“Your Ladyship, please slow down! Your hand is still injured…” Xiao Tao called out anxiously, afraid the wound the imperial physician had just bandaged would tear open again. But Jiang Nian seemed not to hear. Ignoring the pain in her hand, she only wanted to get closer—closer to the golden dragon robe before her.
Closer. Still closer.
“Your Majesty.” Jiang Nian rushed straight to Qi Yi, blocking him outside the gates of Qianqing Palace. Perhaps she had run too fast, for a sheen of sweat glistened on her brow, her delicate face flushed as she struggled to steady her breath.
They stood so near it was almost as if they were embracing. The familiar scent of Qi Yi’s presence reached her, deepening the blush on her cheeks.
Fortunately, Qi Yi did not seem to notice. He only fixed his gaze on her, silently asking what she wanted.
In recent days, Jiang Nian had grown bolder. She lifted her injured hand to his lips and asked softly, “My hand is hurt… it aches. Your Majesty, will you blow on it for me?”
Her voice was gentle, coaxing—like a kitten begging affection. With those wide, glistening eyes, anyone would feel pity. Even Rong Chengguang was stunned. At last, he understood why this Consort Jiang, no matter her faults, never lost favor. Not only was she beautiful, but she was also daring. In the vast harem, who else would dare ask the emperor to blow on a wound? Even Consort Xu, at the height of her favor, had only dared to request rare treasures.
Yet Jiang Nian seemed unaware of any impropriety. Rong Chengguang stole another glance at the emperor—astonishingly, His Majesty did not seem to find it improper either.
Jiang Nian held her hand up so long it began to ache. Just as she thought to lower it, Qi Yi asked, “You went to the Empress Dowager’s palace today. For what purpose?”
Since the fire at Fu Garden, their relationship had been like water and fire. Qi Yi did not believe Jiang Nian had gone merely to pay respects. Was she regretting things, hoping to reconcile with the Empress Dowager, only to plot against him again?
Of course, Jiang Nian could not admit she had gone to persuade Qi Yi about the upcoming Hunt. To coax him, she first had to soften his heart.
She lowered her hand and tugged at his sleeve with the other, speaking plaintively: “Your Majesty does not wish to see me, yet I miss you day and night, unable to sleep. I asked Eunuch Rong where you were, and when I learned you were with the Empress Dowager, I shamelessly went there. I never expected to be wounded by Zhao Jing—and worse, Your Majesty did not care for me at all, not even sparing me a glance before leaving.”
Her words brimmed with sincerity, almost to the point of tears. Surely Qi Yi would believe her.
Qi Yi studied her for a long moment, then said coldly: “If you will not speak the truth, let go of me.”
His piercing gaze stripped away her lies. Fearing he might truly cast her aside at the palace gates, Jiang Nian confessed: “In a few days, it will be the Hunting Festival. Your Majesty, I wish to go—to ease my heart. Will you allow it?”
After being punished by the Empress Dowager and nearly burned alive by her foster son, was it so excessive to ask for a chance to breathe outside the palace walls?
She bit her lip, eyes full of hope.
But Qi Yi’s calm gaze turned glacial, like frost spreading across ice. Jiang Nian’s heart trembled. She tried to cling tighter to the dragon robe, but Qi Yi had already pulled away, his voice filled with disgust: “Leave.”
Without another glance, he strode into Qianqing Palace.
“This…?” Rong Chengguang looked from Consort Jiang to the emperor, bewildered by His Majesty’s sudden change. Then the emperor’s cold voice rang out: “Rong Chengguang!”
“Y-Your Majesty, forgive me! This servant comes at once.” Terrified, Rong Chengguang dared not think further. He hastily saluted Consort Jiang before running into the hall.
“Your Ladyship, does this mean His Majesty forbids you from going?”
Xiao Tao hurried to her side, panting. She was bewildered—just moments ago, she had seen the emperor and her mistress so close, almost tender, and thought His Majesty would surely grant permission. How had it suddenly turned into anger and rejection?
“It seems so.” Jiang Nian herself did not understand. It was one thing for Qi Yi to refuse her request to attend the Hunting Festival, but why had he grown angry? Was it that emperors, once enthroned, all became quick-tempered and volatile?
“Then, Your Ladyship… shall we still go to the Hunting Festival?”
“Go! We must go.”
That was the crucial moment to stop Qi Yi and the heroine—she could not afford to yield. If one path failed, she would simply find another.
Night fell.
Qianqing Palace was heavy with an oppressive chill. Since returning, His Majesty had not spoken a word, only glancing now and then at the guest list. Rong Chengguang could not read his mood. To test the waters, he borrowed the list the Empress had submitted and ventured, “Your Majesty, there are only six consorts listed to accompany. Should we add Consort Jiang?”
“You seem very concerned about her.” Qi Yi gave a cold laugh, his gaze mocking.
The blood drained from Rong Chengguang’s face. He dropped to his knees, begging forgiveness: “Your Majesty, forgive me! This servant spoke out of turn—please forgive me!” He knocked his head to the floor again and again until his voice was hoarse. Only then was he spared, dismissed with the list in hand.
Outside the palace doors, a young eunuch rushed up in concern: “Master, are you all right?”
It was Chun Sheng, his own pupil. Rong Chengguang finally exhaled, waving a hand. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”
But Chun Sheng saw through him at once. “Master, don’t hide it from me. His Majesty must be angry because Consort Jiang asked to attend the Hunting Festival. Strange, though—His Majesty risked himself to save her, yet now treats her so coldly, as if he doesn’t care. Today at the palace gates, I heard her words and felt pity. How could His Majesty remain unmoved?”
Though it was whispered gossip between master and disciple, Rong Chengguang had only just escaped danger. His heart still raced. He jabbed Chun Sheng’s head sharply: “You little fool! How dare you speak such things? Matters of His Majesty are not for servants to prattle on. If I hear you utter such disrespect again, I’ll have you beaten to death!”
Chun Sheng winced, clutching his head, forcing a smile. “Yes, yes, Master, you’re right. Don’t be angry. Look—the guest list fell. Let me pick it up for you.”
Thinking of the many tasks still ahead, Rong Chengguang took the list and brushed off the dust. “You’d better learn some sense.”
But then his voice faltered. Chun Sheng, puzzled, asked: “What has you staring so, Master? It’s only the names of nobles and officials—same as every year, isn’t it?”
Chun Sheng did not know, but Rong Chengguang remembered well. The name *Huo Fan* stood out—he had ties to Consort Jiang. Once, on His Majesty’s birthday, Consort Jiang had been confined yet schemed endlessly to attend the banquet, even weeping. His Majesty had relented, hearing she had prepared a gift. But when the banquet ended, no gift appeared. Instead, in the imperial garden, His Majesty found her meeting Huo Fan, presenting him with a gift, saying: “The court only knows today is Qi Yi’s birthday, but I know it is yours as well. This is for you—please accept it.”
Enraged, His Majesty dragged her back, threatening to execute Huo Fan. Consort Jiang cursed him, declaring that if not for his interference, she would already be Huo Fan’s wife, wishing him ill. To save Huo Fan, she even slashed her wrist with a hairpin, vowing that if he were killed, she would die with him.
In past years, Old Master Huo had always brought his eldest grandson. Why did he bring Huo Fan, the second son, this year? And now Consort Jiang was pleading again. Surely His Majesty suspected she meant to repeat her old tricks—that was why he was so furious.