On the matter of the crown prince, the ministers had once held heated discussions in private—but the results were far from satisfactory.
One year, on some month, on some day, they had believed the Empress was pregnant. Many small storms had stirred—they’d waited and hoped, year after year. Two full years passed, and still no crown prince was born.
This was already the third year. Even if she were carrying Nezha, he should have been born by now.
Truly disappointing—still nothing.
In truth, they should have pressed the matter. Five years, and still no heir in sight. At the very least, they should bring up the topic of consort selections. They longed for a crown prince like parched earth longs for rain—more eagerly than they longed for their own sons and grandsons.
But who dared to push? No one.
So they stayed quiet, praying silently in their hearts. On holidays, they’d visit temples to burn incense, never forgetting to pray for the crown prince’s early arrival.
Jiang Nong also keenly noticed that over the past two years, the ministers’ birthday gifts to her and Yu Lingxin had become white jade Guanyin statues for bestowing children, gold-thread embroidered “Hundred Sons, Thousand Grandsons” tapestries, and so on…?
She was baffled. It felt like the old saying: the eunuch is more anxious than the emperor.
But if she were honest—she was a little anxious too.
She knew Yu Lingxin had been secretly drinking contraceptive medicine, but she’d pretended not to notice.
Though Jiang Nong had started preparing for Xiaoman’s arrival long ago, she’d always had a nagging question: even if born of the same parents at the same time, would this life’s Xiaoman be the same as the previous life’s?
A person becomes who they are through their experiences—memories make the person. That’s why she and Yu Lingxin were still the same people from the previous life, and the life before that.
What about Xiaoman, then?
If she poured all her love, doubled, into this child—would that be unfair to the Xiaoman of the previous life?
And what if it wasn’t even a daughter? Wouldn’t that prove her fears?
A poor child who’d never met her mother—and yet her mother, out of love and guilt, gave that love double to a second child.
The thought was suffocatingly cruel.
Sometimes she wondered: if she and Yu Lingxin could return to the past, couldn’t Xiaoman appear too?
Perhaps she did overthink things—but she couldn’t help it.
So her earlier desire to have this child and raise her happily was overturned once again.
Yu Lingxin’s secret little actions had given her a buffer, an escape.
The closer the time drew to the previous life, the more anxious she became.
In truth, Yu Lingxin was the one who least wanted a child.
Setting aside the nine months of pregnancy and the blood lost in childbirth—even if he forced Jiang Nong to swear a thousand times, ten thousand times, that she loved him most—it wouldn’t matter. A child was a living, breathing child. It would cry, fuss, need its mother—so fragile that a pinch of the hand could kill it. He knew Jiang Nong too well. Faced with such a fragile life, even without blood ties, she would love it dearly—and this was her own flesh and blood. She would love that child above all else.
That child would steal all her attention.
Yu Lingxin didn’t even need Jiang Nong to love him most—he needed her to love only him.
But he didn’t want to fight about it. If Jiang Nong truly wanted this child, he would have no choice but to comply.
Even though he was a hundred times unwilling, he only dared to secretly drink the contraceptive brew, entertaining unrealistic fantasies—could Jiang Nong one day suddenly see the light, realize that children were impractical, and that only Yu Lingxin was worth cherishing, and give up the idea entirely?
…Don’t even mention it. It was like a dream—and even in dreams, he wouldn’t dare think that way.
But if Jiang Nong didn’t bring it up, he wouldn’t say anything. If she asked, he’d play dumb. If she found out, he’d act surprised. If he couldn’t hide it anymore, he could shed a few crocodile tears—Jiang Nong was soft-hearted and would let him off.
Deep in the night, all was silent. Yu Lingxin lay half-asleep, holding Jiang Nong in his arms. Suddenly, he heard a faint sigh—she turned over in his embrace.
After so long together, there was an unspoken understanding. A bad feeling rose in Yu Lingxin’s heart. He opened his eyes—and met Jiang Nong’s gaze. He quickly shut them again, like covering his ears to steal a bell.
Jiang Nong paused, then propped herself on his chest and pried his eyelids open, shaking him: “You’re not asleep—I know you’re not. I saw you open your eyes. Wake up, let’s talk.”
A little annoying—but also kind of adorable.
Yu Lingxin had to pretend he’d just woken up, rubbing his eyes: “What is it?”
Jiang Nong propped her chin on the bed and said: “It’s about Xiaoman.”
His heart lurched. He pulled the kicked-off blanket back over her, tucked it in, and mumbled sleepily: “What? So tired… didn’t catch that… let’s talk tomorrow.”
Jiang Nong pried his eyes open again, forcing him to look: “Stop pretending. I know you’re awake. Open your eyes.”
Yu Lingxin played dead. Jiang Nong blew into his ear—still he lay stiff as a board, a master of feigning death.
Clearly faking.
She leaned over him, face-to-face, staring for a long while, getting closer and closer. Her warm breath tickled his face. He could smell her scent, feel her hair brush against his cheek—his heartbeat quickening.
No help for it—still had to play dead.
Though you can’t hide from the fifteenth if you dodge the first, at least he’d dodged the first.
Jiang Nong let go of her hands on the bed and flopped onto him with a smack. Yu Lingxin barely swallowed the cough the impact forced out.
Playing asleep isn’t playing dead—you’re really going to keep this up?
She wriggled up, kissed him, licked his lips, pried open the seam of his mouth.
…Smack.
After a long moment, Yu Lingxin’s face received a light slap.
“You know how to stick out your tongue when you’re asleep? What are you pretending for? You’re that unwilling to talk about kids? Stingy!” Jiang Nong wiped her mouth and told him to get up.
He finally opened his eyes, hooked her waist, and tilted his head up for more kisses.
“Then what do you want to ask? I’ll tell you now. What she liked, how tall she was—I’ll get paper and draw it for you, alright?”
Still pretending not to know. Jiang Nong grabbed his collar and dragged him back onto the bed.
He didn’t resist—he let himself fall, pulling his collar back into place, and changed the subject with mock solemnity: “Don’t be like this—so disheveled. Not becoming of a proper gentleman.”
Seeing him so nervous, she played along, straddling him, twirling his sash around her fingers, then loosening it again, a little shy: “You know what I mean. We’re not getting any younger. By the timeline of the previous life, it’s time to prepare for Xiaoman. I miss her too. As her father, don’t you miss her?”
To create Xiaoman, there would naturally be an enjoyable process in between—but knowing the outcome, even the process no longer felt enjoyable to Yu Lingxin.
He couldn’t even dodge the first—did she have to bring this up during the perfectly happy activity of sleeping?
Yu Lingxin tried to smile, but his lips wouldn’t lift properly. He managed a less-than-sincere grin: “I miss her. Very much.” Exactly how he missed her, he couldn’t say—because he didn’t miss her at all.
His life was too good right now. Children, daughters—all of it could go away and leave him alone, please?
“Really? You don’t seem sincere. You don’t love her.”
Yu Lingxin pulled out his acting skills: “Really. I’m sincere. I love her.” Yeah, right.
“Really?”
“Really.” He widened his eyes, trying to look as sincere as possible.
“Then why have you been secretly drinking medicine behind my back?”
That shut him up.
Watching his face cycle through shades of red and green, Jiang Nong couldn’t hold it in anymore. She collapsed into his arms, shaking with laughter.
She’d learned to be mischievous too—proof that Meng’s mother was right to move three times; environment really does shape a person.
Yu Lingxin had thought she was here to interrogate him—but it seemed not. He reached out and poked her cheek: “You did that on purpose. You knew, and you still had to ask me like that.”
“Jealous husband,” she said.
Since he’d been caught, there was no point pretending. He admitted it openly: “I am a jealous husband. I don’t want her. I don’t know why you have to go through nine months of pain to give birth to her. I just want you safe and sound, without bleeding. I want your eyes on only me.”
“It doesn’t hurt,” she comforted him.
“How can giving birth to a person not hurt? It’s just that your poison attack hurt so much it made childbirth seem less painful by comparison.”
He went on and on—until he saw no sign of wavering in her expression. Defeated, he started undoing his sash: “Fine. Let’s just get it over with.”
Jiang Nong calmly pulled his clothes back together and said in his own tone: “Keep your clothes on. Proper gentlemen don’t do such things.”
Yu Lingxin reached out and touched her forehead—she swatted his hand away.
She lay down on his chest, using him as a cushion, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck: “Actually, that’s not what I wanted to say. I just feel conflicted…”
She told him her thoughts.
For the first time, Yu Lingxin was grateful for her overthinking nature—suddenly, the future looked bright.
He patted her back, stroked her cool hair, smoothing it strand by strand with his fingers: “I think your concern is valid. A moment’s deviation can change everything. What if she’s born looking different—or a boy? Wouldn’t you feel even more guilty?”
“Actually, if all you want is to make it up to her—there’s nothing really to make up for. In this world, getting even one of three—love, power, money—is already lucky. She didn’t lack a mother’s love. Her mother loved her very much. And her father—if we’re being honest—acted like he loved her too. So she had all three. As for romantic love—she might find it among three thousand harem attendants.”
Jiang Nong bared her teeth in disbelief and looked up: “Can there be love in a harem of three thousand?”
“Probably not. But who knows—maybe she’d find true love somewhere. You can never tell.” Yu Lingxin considered it, and also didn’t think true love could exist in a harem of three thousand. Love was between two people—more than that was too crowded.
Jiang Nong already had her doubts, and Yu Lingxin was a jealous man—so whether it was Big Man or Little Man, it seemed likely, perhaps, maybe, that they wouldn’t appear at all.
As for a crown prince—there were plenty of children in the imperial clan. They could always pick one.
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