“Your Majesty, Your Majesty… don’t abandon me.” On the bed, the pale‑faced beauty suddenly flushed, murmuring with furrowed brows.
Lian Zhi, kneeling at her side, was startled. She lifted her head and cried out, “My lady, My lady!”
Jiang Nian jolted awake, sitting up, her eyes filled with terror—only when Lian Zhi called again did she return to herself.
She had dreamed: in the dream, she was the Emperor Qi Yi’s vicious former “white moonlight.” Once adored by all, yet bound by the plot, she repeatedly humiliated him, broke his heart, failed to escape, and even tried to assassinate him again and again. In the end, she was imprisoned in Fu Garden. Finally, betrayed by trusted palace sisters and the foster son she had cherished, she was burned alive—without even ashes left behind. Her miserable end was only to clear the stage for the so‑called heroine, giving her the chance to win the Emperor’s love.
The pain of burning lingered even after waking. Jiang Nian trembled with fear and anger before regaining composure. Lian Zhi, frightened by her mistress’s cold gaze, quickly lowered her head.
From outside came faint sobbing. Jiang Nian rubbed the wound on her forehead, setting aside the dream for now, and asked wearily: “Who is making noise outside?”
Lian Zhi bit her lip, hesitant: “It is the young prince… punishing Xiao Tao.”
Jiang Nian froze. She recalled that year in her dream when Qi Yi, to prevent her escape, placed the Empress Dowager’s ten‑year‑old nephew, Zhao Jing, under her care, so she would have a bond to keep her in the palace.
Though the harem was full, Qi Yi had little interest in women and no children of his own. Zhao Jing, raised as a prince, was considered an unparalleled honor.
At first, Jiang Nian felt little for the boy. But later, her supposed good sister, Consort Jin, told her: if she cherished Zhao Jing, she would become the Empress Dowager’s blade, and when Zhao Jing inherited the throne, she would be free from the palace. So she doted on Zhao Jing obsessively, even humbling herself to please him—forgetting that his glory came only through her.
If she remembered correctly, Zhao Jing had just pushed her into the water in a fit of temper. If Xiao Tao hadn’t found her in time and summoned the imperial physician, she would already be a corpse floating in the pond. And now, he dared to beat Xiao Tao before her eyes?
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“You wretched thing! How dare you call the physician behind my back—I’ll kill you!” Zhao Jing’s young face twisted with malice, his blows more vicious than any eunuch’s. After several lashes, Xiao Tao’s back was torn and bleeding, her body limp in the snow.
All the palace maids of Fu Garden knelt silently, none daring to intervene. They only prayed the young prince’s fury would pass. In the chill of early spring, they had knelt for an hour, knees swollen and numb. The prince forbade medicine, and even the consort herself did not interfere—none wished to court death.
The boy was cruel. Xiao Tao had already prepared herself to die. Even as she was beaten, she worried for her mistress, lying unconscious inside. If only she could see her one last time, and know she was safe, she could die without regret.
A familiar urgent call made Xiao Tao lift her head weakly. She saw her mistress rushing out, draping a fine cloak over her.
Jiang Nian had just fastened the cloak when she stepped outside and saw Xiao Tao bloodied in the snow. Her eyes burned with tears. “Come, quickly, get up.”
She bent to help her, but a long whip cracked past her face, missing by less than an inch. If Xiao Tao hadn’t shielded her, the lash would have scarred her.
Jiang Nian, who had lived arrogantly for years, never once speaking harshly, now stood stunned. It was the first time she had faced such violence. After a long daze, she caught Xiao Tao in her arms.
“I did not permit this wretch to rise—kneel, at once!” Zhao Jing showed no remorse for nearly striking Jiang Nian with his whip. On the contrary, he raised it again in irritation, ready to vent his anger. Just as the second lash was about to fall, Jiang Nian caught the whip bare‑handed.
“Your Ladyship!” Xiao Tao looked up at her mistress, whose forehead was already wounded, now grasping the whip with her bare hands. Panic surged—her mistress had never suffered even a board beating before, her body was delicate beyond measure. One lash could cripple her.
Pain seared Jiang Nian’s palm, burning hot, yet it was nothing compared to the agony of being consumed by flames in her dream. Gritting her teeth, Jiang Nian hardened her resolve, yanked the whip from Zhao Jing’s grasp, and flung it aside.
That whip was Zhao Jing’s most treasured possession. On the day he was ennobled as a prince, his aunt had personally bestowed it, telling him that whenever he disliked someone in the palace, he need only strike them mercilessly. Since it was a gift from the Empress Dowager, even the Emperor dared not object.
Ordinarily, the mere sight of that whip commanded deference—even the Empress herself would yield three steps. And now, when he was merely disciplining a “lowly consort,” the Jiang Nian he despised most had dared to cast it away? She must have grown tired of living.
Zhao Jing’s face flushed crimson with rage. Pointing at Jiang Nian, he barked at the attendants: “Why are you standing there? Force this wretch to kneel!”
The palace servants trembled, but none dared move. Even Zhao Jing’s own retainers lowered their heads. For though he was indeed a young prince, Consort Jiang’s status was far too precarious. Though confined to Fu Garden and seemingly abandoned by the Emperor, who could fathom His Majesty’s heart? If word reached him that Consort Jiang had been humiliated, the punishment would be far harsher than anything meted out to a prince.
Seeing no one obey, Zhao Jing clenched his fists, his voice shaking with fury: “Fine, fine! If you won’t act, then I shall do it myself!” He snatched the whip from the snow, his face dark, and lunged at Jiang Nian with venom: “Jiang Nian, die!”
Chaos erupted. Xiao Tao and Lian Zhi, closest to their mistress, rushed to shield her, eyes squeezed shut, bracing for the blow.
But Jiang Nian’s gaze sharpened, her voice cold: “Xu Zhengchun—did His Majesty send you here to collect my corpse?”
A flash of steel split the air from the palace gate. A sword struck, severing the whip, leaving only a short fragment in Zhao Jing’s hand.
A dark figure knelt in the snow—Xu Zhengchun, saluting with clasped hands, his body shielding Zhao Jing. “Young Prince, allow me to escort you back to the palace.”
Zhao Jing stared at the broken whip, eyes reddening with fury. “You—you dare treat me so?”
Xu Zhengchun had no desire to intervene. Over the years, Consort Jiang had struck and cursed the Emperor countless times, committing crimes that should have condemned her entire clan. She had even attempted to assassinate His Majesty at a banquet. The scandal forced her confinement to Fu Garden.
Xu Zhengchun remembered that day vividly: the Emperor clutching his bleeding chest, bracing himself against the imperial desk, his gaze heavy upon the kneeling Consort Jiang. He had expected a brutal punishment, yet the Emperor merely confined her—and appointed Xu Zhengchun to guard this troublesome, venom‑hearted consort. He disliked her, but the Emperor’s command was absolute. So when he heard the commotion outside the garden gates, he pretended not to. It was not his duty, after all. Besides, Consort Jiang often doted on this young prince—everyone knew it. He had meant to ignore it, but once she called his name, he could not feign deafness.
Fortunately, the young prince still had sense. Seeing no one in Fu Garden willing to aid him, he could only glare through tears, hurl a final threat—“Jiang Nian, just you wait!” and storm off in Xu Zhengchun’s wake.