Initially, the Emperor had intended for the Second Prince to oversee the palace construction.

At the time, the Crown Prince had just entered the Ministry of Personnel, and the Emperor, concerned about his workload, wanted to give his favored son a bit of a break while also giving the Second Prince, who was always absorbed in metaphysical studies, an opportunity to gain some practical experience.

However, Empress Yu, seeing this as an opportunity for her son to make a name for himself, strongly recommended the Crown Prince to the Emperor and forcibly took the task from Yuning Palace.

She had calculated everything perfectly—except that Fu Zanying would unexpectedly break off her engagement just before her coming-of-age ceremony.

Now, with things in disarray, both the Ministry of Works and the Ministry of Revenue were shirking responsibility, and naturally, they came to find the Crown Prince.

Empress Yu massaged her temples heavily, her voice hoarse. “What did the Crown Prince say?”

She Xin’s brows drooped, and he hesitated before reporting, “His Highness did not meet with Minister Yang. The Eastern Palace is closed, and the Crown Prince refuses to come out.”

Empress Yu’s eyes shot up. “What is he doing locked up in the palace all day?”

“I heard,” She Xin swallowed nervously and said quietly, “I heard he’s counting Lady Fu’s belongings, sealing them in boxes, and preparing to return them.”

Empress Yu’s fingers trembled, nearly poking her own eye.

Here she was struggling to keep things afloat, while her dear son was being sentimental, obediently listening to a disobedient girl.

She could hardly comprehend why her usually sharp and capable son had suddenly become so muddle-headed.

If he really returned those things, wouldn’t it be like throwing meat buns to a dog? That girl—would she ever come back?

“You go tell the Crown Prince…”

Before Empress Yu could finish speaking, a startled scream suddenly erupted from the main hall’s inner chamber.

The shrill sound pierced through the air, making everyone’s ears ring.

Even from Qingliang Pavilion, Empress Yu’s scalp tingled as she changed color and asked what had happened.

Soon, a maid rushed over, breathlessly reporting, “Your Highness, Grand Marshal Wei sent soldiers straight into your inner chamber, searching for the spear mark on the red pillar. One of the maids was so shocked to see a man in the private quarters that she screamed.”

“The audacity of this brat!” Empress Yu was furious, unaware of when he had entered the palace.

Upon hearing this, she could no longer contain her anger.

She slammed the table and stood up. “Where is he? Order the Imperial Guards to intercept him and bring him before His Majesty! I am the mother of this nation—how can my dignity be repeatedly trampled by him?”

The maid bowed her head so low it almost touched her chest, her voice barely audible. “The guards took one look behind the pillar and left without a word. The Grand Marshal has also left the palace, and it seems he departed directly from Taiji Hall.”

Empress Yu staggered slightly.

The Grand Chamberlain, She Xin, quickly stepped forward to support her. “Your Highness, please take care of yourself. I will immediately go and ask His Majesty to uphold justice.”

“No.” Empress Yu stopped him instead, her face drained of color.

From the fury that flared in her eyes to the empty look that followed, it all happened in an instant.

She gazed through the blue lattice window at the green willows and red flowers outside, letting out a few bitter, mournful laughs. “His Majesty won’t intervene. He cannot and doesn’t want to. Since ten years ago, he has not intervened. He always remembers that person in his heart. To His Majesty, what place do I and the Yu family hold?”

Jianjia, who was listening nearby, sensed a hint of resentment toward the emperor in the empress’s words.

She quickly stepped forward to support her. “Your Highness, you must be exhausted.”

Empress Yu brushed the attendant’s hand aside, closed her eyes, and spoke in a cold voice. “Has the Fu family made any moves? Remind them that they are just a vine attached to the Crown Prince’s branch. Let them think of the honors their patriarch enjoyed and the legacy they’ve built over the past century—time is running out.”

While chaos brewed outside, the Crown Prince shut the door to his Eastern Palace, creating a world of his own.

Li Jinghuan quietly packed one item after another into lacquered black boxes.

Once a box was full, he personally locked it.

Li Jian, watching the thin mustache on His Highness’s lips with deep concern, advised, “Your Highness, why not go and comfort Ladt Fu again? Look at all these items—they are proof of the affection between you and Lady Fu. She has the softest heart; she wouldn’t truly let go.”

Li Jinghuan paid him no mind, his eyes dark as if he hadn’t fully awakened from the darkness of the night before.

He hadn’t realized it until now, but over the years, Fu Zanying had given him so many things.

He loved calligraphy and paintings, and most of the renowned works in the Eastern Palace were gifts from her.

Those scrolls he took to poetry gatherings, each one alone enough to captivate the sons of noble families—passionately studied and eagerly copied by calligraphy enthusiasts—were merely ordinary in her eyes when she brought them to him.

She would smile and say, “Brother Jinghuan likes these, so I’ve found them for you.”

To him, these artworks were priceless, carrying the elegance and charm of past dynasties, tracing the legacy of famed scholars over the generations.

They were a pleasure beyond material value—a profound aesthetic experience.

But to her, his smile was all the pleasure she needed.

As Li Jinghuan thought about it, he realized that he had never taken her to any of those elegant gatherings.

His mother had always said the outside world was chaotic, and since she was often ill, he worried about her being jostled in the crowd, so he had always kept her sheltered like a delicate flower.

She was too obedient.

One time, he teased her, saying he would sneak her out for some fun.

She bit her lip and hesitated at the palace gate before ultimately stopping, too fearful to go further.

So, he mocked her for being timid.

Apart from scrolls and calligraphy, he always used camel-hair brushes.

Tang’s brushes, tributes to the Eastern Palace for many years, filled a large jar like a small forest.

He found the clothes made by the Left Spring Hall too soft and preferred wearing clothes made of stiff silk.

The Tang family’s silk shop even opened a dedicated factory just for him, using a special process to supply his inner and outer garments, year after year without fail.

These were already worn out.

And then there were the things that had been used up—like the fine ink from Chengxiang Hall, the exquisite inkstones he gifted to his attendants, and the unique incense balls made from secret formulas.

The number of these items, large and small, was countless.

“Give her the equivalent value for everything. Replace the ink with new ones, exchange the clothes for silk—this prince won’t owe her a thing,” Li Jinghuan said hoarsely, kneeling among the black boxes that surrounded him.

What right did she have to look down on him?

He was the Crown Prince, the heir to the throne, the one destined to stand at the pinnacle of this empire.

And she—she was meant to stand by his side, to share in his glory.

Both of them had known this since they were young, hadn’t they?

He was of the utmost nobility.

How could she say she looked down on him?

Li Jinghuan clenched his palm tightly, only to feel something soft beneath his fingers.

He lowered his bloodshot eyes and saw a delicate pomegranate-red sachet embroidered with gold threads resting in his hand.

It was embroidered with mandarin ducks.

Beside him, a small sandalwood box from the Eastern Palace treasury lay open, filled with sachets—sachets of all kinds, all hand-stitched by A Ying over the years.

Li Jinghuan had carefully examined the list of fabrics three times.

He recalled that many small items were counted without categorizing, yet only this box of sachets had detailed annotations for each, including the threads and designs used.

A Ying didn’t have an exceptional memory.

She couldn’t have planned from the beginning to account for every item between them.

The only reason she remembered each sachet so vividly was that she had put so much heart into making each one.

Every stitch, every thread—after all these years, she still remembered them.

And now, with cold determination, she wanted to reclaim all these heartfelt tokens.

Li Jinghuan scoffed in disdain, biting his lip as he prepared to throw the sandalwood box into the larger black chest.

But halfway through, he suddenly pulled it back into his arms, holding it close.

His fiery red eyes gleamed with restraint as he ordered, “Go to the Embroidery Bureau and select the finest sachets. Double the number and compensate her for these. But this box—don’t touch it. It’s mine.”

Why wouldn’t Fu Zanying come and see?

Most of the sachets in this box were new; the threads hadn’t even started to fray.

He cherished her sentiment deeply, never gifting her handmade things to anyone else.

He was even afraid of losing them when he was out, often wearing them for only a few days before carefully putting them away.

He had never treated anyone else like this, and Fu Zanying had never been so devoted to anyone else either.

So why couldn’t she continue to care for him?

Li Jian, seeing the Crown Prince in such a downcast state, his once proud and spirited aura now reduced to a mere facade, sighed repeatedly. “Your Highness, if I may speak—young ladies need to be gently coaxed. You should try to win her over again.”

“I won’t coax her,” Li Jinghuan replied, his handsome eyes flashing with anger.

He carefully sealed the small box in his arms, stood up, and carried it into his inner chamber, where he tucked it away in a secret compartment.

He would return everything to Fu Zanying, only to send her new gifts day by day, making her owe him again.

This way, she would realize his worth, understand that her decision was rash, and eventually change her mind.

She liked certain things.

She—

Li Jinghuan sat on the couch, fiddling with the jade dragon buckle on his belt, deep in thought.

A slight prickling pain in his scalp signaled his frustration.

He thought and thought, yet couldn’t recall anything that Fu Zanying truly liked.

She seemed to have no real hobbies.

She enjoyed eating sweets, but only to taste and memorize the recipes so she could recreate them for him.

She liked practicing calligraphy, but only to improve her refinement and help him find ancient scrolls.

The books she read in her spare time were mostly Confucian classics like The Four Books and The Classic of Filial Piety.

These dull, restrictive texts seemed to fascinate her endlessly, all because she was worried his mother would test her.

So, what did Fu Zanying herself like?