At night, the young Emperor Zhao Yan appeared at the bedside of the Palace of Eternal Peace wearing a bright yellow sleeping robe, clutching a soft pillow.
He was eight this year, barely 1.2 meters tall. His skin was fair, eyes bright, face round, nose bridge high, lips…
Yu Qijian, already numb to cuteness, glanced at him half-asleep with the resigned indulgence of someone disturbed by a child: “What is it, Your Majesty? Why aren’t you asleep in the middle of the night? Do you have something on your mind?”
Zhao Yan replied in a rigid, formal tone, “Chief Eunuch said I should build a mother-son bond with you. I am to stay in the Palace of Eternal Peace, and you will tell me stories at night.”
Again, Fang Jinxian.
Yu Qijian’s face went blank. “When children grow up, they avoid their mothers. Go sleep in the side hall.”
Zhao Yan was silent for a moment, then replied blankly, “Oh. But you must still tell me a story.”
He stood there holding his pillow, not moving. His small body looked even thinner inside the oversized robe, and he repeated someone’s words in a calm tone that didn’t match his age: “Chief Eunuch said stories help open intelligence and improve understanding… and also… calm the mind.”
His voice lowered slightly at the end.
Yu Qijian propped herself up and studied him under the candlelight.
The child’s face was tense. His long eyelashes drooped, covering his eyes.
He had been entrusted to her and the Imperial Secretariat Chief Eunuch Fang Jinxian by the Late Emperor.
The Late Emperor had only two consorts in his harem: the Late Empress and a Noble Consort. The original owner of this body was the third.
He had only one son, born to the Late Empress, who died from childbirth. After her death, the Late Emperor did not establish another empress for three years and did not take new consorts. The Noble Consort became dominant in the harem, but never bore a child.
Zhao Yan had grown up without a mother. The Late Emperor also did not adopt him into the Noble Consort’s care. Instead, he personally raised him—but more often than not, it was palace servants who looked after him. Now his father had also passed away just days ago…
Thinking of herself, Yu Qijian—an orphan—understood the feeling of extreme lack of affection at this age.
On paper, she was Zhao Yan’s stepmother.
But in these past days, Zhao Yan had never treated her like a mother. He remained quiet, obedient, and cautious, simply performing the role of a young emperor.
And Yu Qijian had deliberately ignored it all. She wasn’t planning to take responsibility. She wasn’t going to treat him like a son.
Now, suddenly bringing up “building emotional bonds”… she didn’t do well with soft pressure.
That Fang Jinxian was definitely doing it on purpose.
“Come up,” Yu Qijian said, shifting inward to make space beside her. “Just this once. Tomorrow you go to the side hall.”
Zhao Yan gave a small nod, obediently removed his shoes and socks, climbed onto the bed, and curled himself carefully into the blanket, leaving only his round head exposed.
Something softened in Yu Qijian’s chest, and before she could stop herself, she did something she had resisted for days—she reached out and pinched his soft cheek.
Zhao Yan stiffened, but before he could react, her hand had already withdrawn.
“What story do you want to hear?” Yu Qijian asked, lying back down and propping her head up as she looked at him.
Zhao Yan looked at her—his nominal mother, with a tear mole at the corner of her eye, her expression faintly smiling, her gaze gentle like water.
He turned his head slightly and thought for a moment. “Chief Eunuch said… you might know the story of Duke Huan of Qi and Guan Zhong.”
Yu Qijian raised an eyebrow.
That was not something an ordinary eight-year-old should be hearing… well, he wasn’t ordinary.
Duke Huan of Qi had set aside past grievances to employ Guan Zhong and thereby achieved dominance—Fang Jinxian was using the child’s mouth to pass her a message.
He was telling her that he did not care about her previous pretense or the Yu Clan’s background. As long as she could support the young emperor like Guan Zhong supported Duke Huan of Qi, sincerely and effectively.
“What else did Chief Eunuch say?” she asked.
Zhao Yan replied honestly, “Chief Eunuch also said that if the Empress Dowager cannot tell it well, then tomorrow he will come to the Hall of Literary Glory and tell it to both of us himself.”
Yu Qijian: “……”
She let out a soft laugh. “Fine. Then let him come and tell it tomorrow.”
Zhao Yan blinked. “Then… what should I listen to now?”
“I’ll tell you a story about the King’s New Clothes. A long time ago, there was a king who loved wearing new clothes. One day, two scammers came to the city…”
Yu Qijian searched her memory and narrated vividly, changing her tone as she went: “The ministers, trying to flatter him, all said to the empty air: Oh! What beautiful fabric! It’s gorgeous!”
“The Emperor thought: what is going on? I can’t see anything at all. That’s terrifying… Am I stupid? Am I unworthy of being Emperor? In the end, he wore invisible clothes and walked in a parade, while attendants respectfully held up the nonexistent hem…”
“Until during the procession, a child said: But he isn’t wearing anything at all…”
Zhao Yan listened intently. After she finished, he asked very seriously, “Are you trying to tell me that one should follow one’s heart, trust what one sees, not blindly follow others, or else one will be deceived and become a laughingstock?”
Yu Qijian: “……”
“I understand now. Your story was interesting.”
Yu Qijian patted his head. “Can you sleep now?”
Zhao Yan nodded. “Yes.”
“Then good night.”
“Good night?”
“It means… sleep well, and have sweet dreams.”
“…Good night.”
Yu Qijian turned over with her back facing him. She wasn’t used to sharing a bed, and neither was the child, so she deliberately stayed to one side, leaving a large empty space between them so she could ignore his presence.
Sleep quickly crept in. Just as she was drifting off, Zhao Yan’s voice suddenly came from behind her, thoughtful and calm: “Someone so foolish is indeed not suitable to be Emperor.”
Yu Qijian: “……”
Can a child be this composed every day and still be normal?
Outside the screen, in the shadows, a figure had stood there for who-knows-how-long, completely merged with the night.
Fang Jinxian listened to the even breathing inside, then lowered his gaze and slowly turned the jade ring on his finger.
His expression remained unchanged, but the coldness around him faded quietly into the sound of the night wind outside the window.
He turned and left without a sound.
Back at the Imperial Secretariat, Mo Fang approached with a document. “Master, will the Empress Dowager truly go to the Hall of Literary Glory tomorrow?”
“She will.”
“But the Yu Clan…”
“Yu Hong entered the palace today. Third time.” Fang Jinxian interrupted him. “Three times, and still couldn’t convince the Empress Dowager to take regency. Why do you think that is?”
Mo Fang hesitated. “Perhaps the Empress Dowager… is young, and timid?”
Fang Jinxian said nothing.
After a moment, he spoke again. “Go investigate whether there have been any cases of the dead returning to life in the Great Yu Kingdom in recent years, or any similar sorcery.”
Mo Fang’s heart jolted, but he did not dare question. “Yes, Master.”
“Also investigate the Empress Dowager’s life before entering the palace. Especially… whether she ever studied acting.”
“Acting?”
“Yes.” Fang Jinxian looked out into the heavy night outside the window, the faintest curve appearing at the corner of his lips.
“This palace has finally welcomed someone who knows how to perform.”