“Your Imperial Majesty, I have gathered information. The Uya clan happens to have a daughter named Uya Maru. I estimate she will be of age to enter the palace through the minor selection in another year. Furthermore, the daughter of the Deputy Internal Supervisor Abunai, Juechan Shuangjie, is of the same age. Both are of Baoyi (Booi Aha) status and will likely enter the palace next year.”
Xuelian reported the findings in detail. This was a specific task the Empress had assigned them. Although she didn’t understand why her mistress was inquiring about two bondservant girls, she knew the Empress always acted with deep intent.
Li Mu nodded slightly. “Keep an eye on them for now. Wait until they enter the palace, then await my further arrangements.”
For Li Mu, the key to ensuring the Little Prince’s smooth succession didn’t lie in eliminating women like Uya or Juechan. While the princes they would eventually bear would fall into the struggle for the throne, the ultimate factor was the Emperor’s will. If the Emperor never intended to depose the Crown Prince, no matter how much those other princes jumped about, the throne would not slip into other hands.
Thus, she merely intended to keep a tight leash on Uya, who would eventually give birth to a future Emperor, and Juechan, who would bear another capable son. She didn’t plan to change their destiny of becoming consorts. She knew their Baoyi background meant that, as Empress, preventing them from entering the palace or ensuring they never saw the Emperor would be effortless.
But what would be the point of changing their fates? There were countless bondservant girls with similar backgrounds. Lose one Uya Maru, and there would be a Zhanggiya Maru, a Magiya Maru, and so on. The number of concubines favored by the Emperor was endless; there was no telling where another future Emperor’s mother might spring from. Destiny was too mysterious; she didn’t plan to throw away her advantage of knowing the future.
However, their movements after entering the palace would certainly not escape her grasp. Things would be much more interesting then.
Xuelian nodded, then suddenly leaned in and whispered mysteriously, “Your Majesty, I heard something.”
“Mhm?” Li Mu looked at her suspiciously. “Speak plainly.”
“Your Majesty, the one at the Palace of Prolonging Happiness (Yanxi Gong) has ‘passed away from illness.’ It is said the entire Ula Nara clan dares not utter a word. One only pities the Fifth Prince; so young and already without a mother.” Xuelian spoke of pity, but in truth, she didn’t find the woman’s death inappropriate. Her pity for the Fifth Prince was mostly a venting of frustration, as she couldn’t openly speak ill of a palace master.
“So fast?” A flash of surprise and contemplation crossed Li Mu’s eyes. She wasn’t a native of this era, and while she sometimes struggled with the rules, to her, this was a mission. There were always sacrifices for gains. She felt a brief moment of unease, but quickly regained her composure.
She hadn’t forgotten how the original host had died, nor her desperate pleas to reverse destiny so her son could achieve his heart’s desire—rather than wasting half a life falling from a high-born celestial to someone treated worse than an ordinary royal clansman. That feeling was a living death.
“I wonder to whom the Emperor will entrust the Fifth Prince.” He was the Emperor’s eldest son in name, after all. Li Mu pondered his fate, never imagining that the Grand Empress Dowager and the Emperor were already looking at her, the “victim,” as his new guardian.
There were currently very few consorts in the harem. Those with any standing were either from prominent families or had children. The only other pregnant woman was the inconspicuous Lady Zhaogiya. Zhaogiya was of low status and was so busy protecting her own unborn child that she wouldn’t dream of bothering the Empress. Combined with her “sitting month,” Li Mu was quite idle, and she had no intention of wasting this time.
She focused on playing with the Little Prince. In just a few days, he had begun to “open up.” Though not yet fair and chubby, his skin was gradually whitening. Li Mu poked the baby’s cheek. He didn’t cry; instead, his eyes seemed to track where his mother was, looking in her direction with such spirit!
Amused, Li Mu carefully picked him up. “Say ‘E-niang,’ say ‘E-niang’!” She rarely showed such a childish side, but the baby ignored her. Though his eyes stayed on her, his body remained still, his little mouth smacking together. Was he eating something?
Eating air?
Li Mu chuckled at the thought. Children were so much fun. “I wonder when the Emperor will give the Little Prince a name. It’s not good for me to keep calling him ‘Little Prince’ all the time.”
She tapped his nose. She knew he would eventually have the milk-name Baocheng and the formal name Yinreng, but as of now, she was supposed to be in the dark.
She looked a bit pouted. Nanny Zhou was about to tease her mistress, but her jaw nearly dropped when she saw who had appeared behind the Empress. She quickly adjusted her posture, intending to alert her mistress, but was stopped by the newcomer.
Nanny Zhou cried out inwardly. Why is the Emperor here, and why is he eavesdropping?
Li Mu continued playing with the baby, not touching him too much but smiling and propping her chin on her hand. Watching him grow tired and slowly close his eyes, she mused aloud, “I truly hope this child grows up to help the Emperor. The Emperor handles state affairs every day; I can’t bear for him to be so tired. I love him so much; I hate to see him suffer or toil.”
In truth, she wanted to say she hoped the kid would grow up to be filial to her, give her good food and toys, and ideally bear her some granddaughters to dress up. She didn’t know if she’d have a daughter of her own, and she really wanted to play dress-up with a little girl. She was simply worried about eavesdroppers and decided to practice her “love talk” skills for when the Emperor was around.
Having finished her thought, Li Mu smacked her lips. “Alright, the Little Prince is asleep. Take him back.” She was still in her sitting month and had to deal with the postpartum discharge—a miserable business.
She wailed internally for her own plight, unaware that the people around her had gone dead silent, their eyes darting frantically toward her to send a signal.
She looked up, curious as to why Nanny Zhou and Xuelian looked like they were having eye spasms. She said considerately, “Later, go to the Imperial Academy of Medicine and get some herbs for your eyes. Use my name; they won’t make it difficult for you.”
No, Your Majesty! Xuelian was filled with regret for not noticing the Emperor’s arrival sooner. Her mistress had just poured out so much “sincere” love right in front of him. She wasn’t afraid of the affection—after all, the mistress was supposed to be sincere—but she feared her mistress might say something else. Her mistress was so good; she didn’t want the Emperor to misunderstand her.
“I never knew the Empress harbored such deep affection for me.”
A voice tinged with a smile rang out. Li Mu froze, realizing a moment too late who it was.
She turned her head and saw the Emperor. He wasn’t wearing his bright yellow court robes but a moon-white casual robe, making him look like an elegant, refined gentleman of limitless grace. His eyes were currently fixed on her, brimming with amusement. A blush slowly climbed up Li Mu’s face. She opened her mouth but didn’t know where to start. She… she remembered exactly what she had just said.
She had said those things right in front of the person himself! Even if they weren’t entirely sincere, it was too much!
She stammered, her face turning crimson. “Your Majesty… why did you come without letting me know?” Her voice grew smaller and smaller.
Seeing her like this, the slight redness on Kangxi’s own ears—caused by hearing such blatant and unreserved love—slowly faded. He had thought she only said these things behind his back; did she actually still have a shy side?
Cough. He truly hadn’t known the Empress’s love for him was so profound that she even spoke of it to their infant son. He had never heard such passionate declarations of love from any woman in the harem. Consequently, while his gaze held a smile, there was also a hint of awkwardness and secret delight.
The words she spoke casually like that felt sincere. Kangxi had seen many people and many women in the harem trying their best to please him, but no matter their methods, none seemed to match the sincerity the Empress had just displayed.
For the first time, Kangxi truly realized that the woman before him was his wife—the one who would share his bed in life and his tomb in death.
“All of you, dismissed,” Kangxi coughed. He wanted to speak with the Empress privately. What was the point of having servants listen to the private words of a husband and wife?
“Yes.” Xuelian and Nanny Zhou exchanged a glance and let out a sigh of relief.
Liang Jiugong looked calm and focused, but his heart was reeling. The Empress is truly bold! Even as a eunuch, hearing those words made him a bit embarrassed. But they were a wedded couple; it seemed natural to say such things. Perhaps he was just being narrow-minded.
“Your Majesty, please be seated.” Li Mu’s shyness lasted only a moment before she “restored” her calm and composed demeanor.
Kangxi glanced at her, his eyes carrying a different meaning. He saw through her “composure” but didn’t expose it. They acted as if nothing had happened and began to discuss the Little Prince.
Ultimately, this couple was usually too formal. Ancient people rarely expressed love face-to-face, preferring subtle internal feelings.
Kangxi said, “I have chosen a name for Baocheng. From now on, he shall be called Yinreng.”
“Baocheng?” Li Mu feigned curiosity.
Kangxi smiled. “I gave Baoqing a milk-name, so our legitimate son naturally cannot be without one. Baocheng shall be Yinreng’s milk-name. I only hope he grows up safely and, as you said, becomes my right-hand man in the future.” To become the Crown Prince of the Great Qing.
Since the Emperor had spoken, Li Mu was not so tactless as to mention that the Fifth Prince still only had a milk-name and no formal name. She naturally wanted the Emperor to focus more on Baocheng; the more effort one puts in, the more one favors the subject.