In the past, when the tyrant emperor scolded her for not knowing what was good for her, Fu Xinghe had refused to accept it.
Now she lay awkwardly clutching the blanket. A formal apology felt like making too much of it, and the tyrant emperor might not even want one, but leaving it unaddressed felt heartless.
Wait… were there any lychees left?
Fu Xinghe raised her voice and called Xia Mian in.
“Your Highness,” Xia Mian answered, thinking something urgent had happened.
Fu Xinghe cleared her throat. “Well… I suddenly thought of something. Even though I didn’t feel like eating lychees today, they can be made into lychee wine, or dried into lychee jerky, or used later for sweet soup. Are the lychees… still here?”
Xia Mian pressed her lips together. “They are. None of us touched a single one.”
The emperor had bestowed the name Consort’s Smile, hoping the consort would smile upon seeing them. No servant would dare eat them.
“Move them to the small kitchen,” Fu Xinghe said, tying her hair up with a cord and rolling up her sleeves as she got out of bed.
She walked quickly to the kitchen and saw three crates of fully ripened lychees, their skins a vivid red. She picked one up. The peel was thin, the pit small, the flesh snow-white and plump, the juice sweet and clear.
“I’ll just taste a little,” she said, peeling and eating four or five in a row.
They were so sweet her dimples appeared.
Xia Mian watched her and thought the emperor’s naming choice was both elegant and meaningful.
Her Highness really did look beautiful when she smiled.
The lychees had already spent some time in transit. As much as Fu Xinghe liked them, she would never finish them all. They had to be processed into something easier to store.
“Don’t just stare at me,” Fu Xinghe said. “Eat if you want. I can’t finish them alone. As for the rest ”
Xia Mian thought she was about to say they should be distributed to the other consorts.
Instead, Fu Xinghe continued, “I’ll soak them in wine later. Once that’s done, there won’t be any fresh ones left.”
Fu Xinghe was not foolish. With lychees like these, there was no need to show them off. That would not earn gratitude, only covetousness.
She split the lychees into two portions. One portion was briefly blanched in boiling water and set out to dry. The other was peeled, sealed, and left to ferment.
It was her first time brewing wine. In the past she would never have dared, but now she had a toxin detection system. If fermentation produced anything harmful, the system would alert her.
With enough hands helping, three crates of lychees were processed quickly.
Xia Mian formed a quiet suspicion. In the past, Her Highness had been extremely generous, always afraid food would go stale, constantly finding ways to give things away. Even the little palace maids from Wenhua Hall would return home from visits carrying boxes of pastries.
But these lychees were given by His Majesty. In Her Highness’s heart, they clearly held a different weight.
“Your Highness, later you’ll need to go measure His Majesty and the Empress Dowager for tailoring,” Xia Mian reminded her.
Fu Xinghe almost forgot. Because she had to make clothing, Meng Dongting had given her special permission to leave Wenhua Hall.
Fortunately, that order had come before the lychee incident. If it had been after, Meng Dongting would definitely not have let her out, and would have simply had measurements delivered instead.
Since she had the chance to see the Empress Dowager, Fu Xinghe hoped to improve her impression.
“What kind of flavors does the Empress Dowager like?” she asked.
“The Empress Dowager has weak teeth and prefers soft foods.”
Fu Xinghe raised an eyebrow. That happened to be her specialty.
She had made soft, melt-in-the-mouth pastries before, but the tyrant emperor disliked them, so she had shifted her research toward his tastes.
Thinking of Li Xiaojing possibly being with the Empress Dowager, Fu Xinghe decided to be thorough. “What about Miss Li?”
Xia Mian replied, “His Majesty had Miss Li sent out of the palace yesterday. She probably won’t appear at the Empress Dowager’s birthday banquet either.”
Fu Xinghe raised her brows. That was fast. She had thought the tyrant emperor would tolerate Li Xiaojing a bit longer.
Even without Li Xiaojing stirring things up, there were still many consorts. Any one of them was more capable than Li Xiaojing.
Xia Mian saw the familiar teasing glint return to Fu Xinghe’s eyes and hesitated.
How was she supposed to hint that His Majesty might have driven Li Xiaojing away because of Her Highness?
Forget it. Her Highness wouldn’t believe it anyway.
With limited time, Fu Xinghe carefully prepared a serving of fresh milk jelly and hurried to Cishou Palace.
If she was any later, Meng Dongting might come to dine with the Empress Dowager. With him around, Fu Xinghe always felt he would get in the way.
She was displeased. There was no thoughtful daughter-in-law to take charge. Meng Dongting had also sent Li Xiaojing away, leaving her to fuss over even listening to opera.
When she asked Meng Dongting which performances were good, he gave her a single answer: “Your son cannot tell good from bad. Whatever Mother decides is fine.”
Cui Xian did not demand much of opera performances. She only hoped that a younger generation would arrange things for her. Whether good or bad, the effort itself would show filial piety.
She took a sip of water. Why couldn’t the palace have two noble consorts?
The Fu family’s people were unusable, little more than decorations. If only there were another high-ranking daughter-in-law.
She had suggested promoting Yu Feng and Wang Chanjing to higher ranks so they could host palace banquets. Meng Dongting had shown remarkable promise by pretending not to hear.
If her son were not her own flesh and blood, she would suspect there was a hidden favored consort in the palace, one whose position Meng Dongting feared others might surpass.
Her greatest dissatisfaction with Fu Xinghe was that she held office without doing work. If Meng Dongting intended to confine the Fu family’s daughter, why elevate her to Noble Consort?
“Empress Dowager, Consort Qian has arrived.”
“Let her in.”
With no one else around the Empress Dowager, Fu Xinghe was unafraid of her words being twisted. As soon as she entered, she admitted her misconduct at the palace gate the other day and apologized for troubling the Empress Dowager.
She personally presented the milk jelly, topped with soft taro paste. “I’ve heard the Empress Dowager is deeply knowledgeable about pastries. I enjoy making sweets, but no one in the palace instructs me. Upon learning of Your return, I practiced for several days before daring to offer this humble dish. I ask that you taste it and offer guidance.”
Cui Xian had already smelled the milky fragrance and felt her appetite awaken. She hadn’t expected Fu Xinghe to make it herself. She was especially receptive to gestures from the younger generation, but remembering the Fu surname, she lifted a silver spoon and tasted only a small bite.
Then she paused.
What was the noble consort’s surname again? After marriage, she bore her husband’s family name. Whatever she had been before was unimportant.
Cui Xian could not resist lifting the white porcelain bowl to examine it. The texture was smooth and dense, exactly the mouthfeel she liked.
“Consort Qian has good skill. Practice often, so you don’t lose it.”
She finished the bowl. Feeling that the noble consort finally had some use, she subtly hinted that Fu Xinghe should make it more often.
Fu Xinghe understood. “I will practice daily.”
Nine-tenths of the Empress Dowager’s displeasure dissipated.
Fu Xinghe seized the moment. “This is the only skill I can present. Today I came to measure your garments. I’ve never been good at needlework. I ask for your forgiveness.”
At this point, Cui Xian’s eyes held only the memory of a good dessert. Clothes were insignificant. “No one is perfect. Flaws do not outweigh virtues. Bring the measuring tape.”
Fu Xinghe measured carefully, and Cui Xian cooperated fully. When Fu Xinghe finished and prepared to leave with the bowls, she paused, took out a sheet of paper, and said, “This is the recipe for the milk jelly. I’ve tested it many times in Wenhua Hall, with little improvement. I hope the Empress Dowager might review it. If the imperial chefs can refine it, that would be a blessing.”
Fu Xinghe never hesitated to share recipes. It wasn’t her original creation anyway. As long as it brought her some convenience, that was payment enough.
The Empress Dowager was clearly pleased, but Fu Xinghe had no wish to become a summoned cook. By handing over the recipe, both sides benefited.
Cui Xian was surprised. Most people guarded life-saving skills closely. Yet Noble Consort Qian offered it openly.
This Fu family daughter seemed to lack scheming.
Cui Xian grew more satisfied. She disliked calculating daughters-in-law, fearing they would entrap an old woman like her.
“Bestow all the brocade I received from His Majesty yesterday upon Noble Consort Qian.”
She added kindly, “If your needlework is lacking, then learn freely. Don’t fear wasting fine material.”
The palace servants were shocked. These fabrics were exceedingly rare. Yesterday, after sending Li Xiaojing away, His Majesty had used them to appease the Empress Dowager.
Fu Xinghe was speechless.
Wasn’t this a bit wasteful?
But there was no reason to refuse. She had already said her needlework was poor. Whatever monstrosities she produced, the Empress Dowager would surely not mind. The fabric’s own texture was exquisite even without embroidery.
She could compensate with style rather than stitchwork.
Fu Xinghe accepted the gift, chatted a while longer with words the elderly loved, then took her leave from Cishou Palace.
She had lingered there longer than expected. When she emerged, dusk had fallen. At this hour, the tyrant emperor usually would have finished dinner. Yet she had not encountered him.
“Is His Majesty busy?” Fu Xinghe asked. “Should I go tomorrow instead?”
Xia Mian persuaded her, “Your Highness, go today. If His Majesty is too busy to eat, you can at least urge him.”
Fu Xinghe reminded her, “I’m empty-handed. What will I use to urge him?”
Xia Mian silently scolded herself. Yes. She had seen Her Highness make dessert for the Empress Dowager earlier. Why hadn’t she encouraged her to prepare some for His Majesty?
Had Her Highness… deliberately forgotten?
Their emperor seemed a little aggrieved.
“Might… verbal urging work?” Xia Mian offered.
Fu Xinghe nodded, the fading crimson clouds tinting her earlobes pink. “Then lead the way.”
It wasn’t that she deliberately ignored Meng Dongting. He never ate food of uncertain origin. Making something would be pointless.
His caution came from being forced to eat dog food by the deposed crown prince, leaving him with a deep aversion. After learning this, Fu Xinghe had completely abandoned her plan to fatten the tyrant emperor.
This was her first time visiting his domain. Crossing Zhihe Bridge, she suddenly remembered the day she entered the palace as a consort, draped in noble robes, walking delicately, while the tyrant emperor stood tall and solitary beside the shimmering bridge.
She deliberately slowed her steps. His expression back then had been terrible.
Fu Xinghe curled her lips into a smile.
“Is His Majesty busy?” Fu Xinghe asked.
Fu Gonggong nodded. “He’s reviewing memorials. He’s used to it. This servant will inform him.”
Fu Gonggong pushed the door open softly and hurried to the desk. “Your Majesty, Her Highness is here.”
Meng Dongting did not look up. “Have her wait.”
Fu Gonggong grimaced. He knew it. His Majesty was still upset.
His Majesty had bestowed Consort’s Smile. The consort not only failed to smile but showed displeasure. His Majesty’s anger was understandable.
Fu Gonggong could only relay the message tactfully.
A flicker of discomfort crossed Fu Xinghe’s eyes. She smiled. “I’ll wait.”
Self-inflicted trouble truly was unavoidable.
When daylight fully faded and the candlelight in Xuanzheng Hall grew brighter, Fu Xinghe’s calves ached from standing. Meng Dongting still did not speak.
She said to Fu Gonggong, “Please ask if I may sit while waiting.”
Fu Gonggong acknowledged and went inside again.
“Your Majesty, the noble consort asks whether she may sit.”
Meng Dongting snapped his head up, brows knitting. “Has she been standing?”
This audacious woman. Not lying down was already giving him face.
Fu Gonggong smiled awkwardly. What kind of image did His Majesty have of the noble consort in his mind?
“She’s been standing the whole time.”
Meng Dongting frowned and snorted. “Call her in.”
She must be ashamed to sit after inexplicably losing her temper at him yesterday.
He closed the memorial. “There’s still hope.”
Fu Xinghe was starving. She entered and got straight to the point. “I came to measure ”
Meng Dongting raised his arm impatiently. “Hurry.”
She took out the measuring tape and efficiently began with his arm length.
They spoke little, as if by unspoken agreement.
Fu Gonggong stared in disbelief. They had been awkward for so long, yet once inside, they were all business. It was oddly unsettling.
Meng Dongting’s gaze was indifferent. This was the normal way he interacted with the noble consort. Address matters directly, no dithering. As for the lychees, yesterday had simply been a lapse in judgment.
Lowering his eyelids, he saw slender wrists reach around his back, preparing to measure his waist.
They kept a palm’s width of distance. Fu Xinghe was careful not to touch him.
Meng Dongting stepped forward.
Fu Xinghe’s arms weren’t long enough. She followed, but after standing so long and being hungry, her step faltered and she bumped into his back.
The autumn night was cool. His back was broad and warm.
She barely registered the warmth, only the need to minimize contact.
Meng Dongting quickly caught her wrist to stop her from falling. “Hungry enough to faint?”
“…Not that bad,” Fu Xinghe replied.
“Then were you taking advantage of me?” he asked.
She was instantly full of anger. Her voice rose. “I’m making clothes.”
He sneered. “Are you even capable of needlework?”
She shot him a reproachful look. He knew she wasn’t, yet insisted on embarrassing her.
“I will do my utmost. If my needlework is lacking, then my sincerity is deep.”
Seeing her sharp tongue, Meng Dongting’s mood lifted. He ordered Fu Gonggong to summon dinner.
Two quarters of an hour later, Fu Xinghe left Xuanzheng Hall in displeasure.
Damn tyrant.
Xia Mian followed, torn between laughter and tears. Earlier, while Her Highness was focused on eating, His Majesty had suddenly taken her bowl and asked seriously, “Aren’t you eating too much?”
His expression had been so earnest that Fu Xinghe had forgotten to be angry.
Two seconds later, her face darkened. “Aren’t you eating more than I am?”
What kind of person was this? Inviting her to eat and then complaining she ate too much.
In modern times, a tyrant like him would never find a wife. Thank heaven he was born into an imperial family.
Meng Dongting stared at the open doors of Xuanzheng Hall and asked Fu Gonggong, “What’s wrong with the noble consort?”
He had only ever eaten with the Empress Dowager. Fu Xinghe ate three times faster than her. He had genuinely worried she would overeat.
Fu Gonggong looked up at the sky. This was why emperors needed more wives.
Eat with a few more consorts, and His Majesty would understand normal women’s appetites.
The Empress Dowager was old and had weak teeth. Naturally she ate delicately.
The next day, Fu Xinghe officially began learning to make clothes. She sketched various ancient styles she had seen in modern times and let Xia Mian choose one suitable for the Empress Dowager.
Xia Mian marked all the visible and hidden seams and guided Fu Xinghe step by step in cutting the fabric.
Fu Xinghe followed the process methodically, sewing it together afterward.
She had no seat at the Mid-Autumn banquet. She stayed here making clothes for others.
Her stitching was poor. The seams twisted like a centipede.
“Shall this servant do it instead?” Xia Mian suggested.
Fu Xinghe had a sudden idea. “I can make His Majesty’s first.”
Xia Mian was speechless.
Fu Xinghe picked up a bundle of pure black fabric that already had a basic shape. She had once said she would embroider pig brains for the tyrant emperor. Perfect practice.
“Bring over the auspicious cloud design I drew.”
Afraid he would accuse her of lacking sincerity, she used gold and silver thread as a base, layering stitches repeatedly, five or six times. After enough chaotic stitching, she felt she could manage patterns.
Following the design carefully, stitch by stitch, she embroidered pig brains. White thread traced the lines, pink and gray filled the texture.
Xia Mian suggested, “Your Highness, this is just for practice. Let’s discard it. We’re not short on fabric.”
She couldn’t understand why Her Highness had layered five or six levels of gold thread beneath.
Painters discarded failed works and started fresh. They didn’t repaint them.
“It gives a sense of weight,” Fu Xinghe said. “Dense stitches show sincerity.”
By noon, she had barely formed a rough shape. As she prepared to eat, she noticed a plate of mooncakes on a nearby table.
“Where did these come from?”
Xia Mian replied, “At the banquet earlier, the Empress Dowager mentioned Your Highness enjoys sweets. His Majesty had a plate sent over. This servant didn’t want to disturb you.”
The tyrant emperor sent her mooncakes?
She had thought that during the festival, everyone had forgotten her.
The pig brains in her hands suddenly lost appeal.
She stared at them. Was it still possible to change them into peonies?
With some undoing and reworking, a peony gradually emerged. Regal and magnificent, suited to her.
After two days, the noble consort’s garment was finally complete.
Meng Dongting flipped through the clothes presented by the eunuch. From the outside, they were unremarkable, the stitching rough, something he would never wear.
Suddenly, his fingers touched a palm-sized hard embroidered patch.
He unfolded the garment and saw a chaotic mess.
“What is this?” he asked.
Fu Gonggong replied, “It’s said to be a peony.”
“Ugly,” Meng Dongting said. “It looks like pig brains. Who embroiders something this thick on the chest? Can it even be worn?”
“Well, Your Majesty knew the noble consort’s needlework was poor,” Fu Gonggong said carefully. “This servant sees a hint of peony.”
Meng Dongting stared at it. “If she says it is, then it is.”
“And this garment…?”
“Put it there,” Meng Dongting said, pointing casually.
Fu Gonggong was horrified. That cabinet held the clothes His Majesty wore most often outside the palace.
He could persuade His Majesty to accept the garment, but never to wear it publicly.
After placing it away, he noticed His Majesty seemed in an excellent mood while reviewing memorials.
That good mood lasted only until midday.
At the Empress Dowager’s residence, Meng Dongting saw the clothes Fu Xinghe had made for her.
No chaotic stitches. No disastrous pig brains.
The Empress Dowager said with satisfaction, “Consort Qian always thinks differently. I’ve never seen this style before. Have the seamstresses make several similar sets.”
Meng Dongting was furious.
“Summon Fu Xinghe.”
Fu Xinghe went expecting to receive a reward. She had put so much effort into making clothes, especially his. She hadn’t even embroidered patterns on the Empress Dowager’s.
Instead, she was met with accusations.
She stared at him in disbelief. “You’re saying my peony looks like pig brains?”
His anger faltered. “You did it on purpose, didn’t you?”
Fu Xinghe felt deeply insulted.
She would never do this again.