Zhen Huan lay motionless on the bed, her eyes unfocused as she listened to the imperial physician’s report.
“Your Majesty the Empress Dowager has likely been overwhelmed by grief. Combined with the exhaustion of recent days, it caused her sudden collapse. Now that she has awakened, she only needs proper rest and recuperation. This humble servant will prepare a prescription to aid her recovery.”
“Then go at once,” ordered the man dressed in a bright yellow dragon robe. He turned toward the bed and asked through the curtain, “How are you feeling now, Imperial Mother?”
Zhen Huan—no, she was truly Zhen Huan now—snapped back to reality.
“I’m feeling much better,” she replied. “You have only just ascended the throne, and state affairs must be keeping you busy. You’ve worked hard these past few days as well. You should return and rest.”
The emperor exchanged a few more polite words with her before taking his leave.
As soon as he was gone, Zhen Huan claimed she needed more rest and dismissed everyone else. Too much had happened all at once—she needed time to process it.
She had been nothing more than an ordinary college student. In her spare time, she watched short videos and binged television dramas.
The only unusual thing about her was her name: Zhen Huan.
Because of the so-called “same-name transmigration law,” she’d even rewatched Empresses in the Palace several times. But after so many years with nothing happening, she’d assumed transmigration stories would never happen to her.
Well, now it had.
The bad news: she’d become Zhen Huan—but she had absolutely no talent for palace intrigue.
The good news: she’d transmigrated into Ruyi’s Royal Love in the Palace and had upgraded her status to Empress Dowager.
The even worse news: she’d never watched Ruyi’s Royal Love in the Palace.
Back then, before she could start the drama—which everyone described as a historical masterpiece about the tragic confines of imperial marriage—her roommate had finished watching it and declared passionately:
“I’ve committed countless sins in my life, but watching this drama has wiped them all away.”
That single comment had completely destroyed her interest in the show.
If she’d known she would actually transmigrate one day, she would have binged every episode while clutching a bottle of heart medication and memorized every single scene.
Unfortunately, hindsight was worthless.
Zhen Huan let out a weary sigh.
At least there was one consolation: in her previous life, she had no close family. The only people who would truly mourn her disappearance were a few friends. But life moved on, and they all had families and loved ones of their own. They wouldn’t grieve for her forever.
Turning over in bed, Zhen Huan thought about it again.
Actually, this wasn’t so bad.
She’d become the Empress Dowager—a life where she could simply stretch out her hands for clothes and open her mouth for food. Fifty years of hard work skipped in an instant; she’d gone straight into retirement.
And she’d arrived at the perfect time: the late emperor was already dead, and Zhen Huan had finally become Empress Dowager.
Whoever was in charge of transmigration really had done her a favor.
Besides, the chaotic mess of the imperial harem had nothing to do with the Empress Dowager anymore.
Sleep first. Tomorrow’s problems could wait until tomorrow.
The next morning, Zhen Huan happily enjoyed an elaborate vegetarian breakfast. Even though the court was still in mourning, the variety of dishes was impressive.
Then she received the first devastating blow since her transmigration.
“Bestow the posthumous title of Empress Dowager to Lady Ula-Nara of Jingren Palace?”
Her voice carried a note of confusion.
As far as she remembered from Empresses in the Palace, the Empress Dowager and the emperor had agreed that Yixiu would retain the title of Empress after death. But according to the memories left behind by the original Zhen Huan, things here seemed very different.
And Yixiu herself seemed to have become… a hopeless romantic?
“What does the emperor intend to do?” she asked.
Standing beside her, Fuga replied gravely, “His Majesty is wavering. Your Majesty must make preparations as soon as possible.”
Wavering?
This emperor really wasn’t one to hold grudges.
Had he forgotten how, when he was still a prince, Yixiu had openly supported the Third Prince against him?
Now that he had a perfect excuse to reject her, he still wanted to forgive her.
How kind. Truly kind-hearted.
But this was ultimately the emperor’s own affair.
He would be the one forcing himself to let bygones be bygones. He would be the one criticized for defying the late emperor’s will.
What did any of that have to do with her?
“Preparations?” Zhen Huan asked calmly. “Why would I need to make preparations?”
Seeing her indifferent attitude, Fuga hurried to persuade her.
“If Lady Ula-Nara of Jingren Palace becomes Empress Dowager, wouldn’t that place her above you? Your position would become precarious.”
Zhen Huan almost laughed at Fuga’s anxiety.
“No matter what happens, I am the emperor’s birth mother according to the imperial genealogy. Surely the emperor wouldn’t support the Ula-Nara clan—the very people who once backed the Third Prince in his bid for the throne—and suppress his own mother instead?”
Even if the emperor, for whatever reason, wanted to elevate his former enemy to a position from which she could use filial piety to constrain him, he would still harbor reservations.
As long as she didn’t go looking for trouble, if Yixiu tried to provoke her, the emperor would surely stand with his own mother.
Fuga hesitated but persisted.
“Even so, Lady Ula-Nara is Consort Qingying’s aunt. His Majesty’s feelings for Consort Qingying are extraordinary. In the past, he broke countless rules for her. Now he wishes to establish the title of Empress Dowager for her aunt because of her. If… if he favors them out of affection, who knows what might happen?”
Affection?
According to Fuga, the emperor wanted to elevate Lady Ula-Nara for Qingying’s sake?
Was this really that outrageous?
Had this palace intrigue drama actually produced true love?
Would someone really help his enemy suppress his own mother for the sake of love?
Surely not.
Qingying wanted her aunt to become Empress Dowager, and the emperor simply agreed?
Was he really that devoted?
No matter how hard Zhen Huan thought about it, she couldn’t have guessed the emperor’s true motives.
First, he wanted to compete for power with her—the Empress Dowager who, despite never interfering in politics during the late emperor’s reign, still wielded immense influence.
Second, by fulfilling Qingying’s filial wishes, he hoped to provide her with a powerful ally.
Who could have predicted that?
After careful consideration, Zhen Huan decided that the real issue wasn’t whether Lady Ula-Nara would become Empress Dowager.
The real question was: why did the emperor want this?
And more importantly—was he even a normal person?
If he truly was the type to disregard everything for the sake of love, then her future quality of life might genuinely be at risk.
“In that case,” she said, “I will speak with the emperor tonight and ask what he is truly thinking.”
Fuga was momentarily stunned but quickly bowed in agreement.
Still, she couldn’t help wondering why the Empress Dowager was being so direct this time.
What Zhen Huan thought was simple: since she and the emperor were, at least in name, mother and son, they should act like mother and son and speak openly.
They were already tied to the same fate. Turning this into a political struggle would only drive them further apart.
What she didn’t expect was that, before she had the chance to speak with the emperor, she would suffer another devastating blow during dinner.
Staring at the bowl of ham-braised chicken soup Qingying had personally served her, she fell silent.
She wanted to speak, then stopped herself.
The late emperor hadn’t even been buried yet, and this woman was serving meat to the Empress Dowager in the middle of the official mourning period?
Zhen Huan suddenly felt that the emperor’s true love might not be very bright.
Then she looked around and realized that no one else seemed to think anything was wrong.
Perhaps this had nothing to do with true love at all.
Maybe the entire imperial harem lacked common sense.
Adhering to the principle that women shouldn’t make life difficult for other women—and considering Qingying’s apparent lack of intelligence—Zhen Huan simply said:
“Take this dish away. I have no appetite.”
Very soon, however, she would regret her kindness.