[The Empress Dowager’s Birthday]
Inside the Weiyang Palace, a heavy silence reigned, broken only by the soft footsteps of a few palace servants whispering in hushed tones. Since the Sixth Prince regained consciousness, the Imperial Physicians had only visited a few times; once his condition stabilized, they rarely returned.
“The matters regarding the Imperial Physicians have already been handled.”
The idle gossip was kept outside the palace doors. Sitting before her mirror, Consort Ning merely nodded at her maid’s report as she burned a secret letter from outside the palace to ashes. It was a missive from the Ning family; in recent days, new movements had stirred within the court, and good news had arrived from the border.
“It seems His Majesty has achieved a great victory,” Consort Ning remarked.
In the harem, Consort Ning maintained a reputation for being virtuous, kind, and unambitious. Consequently, several tasks for the preparation of the Empress Dowager’s birthday banquet had been assigned to her. This gave her insight into the details of the celebration, and with the Ning family’s intelligence, she was the first to learn of the Emperor’s triumphant return. This was a cause for great national celebration; news was already spreading, and the Emperor intended to celebrate with the entire country, making it a monumental event.
A monumental event meant a grand, lavish production.
The maid Bi Zhu said, “The Sixth Prince hasn’t stepped out of his room for days. The physicians say his body hasn’t fully recovered, and his mind seems a bit muddled from the fever. The servants attending him have been complaining quite a bit.”
Consort Ning’s hand, scalded by the medicine a few days ago, still throbbed with pain, but hearing Bi Zhu’s report made her feel slightly better. “Isn’t it better if his brain is fried? It saves me the trouble of sweet-talking him. Has he taken his medicine?”
Over the years, hindered by the strict palace rules and countless watchful eyes—coupled with the Ning family’s past transgressions—she had been forced to compromise. She never cared for this child, intending from the start to raise him into a useless person. She had managed to mold him into a cowardly character… but in the end, a coward is never as easy to control as a complete invalid.
Especially that face of his—it wouldn’t be good once he fully matured… when the time came, there would be no need to keep that face intact.
Bi Zhu carefully combed her lady’s hair, reporting in detail: “I went to the pharmacy a few days ago, and they said His Highness has been taking all his medicine lately.”
Upon hearing that Ying Fusheng had consumed the medicine, a hint of pleasure flickered in Consort Ning’s eyes.
The current Emperor had a fair number of offspring, and the harem was full of people fighting tooth and nail to rise in rank. For over a decade, Consort Ning had maintained a persona of being aloof from worldly struggles. Ying Fusheng was dull and showed no signs of ascending to power, and since Consort Ning didn’t compete, many other consorts sought to ally with her. Thanks to this, she gained a wealth of information the Ning family couldn’t control, allowing her to secretly strategize for her biological son.
So what if Empress Xu held the high position of Mistress of the Harem? Let her put on those airs; in the end, her child was still being crushed in the palm of Consort Ning’s hand.
As Consort Ning listened to Bi Zhu, she grew increasingly content. “How has the Kunning Palace been lately?”
Bi Zhu replied, “The Empress has been at the temple praying for blessings these past few days, and the Crown Prince went with her.”
The Crown Prince was young, yet his reputation for filial piety had already spread far and wide. As Bi Zhu spoke of his renown, Consort Ning’s satisfaction grew. As the heir to the Eastern Palace, the Crown Prince had the support of the Empress’s family, the Xu clan. The Xu family was prestigious, producing many civil officials who had assisted the current Emperor in his ascension, and the Empress was deeply favored by the sovereign. With such perfect conditions, her own biological son could enjoy the finest favoritism without her having to scheme much at all.
“There is another piece of news—there’s movement from the Qi family. General Qi’s trusted aides have entered the capital,” Bi Zhu whispered.
Consort Ning was slightly startled. The Qi family was the Emperor’s right hand throughout his many campaigns—military officials who had assisted him since his youth. They were the pillars of the nation, a lineage of warriors guarding the vital northern border of the Great Yuan, and were deeply trusted by the Imperial house.
The current Emperor valued military prowess, and the Qi family functioned as “lonely officials” in court—loyal to the throne alone, guarding the frontier year-round and rarely returning to the capital. For General Qi to return this time…
“If the Qi family is returning… then it is the Emperor’s will. When the officials and princes return to the capital, the opportunity to stand out must be given to my son.” Back then, to ensure she gave birth at the same time as the Empress, that labor-inducing drug had damaged her constitution. Fortunately, years of fine medicine had mended her health. Looking at herself in the mirror, Consort Ning ordered coldly, “As for that little brat, have the pharmacy increase the dosage of the potent medicine when necessary.”
“I understand,” Bi Zhu replied.
On the other side of the Weiyang Palace, due to Consort Ning’s orders that the cold air was too heavy and might cause a “wind-evil” to enter the body, the Prince’s quarters had been sealed tight for several days. While other princes were highly regarded, the Sixth Prince never associated with them, nor did he possess the favor of the Emperor or the Empress Dowager. Since he fell ill, other palaces had only sent a few items as a courtesy; almost no one had actually visited.
Since waking, the Sixth Prince’s state of mind was vastly different. Previously, he was taciturn and somewhat cowardly. Since the accident, he seemed unable to remember his personal attendants, and his reactions to questions were slow. Where he used to simply speak little, he was now entirely silent, as if possessed by a nightmare.
In the small kitchen, the air was thick with the scent of medicine. Several servants stood outside whispering:
“Is the Sixth Prince really possessed? When I went in this morning, he was just sitting there not saying a word. It’s creepy.”
“Who knows, after a fever like that… Shh, do you want to die? Talk less!”
“Song An, why don’t you take the medicine to His Highness.”
Song An silently took the tray. Seeing the disdainful looks from the other servants, he bowed his head and walked past them.
“They always make him do the work.” “He likes it; he jumps at any chance to suck up.” “Quiet!”
Song An kept his eyes down, his grip tightening on the tray. Opportunities to serve before the Prince were rare. In the past, those servants loved to crowd around him to claim credit and rewards, but now that he was sick, they feared responsibility and pushed all the work onto him.
The voices faded. As Bi Zhu emerged, the servants’ chatter died down. Song An had only walked a few steps when he saw her. The servants gossiped constantly; Sister Bi Zhu occasionally scolded them if she overheard, but rarely punished them. Outsiders said Consort Ning was a living Bodhisattva who never dealt harshly with servants.
Bi Zhu glanced at the medicine and said simply, “Take it in.”
Knowing Bi Zhu wouldn’t scold the others, Song An said nothing and went inside.
The servants whispered about the Prince, but Song An didn’t agree. He was a young eunuch whom the Prince had saved one winter. Without the Prince, he would have died long ago; how else could he have found a place in the Weiyang Palace?
Though the Prince was a man of few words, he treated his servants very well. But in the eyes of others, his rewards were never enough; they grumbled about what other palaces gave, saying the Prince’s gifts weren’t as good as the silver coins handed out by the favored princes.
‘A bunch of ungrateful wolves,’ Song An thought bitterly.
Outside the palace walls, the winter wind whistled, and the cold grew heavier. Inside the bedchamber, the charcoal fire glowed, sending warmth into one’s very bones. Song An carefully brought the medicine in and looked at the small figure already sitting up on the bed.
The Sixth Prince sat with a robe draped over him, his gaze lingering on the window. As several servants passed by outside, Song An grew tense, wondering how long the Prince had been watching and if he had heard the idle gossip.
The room was thick with charcoal heat, yet the Prince had been exceptionally sensitive to the cold lately, even moving the brazier closer. Song An said softly, “Your Highness, the wind is heavy outside.”
At his call, Ying Fusheng turned. Seeing it was Song An, he asked in a raspy voice, “Did you run into her?”
Song An saw the Prince’s gaze fix on him. Over the past few days, the Prince had suddenly instructed him to avoid others and remove several ingredients from the prescription written by the physicians. He replied, “Just as you ordered. When Sister Bi Zhu asked, I only said the medicine was being warmed. I also followed your instructions to say it was too bitter and fetched some licorice from the pharmacy. Sister Bi Zhu didn’t say anything.”
Ying Fusheng watched him.
Song An kept his head bowed. His face held a natural gloom that made him look somewhat sharp and bitter; he knew his appearance wasn’t pleasing and often irritated others, so he always acted submissively to lower his presence.
Ying Fusheng could see glimpses of the man Song An would become in the future. The only person he could truly trust right now was Song An.
Sensing the Prince’s silence, Song An asked, “Did Your Highness… hear them?”
The idle gossip—Ying Fusheng had heard plenty of it. People used to go out of their way to talk near the Cold Palace; he could hear several “acts” a day, better than any play invited by the consorts. Once, he had called them before him to sing their tales to his face; those servants had merely cowered and begged for mercy. Even though he was a deposed Prince, they lacked the “bravery” they displayed when whispering behind walls once faced with imperial authority.
He found it meaningless back then. Not loud enough, and not enough to wake the spirit.
He asked, “What did they say about you?”
Song An was slightly startled, then replied, “Nothing.”
Seeing Song An standing far away, Ying Fusheng beckoned him over.
Song An moved closer, feeling the warmth of the stove drive away the external chill. He watched the Prince carefully, feeling that his master had changed somewhat during this time. He had been picked up by the Prince on a winter day several years ago; back then, the Prince was very young. After saving his life, the Prince kept him in the Weiyang Palace to live. Even the name Song An had been given to him enthusiastically by the Prince when he first began his primary education.
Ying Fusheng took the medicine bowl from Song An’s hands. The warm sensation caused the cold tips of his fingers to feel a faint return of warmth.
The steam from the medicine rose in misty swirls, reflecting his current appearance and gradually masking the coldness in his eyes.
For the past few days, he had feigned a lingering fever. Song An was clever, so neither Consort Ning nor Bi Zhu had discovered the truth.
After so many years, Consort Ning’s guard had long since dissolved—who would be overly suspicious of a ten-year-old child? However, to be safe, Ying Fusheng had Song An brew medicine in secret and mix the dregs with the original medicine dregs. Fortunately, the smell of medicine in the room was overpowering; Bi Zhu had entered several times without noticing the portions of medicine dregs that had been burned away into the stove ash.
However, having been fed secret poisons for ten years, Ying Fusheng’s body was already failing due to mistreatment. This time, even a simple fall into the water followed by a fever had cost him several days of vitality. Even though the fever had broken, his bones ached faintly, and the slightest thought brought on a splitting headache.
He knew the residual toxins in his body were not cleared and could not be solved by simply stopping the medicine. Over time, Consort Ning might notice something. Seeking new medicine without authorization would arouse suspicion. Fortunately, having been ill for a long time in his past life, he had some understanding of those secret poisons and could pick out certain “catalyst” ingredients, though this was not a permanent solution.
If they could feed him secret poisons under the noses of the Imperial Physicians, then the physicians who frequently visited the palace were likely compromised as well. If he were to expose this, not only would no one believe him, but if Consort Ning covered it up by claiming he had been driven mad by the high fever, he would truly be pushed into a dead end.
The chill in his bones had not dispersed; even two charcoal stoves failed to alleviate the coldness of his body. After finishing the bowl of medicine, Ying Fusheng could not help but cough.
Song An grew nervous at the sound. “Your Highness?”
“Move the stove closer.”
Song An had no choice but to move the stove even closer.
Ying Fusheng reached out his hands to warm them. Feeling the warmth right before him, he murmured, “A pity this isn’t Silver Flake Charcoal; that’s the real high-quality stuff.”
Song An stole a glance at the Prince. Since waking from the fall, the Prince had become exceptionally mindful of such things. Two days ago, upon waking, he had even scolded Song An for not knowing the value of frugality. These days, he occasionally said things that were difficult to understand. In the past, the Prince would never have cared what kind of charcoal was being burned.
Ying Fusheng wrapped himself tighter. In the Cold Palace, there were no such luxuries; one had to fight for even the meager charcoal portions. Yet now, such things could be obtained with ease… which is why everyone wants to be a person of high status.
Noting the Prince’s silence, Song An glanced at the trinkets sent over earlier. “Sister Bi Zhu said Her Highness sent a few things.”
The Prince used to long for Consort Ning’s affection, yet during his many days of illness, she had only visited once, mostly sending items to brush him off. Song An did not understand why the consort was so indifferent to the Prince, given that he was her only child. Fearing the Prince would be hurt, he asked softly, “Shall I set them out for you?”
Ying Fusheng’s illness had not fully cured; there were faint signs of it worsening, as he maintained a low-grade fever all day. When the news reached Consort Ning, she knew the extra “ingredients” Bi Zhu had added were working. She visited a few times with a hypocritical air; it was clear she had been in a good mood lately, sometimes bringing Ying Fusheng little toys.
They were paper-woven trinkets placed casually by his bed, accompanied by a few words of concern. This had been the pattern for years: she would always show a bit of care at the right moments to keep the foolish “past self” utterly devoted to her.
Inside the modestly sized bedchamber, the things sent by Consort Ning were displayed prominently, dust-free, and few in number.
His own possessions were sparse. There were no Four Books or Five Classics to be found; only the unofficial histories and miscellaneous books Consort Ning sent on a whim. His former self knew she liked him to be unambitious, so he had complied with everything. But in his past life in the Cold Palace, a single jade pendant could only buy him half a month of comfort, and a small amount of silver wasn’t enough to bribe a eunuch; he and Song An had nearly failed to survive their first winter.
“If she sends more, say that I am delighted by them and drank several extra bowls of medicine because of it,” Ying Fusheng said. “Take whatever is given and put it in my private storehouse. If anything can be traded, sell it for more practical items.”
Song An let out a gasp of surprise. ‘Didn’t the Prince use to treasure Her Highness’ gifts?’
He hurried to say, “I understand.”
“You have no questions?” Ying Fusheng’s deep eyes looked toward him.
Song An shook his head and simply said, “I will do whatever Your Highness tells me to do.”
Ying Fusheng gave him a deep look. ‘In my last life, when I told you to run, why wouldn’t you listen?’
He withdrew his thoughts, noticing his hand was trembling uncontrollably. He hid it beneath the quilt and tried to steady himself.
It was quiet outside; his gaze drifted toward the door.
Snow lay thick on the palace walls. Only a few scattered palace servants moved about outside. These past few days had been a bit too quiet.
Ying Fusheng had taken several days to adapt to his current child-like form. He asked, “Has anything happened in the palace lately? There are fewer people.”
Ying Fusheng had forgotten too much of his childhood memories. Later, after being imprisoned for years, he had lost track of time. Toward the end, his mental state had been unstable; it took him a long time just to recognize a servant, or he had long since forgotten the names of irrelevant people.
Song An was startled and explained, “Your Highness, have you forgotten? The Empress Dowager’s birthday is approaching.”
This sentence brought a moment of clarity to Ying Fusheng’s muddled brain. He remembered that a few days ago, when he was delirious with fever, Consort Ning had mentioned the Empress Dowager’s birthday in a passing word of comfort. The birthday was traditionally hosted by the Empress. In his past life, Consort Ning had always maintained a persona of being aloof from the world; her most common tactic was to play the innocent victim and act as a hidden hand behind the scenes, rarely taking the lead in anything.
The Empress Dowager had a birthday every year, but there was one specific birthday that was extremely important to Consort Ning.
“Is Imperial Father… returning in triumph soon?” Ying Fusheng asked hesitantly.
Song An paused, feeling slightly confused. “His Majesty is still at the front, but I heard from the servants that there has been good news at court these past few days.”
‘So it’s this period of time…’
Ying Fusheng’s eyes sharpened. Regarding the fall into the water on that winter night, he couldn’t remember the exact details. He had been in a high fever for days and nearly died; how could he remember things from his illness after the fever broke? He could hardly remember anything from his youth at all.
The reason he knew so much about this particular birthday was that it was a monumental event celebrated by future generations.
This period was a critical turning point when his Imperial Father personally led a campaign to conquer the barbarian tribes at the border. Coinciding with the Empress Dowager’s birthday, the Emperor’s triumphant return brought national rejoicing and a general amnesty across the land. The princes and princesses all vied for the favor of the Emperor and Empress Dowager during this banquet. Only he, due to a severe and lingering illness that left him chronically frail, became a neglected, redundant prince.
Most importantly, for this banquet, civil and military officials and even regional princes were recalled to the capital for a nationwide celebration. In his past life, this was the moment the Emperor returned in glory. As the officials gathered at the banquet, Consort Ning’s biological son—the fake Crown Prince—stole the spotlight. Not only did his gift delight the Empress Dowager, but his clever wit earned him the Emperor’s praise. At just ten years old, he became world-famous, laying the foundation for a legacy of “virtue” that would make countless poor scholars yearn to follow him.
“So, I ‘fell’ into the water at exactly this time…” Ying Fusheng’s eyes flickered.
He feared that everything, starting from that fall, had been deliberately orchestrated by Consort Ning.
With life-saving medicine laced with secret poisons, his younger self had no way to confront Consort Ning directly. Trapped by house arrest in the name of “protection” and a deliberate plan to raise him as a useless wastrel, he would only be confined within these palace walls and forced to repeat his tragic past if things continued this way.
Being trapped in Weiyang Palace was a vicious cycle he couldn’t break. Ying Fusheng was unwilling to be used again, to be imprisoned for years and live like a dog, only to watch those who climbed over his bones enjoy absolute power. In this torrent of fate, he and Song An were nothing more than ants that the powerful could crush with a single word.
Just like now, even taking real medicine required deception.
But why should it be this way?
The birthday banquet was his only chance. He didn’t just have to attend; he had to find a way to escape Consort Ning’s grasp.
Over the past few days, he had used every opportunity to observe outside. The palace seemed deserted, but in reality, there were servants moving back and forth—likely eyes left by Consort Ning. The moment he stepped out of this hall, those servants would immediately report to her.
Attending the banquet would not be easy. Given the current situation, if he made a reckless move, Consort Ning could use any excuse to lock him inside Weiyang Palace. Therefore, he could not alert the enemy before the banquet began.
To paralyze Consort Ning’s suspicions, his “illness” could not get better, and he could not leave this room.
He needed external help. He needed a legitimate, public reason to go to the banquet… otherwise, he and Song An would meet the same end as before.
Song An watched his master silently, worry clouding his gaze. Since the Prince woke from the water, he was always like this—staring blankly out the window for hours without saying a word, as if his soul had been snatched away.
Ying Fusheng’s eyelids drooped slightly as his fingers rubbed the fabric of his sleeve. After a long moment, he snapped back to reality and asked, “Lately, has Mother been going to the Moon-Viewing Pavilion every day?”
Nearly every servant in Weiyang Palace was running errands outside. Consort Ning was entrusted with the high-stakes task of managing the Empress Dowager’s birthday. According to Ying Fusheng’s memory, the Moon-Viewing Pavilion was exactly where the banquet was held in his past life.
Song An had been frequently ordered around by other servants lately, so he knew a thing or two. He replied, “The banquet is approaching, and Her Highness is very focused on it. When I passed by these past few days, the Moon-Viewing Pavilion looked completely different than usual.”
Ying Fusheng was certain; this matched his memory perfectly.
In his memories, to avoid arousing Empress Xu’s suspicion, Consort Ning rarely approached the Empress proactively and maintained a fine reputation within the palace.
Someone so “unambitious” would not attract the attention or jealousy of other consorts, making it easy for her to take control of many matters with just a little initiative.
When the Crown Prince was young, she could afford to ignore him, but now that the Prince’s influence was growing, she could no longer remain still.
Ying Fusheng pondered silently. The more Consort Ning wanted to keep a low profile and hide in the shadows, the more he needed to give her a “push” to make his “dear mother” appear before everyone. The place to exploit this was the Moon-Viewing Pavilion.
“Song An, there is something I need you to do.”
Ying Fusheng suddenly said, “In a few days, it will be time for the Imperial Pharmacy to restock. I want you to handle something for me.”
Because of his master, Song An had been sneaking into the Imperial Medical Academy every day. Fortunately, with so many people coming and going, no one remembered him. He wondered what medicine the Prince was looking for now, only to see his master take several taels of silver and a token from his private storehouse. He was stunned as he heard Ying Fusheng say: “No, this time you cannot look for the pharmacy apprentices. Every ten days, the Imperial Pharmacy has a procurement period where the head eunuchs inspect medicinal herbs from various regions. At that time, go to the Imperial Pharmacy and find a eunuch named Fu An.”
Song An immediately became cautious. “What should I do?”
There were too many people in the palace who couldn’t afford medicine, and the Imperial Pharmacy wasn’t a place any random eunuch could visit. When merchants delivered medicine to the Imperial City, with so many eyes watching, there were always opportunities for private transactions. In his last life, while imprisoned in the Cold Palace, Ying Fusheng nearly died many times. It was thanks to the kind female official who treated him that he learned of this small “back door” to buy enough herbs to keep himself alive.
Eunuch Fu An was the one who opened that door. Money could make even the devil turn a millstone, and in this palace, these people were the best at following the scent of profit.
The female official had told him that Eunuch Fu An had been in the Imperial Pharmacy for years, saving many servants who couldn’t afford medicine while also handling many “shady” private matters.
The “nobles” in the palace were unaware of this life-saving path, making it difficult for them to investigate.
Ying Fusheng gave a few simple instructions. Song An was startled at first—he didn’t know what the Prince was up to—but he memorized everything nonetheless. “I understand.”
He then took the order and left.
After he departed, Ying Fusheng looked through a crack in the window. The servants of Weiyang Palace were still busy. When Song An first stepped out, one or two servants looked up at him, but seeing it was just a young eunuch, they lowered their heads to continue their sweeping. No one noticed that Song An changed direction toward a different area once he left the gates.
Ying Fusheng watched the servants for a moment until Song An vanished from sight. He then turned back to the inner room and pulled a simple needle-roll from behind the quilt. He picked up a needle and began to pierce his own acupoints to stimulate his meridians, forcing his body to maintain a high temperature.
Feeling the heat rise within him, he carefully disposed of all evidence.
His gaze was cold.
Inducing a persistent fever in a young child was dangerous, but Ying Fusheng had no intention of seeking death. The needle technique he used was taught by the female official in his past life to stimulate blood circulation. In his previous life, it was used to keep him alive through the winter; now, it would over-stimulate his body, causing his temperature to rise enough to deceive anyone.
Only someone who was “sick and unconscious” would avoid suspicion.
Ying Fusheng lowered his eyes, casually tossing the paper cricket he had once cherished in his past life into a corner. The flickering firelight cast shadows on the medicine dregs remaining in the charcoal stove.
He sat in his robes, devoid of any sleepiness, his eyes looking through the impenetrable walls toward the distant Moon-Viewing Pavilion.
There was still time; he had to plan step by step.
Since Consort Ning loved drugging people so much, he would return the favor in kind.