The moment Kangxi stepped into the room, Nanny Zhou’s sharp eyes caught a flicker of alarm in the gaze of one particular midwife. Although the woman regained her composure almost instantly, that split second was enough for Nanny Zhou to resolve to seize her.
“I shall see for myself who possesses the audacity to betray Her Imperial Majesty!”
The thought that the Empress might have been murdered under her very nose was intolerable to Nanny Zhou. She barked orders for the guards to restrain the midwife while she stepped forward to conduct a personal search.
Meanwhile, Xuelian hurried to the Emperor to recount the sequence of events.
To Kangxi, everything seemed to happen in a blur. He saw the Empress’s deathly pale face; the regal dignity she usually maintained before him had vanished, replaced only by a profound tenderness and a sense of grievance directed at her husband.
His heart tightened. When he heard from Xuelian that the hemorrhage was no accident but a deliberate act of sabotage, his fury erupted. He could not believe that someone had dared to plot against his Empress and his legitimate son right under his watch. His son had been fortunate enough to survive, but the Empress had nearly lost her life.
Kangxi forced himself to remain calm. The priority now was not only to comfort the Empress but to root out the mastermind behind this plot.
“Empress, rest easy. I am here.” Seeing her face grow even paler, Kangxi felt a pang of pity. She had always carried herself with the poise of the Mother of the Nation; he had never seen her look so fragile and pitiable. It seemed she was truly terrified. Childbirth was already a woman’s “gate of life and death,” let alone enduring such treachery.
After comforting her, Kangxi turned a cold, piercing gaze toward the midwife, who was now kneeling and begging for mercy. Seeing the Emperor’s look, the woman’s panic intensified. “Your Majesty! Your Majesty! I have been wronged! Nanny Zhou has no proof; she is framing me!”
“Whether you are wronged, I cannot say, but how do you explain what is in your hand?” Nanny Zhou, a veteran who had grown up alongside the Empress, possessed eyes like a hawk. When her initial search of the woman’s clothes yielded nothing, she feigned disbelief to make the midwife relax. Then, the moment the woman let out a breath of relief, Zhou lunged for her hands—the one place she hadn’t yet checked.
Nanny Zhou grabbed the midwife’s hand with a jerk. Hidden deep beneath her fingernails was a small amount of fine powder. The midwife turned ghostly white and tried to speak, but Kangxi, disgusted, signaled the Imperial Physician to inspect it.
“Your Majesty, to my knowledge, this substance is Salvia miltiorrhiza (Danshen). It possesses potent blood-activating properties,” the physician stated, then fell silent. The affairs of the Inner Palace were treacherous, and he knew well to protect himself. However, everyone present understood the implication: for a midwife to carry a blood-thinning agent while the Empress was in labor was either a death wish or a sign of extreme malice.
In short, the Empress’s hemorrhage was undeniably linked to this midwife’s scheme!
The midwife slumped in defeat, realizing she could not escape this fate. A look of ruthless desperation crossed her face as she eyed a nearby stone pillar. But Nanny Zhou was no novice; she instantly read the woman’s intent to commit suicide. “Watch her! Do not let her find the easy way out!”
The eunuchs tightened their grip, pinning the midwife so firmly she could not move an inch.
Kangxi was already incensed by the physician’s report. Seeing the midwife’s attempt to kill herself, he let out a cold laugh. “If you dare to bash your head against a wall, I swear I will execute nine generations of your kin!”
The midwife froze instantly, her struggle ceasing entirely.
Li Mu watched the midwife, thinking that this was not enough. In the original timeline, this woman was never discovered. The Emperor, pitying the newborn son who had lost his mother, had been lenient with the staff. Although the mastermind was clever enough not to leave loose ends, shouldn’t the one who plotted the host’s death be dealt with by the host herself?
Furthermore, this midwife likely had thousands of threads connecting her to the other consorts. The mastermind was probably standing outside right now, waiting for the “show” of the hemorrhage to conclude.
Li Mu clutched her chest, her heart still racing. The shadow of the hemorrhage was no small thing. She needed to eliminate her enemies as early as possible. Whoever plotted this clearly stood to gain the most from the Empress’s death.
As for why they didn’t target the newborn son? The logic was simple. A legitimate son’s death would trigger an exhaustive investigation by the Emperor, especially in these turbulent times. With so few surviving heirs in the palace, the death of a legitimate prince would make the world doubt the Emperor’s ability to protect his own blood.
But if the Empress died in childbed? People would simply call it a tragedy—a woman of “thin fortune” who gave birth to a prince but lacked the life-force to see him grow.
Kangxi looked at the midwife with cold eyes. Seeing her mouth clamped shut as if sealed with glue, he turned to his head eunuch, Liang Jiugong. “Go. Find out who her master is. My palace has no room for such poisonous hearts.”
“Understood.” Liang Jiugong cast a sideways glance at the midwife. Seeing her turn even whiter and tremble uncontrollably, he thought: Fear is useless now. You should have thought of this before plotting against the Empress. Treason is a heavy cross to bear.
As the midwife was led away, Kangxi turned back to Li Mu. Though pale, she managed a faint, serene smile. “Your Majesty,” she whispered, “the delivery room is an unclean place. Your person is of supreme importance; please, step outside.”
Again!
A flash of annoyance crossed Kangxi’s eyes. Even though he was genuinely worried about the woman who had just given him a son, the Empress was always like this—viewing him strictly as an Emperor rather than a husband. What was wrong with a husband caring for his wife? Even if the censors protested the “impurity” of the room, he wouldn’t care.
“I am merely concerned for you. In your eyes, is that a mistake?”
“…No, Your Majesty. Please, let me explain.” Li Mu had been acting according to the memories of the original Hešeri. After all, the Empress was surrounded by people who knew her temperament; any sudden change might lead them to believe she had been possessed—a terrifying taboo in the ancient world.
However, hearing the annoyance in his voice, her mind shifted. Perhaps she didn’t need to mirror the original host perfectly right now. Strength is a virtue in a woman, but it need not be rigid at all times.
Li Mu’s eyes welled with tears. “Your Majesty… I was so frightened. I was terrified that I would never see you again, or the child I fought so hard to bring into this world. I have never been so scared. I want you by my side every moment, but I fear even more that you will be criticized because of me.”
Her body trembled slightly as the aftershocks of the ordeal surfaced. She dissolved into a “pear blossom bathed in rain,” shedding the rigid strength Kangxi was used to. Kangxi sighed, his annoyance evaporating. It was rare to see the Empress so vulnerable and endearing. He felt a bit awkward but softened his tone significantly. “We are husband and wife. You faced the gate of death to bear my son; how could I not stay? If anyone dares to point fingers, I shall have them thrown out.”
“It is so good to have you here.” Li Mu’s face warmed, and she looked at Kangxi with a tender love she rarely displayed openly. Kangxi stiffened for a moment but then allowed her to hold him tightly. She had just escaped death; he would let her hold him as long as she needed.
As she held him, Li Mu’s mind raced behind her gentle gaze. Who was the mastermind? Was it Noble Consort Niuhuru, the most likely candidate for the throne? Was it the Emperor’s cousin, Lady Tunggiya, who had yet to enter the palace? Or was it Secondary Consort Ula Nara, whose position as the mother of the Emperor’s eldest son was threatened by the birth of a legitimate heir?
Anyone was possible. For years, heirs in the palace had been sparse and fragile. Many blamed the Empress for failing to manage the harem effectively. But how could an Empress control everything? She herself had already lost one son; this newborn was her second.
In the Inner Palace, one can never be too careful. The original host, despite being Empress, clearly missed the subtle machinations of her enemies.
The room grew quiet as the Empress clung to the Emperor. Her trembling stopped, and warmth returned to her limbs. The servants dared not disturb them. Xuelian was overjoyed—it was rare for the royal couple to share such a tender moment, and she was determined to protect it.
But interference from those with hidden agendas was inevitable. Seeing that the Emperor had not emerged for a long time and that the ” hemorrhage” hadn’t yielded a final result, some eyes narrowed. Under the guise of “worrying for the Empress,” they hurried toward the delivery room to investigate.
However, before they could enter, they glimpsed the silhouettes of the two figures through the screen. The Empress was holding the Emperor, while the Emperor stood with his hands at his sides, looking slightly sheepish.
Many faces fell. The Empress is fine? And she’s acting like a lovestruck girl with the Emperor?
Secondary Consort Ula Nara’s expression was particularly unsightly. Her gaze flickered between the royal couple and the restrained midwives. Afraid of being noticed, she didn’t dare look for long.
She bit her lip. She didn’t know the status of the plot yet. The Empress looked as if she had escaped, but she might have suffered internal damage. Ula Nara told herself she had done this for her son, Baoqing. Why did the Empress have to get pregnant right when the Emperor started valuing Baoqing? If the Empress was heartless, why should she be honorable!
Despite her self-justifications, she couldn’t find peace until she knew what had happened with that midwife.
Her intuition told her: something had gone terribly wrong.