Chapter 29: The Title Shall Be Zhao

Inside the loft, after Ning Zhaorou called out “Your Majesty,” she deliberately tested the waters by not bowing first.

Yin Mingyu didn’t even glance back, simply replied with a casual “Mm,” and told her to come forward.

Ning Zhaorou walked up as instructed. Only then did she notice several memorials spread out on the table.

She immediately turned her head away, afraid of accidentally seeing their contents, her careful and cautious manner so obvious that when Yin Mingyu looked up and caught it, he couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle.

He reached out and patted her leg, then pulled her to sit on his lap.

“Let Me have a look. Has your complexion improved?”

The medicine prescribed by the imperial physician had been taken for almost a month now. Her cheeks were rosy, and with today’s light makeup, there was no way her complexion wouldn’t look good.

Ning Zhaorou obediently raised her head for him to inspect, even tilting it side to side so he could see clearly.

Yin Mingyu showed no immediate reaction after looking, so Ning Zhaorou waited for a bit, then tilted her head slightly and touched her own face. With a hint of coquettish playfulness, she said,
“I’ve been finishing all my medicine every day.”

“And at night, my feet don’t get as cold anymore.” Though with the weather turning colder, it was normal for her hands and feet to be chilly.

She still remembered when he previously said her cold feet were due to a constitutionally cold body.

Yin Mingyu couldn’t help himself—he lowered his head and kissed her cheek. The warm, delicate kisses trailed from her cheek to her ear. He whispered with a soft chuckle,
“They won’t be cold anymore. I’ll warm your feet for you—how about that?”

Ning Zhaorou’s face instantly flushed bright red. Her feet tingled, and her heart pounded wildly. She nodded just slightly, letting out a tiny, almost inaudible, “Mm.”

“Next month is the Empress Dowager’s birthday banquet. Ming Le will mention you at the banquet.”
Mentioning the legitimate daughter of the Anping Marquis’ household at such an event would give the Empress Dowager a proper pretext to arrange a marriage, bringing Ning Zhaorou into the palace with legitimacy and honor.

Ning Zhaorou’s face still burned hot as he gently held her. She listened to his words and committed them all to memory.

Yin Mingyu noticed she didn’t seem curious at all about what rank he intended to give her.

Ordinarily, for a legitimate daughter of a marquis’ household, entering the palace with a consort title would already be considered appropriate. But all his current consorts had borne children. If he gave Zhaorou an exception…

Yin Mingyu glanced at her outfit today—it suited her extremely well. She looked like a carefree little butterfly.

Giving her this exception… wasn’t out of the question.

“Bring Me the memorials on the table,” he said.

Ning Zhaorou turned and saw the very memorials he had just been reading. She reached out, picked them up, and held them carefully in her hands as she handed them to him, “Your Majesty.”

“Open it and take a look yourself,” Yin Mingyu leaned lazily against the back of his chair, gazing at her with a tilted head. His fingers drifted to her waist, idly caressing it.

Ning Zhaorou hesitated for a moment, then nodded and softly replied.

The memorial wasn’t large, and once opened, there wasn’t much critical content inside. But as her eyes passed over a few of the characters, her lashes trembled lightly. She looked at the Emperor in disbelief, then quickly looked back at the page.

This was the list of titles drafted by the Imperial Household Department.

Yin Mingyu said nothing. Seeing the way her fingers slowly tightened around the paper, watching her expression shift from joy to barely-concealed anticipation, and finally to nervous unease…

He heard Ning Zhaorou ask him,
“Your Majesty, are these proposed titles for me?”

There were so many—all those names, lined up neatly, each with auspicious meanings.

Yin Mingyu closed the paper in her hands, pulled her closer by the waist, and with a relaxed yet purposeful expression, said,
“They’re for you. But I don’t think any of them are quite suitable.”

Not suitable?

Then… what kind of title did His Majesty think was suitable?

Ning Zhaorou was lifted slightly higher, and in that moment, she was looking down at Yin Mingyu from above. She felt that wasn’t proper, so she lowered her head and nuzzled into his chest.

“There’s the character Zhao in your name—why not use Zhao as the title?”

A consort’s title also reflected the Emperor’s favor. The titles drafted by the Imperial Household Department would naturally be above reproach, but Zhao… truly suited her.

After Yin Mingyu finished speaking, he saw her rise to give thanks. Dressed in crimson, she looked just like a brilliant blooming peach blossom.

“Zhao,” he repeated softly. Then again, “Zhao-zhao.”

He chuckled lightly, then reached around the back of her neck to bring her back into his arms and asked,
“From now on, I’ll call you Zhao-zhao. Do you like it?”

No one had ever called her that before.

Ning Zhaorou was stunned for a moment. Then, her eyes curved into a smile as she bit her lip and replied,
“I like whatever Your Majesty likes. You can call me anything you wish.”

Yin Mingyu poured her a cup of tea, then fed it to her using his own teacup.

The warm tea moistened her lips, but the bitterness that filled her mouth made Ning Zhaorou nearly wince.

She stared at the dark-colored liquid, sniffed the strong scent, and tasted it again—still bitter.

How could His Majesty like such bitter tea?

She couldn’t see the darkness in Yin Mingyu’s eyes. All his emotions were carefully concealed. He casually rubbed her lips with the pad of his thumb.

“Zhao-zhao finds My tea too bitter,” he said.

Ning Zhaorou quickly shook her head to show her sincerity, and softly explained,
“I don’t mind the bitterness.”

“Then have another cup.” As he spoke, Yin Mingyu poured her another full cup.

The tea was indeed bitter. Once swallowed, it sat heavily in her throat. Ning Zhaorou drank without finesse—it wasn’t how one was supposed to appreciate tea. At this rate, she’d be full just from drinking it.

Yin Mingyu’s fingers slid down her neck, and then he pressed his palm lightly against her lower abdomen, not using much force, as he asked,
“Does it taste good?”

“It does,” she replied sweetly.

“Pour Me one.”

Ning Zhaorou picked up the teapot, just about to pour, only to realize it was completely empty.

She shook it, trying to coax out even a drop. Her struggling expression was almost comical.

Yin Mingyu caught her wrist. She turned toward him, looking flustered and helpless, and said,
“I’ll go change the tea at once.”

“No need,” he said, glancing at her hand. “Put it down.”

The teapot clinked as it touched the table.

For some reason, Ning Zhaorou had a small-animal-like instinct that something was about to happen. Her hand was pulled back, her body drawn close. She opened her mouth,
“Your Majesty’s tea…”

“Zhao-zhao’s awfully greedy, drinking all of My tea,” Yin Mingyu said with a composed expression, his gaze falling lazily yet intently on her lips, as if to remind her of something.

Ning Zhaorou’s breathing grew shallow with nervousness. She didn’t dare say anything else. Her body softened, and her soft lips cautiously brushed against the corner of Yin Mingyu’s.

It was a timid test. Once her lips touched his, she froze.

When Yin Mingyu didn’t react, she parted her lips slightly and gave a small lick.

Yin Mingyu wrapped his arm tightly around her lower back, lifting her up with ease. He wasn’t like Ning Zhaorou—playful and light. His kiss was firm and overwhelming, to the point where she could barely breathe.

Yes, the tea was truly bitter.
But afterward… there was a lingering sweetness. The aftertaste, in truth, was quite exquisite.