Chapter 109

After the imperial examinations, the Dayu court underwent yet another reshuffle of personnel. The situation in the capital grew increasingly intricate, with undercurrents of tension rippling beneath its seemingly calm surface.

By the end of the fourth month, Rong Tang returned, as was his routine, to Duke Ningxuan’s Palace.

Madam Qian, nearing full term in her pregnancy, was in good health, but he remained uneasy. Rong Tang had considered moving the Wang Fei to Yong’an Lane temporarily, but two issues stood in the way: the palace would be left without its mistress, inviting gossip, and Wang Xiuyu herself was unwilling to leave.

With no better option, Rong Tang continued his regular visits, always bringing Dr Lin to check her pulse, unwilling to risk any oversight that might lead to the same tragic outcomes as in his past two lives.

Perhaps it was the Eldest Princess’s return to the palace that kept Rong Mingyu and Madam Qian on their best behaviour. Or perhaps Wang Xiuyu had consciously chosen to relinquish more of her responsibilities to the side consort, easing her workload. Whatever the reason, her health appeared steady. Aside from some lingering issues from an earlier childbirth, there was little cause for alarm.

Just as Rong Tang was about to breathe a sigh of relief, Wang Xiuyu raised her eyebrows with a smile and said to the doctor, “Check Tang’er’s pulse too.”

Thus, the routine unfolded. The doctor would frown while taking his pulse, then join Wang Xiuyu in admonishing Rong Tang—the true invalid—to take better care of himself and avoid unnecessary worries.

Su Huaijing, as always, said nothing. No matter how many pleading looks Rong Tang sent his way, he ignored them. Occasionally, he even sided with the doctor, asking about Rong Tang’s condition, leaving the young prince to fend off their concerns alone.

Rong Tang often regretted orchestrating such situations, but every time he returned to the palace, he would still summon the doctor for Wang Xiuyu. He couldn’t stand by and let the original owner’s mother repeat the same mistakes.

On this particular visit, Rong Tang brought Su Huaijing along for lunch with Wang Xiuyu. Afterward, he returned to Tanghua Courtyard for a midday nap, while Su Huaijing went to visit the Eldest Princess’s quarters.

The early summer heat encouraged drowsiness, with birdsong and the soft hum of insects forming a soothing backdrop.

When Rong Tang awoke, Su Huaijing had not yet returned. Stepping into the courtyard to clear his mind, he wandered toward the garden, craving fresh air.

The children of Duke Ningxuan’s family were close in age. Apart from the side consort’s four-year-old son and Madam Qian’s unborn child, most were in their twenties and had grown up together. But how much genuine affection bound them as siblings was an open question.

As Rong Tang approached the garden, he noticed two figures by the pond. He paused, intending to leave quietly, but one of them turned and called out in surprise, “Xiong zhang, you’ve come back!”

There was no avoiding it now. Rong Tang adjusted his expression and walked over.

The two women were his younger half-sister, Rong Ning, and their uncle’s eldest daughter, Rong Ying.

After exchanging greetings, Rong Ning, ever lively and spoiled by Rong Mingyu and Rong Zheng, began chatting to keep the mood light. Her exuberance carried a natural innocence, as though untouched by the complexities of the world.

Rong Ying, in contrast, appeared more mature and composed. As Rong Tang looked at her, he couldn’t help but notice a hint of melancholy in her otherwise gentle demeanour.

This fleeting impression reminded him of a brief plot line from the original novel.

The Empress had no surviving sons, leaving the Emperor without a legitimate heir.

The harem was divided into three factions, each aligned with a different power within the court. Empress Wang relied on the influential Jiangnan Wang family. Concubine Hui had the backing of General Xia Jingyi, while Concubine Yi was supported by Senior Official Zhang.

Though the court factions balanced one another, the harem’s apparent stability was no more than a fragile illusion.

Concubine Hui, mother to the Third and Sixth Princes, and Concubine Yi, mother to the Second Prince, vied for influence. Meanwhile, the Fourth Prince’s mother, Concubine Ru, held little sway, having once been a maid. The Empress, with no children of her own, seemed particularly isolated.

Although Concubine Fang, a close ally of the Empress, had given birth to the Seventh Prince, there were murmurs of him being adopted as the Empress’s son. Yet such arrangements were fraught with difficulty. Adoption would elevate the prince’s status, but Concubine Fang was reluctant to give up her child.

This delicate balance was shattered when Concubine Yi became pregnant again. Her impending childbirth threatened the power dynamic within the harem.

Rong Mingyu, seeking to aid the Empress, proposed sending his niece, Rong Ying, into the palace as a concubine. But before plans could be finalised, Earl Wukang’s rebellion was exposed, leading to Concubine Yi’s demotion and Senior Official Zhang’s downfall. The Second Prince’s faction collapsed, and the Fourth Prince died shortly thereafter. The Emperor ultimately gave the newborn Eighth Prince to the Empress, solidifying her position and sparing Rong Ying from entering the palace.

Rong Ying, two months older than Rong Tang, was his patrilineal cousin. According to custom, he addressed her as tangjie*.

(TN: address for one’s elder paternal cousin sister.)

In Dayu, noblewomen could marry at fifteen, though it was common for families to keep their precious daughters at home a few years longer. However, they rarely remained unmarried past twenty. That Rong Ying’s family had yet to arrange a match hinted at Rong Mingyu’s long-term plans.

This divergence from previous lifetimes made Rong Tang uneasy. The butterfly effect of his actions had spread far and wide, disrupting established fates.

People who were meant to die had been saved. Would those meant to flourish now wither instead?

Rong Tang frowned slightly, casting a subtle glance at Rong Ying.

A maid approached, announcing that the Second Young Master had returned and brought gifts for Rong Ning. Delighted, the young girl rushed off to see him, pausing only to ask, “Jiejie, won’t you come too?”

Rong Ying smiled gently. “I’ll stay and chat with Ah Tang.”

Unconcerned, Rong Ning skipped away.

By the pond, early lotus blooms swayed in the breeze, while green dragonflies hovered lazily.

Rong Ying gazed at the water, lost in thought. Rong Tang waited patiently until she finally spoke.

“Which do you think binds people more deeply: blood ties or family lineage?”

Rong Tang blinked, startled by the question. He regarded his cousin, her delicate brows knit in thought as she gazed at the rippling water. Her gentle smile carried both grace and mystery.

“Why compare them?” he asked.

Rong Ying hesitated, as though puzzled by her own question. “I’m not sure. It just occurred to me.”

Rong Tang probed cautiously. “Is there something troubling you at home?”

Rong Ying hesitated for a moment, then smiled faintly and shook her head. “How could anything trouble me?”

She was, after all, the eldest daughter in name of Duke Ningxuan’s family. Her father served as Minister of Rites, her uncle was Duke Ningxuan himself, and her zumu was none other than the esteemed Eldest Princess Duanyi of Dayu. From birth, she was destined for honour and privilege.

Rong Tang froze momentarily, startled by the subtle blend of pride and dignity etched on her face as she spoke—traits she likely hadn’t even realised she displayed. These qualities, layered atop her usual elegance, seemed uniquely “Rong Ying.”

He recalled last year’s flower-picking festival. Both Rong family’s young misses had been present when the corpse of Yuerong was discovered by Minister He’s daughter. Yet, from beginning to end, not a soul mentioned Rong Ning or Rong Ying; all attention had been on Miss He’s fright.

Rong Zheng had once remarked, “Uncle is meticulous, and that vigilance extends to the entire second branch.”

But such caution often masked exceptional intellect.

Rong Ying, perhaps, was cleverer than all her younger brothers combined.

It was this realisation that caused a subtle ripple in Rong Tang’s usual laissez-faire disposition. He hesitated briefly before forgoing pleasantries to pose a direct question: “Tangjie, why have you not yet married?”

The abruptness of the question, uncharacteristic for the time and setting, caught Rong Ying off guard. Even among cousins, inquiries about personal matters like marriage were considered overly forward. Her face stiffened, and she turned a startled gaze toward Rong Tang.

Undeterred, he met her eyes steadily and asked in a soft tone, “Is it that you haven’t found a suitable match, or is it that you simply don’t wish to marry?”

He couldn’t outright ask if she was holding out for an imperial marriage, but his meaning was clear. If Rong Ying were truly astute, she would grasp the underlying intent of his question.

The world around them seemed to quiet. Lotus leaves swayed gently in the summer breeze, while emerald-green frogs leapt nimbly across them. Each jump sent tiny droplets splashing into the lake, creating delicate ripples.

Rong Ying’s gaze lingered on Rong Tang for what felt like an eternity. A faint blush of red tinged her eyes before disappearing as quickly as it came. She turned her head away, her focus shifting to some indeterminate point on the lake—or perhaps merely the sunlight glinting off the rippling water. Her voice, when she spoke, was low and introspective: “Even with zumu’s status and accomplishments, could she truly dictate her own marriage?”

Rong Tang remained silent. He could tell she already understood Rong Mingyu’s schemes.

“If tangjie doesn’t wish to marry, no one can force you,” he said at last.

Rong Ying let out a soft laugh. “That’s easy for you to say. You are the heir, and Wang Fei dotes on you. You have choices that shield you from being coerced.”

Rong Tang’s tone was calm. “The love and privileges I receive stem from my frail health and short life expectancy. My mother understands that pressing me would only shorten the little time I have left, so she chooses to let me live as freely as I can. That’s why others perceive me as ‘unrestrained’.”

Rong Ying stared at him, stunned.

Most people would express bitterness or resistance when confronting their own mortality, yet Rong Tang spoke of his fate as though it were a mere fact of life, immutable and accepted.

But his next words starkly contrasted this resignation: “But tangjie is different. You are the female champion of this year’s flower-picking festival. If there is someone you like, you can marry him and live a fulfilling life. If not, why should you resign yourself to following parental orders and spend the next few decades in emptiness?”

Rong Ying’s expression shifted dramatically, and she looked at him with disbelief.

Rong Tang’s smile softened, shedding some of its seriousness. In a gentle voice, he said, “Tangjie’s poetry is exceptional. Even if attributed to someone else, it still earns admiration.”

This year’s festival coincided with the tenth year of Emperor Zheng’s reign and saw an unprecedented number of talented scholars and graceful maidens.

The capital was abuzz, especially with students gathering for the imperial examinations. Yet Rong Tang had little interest, and with Su Huaijing unable to accompany him, they skipped the event entirely.

It was only when Tutor Ke returned from Song Garden, fan in hand, and teasingly announced, “A female champion has emerged this year,” that Rong Tang paid it any mind.

Few knew that the winning poem had been penned by Rong Ying. But Ke Hongxue was no ordinary man.

Rong Tang, too, had read the piece. It was a poem on spring brimming with tenderness and defiant pride, embodying a rare and formidable talent.

Now, as he conversed with Rong Ying, he saw flickers of emotion pass through her eyes, though she remained silent for a long while.

Rong Tang, unfazed, shifted his stance slightly to ease the discomfort of standing too long.

At last, Rong Ying composed herself and asked, “If I don’t wish to… what should I do?”

Rong Tang exhaled lightly, as though relieved. “Zumu believes in Buddhism, and the first day of the lunar month is approaching. Tangjie might ask zumu to visit Tuolan Temple for incense offerings and a few days of vegetarian meals to cleanse her mind. Should the Buddha offer any divine guidance, who would dare disobey?”

His tone was light, devoid of guilt or hesitation at the implications of his suggestion. Rong Ying stared at him for a long time before breaking into laughter.

“They’ve always said you were brilliant as a child, though it’s a pity that years of illness made you seem dull. Now that you’ve recovered, your wisdom truly shines. With such eloquence and strategy, I find myself hoping for a miracle cure to banish your ailments.”

Rong Tang nodded slightly. “I’ll accept tangjie’s kind words.”

Rong Ying’s gaze lingered on the distance for a moment before she returned it to Rong Tang, bowing gracefully. “Thank you, didi. I have my answer now.”

Before Rong Tang could respond, footsteps approached from behind. He turned, only to find himself face-to-chest with Su Huaijing.

Rong Ying lowered her gaze and smiled as she turned to leave, withholding her answer.

Momentarily stunned, Rong Tang instinctively reached out, wanting to stop her. But Su Huaijing caught his wrist, smiling. “What were you talking to tangjie about?”

Rong Tang sighed, glancing back only to see Rong Ying disappearing into the distance. Defeated, he replied, “Tangjie asked me whether bloodlines or the clan lineage is more important. I didn’t have an answer. She just said she figured it out before you arrived.”

“…” Su Huaijing blinked, then chuckled. “Tangtang is blaming me again.”

“I’m not,” Rong Tang mumbled, shifting his weight slightly to alleviate the numbness in his legs. He was about to head back when Su Huaijing crouched down in front of him.

Rong Tang hesitated. “What are you doing?”

Su Huaijing turned to glance at him. “Get on.”

Rong Tang froze. “It doesn’t hurt that much.”

Su Huaijing replied evenly, “Then I’ll carry you.”

“…” What kind of choice is this?

Rong Tang glanced around nervously, even though they were at home, before finally climbing onto Su Huaijing’s back.

And as his legs dangled in the air, he couldn’t resist stretching them slightly.

Fine. It did hurt a little, and being carried was, admittedly, quite comfortable.