Because of one sentence from Su Huaijing, Rong Tang worried for several days. He was afraid that the main villain had grown up without proper guidance during adolescence and lacked basic physiological knowledge to the extent that he believed men could also conceive.
The system sneered: [He just thinks you can.]
Rong Tang: “…” People can’t, or at the very least, shouldn’t.
This concern was written all over his face, making his gaze toward Su Huaijing hesitant and conflicted every day. He was worried yet too embarrassed to bring it up directly.
He looked just like a parent fretting over their teenager.
Su Huaijing observed for a few days. Not only did Rong Tang’s odd mood persist, but it intensified day by day. Sometimes, he would see Rong Tang sitting behind his desk, a blank sheet of rice paper spread before him, brush in hand, face full of hesitation.
But the brush hovered in the air for ages without landing. In the end, only a drop of thick ink fell onto the rice paper, spreading into a dark blot.
Su Huaijing found it both exasperating and amusing. He walked over, stood behind Rong Tang, bent down, and took his hand. Keeping their posture close, he used the inkblot Rong Tang had dripped onto the paper to paint a lush autumn chrysanthemum.
Su Huaijing: “Tangtang, rice paper is expensive. It’s not a good habit to waste it.”
Rong Tang was silent for a moment before lowering his head, staring at the vibrant chrysanthemums on the paper. His gaze flickered evasively, and his cheeks gradually turned crimson.
As his brain overheated to the verge of short-circuiting, Rong Tang finally scrambled up and fled from under Su Huaijing’s arm.
The main villain gave him a puzzled look, and Rong Tang bolted: “Going out for some air!”
The system clicked its tongue: [With that level of shyness, and you still want to give the main villain sex ed? Where did you get the guts?]
It had no doubt that its host would blurt out something like: Men can’t get pregnant, you know!
Only for Su Huaijing to tilt his head, look at Rong Tang with wide, innocent eyes, and say earnestly: “I don’t believe you. Unless Tangtang proves it with me.”
The system, knowing both its host and his wife inside out, was fully capable of spinning up a completely in-character storyline. This Tong punk was immensely proud!
Rong Tang pressed a hand to his face to cool it down. “…Shut up.”
The system: [Tch—]
The capital bustled for three days, merchants earning hand over fist, and every major opera house packed to the brim. The celebrations honoured both the Emperor’s birthday and this rare grand festival.
But on the morning of the twenty-seventh of the seventh month, the first day after the Longevity Festival, the city was abruptly placed under martial law. Imperial guards patrolled in greater numbers than usual, and all four gates of the Imperial City were lined with soldiers, carefully inspecting every person passing through.
Court officials gathered before Taihe Gate, waiting for two hours, only to receive word from the chief eunuch: His Majesty was unwell, and morning court was canceled.
On their way back to their respective residences and offices, they passed Earl Wukang’s estate and saw a dense crowd gathered outside. A carriage from the Imperial Court of Justice was parked at the steps, and a frail, white-robed official stepped out, coughing with every move. At the foot of the carriage, Tutor Ke, renowned across the capital, was waiting to support him.
The sky was overcast, the sun hidden behind thick clouds, casting only a dim, scattered light over the officials who lived on the imperial payroll.
Carriages from the Censorate rolled by side by side. The Deputy Censor-in-Chief glanced over before turning to Su Huaijing, saying across the horses: “A court official serves the people and the nation, dedicating himself to the welfare of all. Do you understand?”
Su Huaijing gave a calm glance at Mu Jingxu’s departing figure, then nodded. “I will remember Lord Zhou’s teachings.”
The next day, the Imperial Deputy Censor-in-Chief submitted a resignation memorial, citing old age and an elderly mother awaiting his return in a distant province. He feared he might never again have the chance to fulfil his filial duties and thus requested the Emperor’s permission to retire.
Three petitions and three refusals later, it was not until the New Year’s Eve of Qingzheng Year that Emperor Renshou finally approved Zhou Gang’s resignation.
During this period, a series of major events unfolded in the capital.
At the time, they seemed unrelated. But as the years passed and people looked back, each incident was revealed to be another move on a chessboard, black and white pieces entangled in a silent struggle, each manoeuvre devouring the other.
Earl Wukang fell swiftly and quietly. Before the army even entered the Imperial City, his forces had already been wiped out in the forests outside the capital.
Duke Ningxuan, Rong Mingyu, secretly left the capital under imperial orders, carrying the Tiger Tally* to suppress the rebellion.
(*TN: Tiger-shaped tally issued to generals as imperial authorisation for troop movement in ancient China.)
Several secret letters were found in Earl Wukang’s study… one discussing “important matters” with Senior Official Zhang, another a private exchange with a certain prince of Dasui.
Each contained dozens of pages.
With the Dasui delegation still in the capital, this discovery meant they could not leave.
Rong Tang had initially wondered how Dasui’s envoys would account for Yuanyuan’s presence in Mu Jingxu’s household.
The very next day, he heard that someone in the city had harboured malicious intent, broken into the Dasui embassy, and set fire to the building… claiming the life of the young crown prince in the blaze.
After hearing this, Su Huaijing fell silent for a few seconds before abruptly chuckling. Then, he turned and went to the Mu residence. Yuanyuan, who had been spoiled by Ke Hongxue into a budding young playboy, was yanked out of Mu Jingxu’s room by Su Huaijing. He asked, “Why did you jump onto our carriage?”
The child avoided his gaze, not wanting to face this fierce shushu, glancing around desperately for any of the other three adults to come rescue him.
Any of them would be better than this one!
But then Su Huaijing said, “The Crown Prince of Dasui is dead.”
Yuanyuan froze as if struck by lightning. His face, unable to conceal emotions, turned blank with shock. He looked up at Su Huaijing in a daze, as if about to burst into tears.
Su Huaijing sighed and relented, pouring him a cup of water and passing over the candied hawthorn skewers he had ordered Shuang Shou to buy along the way. “Eat first, then talk.”
The little one was silent for a long time before finally asking, “Where’s Duanduan?”
Su Huaijing narrowed his eyes. “You mean Eldest Princess Duanyi?”
Yuanyuan nodded. “Mm. I want to find her.”
“Didn’t you say you ran away because you were going to be sold to her as her little husband? Why are you looking for her now?” Su Huaijing asked.
“No,” Yuanyuan shook his head, voice barely audible. He paused after every sentence, eating only the sugar coating off the hawthorn and never actually biting into the sour fruit.
Su Huaijing’s temples throbbed.
Yuanyuan finally muttered, “I want to go home with her. Your carriage has Duke Ningxuan’s emblem on it.”
Su Huaijing was momentarily stunned, slightly surprised. He took a moment to piece together the meaning and asked, “You were looking for Eldest Princess Duanyi but couldn’t find her, so you jumped onto our carriage and deliberately said ‘sixty-year-old da jiejie’ when you got on?”
Yuanyuan kept his head very low and gave an almost imperceptible nod.
For a moment, Su Huaijing was at a loss for words. He genuinely didn’t know what to say.
He had assumed this was just a cheeky child, but now… he seemed rather clever?
He asked again, “Why are you looking for the Eldest Princess?”
This time, Yuanyuan clammed up. Su Huaijing changed the question: “Who told you to find her?”
The child hesitated for two seconds, furrowing his brow like a little adult before murmuring in a muffled voice, “Mother.”
Su Huaijing pressed further. “The Empress?”
At these words, a flash of both disgust and fear flickered through Yuanyuan’s clear, innocent eyes. His fingers clenched tightly around the stick of his candied hawthorn, and he shook his head firmly.
Su Huaijing looked down at him for a long moment before deciding to drop the matter.
He stood up, pulled another packet of sweets from his sleeve, and tossed it onto the table. Before leaving, he couldn’t resist pinching the child’s cheek. “Rinse your mouth after eating those. Tooth decay hurts like hell.”
Yuanyuan didn’t dare talk back to his face, but the moment Su Huaijing turned at the doorway, he muttered under his breath, full of indignation, “Scaring kids is all he’s good for. So fierce. No wonder he can’t get a wife!”
Su Huaijing had sharp hearing. He caught every word, crystal clear.
Whatever sympathy he’d felt earlier, not wanting to prod at the child’s tragic past, vanished instantly. He froze in place, forcibly restraining himself from turning back and giving the boy a smack.
He couldn’t hit him. Tangtang wouldn’t approve. And san ge would beat him up for it.
But still…
This brat really deserved a good thrashing!
Excellency Su’s chest rose and fell as he took a long, slow breath. In the end, he could only shake his head in exasperation.
The ruling family of Dasui bore the surname Jiang, and the Crown Prince’s name was Jiang Cheng’en.
There wasn’t a single character related to “Yuan” in it. Yet when this little rascal was asked his name, he gave the one his mother had chosen for him.
“Mother said, ‘Yuan has calamus, Li has orchids’. She said I was her little fragrant treasure.”
His mother had sent him to Dayu to find Eldest Princess Duanyi.
Su Huaijing smiled. His eldest sao, beneath her gentle exterior, must have had a heart both admirable and unwaveringly steadfast.
But then, a trace of melancholy settled over him.
“Yuan has calamus, Li has orchids. I long for the noble one, yet dare not speak…”
Su Huaijing lifted his head and gazed towards the northern sky, his expression heavy with thought.
It wasn’t until every single one of Earl Wukang’s one hundred and twenty-eight household members had been thrown into prison and court had been suspended for three days that people finally learned what had happened.
Earl Wukang had conspired with Dasui to stage a rebellion during the Longevity Festival. When the Emperor’s benevolence was at its height, he intended to assassinate the Son of Heaven.
But fate had intervened. The imperial father and son shared a rare moment of harmony. As the assassins struck, the Fifth Prince happened to be passing by Xihe Hall alone. Noticing something amiss, he threw himself forward, shielding his father from the assassin’s blade.
The Emperor emerged unscathed. The Fifth Prince, however, was left teetering on the brink of death.
Enraged, Emperor Renshou suspended court for three days, launching a thorough investigation into all officials who had maintained close ties with Earl Wukang. He ordered the Dasui envoy detained in their embassy, delaying their fate until word reached Dasui itself.
The next day, Dasui reported that a fire had broken out at their embassy. Their Crown Prince had perished at the Dayu border. They demanded an explanation from Emperor Renshou.
On the third day, the Minister of the Imperial Court of Justice personally investigated the case and concluded that the fire had been deliberately set. Earl Wukang, unsatisfied with his gains, had tried to cover his tracks by silencing his co-conspirators.
The Dasui envoy naturally refused to believe this, but Dayu was adamant about offering no explanation. The envoy submitted a report back home, but their monarch never issued a single response.
Households were confiscated. Heads rolled. Bodies were displayed as warnings.
Throughout history, every dynasty had dealt with treason in the same swift and ruthless manner.
From the autumn winds to the passing of winter, the Wukang case was settled. And the political landscape shifted once more.
No one could say who had truly won.
Sheng Chengli, having risked his life to save his father and endured a long recovery, naturally earned the Emperor’s favour.
One night, the Board of Astronomy entered Xihe Hall alongside the eunuchs of the Imperial Household Department, linking the events of the Longevity Banquet to celestial omens.
By the next morning, Mu Jingxu was bestowed imperial rewards and granted an extended leave of absence. The imperial physicians paid frequent visits to his residence. His prominence skyrocketed, making him the envy of many.
Sheng Chengming, implicated by his maternal family, was fortunate that his princely title had already been decreed before the Longevity Festival. The Second Prince knelt outside Xihe Hall for a full day and night.
Emperor Renshou, with a wave of his hand, ordered him to leave for his fiefdom immediately without further punishment. However, Concubine Yi was demoted, and the Eighth Prince was sent to be raised under the Empress’s care.
Once again, Duke Ningxuan had saved the nation. The Emperor heaved a long sigh and declared him the Sovereign of National Stability.
And as for Rong Tang?
Amidst raising a child with Mu Jingxu, he found himself staring at the two swirling, battling clouds in his mind.
In the winter of the tenth year of the Qingzheng era, on the very day Sheng Chengli’s long-delayed residence was finally completed, snow began to fall over the capital.
And the long-wandering eminent monk Huimian finally returned to Tuolan Temple.
Rong Tang fell gravely ill.
