The figure stood still as a mountain. Suddenly, the lantern dropped to the ground, and Mei Heting expressionlessly tore the document in his hand into shreds.

Ying Xiao and Song Tai were taken aback.

They had anticipated various reactions from Mei Heting upon seeing the divorce letter.

But they never expected him to have the audacity to disrespect the laws of the family!

Ying Xiao gasped, struggling to catch her breath. “Lord Mei, as the presiding officer, surely you know that destroying official documents is akin to deceiving the emperor?”

Song Tai’s tone was still calm. “The family registry was already revised during the day. It was only because Madame Mei is still in the residence that His Highness didn’t present it in person. You tearing this copy means nothing; the official registry in the ancestral hall has already been signed by the emperor. By tomorrow, the whole capital will know.”

“Logically, neither you nor Madame Mei should be living in the Princess’s residence. However, His Highness has taken into consideration the old lady’s health and has shown leniency. Lord Mei, to be honest, His Highness has been very generous. What’s the point of your persistent entanglement?”

“I am her husband.”

Mei Heting’s eyes reflected the flickering lantern light, filled with an unsettling rage as he rasped, “I do not agree to this divorce; this matter cannot be counted.”

“Is she resting? I want to see her.”

Ying Xiao felt her anger boiling as he acted as if nothing were wrong.

How could it matter that he disagreed?

If only he had dedicated even a fraction of this determination to their past, would His Highness have lost heart and ended up with no one caring for him at the end?

Only now, when he was about to lose everything, did he remember he was a husband, desperately clinging to the edge of a well.

What was there to be valued in that?

She scoffed, “At this point, do you still fantasize about being in the same room as the grand princess?”

“I only wish to stand outside, to see her from a distance…” Mei Heting gazed at the distant lights of the palace, exhaling the pent-up frustration from his chest, trying hard to maintain his composure. “Please inform her for me. The rest, I will speak to the Grand princess myself.”

Ying Xiao’s breathing became erratic.

He had said something similar in Cuiwei Palace last time, claiming he only wanted to “take a look.”

How could she still trust him!

Just as she was about to retort, Song Tai gently shook her arm, casually saying, “My lord, what’s the point?”

If only he had known this day would come, what was the point?

Once the water has been spilled, there was no point in lamenting.

“Bao Xia.” Mei Heting clenched the cuff of his sleeve, lowering his head. “I’ll sleep in Bao Xia.”

Song Tai shook her head. “Bao Xia is for the maids at night; it doesn’t suit your status. Please understand, don’t make it difficult for us.”

“Jiao Dian.”

Mei Heting’s eyes were pained as he stared at the ground, his shadow resembling a pitiful creature, bloated and weak, as if an animal had been stripped of its claws and fangs.

Even Song Tai felt a pang of pity for him, while Ying Xiao’s heart was made of stone, letting out a cold snort.

“That place is reserved for ordinary guests; I fear you wouldn’t qualify as a visitor in the princess’s residence.”

These two young women held no weapons, yet their words cut sharper than blades.

Mei Heting stood in the home he had lived in for seven years, neither guest nor master, less than a servant.

He was willing to bow to the princess’s people, fearing that even so, he would not earn a second glance from her.

His gaze mirrored the distant halo, shimmering in his dark pupils like cold flames.

How many nights had she waited under such lights for his return?

“Dao Zuo Fang.” He choked out, “Is that acceptable?”

Ying Xiao raised an eyebrow; the room behind the main hall was used for storage, adjacent to the toilet, and even the more discerning servants wouldn’t stay there.

She was puzzled; wasn’t the Mei family known for their cleanliness? Would he really step foot in there?

Song Tai tugged at her sleeve.

After a moment of hesitation, Ying Xiao, in a huff, stepped aside.

It was neither right to drive a fourth-rank minor official to the toilet, nor did she want to keep arguing all night, disturbing the grand princess’s rest.

News of Mei Heting going to stay in the Dao Zuo Fang quickly reached Xu Mingzhu’s ears.

In her small, enclosed space within the gauzy curtains, the princess, dressed in night attire, tilted her chin slightly as she applied fragrant cream to her neck.

This was a formula from the palace, finely ground pearl powder mixed with rose and purple rice cream, effective for skincare.

Hong Er calculated the time; at this hour, the County Princess from Huaining should be lying on the ground.

She asked the princess about the person’s falling out, “Does Your Highness really intend to send the Xings away to guard the imperial tomb?”

“Of course not.” Xuan Mingzhu closed her eyes and let out a light laugh, “Even if you added up ten of her, she wouldn’t be worthy; I’d still find her unfit for Heting’s and my children eyes.”

Just as she said this, news came in about Mei Shi intruding into the courtyard.

Hong Er, standing by the door, heard this and couldn’t help but raise the corners of her lips.

Where had he been all this time?

Upon hearing, Xuan Mingzhu was just a bit curious. “Oh, he’s using a desperate ploy now.”

After saying this, she stifled a yawn, her languid figure sinking onto the pillow. “Turn off the lights.”

---

Behind the two courtyard walls that separated the main hall of Ming Gao Courtyard, a row of surrounding corridors led to the back rooms.

Though numerous, these rooms had long been devoid of human presence, left cold and empty year-round.

A shadowy figure wandered casually to one of the rooms, pushed the door open, and immediately choked on dust as he entered.

It was clear that this place hadn’t been tidied up in ages; the accumulated dust, blown in by the night wind, invaded his nostrils.

Fortunately, it was nighttime, so he couldn’t see the dust floating in the air, but just imagining it made Mei Heting’s skin crawl.

He could keep a straight face while examining a corpse, yet he couldn’t tolerate even the slightest bit of dirt in his daily life.

He wouldn’t touch anyone else’s belongings, and even the tiniest speck of dust would be brushed away.

But faced with the current situation, the discomfort of his surroundings couldn’t compare to the turmoil in his heart. This shabby room was his only refuge tonight.

Holding his breath, he stepped inside.

The lantern light revealed a cluttered floor, making it hard to distinguish anything.

If the tip of his boot accidentally kicked up an old rolled-up mat, it would only stir more dust.

Finally, after a dizzying moment, he managed to clear a relatively clean spot in the corner.

Finding a couch or a bed here was impossible, and even if he did find one, he wouldn’t use it.

He silently placed the lantern in a crevice of the window frame, standing still for a moment, before removing his outer robe and laying it on the ground.

He sat cross-legged in a thin, dark garment.

He didn’t dare to move a muscle, feeling as though he were standing on a sharp point.

His heart, however, was in chaos, gnawing at him like a dull pain.

The document he had just torn to shreds felt like it wasn’t just paper but his own heart.

His gaze was darker than the night. Once everything quieted down, many thoughts he usually wouldn’t consider suddenly surged forth. He realized it had been a long time since anyone had called him “prince consort.”

He reminisced about the sweet names Xuan Mingzhu used to call him: Changsheng, Mei Lang, He Xian’er, Xiao Xiang Gong…

“Don’t call me that.”

Her voice was as sweet as honey, filled with tender teasing.

He often felt his cheeks flush and his heart race, having to correct her every time she fell into the habit of using such pet names.

Back then, he constantly reminded himself not to get lost in that warmth.

He always suppressed his feelings, waiting for her to reach out to him, so he could respond coyly.

As if doing so could prove that the filthy thoughts buried deep in his heart didn’t exist.

He was not a saint; his restraint was not for self-cultivation.

It was a suppression of desires.

Only he knew how deep his yearnings ran.

For that reason, he allowed a noble woman of the Great Jin to take the initiative.

In the silence, a soft “slap” sounded as flesh met flesh.

The lantern’s light fell to the ground.

As the light extinguished, a cloud of dust was stirred up, and Mei Heting was soon overwhelmed by a fit of painful coughing.

Once the coughing subsided, memories that had never been deeply contemplated lined up in his heart, jostling for space.

After about half an hour, the sitting figure changed to a kneeling position.

After another half hour, the figure swayed slightly, hesitating to stretch out his numb legs, then curled them up, wrapping his arms around them, resting his chin on his knees, burying his face.

In a situation he had never encountered before, feelings of humiliation and grievance surged forth, unabashedly taking over him.

That feeling was more sour than vinegar, more bitter than gall, circulating within him.

During those cold nights alone under the blankets, had her feelings been the same?

Mei Heting pressed his palm against his left chest, mustering the last bit of dignity.

He mentally reminded himself, “As a man, I must take responsibility. The sage said, ‘To know your mistakes and correct them is the greatest virtue.’

There is also a saying: ‘In the world, only those who are wronged can truly understand the fate of all beings. The dead cannot return to life, nor can the broken be rejoined.’

The relationship between husband and wife is not the same as a trial; I have not reached the point of life and death with her. I know I’ve been foolish, and what’s done cannot be undone.

I cannot mend her heart, but I must do everything possible to make amends, a hundredfold, a thousandfold; that is the way of being a husband and a father. I cannot foolishly let go and create irreparable regrets. Yes, yes, it must be this way…”

The originally resolute Minister of the Great Li, lost in his whirlwind of thoughts, eventually fell asleep while hugging his knees.

Time passed, and suddenly a ray of light fell before him.

Mei Heting groggily opened his eyes.

He discovered he was no longer in the dark, messy back room but in a clean, bright warm chamber of Ming Gao Courtyard.

Under the window, on a beautifully crafted golden-inlaid Xiangfei couch, Xuan Mingzhu sat, dressed in a simple, purple house dress, leaning against a pillow.

The light streaming through the window cast a soft glow on her delicate face, making it appear almost translucent, fragrant as jade and snow.

She sat quietly, embroidering a tiger-headed hat, chatting leisurely with the old maid, Granny Cui.

“I would much prefer this child to be a girl, so I can dress her up beautifully.”

Mei Heting’s gaze fell on the slight swell of her belly, his eyes turning red.

This scene was not one he remembered.

Thus, he had once again entered Xu Mingzhu’s dream.

Despite the inability to move his limbs or voice, he felt unusually clear-headed.

People often say that dreams are shaped by what occupies one’s thoughts during the day.

Since Mingzhu was dreaming of her pregnancy, it at least meant she still cared about Bao Ya, right?

Did that mean he still had a chance to make amends?

With this thought, Mei Heting’s mind cleared, and he focused intently on the conversation between Mingzhu and the maid, eager to understand her thoughts and desires.

Granny Cui sighed softly, “At least the pregnancy has stabilized; that earlier scare was quite serious. After seeing blood for several days, fortunately, His Highness is blessed…”

Scare?

Blood?

Mei Heting felt a tremor in his heart.

When had such events occurred?

Just then, a sudden thunderclap echoed in the clear sky, and heavy rain poured down, crashing against the window behind Xu Mingzhu, drenching her.

Mei Heting panicked, wanting to call her to take shelter with him, but his throat felt blocked, unable to voice a sound.

He could only watch helplessly as Xu Mingzhu stood motionless in the rain, her face blurred by the water, as if viewed through a thin layer of glaze, indistinguishable between rain and tears.

Breath caught in his chest, he suddenly fought against the constraints of the dream and rushed to the bedside, only to hear the tranquil woman murmur, “I’m going to see my mother now…”

In her hand, a small embroidery scissors appeared without him noticing.

She pressed it against her chest, stabbing down, droplets of blood staining the tiger-headed hat, splattering onto Mei Heting’s face.

His heart shattered.

The woman looked up at him, her alabaster face devoid of emotion, speaking in the same tone as in the daytime, “We cannot share the same fate; I shall go.”

“Where will you go! Mingzhu, don’t!”

With a jolt, Mei Heting woke up abruptly.

The first thing he did was touch his face, finding himself in the dark, cluttered room, panting heavily.

Suddenly, he rose and rushed towards Minggao Garden.

He had to confirm Xu Mingzhu’s safety.

Mei Heting felt like he was losing his mind, unable to distinguish between reality and dream, yet he needed to see her well to feel at ease.

At the same time, a strange anxiety brewed within him, as if there was an unknown secret brewing in the night—last time it was drowning, and this time it was self-harm.

Why did she keep dreaming of such things?

The lights in the Minggao Garden suddenly brightened.

Xu Mingzhu awoke from her nightmare, leaning forward to spit a mouthful of blood into the spittoon.

Hearing the commotion, Hong Er hurriedly brought a lamp over.

The bright light illuminated the bright red color in the spittoon, making Hong Er nearly drop the candlestick.

“This is the third time…” she exclaimed, flustered. “Dr. Yang’s prescriptions are being taken on time; why is she vomiting blood more frequently… How does the princess feel? What should we do?”

Xu Mingzhu struggled to sit up, pressing her palm against her chest, still shaken by the scenes from her dream.

Last time it was drowning, now it was a stabbing—both felt so vivid that she almost believed she had truly been pierced.

Cold sweat soaked her temples, making her hair damp.

The metallic taste in her throat was unbearable, and just as she was about to ask for water to rinse her mouth, a voice suddenly called out from outside.

Then, the door burst open.

As the small maid on night duty shouted, a figure pushed aside the curtain and strode in.

“How did you get in here!”

Hong Er and Cheng Er were taken aback, blocking the way at the bedside, while Ying Xiao and Song Tai hurried in after them.

Mei Heting stood there without an outer robe, wearing a plain shirt that had gathered dust from who knows where, his breath slightly labored, surrounded by the four young women.

His bloodshot eyes were fixed solely on Xu Mingzhu.

The woman leaned delicately against the bed, her long hair cascading over her chest.

The straps of her lavender dress hung loosely, revealing a glimpse of skin that seemed as pure as frost and snow.

As he gazed down, the contours of her figure seemed to come alive.

Mei Heting averted his eyes, but when he noticed her pale complexion and red lips, and the dampness of her dark hair that appeared to glisten in the wavering light, she resembled a celestial being untouched by the world.

“Leave,” Xu Mingzhu said calmly, gathering her clothing.

Seeing that she didn’t resemble the vision from his nightmare, Mei Heting’s heart momentarily eased.

But then his gaze fell to the blood in the spittoon, and he staggered back a couple of steps.

He felt as if he were trapped in a nightmare, staring again at her beautiful but ominous red lips.

“…What’s wrong with you? What are you hiding from me?”

Outside, a flash of purple lightning split the sky, followed by a thunderous roar, and rain began to pour down.