Ying Qionglou found that the soups served in the Empress’s pace were always light yet fvorful. What he didn’t know was that Wumian had long instructed the kitchen not to add unnecessary ingredients when preparing broth.

  These days, people fear their food might be too bnd, so it is common to toss extra things into soups. While the resulting fvors might be tasty, they often became overly complex and heavy, better suited for soaking rice than for sipping.

  After all, in Great Yin, it had only been about two hundred years since people stopped adding seasoning to tea. It wasn’t unusual for food to still carry the same muddled preferences.

  Even stir-frying had only become popur in the st hundred years or so. If one didn’t make an effort to refine it, meals could still feel rather crude.

  Wumian had no intention of winning the Emperor over with food, but Ying Qionglou had already formed an impression: the Empress knew how to eat well.

  After dinner, the Emperor stayed to talk with her.

  Meanwhile, in Hanliang Pace, Li Fei was quietly shedding tears.

  By nature, Li Fei wasn’t someone who cried easily. She was usually cheerful and optimistic. But after everything that had happened recently, fear had begun to gnaw at her heart.

  Even though Ying Qionglou repeatedly tried to comfort her, the imbance in their status meant they simply couldn't see things the same way.

  Li Fei wasn’t favored by the Empress Dowager. If she lost this child, she could very well lose the Emperor’s favor too.

  She might even be demoted. And while the Emperor could always dote on another consort, she might not have another chance.

  So no matter how much affection he showed her, she couldn’t truly feel at ease.

  She knew the other women in the pace hated her. After all these incidents, how could she not harbor suspicions? But even if she wanted to investigate, what would she find? Without evidence, any attempt to pursue it could easily backfire. And if nothing turned up?

  She didn’t dare offend the Empress Dowager again.

  With such thoughts circling her mind, how could she not feel disheartened?

  How many consorts in this pace were truly loved enough to feel untouchable?

  Cradling her belly, she silently wept. The servants thought she had fallen asleep, unaware that she was wide awake, staring at the embroidered canopy with tear-filled eyes.

  Everyone only saw her as someone to resent, never once wondering whether she had ever truly had the chance to flourish under the Empress Dowager’s shadow. She had always feared being disliked.

  But for some reason, out of all the women in the pace, it was she that the Empress Dowager loathed the most.

  She cried herself to sleep, not even daring to wonder where the Emperor was.

  What she truly needed right now was for him to be by her side. In truth, she needed him constantly.

  But today, she hadn’t even dared to send a message. If he didn’t come, all she could do was wait.

  —

  At that moment, Ying Qionglou was lying beside the Empress.

  “Why don’t you like it when I call you Zitong?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Wumian said, her fingers gently tracing along his abdomen. “It just sounds strange. Doesn’t it sound strange to Your Majesty, too?”

  Perhaps because she’d done it many times before, the Emperor had grown used to it.

  No other woman had ever dared touch his body with such familiarity. But the Empress? She dared.

  She didn’t just do it—she did it openly, with complete honesty.

  With both words and actions, she decred: This is my husband’s body, and I have the right to touch it.

  To have an Empress cim that kind of sovereignty over him, Ying Qionglou found it... refreshing.

  He was an emperor, used to ruling above all. And yet, in this moment, he felt as though the Empress had every right to assert herself this way.

  Of course, he could reject her. He could choose never to share intimacy with her again. But—was there any need for that?

  This wasn’t something unpleasant or intolerable. It was just so new, so unfamiliar, that it left him slightly bewildered each time.

  “If you don’t like it, Wumian, then I won’t call you that anymore.”

  Wumian gave a light ugh. “So this is the first time Your Majesty has said my name? Ah... it does sound nice.”

  But in Ying Qionglou’s ears, what he heard was: "It sounds nice when Your Majesty says my name."

  “I ought to be more affectionate with the Empress,” he added, lightly flicking her shoulder. “Otherwise, you’ll keep thinking I don’t like you.”

  Wumian tilted her head up and pced a kiss on his chin in reply.

  “Your family… really does know how to name people,” Ying Qionglou mused.

  “My father’s a schor at heart—a bit of a bookworm, honestly. He doesn’t care much for the serious cssics. He prefers poetry and sentimental tales. My eldest brother was born in the first month, just after a snowfall, and the scenery was beautiful, so he was named Yuanjing. My fourth brother was born in winter, so he’s called Dongshi. My fifth brother came after the Mid-Autumn Festival, during the harvest, so he’s named Qiufeng. As for me, since our surname is Zhao, I was simply named Wumian.”

  (Transtor Xiaobai: Yuanjing (元景) – Literally “Original Scene” or “Pristine Landscape,” evoking the beauty of a fresh snowfall and peaceful scenery at the start of the year. Dongshi (冬时) – “Winter Time,” a straightforward seasonal name that quietly reflects the stillness and crity of midwinter. Qiufeng (秋丰) – “Autumn Abundance,” a name associated with harvest, prosperity, and fullness—ideal for a child born in the season of reaping. Wumian (无眠) – “Sleepless.” A poetic and unusual name for a daughter, possibly hinting at wakefulness, introspection, or lingering sorrow. Despite its lyrical quality, it carries a slightly mencholic undertone.)

  “Your father was certainly more casual with you,” Ying Qionglou remarked.

  “It’s still not too bad,” she smiled. After all, while her father might have been a bit muddled, he hadn’t given such thoughtful names to his concubine-born children.

  How to put it? He was the typical patriarchal man of his time… but not too bad, really.

  He had always treated Wumian, his legitimate daughter, with genuine affection. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have grown up with such a temperament.

  —

  It was a rainy summer night. Ying Qionglou probably heard the rain and stirred a little, but didn’t think much of it.

  Then, just moments after the sound woke him, his young empress seemed to grow cold and quietly nestled closer to him.

  She didn’t reach for a bnket. Instead, she found the warmth of him and clung to it. Not only had she pressed up against him, but one of her legs was even draped over his.

  Ying Qionglou was truly impressed by how shamelessly she slept, so completely unrestrained. But he didn’t do anything about it. He didn’t move. He simply let her lie on top of him like that.

  Then again, he had been woken by the sound of rain and was still groggy. He must’ve been tired, because he fell back asleep rather quickly.

  By the time he was awakened again the next morning, it felt like pulling himself out of a heavy dream. He couldn't remember what the dream had been about—just that it had felt weighty.

  The moment he opened his eyes, he understood why: no wonder it felt heavy—the Empress was half sprawled on top of him.

  Outside, the rain hadn’t stopped. In fact, it was still coming down quite hard.

  There was the faint rumble of thunder—dull and distant, but still present.

  Ying Qionglou gently rolled the Empress off to the side and pulled the bnket over her shoulders.

  “Pass along my message: no one needs to come today.”

  Not that he was being considerate toward the other consorts, he simply looked at the weather and the way the Empress was sleeping so soundly and decided: Forget it.

  Poor him, though—he couldn’t sleep in. Sighing, he got up and returned to Taiji Pace.

  —

  Wumian woke naturally, stretching comfortably before realizing that the sun outside was already high in the sky.

  Indeed, from the start of that rain to its end, nothing had disturbed Her Majesty the Empress’s peaceful rest.

  “What time is it?” Wumian asked as she sat up.

  “Nearly the hour of the Dragon (7-9 am), Your Majesty. Are you hungry? When His Majesty left this morning, he gave orders that no one needed to come for morning greetings,” Fufeng replied.

  “Mm. Let’s set the table then.” Wumian got out of bed and noticed that the trees in the courtyard looked freshly washed. “Did it rain?”

  “Yes. It was still raining quite hard when His Majesty left. That’s probably why he said there was no need for morning greetings today,” Fufeng expined.

  Wumian nodded, not paying the matter much mind.

  After finishing her deyed breakfast, she asked, “Should I go pay my respects to the Empress Dowager?”

  Yesterday had been the welcoming, technically part of formal duty. But today, it would be proper to visit again.

  “At this hour, I’d wager Guifei and Rong Fei are already there. Jinbo went to check earlier. Right after the rain stopped, Guifei went over and brought Rong Fei along with her.”

  Wumian nodded. “All the more reason for me to go.”

  She changed into a robe and skirt ensemble, styled her hair into a simple bun—neither too high nor too low and set off for Yining Pace, accompanied by Fufeng, Yanming, and Dukang.