Somewhat rough around the edges—the flaw lay with Wei Xiao—but it didn’t prevent the situation from staying within Yu Lingxin’s control.
He had initially worried that Jiang Nong might catch on, but when it came to Chao Ning, she seemed blinded by rage and didn’t dig too deeply into the details.
She still came to argue with him, threw a few things around—clearly not trusting him—and sent out her own dowry guards to search for Chao Ning.
Night rain swept into the hall, bringing a chill across the floor. At just the right moment, Yu Lingxin fell ill. The imperial physicians prescribed several doses, but none seemed to help.
When they occasionally crossed paths, Jiang Nong would avoid him quickly—yet she could still hear his coughing, sounding like it wouldn’t clear up anytime soon.
In the past, Jiang Nong would have shown concern. Now, she turned a blind eye.
Yu Lingxin realized that his standing in Jiang Nong’s heart seemed slightly higher than he’d anticipated. Despite everything, she still hadn’t made a move against him.
He needed to give her one more reason.
“I saw from a distance that His Majesty’s illness still hasn’t improved.”
After the morning court session, the ministers descended the steps of the main hall. A spring rain had just passed, and a warm, moist breeze carried the bitter fragrance of new willows.
Several officials paused, strolling slowly together in quiet discussion.
“It’s merely a minor ailment. His Majesty exhausts himself for our Tan—truly no small feat. I notice the Pingyi Army, returned from Song, is still drilling outside Mount Xi. By regulation, they should have been sent back to their original posts. This suggests…”
“With Dang and Xi both mired in internal strife, Song still recovering from its losses, and our momentum at its peak—this is the perfect opportunity to march south.”
“His Majesty means to personally lead another campaign?”
“Presumably the Empress will again act as regent.”
…
After a long silence, someone coughed lightly.
“Her Highness the Empress has certainly labored diligently and achieved much.”
At this, all fell silent. Lü Chengcheng’s head had hung at the city gate for seven days as a warning—and with that, all criticism of Jiang Nong’s regency had dissipated.
With Situ Ming and Lü Chengcheng dead, all court power now converged on Yu Lingxin alone. The position of Grand Marshal remained vacant. The newly appointed Grand Chancellor was merely a puppet propped up by Yu Lingxin, following his every command. The realm’s power was now entirely concentrated in his hands.
He was unwilling to delegate authority to any minister—only to the Empress. Lü Chengcheng had died for crossing her, and from now on, no one would dare question the Empress’s regency.
Looking back now, they realized that from the moment she entered the central palace, Jiang Nong had been steadily stepping into governance—from winter charity distributions to granting the Golden Guard their annual stipends, pleading for Situ Ming, to upstaging the Minister of Agriculture at the Spring Plowing Ceremony, then the land tax reforms, regency, and the execution of the Grand Chancellor. Without Yu Lingxin’s indulgence and backing, how could she have risen to such prominence?
During her last regency, despite Lü Chengcheng’s obstruction, she had won many supporters at court—and even more among the common people, who were deeply grateful for her benevolence.
An empress should have a virtuous reputation—but not so virtuous that it overshadowed the emperor, nor should she share in his power.
To put it bluntly—though it bordered on treason—His Majesty indulged her too much. He wouldn’t even keep Lü Chengcheng alive to balance her power. If one day he truly fell to her schemes, given the precedents of Situ Ming and Lü Chengcheng, few in court would dare speak of “clearing the ruler’s side of the wicked empress.” Who would bet that this wasn’t a trap set by the imperial couple, just waiting for some fool to stick their neck out?
Last time, they’d smashed things and slept apart—yet in the end, they were still of one heart. Anyone who jumped in would only come out worse.
Many thought this but dared not speak it—uttering such words could bring the execution of nine clans.
Before Jiang Nong could resolve one problem, another arose. Yu Lingxin was openly preparing for war—the troops returned from Song were still drilling intensively, and provisions and supplies showed signs of mobilization. It seemed the easy spoils from Song had only whetted his appetite. He was reverting to form, ready to pursue the path of military conquest once more.
The timing was perfect, the circumstances aligned—Yu Lingxin was determined.
The atmosphere in the palace grew increasingly strange. Normally, a separation should have made their reunion sweeter—but Jiang Nong and Yu Lingxin were resolutely avoiding each other, as if cutting all ties. Yu Lingxin had been ill for days, yet Jiang Nong never once visited.
Jiang Nong couldn’t sleep. She wrapped a cloak around herself and leaned by the window. A warm, moist breeze brushed her face—cool, and clearing her mind.
The night sky glittered with stars, clouds spread like thin gauze, and the moon gazed down through them at the mortal world. Jiang Nong gazed back at the moon.
Cicadas sang on and on, her heartbeat pulsing in time with their chorus. For a moment, Jiang Nong was tempted to rush over and confront Yu Lingxin—to tell him to stop everything, stop pushing her, lay it all out on the table, and give her some time—maybe she could slowly come to accept him.
But in the end, she didn’t. She was afraid she was flattering herself.
So for now, she would simply follow Yu Lingxin’s arrangement.
Before her lay two paths, and from each extended countless possibilities. Her mind was in chaos—like a flock of birds squabbling on a branch—and she didn’t know which way she would go.
Rong Mian came in yawning that morning and was startled to find Jiang Nong already leaning by the window. The golden morning light bathed her face, warming her pale, sleepless complexion with a soft glow. Her dark hair spilled loose, covering half her face, making her eyes appear larger, rounder, set in unnaturally white skin. Silent and still, she looked rather ghostly.
“Your Highness hasn’t slept all night?” Rong Mian hurried over to drape a robe over her—only to find it damp with cold dew. She gasped and quickly helped Jiang Nong change into dry clothes. When Her Highness was troubled, she would stand by the window at night gazing at the stars and moon. The last time she’d stood like this through the night was years ago, after an illness.
As she helped Jiang Nong change, she asked: “What is Your Highness worried about? Is it Prince Chao Ning? Or that war might spread to Xi?” Rong Mian had a simple mind—if they were fighting, that meant things were bad between Jiang Nong and Yu Lingxin.
She too felt anxious. Their homeland could no longer offer them support, and Rong Mian felt uncertain about the road ahead. Men’s hearts changed so quickly—if the fighting continued, what would become of her and Her Highness, alone in a foreign palace?
Even though she knew the best course was to urge Her Highness to soften toward His Majesty, mend their relationship for old times’ sake, and bear a crown prince early to secure her position—
Rong Mian knew Her Highness was far cleverer than she. If Rong Mian could think of it, Her Highness must have thought of it too. But if she didn’t do it, that meant she didn’t want to. Rong Mian still wouldn’t push her to do something she disliked.
Jiang Nong considered this. Matters of the heart were the hardest to explain; everyone’s perspective was different. They could only think from their own angle.
Perhaps what troubled her and Yu Lingxin seemed trivial to others—something a simple conversation could fix. But Yu Lingxin wasn’t going to talk it out with her, and Jiang Nong wasn’t going to talk it out with him either.
Yu Lingxin had his arrangements. Jiang Nong had her own thoughts.
“It’s still early—would you like to sleep a little longer?”
“Bring some pastries and come with me to the Academy. I want to see how the children are doing. I’ve only visited them once since they entered the palace.”
There were clearly more pressing matters at hand—why think of visiting the clan children being raised in the palace?
Rong Mian didn’t understand, and neither did Tongye. But Her Highness must have her reasons. Rong Mian hurried to make the arrangements.
In truth, the academies across the five kingdoms were much the same: a group of young children studying, riding, and practicing archery—loud and boisterous.
The clan children sent to the palace had been carefully selected—age was clearly one of the criteria. They ranged from five to eight, which explained why outside rumors claimed Yu Lingxin intended to adopt one of them as his heir.
Even at this young age, their talents and temperaments were already apparent. Two of the children stood out as exceptionally bright, answering everything Jiang Nong asked with ease and fluency.
She spent the entire morning at the Academy. When Tongye asked where lunch should be served, Jiang Nong unexpectedly said: “At Xuan Shi Hall.”
Even Rong Mian looked up in shock, then quickly lowered her head again. Perhaps Her Highness had reconsidered—recognizing her disadvantage and deciding to make peace with His Majesty.
Jiang Nong noticed their shock and barely concealed joy. She smoothed her sleeves with an composed expression: “His Majesty has been ill for days without improvement—this Empress is somewhat concerned. Since I have time today, I will visit him.”
Tongye immediately sent a eunuch to deliver word.
Yu Lingxin lay sprawled on the couch, his forearm pillowing his head, a memorial covering his face. When the attendant brought the news, he seemed to wake slowly, squinting as he removed the papers and raised a hand to block the harsh light streaming through a gap in the curtains.
He had been ill for days. With Jiang Nong absent, no one could manage him—and he wouldn’t listen anyway. His face was tinged with a pale, sallow hue, like fine rice paper, making his other features appear all the more vivid.
His features were sharp and deep, his chin pointed, flesh clinging tightly to bone. His cheekbones swept back from the brow line, his face narrow and sculpted—substantial boned yet not overly gaunt. His long brows were dark, his eyes winged at the ends, the shadows of his lashes casting a sharp, severe line. His pale, pink lips were chapped and dry.
He coughed into his hand, waved the attendants away, and did not refuse Jiang Nong’s visit—lying back down once more.
Yu Lingxin tapped his fingers lightly on the couch, wondering what she had come for. At least she wasn’t here to fight.
The bamboo blinds around Xuan Shi Hall were all lowered to block the light. The sun was high, yet all the candlesticks in the hall were lit. Bamboo slips lay scattered haphazardly across the floor. There was no incense—the space felt empty, cold, and hard. The air carried only the metallic and earthy smells of wood and brass, deprived of sunlight, lending it an added chill.
Walking into the dim hall, Jiang Nong almost didn’t recognize it as the place she had once lived.
Yu Lingxin lay behind the scattered bamboo slips, dressed in loose black robes. In the gloom, she almost missed him—his face was covered, his long hair spilling in strands over the edge of the couch, his wrist dangling beside it. At his height, the couch seemed cramped; he had to bend his legs.
Jiang Nong clutched her chest and stepped back two paces. If she hadn’t known his illness wasn’t that severe, she would have thought a corpse lay there.
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