Hearing the Emperor’s words, Hua Shu smiled, tiptoeing closer to him, her voice drawn out.
“Your Majesty, that was merely a joke of mine. Are you upset?”
The room was dimly lit, the candle flames flickering. Chu Ze noticed the woman before him—her apricot-shaped eyes carried a natural allure, like a spirit capable of draining one’s vitality.
He admitted it: he felt an urge toward the Empress, an impulse as if he wanted to merge her into his very being.
But he was the Emperor—he could not lose his composure so completely.
Earlier, he had loathed her.
The sudden shift was unsettling. It felt almost like a strategic game; he was about to lose his own territory.
The feeling was unpleasant.
Yet another voice in his mind whispered: the women of the harem are his, everything—including the Empress—belongs to him.
What’s the big deal?
In truth, she was just a woman.
Hua Shu sized him up, then deliberately withdrew her hand, brushing along his arm as she stepped inside.
She understood what the Emperor was thinking. Life as an emperor was monotonous and predictable; suddenly, someone defied expectation, breaking the dullness, bringing intrigue.
And sometimes, she would resist him, sparking a desire to conquer.
Today, she had deliberately provoked him, merely testing the effect. She did not expect it to work so well, but now that it had, matters became much easier.
“Your Majesty, just one word from you and I cannot use milk again. And yet, with just one playful remark from me, you storm over in anger—surely you don’t intend to blame me further?”
Hua Shu’s voice was calm.
Under imperial power, few could utter a “no,” unless willing to risk their life.
Hua Shu valued her life, particularly her youthful, healthy body, and wished to enjoy it, a small recompense for the regrets of her past life.
Though her royal child was young, she had already eliminated threats and firmly controlled the administration on his behalf. She believed there would be no further issues.
Chu Ze turned to watch her back, eyes conflicted.
Apart from her being a Hua family daughter, it was also her previous capriciousness and repeated mischief that had once infuriated him.
But as long as she behaved properly and managed the six palaces well, he would not let her lose face.
Chu Ze took a few steps forward. Now calmer, the earlier impulse had subsided.
“I return the Phoenix Seal to you. I hope the Empress will not disappoint me,” he said.
Hua Shu tilted slightly, offering no reply.
Chu Ze assumed her silence was acquiescence and turned to leave.
At that moment, her hand took his. Warm and soft, it felt like the jade pendant at his waist.
Chu Ze froze, unable to move a step.
Hua Shu held his hand and turned to face him, her apricot eyes locked on his, lips slightly parted.
“Your Majesty, if you wish me to properly manage the harem, you must also know that today is the fifteenth. Should you go favor other concubines, where would my dignity lie?”
Chu Ze’s gaze darkened. After a long pause, he spoke: “Rest assured. I am returning to Qianqing Palace.”
He had realized it would be improper otherwise and dismissed the thought.
Hua Shu smiled lightly. The soft candlelight highlighted her flawless, fair skin.
She reached for his shoulder, tiptoeing, closing the gap little by little.
Chu Ze smelled a faint scent of fruit wine. She had been drinking—it explained her unusual demeanor.
Soon, his thoughts were ensnared, drawn in by her red lips lightly brushing his.
The warmth sent shivers through him, a sensation entirely new; no woman had ever dared this.
Her face was close, breaths mingling, heart racing.
Hua Shu tasted him briefly, eyes narrowed, observing his stunned expression, lips curling into a faint smile.
She slowly released her hand, not fully placing her feet down before his broad palm encircled her waist, effortlessly lifting her.
Her petite frame seemed swallowed by his dragon robe.
The Emperor pressed her head, deepening the kiss, seizing control.
Hua Shu felt her lips claimed, rolling her eyes inward.
He seemed like an inexperienced, clumsy youth, consuming eagerly.
It had been long since she felt such raw desire, but not like this.
For her own comfort, she carefully guided him.
A storm of passion ignited.
Chu Ze cradled her in his arms, moving inward, Hua Shu holding his neck, hanging onto him to avoid falling.
At the small couch, she was compelled to sit on his lap, feeling certain points… her cheeks flushing.
In her previous life, serving the old Emperor had required endless scheming, taking countless fertility medicines just to conceive.
Those few minutes now seemed trivial compared to those grueling efforts.
The vigor of youth was indeed enticing.
Chu Ze seemed enamored with the taste of her lips, reluctant to let go.
Hua Shu clung to him; as her hairpin fell from the loosened bun, her black hair spread out, her hand brushed something inadvertently…
The Emperor’s eyes darkened. He grasped her wrist, placing it on the couch.
The curtains fell, the room filled with enchanting music.
Outside, waiting maids blushed, lowering their heads as if wishing to vanish.
Occasionally, the Emperor’s murmurs could be heard, fueling imagination.
The night stretched on endlessly.
Hua Shu, exhausted, wiped herself and lay down as though lifeless.
The next morning, she awoke, feeling soreness and swelling in certain places.
Hearing movement, Madam Wen and Yun Xiu entered to attend her.
Madam Wen approached, speaking gently:
“Master, you’re awake. If you feel unwell, perhaps we should inform Chief Steward Wang so today’s greetings from other consorts can be excused.”
Her gaze fell on Hua Shu’s chest, noticing the red marks—evidence of the Emperor’s less gentle attentions.
Hua Shu sat up, her wrist aching. Something in her mind stirred, and she bit her teeth.
“No need. Proceed as usual.”
With the Phoenix Seal returned to Kunning Palace, everyone watched curiously.
“Last night, the Emperor stayed in Kunning Palace,”
Yang Jieyu said, holding her peony fan, walking with a smile.
No wonder Consort Wu had returned so early.
There had been no night service at all.
At that moment, Consort Wu emerged from the side hall, her face unadorned, eyes red, but still composed.
Though she was furious, she dared not show resentment.
Yang Jieyu approached. Consort Wu saw her and bowed.
“What are you crying for, little sister? Be careful someone sees—others might think you bear resentment toward the Emperor or Empress!”
Yang Jieyu lowered her gaze, teasing.
Consort Wu forced herself to reply, “I wouldn’t dare, Jieyu. Please do not speak nonsense.”
Yang Jieyu’s smile was sardonic. She said no more, drifting forward gracefully.