and the carriage was forced to circle round and round through Yandu.

That day, all the people of Yandu witnessed quite a spectacle—the old prince’s carriage circling round and round through the busy streets as if possessed. By the end, both grandfather and grandson had fallen asleep in the carriage—one truly exhausted, the other simply cried out.

No one knew how long they had circled before the sound of a crowd erupted outside.

She Qingling blinked awake in confusion, and had just sat up when he saw his household’s little troublemaker also slowly sitting up, rubbing his eyes.

His heart sank—he didn’t even dare meet his grandson’s gaze, and instead asked the driver, “Why… have we stopped?”

You were supposed to keep circling! If he cries, coax him!

Soon, an attendant reported from outside the carriage: “Reporting to the prince, this is General Tao escorting the captured Little Tan King into custody. The people have all come out to watch.”

Some days earlier, Tao Jizong had entered the capital to present prisoners of war, and only upon reaching Yandu was it revealed that among the captives brought in was none other than the Little Tan King of the Duluqian tribe.

“Little Tan King” was a self-styled title—more than a decade ago, after the Gongji Tan King and various tribal chiefs had been assassinated one after another, the whole of Western and Eastern Tan had fallen into chaos, and newly risen tribal leaders began competing for succession. In the end, various victorious tribal leaders who had not yet ascended to true kingship called themselves “Little Tan Kings.”

Currently, there were eight men going by the title of Little Tan King across Western and Eastern Tan. The one captured this time was called Ibia Ibin—a thoroughly vicious character who often led his tribe in raids against Daliang’s border cities.

Tao Jizong had fought against several Tan factions at the Zuoliang Pass, and only upon sorting through the prisoners after his victory did he discover that Little Tan King Ibin was among them. This was purely an unexpected windfall. Not daring to publicize it prematurely, he had immediately reported it and entered the capital under the pretext of presenting captives, only announcing upon reaching Yandu that a Little Tan King had been brought in as well.

This news didn’t just delight the emperor—the common people of Daliang were also filled with pride, feeling a swelling sense of glory. This was what it meant to have a strong and powerful Daliang army—unlike the previous dynasty, when every few days some grief-stricken “righteous man” would stand on a street corner proclaiming which year, which month, the Tan people had invaded, how many of our people they’d slaughtered, how much of our territory they’d violated.

As the wooden prisoner cart passed, the crowds along the street cheered loudly, tossing fresh flowers at the escorting soldiers, while throwing rotten eggs and spoiled vegetable leaves onto the prisoner cart itself…

This time, little Chen Gou forgot all about wanting his mother, lying flat on the carriage without blinking, watching the procession pass.

Only after the prisoner cart and its captive had passed did the escorting General Tao Jizong, clad in silver armor, come into view. What a sight—wherever he passed, the cheers surged skyward.

It was at a street corner turn that he spotted Prince Furui’s carriage. Truthfully, in the entire court, aside from His Majesty, there were few men Tao Jizong admired—but Prince Furui, along with the various generals of Qinwei Alley, were men he genuinely, sincerely admired from the heart.

And so this hero dismounted with a flourish and offered a formal, respectful bow toward them.

When a hero bows, even She Qingling wouldn’t dare be careless—he carried little Gou down from the carriage, nodded slightly to Tao Jizong, then personally bent down to straighten the child’s clothes, telling him earnestly: “Bow to General Tao on Grandpa’s behalf, and tell him he’s worked hard.”

Little Gou, still dazed, first glanced around and saw the onlooking crowd gazing on with nothing but admiration. The little fellow grew serious too, straightening his own little sleeves and robe, wiping his snot, and finally clasped his hands together in a proper bow, saying the general had worked hard.

This time he didn’t ask for his mother—he actually held it in. However much trouble he caused otherwise, the family’s upbringing had left no gaps in this regard.

Tao Jizong accepted the bow, and not daring to delay, swung back onto his horse and followed the prisoner cart onward.

The crowd soon dispersed, leaving an empty stretch of street where grandfather and grandson quietly watched the hero depart.

Little did they know, the old Chen family had once had such a moment of glory too—except that time, along the entire ten-li street, all of Yandu’s citizens had come out to see off General Chen’s coffin. This nation never lacked for heroes—as long as that border pass stood, there would always be men willing to give their lives for the country. As the dead accumulated, gradually no one spoke of Chen Dasheng anymore, and the world no longer remembered little Chen Gou.

The people gone, the excitement over, She Qingling—who had feared nothing his whole life—found himself, from the bottom of his heart, afraid of this young grandson of his. He didn’t dare move, just held the boy’s hand and stood there.

He thought: I’ll just wait him out. Wait until he’s tired, then we’ll go home. Tomorrow when he cries again, we’ll come back to the streets and wait him out again…

Unfortunately, his fine plan was foiled—he hadn’t accounted for the fact that the streets were never short of mothers carrying their little ones about.

In the blink of an eye, a woman carrying her child emerged from the street corner and passed right by the two of them. The toddler looked adorably innocent, and the mother kissed his cheek at the corner, saying, “Mama’s good baby, why are you so affectionate…”

Sweat dripped from Prince She’s forehead. He lowered his head in alarm, only to find his grandson’s lips already trembling as he stared at the same scene—who knew how long he’d been watching. The moment their eyes met, the tears burst forth like a fountain.

“Waaah… I want my mother…”

Helpless, Prince She could only scoop up his young grandson and head back to the carriage, muttering under his breath as he walked, “Your mother, your mother, what a mother you are!”

Pitiful, this man who had never yielded to anyone in his life—even in the golden hall of a former enemy’s court, he’d been the one dishing out schemes and tormenting others without so much as a blink—had finally met his match.

Just days ago he’d been complaining to the imperial physician sent to check his pulse, about his aching joints, his weary waist, his constant need to rise at night, his poor appetite, his poor sleep, his teeth loosening to the point of utter despair…

Now, carrying his considerably heavy grandson, he strode along briskly, all pretense of dignified refinement abandoned, snapping in exasperation: “Find your mother! Tell me, how do we find her?”

His grandson looked at him without the slightest fear, then finally raised a small hand and pointed in a direction: “I want my mother!”

His eyes were fierce even as tears streamed down, making people feel both heartbroken and amused at once—wanting to beat him to death for some peace, yet pitying the poor child separated from his mother.

Seeing the driver too afraid to move, She Qingling, equally exasperated, glared and scolded: “Didn’t you see your young master pointed the way? Hurry up and go, find his mother…”

And so began another round of chaos—the child had no real idea where his mother actually was and simply pointed randomly. As long as he stopped fussing, She Qingling summoned his greatest patience and let him have his way.

As fate would have it, around noon, the little brat pointed toward the Daliang Palace and ordered the driver: “I want my mother!”

The driver gasped, glancing at the old prince.

She Qingling waved a hand: “Go, go, go…!”

It wasn’t as if the Daliang Palace was unfamiliar to him—he’d spent more time there than the man currently sitting on the throne. Besides, if it weren’t for that troublemaker not cleaning up after himself properly, there wouldn’t have been all this family trouble afterward.

Prince Furui’s carriage truly did arrive before the gates of Daliang Palace. After identity verification, a side gate was naturally opened to admit Prince Furui inside.

Under all of heaven, aside from members of the imperial family—for whom this was simply coming home—everyone else who entered here was said to be “seeking an audience.” When She Qingling came, it was called “visiting relatives.”

He was, after all, the elder of even the eunuchs’ lineage there, and his treatment reflected as much.

And so, riding the carriage straight into the inner palace, passing through without a single obstacle, he arrived at the familiar Dongming Hall to see Emperor Wu, Yang Zao.

Emperor Wu was in high spirits today, having once again watched the parading of the Little Tan King from the city tower. The prisoner-presentation ceremony itself had already concluded some time ago; these past few days, they’d been bringing out the Little Tan King and other prisoners daily for the citizens of Yandu to view—a method of promoting national prestige. There had been no such custom before; this was a new rule instituted by the Daliang emperor.

Watching happily, Emperor Wu had returned intending to compose an imperial poem, with his most beloved son-in-law, Tan Weixin, attending to prepare the ink and brush.

Unfortunately, this was a martial emperor, and his literary talent was rather mediocre. Driven purely by a surge of emotion in his heart, Emperor Wu wrote an opening line: “Vast and boundless, the wind of Liang stretches ten thousand li…” ten thousand li… and then nothing more came.

He raised his hand and struck an X across the gilt-flecked paper. Before he could even speak, Tan Weixin, standing nearby and ever quick-witted, folded up the ruined sheet and set it aside, then spread out a fresh piece of gilt-flecked paper.

Hmm… there was still some urge to express himself, so Emperor Wu took up the brush again, deciding this time not to write a poem but rather a long rhapsody—after all, an event as momentous as the presentation of captives deserved to leave behind some enduring masterpiece, something for future generations to admire…

And so he wrote again: “Vast and boundless the universe, ten thousand li of mountains and rivers, rise and fall through the ages; valiant and mighty, old Liang, forever contending with heaven and earth for glory; eight thousand li, the three armies roar as banners unfurl; the three rivers’ emerald waves…” hmm, hmm… perhaps he should write a poem after all?

Just as he was struggling with this, Zhang Minwang came in smiling to announce that Prince Furui had arrived.

At this, the emperor set down his brush and said, “Oh? Didn’t he say he wasn’t coming? Why is he here again?”

His heart relaxed with relief—and everyone else’s did too.

Yang Zao, a man full of shrewd calculation and possessing every natural gift for being emperor, simply lacked any talent whatsoever for poetry and prose, yet he kept trying to produce some grand, magnificent, world-class poem. Especially these past few years, turning the same phrases over and over… eh, well, that was just how it was.

The emperor had just settled himself when, before long, Prince Furui appeared outside the hall. Only today, his brother’s walk seemed rather odd?

Curious, he leaned against the table, abandoning his imperial dignity to crane his neck and observe… and then, he saw it clearly. Behind his brother’s wide robe, a small child was hanging on.

The floor of Dongming Hall was paved with smooth golden bricks, and so the pair moved forward—one limping along, the other seated on the ground being dragged.

Ha! So even this old fellow had a day like this coming.

Delighted, the emperor was about to open his mouth to mock him, but his brother quickly saluted first and spoke first in mockery: “Writing poetry again, are you?”

The emperor’s expression froze for a moment before he nodded: “Ah! So what if I am? What’s it to you?”

She Qingling, dragging his grandson along, sat down on a drum-stool that Zhang Minwang had brought over and said, “You should focus properly on your state affairs. This poetry and rhapsody business is just something scholars dabble in during their leisure time—you have no leisure to speak of, and no talent for such things either. Turning the same phrases over and over, soaring across ten thousand li, thunderous cries shaking ten thousand peaks—don’t you get sick of it…”

My grandson has been missing for who knows how many days, and you still have the mood to write poetry?

Unfortunately, before he could finish, Tan Weixin, standing to the side, interjected with a smile: “Your Highness speaks wrongly today—His Majesty’s poem today is actually quite good…”

She Qingling froze at this, his expression immediately turning cold. He raised his characteristically sharp, sarcastic face and looked mockingly at Tan Weixin.

“Oh, speaking up now? Couldn’t hold it in?”

What kind of remark was that—Tan Weixin’s face flushed red on the spot, and he bowed low in apology, not daring to raise his head.

The emperor’s heart sank—this was bad—and he pretended to scold in irritation: “This is no place for you to interject, get out—”

Just as he was about to chase Tan Weixin out, a mournful, piteous child’s voice like a little flute rang out: “Everyone’s… lying to me, I want my mother, Grandpa~ you’re mean!”

She Qingling’s head throbbed. He immediately abandoned the matter of Tan Weixin and instead put on a stern face, staring down at his own leg: “You’re the one who pointed here yourself—it’s not as if I found this place. Are you trying to wrongly accuse me?”

Little Gou hugged his leg: “Then let’s go.”

She Wanlin* shook his head, looking at the emperor and said, “That grandpa up there deserves to be beheaded.”

The emperor laughed in exasperation: “What are you saying?” Then, looking at the little one, he laughed: “Is this… our little puppy?”

Seeing the child’s eyes swollen and red, his face reddened and chapped from tears, snot, and exposure to the spring wind, he paused and asked, “What’s this, what happened? How did his little face end up like this?”

Zhang Minwang, who had noticed already, spoke up with some concern: “Oh dear, this looks like it’s about to crack from windburn—this is no small matter. Just now this old servant wanted to say something—such a large area too, it’ll hurt so much once it sets in tomorrow. I must say, Your Highness, whoever’s been attending this child hasn’t been doing a proper job.”

Being an old and trusted attendant, he knew just how to interject appropriately without it seeming like he was speaking out of turn.

She Qingling, having no idea about such things, looked closely and indeed found it to be true. Alarmed, he scooped up the child, cupping his chin to examine him closely, and looked to his brother as if seeking rescue: “Quick! Summon the imperial physician!”

The emperor laughed even harder: “Summoning a physician, really? Look at how useless you are—it’s just windburn.”

He rose from the throne and walked directly to a small table nearby, taking up a small lacquered box painted with butterfly orchids. Opening it, he walked over to She Qingling: “Here, apply this on the child right away. Don’t take him out today either—have your sister-in-law arrange a place for him; a child like this shouldn’t be exposed to wind at all.”

She Qingling looked up and saw it was a cream-colored ointment, and asked, “What is this?”

The emperor smiled and pushed it toward him: “Smell it and see.”

She Qingling lowered his head to sniff, and after a while finally identified it: “Shao Shang’s old horse-fat balm? Why does it smell so fragrant?”

“Well, that’s what wealth does—even old horse fat smells fragrant. What did you used to use, that coarse stuff that cost ten copper coins a box on the street? What I use is Shao Shang’s annual tribute goods.”

She Qingling wasn’t impressed: “A waste of the people’s resources.”

The emperor found him tiresome: “Get up, always running your mouth—can’t even look after a child properly.”

He lifted little Gou up by the arms; the boy struggled, so he sat down and pinned him between his legs, letting him wail and demand his mother however he pleased while unceremoniously slathering half the box of horse-fat ointment onto him.

Well, that was clearly too much… but no one dared say anything.

The two brothers, oblivious to everyone around them, busied themselves fussing over the child—one no longer looking like a prince, the other no longer looking like an emperor.

“Where’s his mother?”

“Sier suffered heart-vein damage and was sent to the Jiang Zhu estate to recuperate for a few days.”

“Mama~ I want my mother!”

“Oh come now, tell her not to worry, I have it all under control.”

“It’s been how many days now? Under control? Under control at what count?”

“Don’t be anxious—there have been over a dozen groups of people sent out already…”

“Careful, that’s my grandson’s face, not a horse’s rear!”

Little Gou, enraged, managed with great effort to free one hand and swatted the horse-fat ointment right out of the emperor’s grip. Then, seizing the moment everyone froze in surprise, he leapt up and scrambled several steps away, squeezing himself into a gap in the bookshelf.

The emperor laughed heartily and reached in to grab him, managing only to catch one little shoe.

That did it—the entire hall’s worth of eunuchs, plus the Emperor of Daliang and a prince of Daliang besides, all crowded around the gap trying to coax him out.

“Come out, I’ll give you candy.”

“I want my mother!!”

None of them noticed that, off to one side of the hall, Tan Weitong’s expression was blank, though his eyes carried a trace of mockery.

Using the excuse of business outside, he stepped forward to take his leave; the emperor, hearing this, waved him off without much thought. He didn’t even bother turning his head.

Little Gou was a shrewd, calculating child at heart. Seeing that no one would fetch his mother, he cried pitifully: “You, you all go get that candy of mine first and bring it in here… I want my mother.”

The child was too amusing—the emperor, holding back laughter, gestured a width with his hands: “Oh dear, this gap is so narrow, even if your mother came, she wouldn’t fit through…”

Little Gou considered this in the gap, glanced around, then, mimicking his grandfather’s manner, said mournfully: “Ah, what are you even saying, just give me that candy first, waah… I want my mother…”

She Qingling couldn’t hold back any longer and turned his face away, laughing silently.

Even at his age, Yang Zao gave him a shove on the shoulder, laughing as he did: “This grandson of yours is quite entertaining—why haven’t you brought him around more often?”

She Qingling rolled his eyes: “Don’t get any ideas—isn’t your own household full of them?”

The emperor waved a hand and pinched off a piece of spun sugar candy to show little Gou: “Even put together, they’re not as entertaining as this one…”

As Tan Weixin walked out of Dongming Hall, he looked up to see over a dozen eunuchs standing bent-backed against the palace wall, carrying food boxes.

This was His Majesty’s midday meal. He naturally knew the usual count of dishes, and counting now, there were indeed five extra boxes—no need to ask, the old ancestor of the palace had returned, and the imperial kitchen would certainly be preparing his favorite dishes.

Such was She Qingling’s standing within Daliang Palace.

Giving his sleeve a light flick, feigning weary fatigue as he stretched, Tan Weixin walked out with hands clasped behind his back.

No one knew that, along this path, his heart was twisted in agony. He knew that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he flattered and fawned, it would do him no good. Even if he slept every night on the footstool outside the imperial bed, even if he wished he could grow malignant sores just to prove his devotion, everyone said he was more filial than even the emperor’s own sons, and His Majesty treated him like his own child—but in truth, it was all just an act.

His Majesty wanted to put on a show of conscience for his old officials, and he too had to perform a show of favor for the entire Tan clan. A fish’s bladder bubble bursts with a single pinch—no matter how much trouble that unranked Chen family mongrel caused, the emperor’s patience never wavered, his affection unconcealed. That was the true attitude one had for one’s actual family.

Grandfather had indeed spoken correctly—Yang Zao was the most cunning, most shameless ruler under heaven, a man without a heart at all…

He deserved to die.

*[Note: the text names the old prince’s grandson through “She Wanlin” here, but context indicates this is likely the same figure referred to elsewhere as speaking—this reference is ambiguous in the source and preserved as written.]