“Mother Empress,” Zi Sang Zhen and Qian Yu returned, bowing to Zi Sang Mu who sat in the center.
Zi Sang Mu gave a slight nod, signaling them to rise.
Nearby, Jin Yu calmly cleared the bowls and chopsticks from the table. As she hurried out, brushing past Zi Sang Zhen, she noticed that although the girl’s expression remained unchanged, Jin Yu could clearly sense a difference in her. Gone was the youthful aura of before; she seemed to have matured in an instant.
This was exactly the demeanor they had wanted, yet it felt as though something had been lost. Gazing at the young girl’s now mature face, Jin Yu felt, for the first time, a loss of composure in her own decisions.
Zi Sang Zhen did not let Jin Yu off easily, stopping her as she was about to leave. “Jin Yu, let’s continue with the ‘Tui-Shi’ later.”
Though phrased as a request, Zi Sang Zhen’s words carried the weight of a command.
Jin Yu couldn’t help but feel a jolt of surprise. Even though she had long anticipated this change, its actual arrival still left her deeply shaken.
Qian Yu also sensed the shift in her mood. “Perhaps we should wait until next month, we don’t—”
Zi Sang Mu interrupted him. “As she wishes, use the most intense method.”
Jin Yu, standing nearby, was startled by this statement! She hurriedly exclaimed, “Your Highness!”
Zi Sang Zhen felt that her mother truly understood her. They were of the same kind; only her mother could comprehend her. Perhaps her mother had endured even greater suffering, but in this moment, Zi Sang Zhen knew she was willing to become the pawn in their hands.
Once the move is made, there is no regret.
“As Mother Empress says.”
…
In addition to silver needles, Zi Sang Zhen’s body now bore cuts, salt, and even trace amounts of poison. Every form of inhuman torment was inflicted upon her, yet this time, she did not utter a single cry, shed no tears, and offered no pleas for mercy.
She had endured such pain once before—that time, it was physical agony. But now, there was also psychological torment. The pain of the mind ran deeper and hurt more than that of the flesh.
She would become the person they wanted her to be—for Huangfu Yi, for her mother, for Nanzhen Guo!
What was pain compared to this?
“That’s enough for today,” Jin Yu said, putting away the silver needles and gently applying medicine to her wounds. “Tomorrow, I will prepare some medicinal broth for you to detoxify the remaining poison and replenish your qi and blood.”
Jin Yu was, after all, a master physician. Zi Sang Zhen trusted her and was willing to place her faith in her.
“Mhm,” came the emotionless reply.
Jin Yu dared not disturb her further, leaving her alone on the bed as she quietly departed.
Lying on the bed, Zi Sang Zhen closed her eyes, quietly feeling the lingering pain. Only in this way could she grasp the reality of a few days ago, to confirm that those memories were not mere illusions.
“Your Highness, the young princess endured it,” Jin Yu said, closing the door and approaching Zi Sang Mu beneath the plum tree in the front courtyard. “She was truly remarkable this time, enduring for so long without crying out.”
Zi Sang Mu gazed silently at the plum blossoms overhead, hoping they might dispel her sorrow, but the melancholy in her heart remained unshaken.
“Indeed, it is desire that fuels her resolve, just as it did for me in the past—perhaps even more so,” she said with a faint smile, like a peach blossom in spring. “But alas, tonight I will speak with her and clarify matters. As for the medicinal broth, I hope you will keep the secret for me.”
Jin Yu was Zi Sang Mu’s trusted confidant, a strategist she had cultivated since childhood, but now he belonged to Zi Sang Zhen.
“As you command.”
What Zi Sang Mu meant by guarding this secret to the death was that she would never let Zi Sang Zhen know of it until her dying breath.
Though Jin Yu found this excessively cruel, upon calculation, it indeed maximized the benefits.
Tonight’s moonlight was exceptionally bright, the full moon hanging in the sky, casting a silvery glow upon the darkness. Zi Sang Zhen, lying in her room, tossed and turned restlessly.
It was not physical pain but the anguish in her heart.
She even wondered why she herself was not the one sent for the marriage alliance, yet that would not resolve anything. This time it was her, next time it could still be Huangfu Yi. Without addressing the root cause, it would all be meaningless.
Moreover, with the heavy burdens placed upon her by her mother, Jin Yu, and Qian Yu, this decision was the final and necessary one!
“Zhen’er,” Zi Sang Mu knocked on the door, knowing she was still awake, and pushed it open. “I have heard from Jin Yu about today’s events.”
Zi Sang Zhen endured the pain in her body and sat up. “Mother.”
Zi Sang Mu revealed a gentle smile. “Lie down. You were exceptionally brave today, far stronger than I was back then. In my time, I cried in front of my mother from the pain.”
“So, there’s no need to hold back, because you have already proven yourself. Mother is very proud of you.”
She reached out to comfort Zi Sang Zhen, drawing her head close so she could seek solace in her warm embrace. A mother’s embrace was the warmest place in the world, the only harbor for people like them.
She emulated Zi Sang Yu from twenty years ago—so gentle, so benevolent, whether toward the nation’s people or her family and friends, always a figure of boundless compassion.
If not for her soft-heartedness back then, she too would have become a reigning empress of Nanzhen Guo.
But none of that mattered now, for she had an exceptional daughter. Zhen would carry on the legacy of Nanzhen Guo in her stead.
Feeling her mother’s soothing touch, Zi Sang Zhen gradually reached out and wrapped her arms around Zi Sang Mu’s waist, trying to return to her childhood, to act like a little girl seeking affection. Yet, feeling too grown-up for such behavior, she buried her face in her mother’s waist.
Zi Sang Mu did not scold her, instead thinking she had not fully grown up, gently stroking her hair. But beneath her smile lay a deep sorrow.
“Mother’s embrace will always be a place where you can confide.”
Zi Sang Zhen covered her head and began to sob softly. Zi Sang Mu only felt a dampness around her waist, the low, panting breaths of a young creature trying to pour out all her grievances and frustrations.
Zi Sang Mu listened quietly to her fragmented, muffled words, accompanying her through her growth, experiencing the journey of her heart—a story unique to youth, a transformation that belonged solely to her.
Perhaps she had cried herself to exhaustion, or perhaps her mother’s embrace was too warm. Like an infant, she fell asleep in her mother’s arms.
Zi Sang Mu laid her down gently, took out a handkerchief, and softly wiped the tear stains from the corners of her eyes. “Zhen’er has grown up. Mother is especially comforted. Soon, Zhen’er will meet her father—a father who will be absent for the first half of your life, and perhaps the latter half as well,” she whispered into her ear.
It was unclear whether she wanted her to know or not.
After Zi Sang Mu left, Zi Sang Zhen slowly opened her eyes, gazing blankly at the edge of the bed.
“Father Emperor,” such an unfamiliar term. In the twelve years at Muchun Gong, she had never seen this person, only occasionally hearing that she was the emperor’s child. The first time she heard this term was because of Huangfu Yi.
If she were truly the emperor’s child, then she should bear the surname Huangfu, not Zi Sang. But none of this mattered to her. At this moment, Zi Sang Zhen only felt deeply embarrassed. Since achieving some success in martial arts, she had never cried. This was the first time she had wept in six or seven years, and she was so ashamed that she hid under the covers to process her emotions.
In the following days, after Zi Sang Mu mentioned “Father Emperor” once, she never spoke of it again.
Zi Sang Zhen continued her routine as always: eating, studying, and practicing martial arts. Now, she also had to learn etiquette—what gestures to make when meeting whom, what words to say—all of which she studied one by one. However, there was still too much to remember, and Zi Sang Zhen struggled to retain it all firmly.
Yet no matter how unreliable her memory was, with day after day of practice, she managed to remember about ninety percent of it.
Days passed one after another, and soon her third Kuishui arrived.
Whether it was due to Zi Sang Zhen’s strong resilience or the potency of Jin Yu’s medicinal brew, this time her reaction was not as severe. She was even able to practice martial arts after enduring the acupuncture. Qian Yu showed no mercy for her being a delicate child and even intensified the training, treating her exactly the same as before.
Moreover, the sparring between Qian Yu and Zi Sang Zhen was no longer restrained; it now drew blood with every strike. This time, Zi Sang Zhen truly understood what it meant to be “cut by a thousand blades.”
After more than ten rounds, Qian Yu remained unscathed, while Zi Sang Zhen was covered in cuts. Combined with the pricking sensation of the silver needles, she had grown somewhat desensitized to pain. Before Qian Yu could withdraw, she knelt on the ground, then rose and struck back with a counterattack.
Qian Yu, grazed by Zi Sang Zhen’s blade, showed no displeasure. Instead, she felt relieved. The saying “all is fair in war” was nothing but empty words.
Jin Yu was also impressed by Zi Sang Zhen’s opportunistic strike, rising to applaud enthusiastically. “If no one says it’s over, then it isn’t over. On the battlefield or when facing enemies, no one will show you mercy. Well done!”
Zi Sang Zhen blushed with embarrassment. Even if it was just a minor scratch, it felt like an underhanded victory.
Qian Yu wiped the blood from her face and laughed heartily. “A dirty trick is still a trick. I was careless this time. Next time, you’ll see what I’m made of.”
Seeing that neither of them blamed her, Zi Sang Zhen naturally straightened her posture, even feeling a sense of pride. “Next time, I’ll wound you head-on!”
Unfortunately, neither of them took it seriously, merely smiling and saying, “Sure, sure, sure.”
After practice, Zi Sang Mu brought over a bowl of medicinal brew for Zi Sang Zhen to drink. Without hesitation, she gulped it down.
Everyone watched the now so obedient Zi Sang Zhen with a sense of unease. In the past, she would have bargained over such bitter medicine, asking to buy candied hawthorns or sweet cakes outside the palace. But now, she drank it naturally and without complaint.
Zi Sang Mu looked at the empty bowl and spoke calmly, “Don’t come out tonight.”
Though Zi Sang Zhen didn’t understand, she nodded. Deep down, she had a vague sense of what it might be about—likely related to “Father Emperor.”
But she still felt somewhat uncomfortable inside. Why hadn’t her mother discussed it with her? Was her performance still not outstanding enough? Yet such questions would never leave her lips. She glanced at Jin Yu, who merely nodded in response.
Seeing that everyone was keeping things from her, she could only purse her lips. After all, she would find out the rest on her own.
She had no impression of this father-emperor at all. If she were to speak of men she had encountered in this lifetime, perhaps only Qian Yu came to mind. But to her, Qian Yu was family, a mentor, an elder brother—anything but a father-emperor.
Yet tonight, she would finally see what this so-called father-emperor was like.