“That’s… Chai Rang?”
Compared to her husband in her previous life, Wang Si was quite familiar with him.
Chai Rang was the nephew of Emperor Renzong, Yongjia Emperor, and the legitimate eldest son of the Prince of Fu’s household.
Yongjia Emperor had reigned for more than twenty years, yet had no heirs.
When Chai Rang was five, the emperor—under pressure from court officials—had considered adopting him as his heir.
However, Yongjia Emperor was unwilling. He was still under thirty at the time and believed he would eventually have his own sons.
He did not formally register the adoption, but only brought Chai Rang into the palace.
Coincidentally, soon after Chai Rang entered the palace, a concubine became pregnant.
Delighted, the emperor waited until the pregnancy was stable at three months before hastily sending Chai Rang back to the Prince of Fu’s residence.
Unfortunately, the concubine gave birth to a daughter, and the little princess died young.
The court once again erupted in debate, and the matter of succession resurfaced.
Yongjia Emperor held out for several more years, but still no imperial child was born.
When Chai Rang turned fourteen, the emperor once again brought him into the palace.
Perhaps feeling he had been somewhat unjust the previous time, this time the emperor still refused to formally adopt him—but granted him a princely title: Prince of An.
Wang Si twirled her slender, pale fingers and silently calculated the timeline.
Mm… today was the 24th day of the fifth month in the 24th year of Yongjia.
Chai Rang had already been in the palace for nearly two years and was currently living quite steadily as an “invisible crown prince.”
But Wang Si vaguely remembered that in this year, a consort in the harem would become pregnant again.
This time, however, the emperor was calmer and did not rush to send Chai Rang out of the palace.
It was only the following year, when the child was born safely—a long-awaited imperial son—that Yongjia Emperor finally “dealt with” Chai Rang.
The emperor was decisive. To eliminate future trouble, he fabricated charges against Chai Rang and exiled him to the northern frontier city.
In her previous life, Wang Si had also been exiled to the frontier with her family and happened to meet the arriving Prince An there, eventually marrying him.
“…In this life, it seems we will miss each other.”
Wang Si felt a hint of regret, though not much more.
In her past life, she and Chai Rang had been husband and wife for a lifetime. They had endured hardships together and shared both power and prosperity.
But their relationship had been more “mutually respectful” than romantic—more like compatible partners working toward the same goal.
There had not been much love, only suitability.
Wang Si had helped Chai Rang train troops and retake the capital to ascend the throne.
Chai Rang, in return, had given her the honor of being Empress and made her son Crown Prince.
Perhaps in historical records, they were the model imperial couple.
But only Wang Si herself knew—between them, there had been companionship and reliance, but not much romantic affection.
It wasn’t that Chai Rang wasn’t good. In fact, he was outstanding in appearance, character, and ability.
He was handsome, noble, gentle, and virtuous—a true gentleman and a wise ruler.
He was so perfect that Wang Si sometimes felt unworthy of even “tainting” him.
Unfortunately, good people do not always live long.
His unfortunate family background, repeated abandonment, and the hardships of exile had severely damaged his health.
After ascending the throne, he worked himself to exhaustion day and night, and within ten years, he passed away.
After more than a decade of marriage, they had disagreements and even fierce arguments.
Any lingering affection eventually faded with his death.
The past life’s emotions and entanglements were already settled. Reborn, Wang Si had no regrets and no lingering obsession.
Coincidentally, Wang Jiao had also been reborn and, foolishly, had taken what Wang Si originally had.
“Fine then… let it go. I won’t force anything.”
Wang Si withdrew her gaze and suppressed her thoughts, casting everything from her past life aside completely.
“Stop! Everyone stop!”
“You convicted Wang Pong’s family, move out!”
The jailers shouted while striking the wooden batons against the prison doors.
The loud banging woke the people curled up on the ground.
They instinctively panicked.
After the arrests and imprisonment, they had already become frightened birds.
After a while, they slowly got up.
Clack. Clack.
One by one, the locks were opened, and the Wang family members were driven out like cattle and sheep.
Wang Jiao woke up, somewhat irritable.
But the jailers were fierce and held sticks and whips.
Just as she was about to curse, she saw them and immediately swallowed her words.
In her two lifetimes, even at her worst, she had only ever been scolded or beaten by her mother-in-law or husband—never humiliated by lowly jailers.
She felt extremely unaccustomed, but also knew this was not the time for her temper.
Biting her lip, she stayed close to the Grand Matriarch and followed the Wang family to the courtyard outside the prison.
The space was not large but already crowded with branches of the family living in the capital.
Some relatives were crying with daughters and granddaughters in their arms, while others were hurriedly stuffing items into their hands with repeated instructions.
The road was filled with overlapping voices—crying, shouting, and the jailers’ curses and whip sounds.
Madam Zhao anxiously searched the crowd.
“Dalong! Silang! Ah Jiao!”
Wang Si called out with her, “Eldest brother! Fourth brother! Sixth sister!”
After a long search, Madam Zhao finally saw her three children.
The eldest son, Wang Zhi-li, seventeen years old, was the eldest in the family line and the heir of the Marquis of Wuchang.
The second son, Wang Zhi-yi, had just turned fifteen and was ranked fourth among the male cousins.
Wang Jiao was the third daughter, Wang Si’s twin sister, just turned thirteen.
In the Great Yu Dynasty, males were considered adults at fifteen.
Thus, Wang Zhi-li and Wang Zhi-yi were treated as adult males and wore heavy cangues.
Wang Zhi-yi was slightly better—he was lively by nature and used to physical activity.
Still, even he was struggling under the punishment.
His body was unsteady, legs trembling, and his neck and wrists were already red and chafed.
Wang Zhi-li fared even worse—he looked like he might collapse to the ground, his pale, handsome face filled with pain and despair.
This was only the beginning.
The road of exile ahead would only be more painful and hopeless.
Having already lived through it once, Wang Si understood better than anyone how brutal it would be.
She lowered her gaze, hiding all emotion.
Meanwhile, Madam Zhao was already crying as she looked at her three children.
She touched Wang Zhi-li’s arm, checked Wang Zhi-yi’s neck, and carefully held Wang Jiao’s hand.
“You’ve suffered…”
Wang Zhi-li’s expression was dark as he looked at Madam Zhao with obvious accusation.
He was the most rule-abiding of them all—so rigid that Wang Si once thought he had studied himself into foolishness.
Now he spoke coldly:
“Mother, have you divorced Father? Have you taken Seventh Sister and left the family?”
Madam Zhao’s crying stopped. She looked steadily at her eldest son.
She knew him well.
He was blaming her—blaming her for divorcing, for abandoning husband and children.
Her motherly heart was stabbed again.
Clenching her palms, she replied blankly:
“Yes. I have divorced your father.”
“Mother, how could you? Father may have made mistakes and favored concubines, but you can’t—”
This time it was Wang Zhi-yi who spoke. He was less rigid than his elder brother, but still unwilling to see his parents separated.
If their mother left, could this still be called a family?