In the second half of the banquet, the birthday star Xuan Mingzhu did not appear again.

The so-called love and fame were merely illusions she had carefully maintained for years.

Now that life and death hung in the balance, it was time to let go of the facade.

As the evening banquet concluded, Mei Heting found the intricately carved door to the princess’s chamber closed, blocking his entry.

He stood silently outside for a moment before turning to the study.

His aide, Jiang Jin, anxious, asked, “The Grand princess isn’t opening the door. Why not knock and say a few soft words?”

Jiang Jin hesitated, “During the day, the grand princess summoned the doctor, so she must be feeling unwell. Wouldn’t it be better to bow your head and present that gift you prepared…”

Before he could finish, Mei Heting replied coldly, “Whenever she had even a minor ailment, she made sure I heard about it. If she’s so quiet today, I believe it’s nothing serious. Let her calm down.”

Inside, Xuan Mingzhu sat silently before the ornate mirror.

The incense in the burner had been replaced with a lighter scent, and Hong’er and Cheng’er carefully removed the jeweled hairpins from her hair, allowing her long, dark tresses to cascade down.

The two girls worked quietly, trying to appear unfazed.

They had heard what Doctor Yang said.

Having served the Grand princess since childhood, their feelings for Xuan Mingzhu were deep; they couldn’t bear to think that she, still in her youth, was suffering from such a disease.

Their hearts ached, but they dared not show it.

Seeing the expressions of the two girls in the mirror, Xuan Mingzhu forced a smile, pretending to scold, “You two should have more ambition; don’t let me laugh at you. How could you think I would…”

Remembering the old nurse was nearby, she swallowed the rest of her words and shot a guilty glance at her.

The refined woman, with her long hair flowing gracefully beside her pale cheeks, appeared even more striking.

The contrast made her look pure and untouched.

Only the red dot between her brows remained visible, no longer concealed by ornaments, revealing its vibrant color, dazzling and intense.

Granny Cui felt a chill in her heart.

She recognized that look in the princess’s eyes.

Years ago, when the Empress Dowager was gravely ill, and the doctors were helpless, the grand princess had angrily led the Imperial Guards to break down the doors of the medical office, declaring that if they couldn’t save her mother, they would all die alongside her.

During that harsh winter, Granny Cui followed the young princess, visiting every temple in the capital.

She witnessed the usually non-believing Grand princess, with beads in hand, repeatedly bowing in prayer.

Even with her forehead and knees bruised, and her legs numb from the cold, the young girl stubbornly and devoutly prayed for a miracle.

Granny Cui had accompanied her day and night at the Empress Dowager’s bedside, administering medicine.

Faced with her mother’s increasingly gaunt face, the princess could only force a smile, saying, “The peach blossoms outside are blooming, mother must get better quickly so we can go see them together…”

But in the end, they could not keep her.

After the great loss, the grand princess shattered her bracelet of beads.

Once devoted to prayer, she now turned her back on the Buddha.

Now, the grand princess’s eyes mirrored that same emptiness from the day they left the royal tomb.

Dull as dead wood, devoid of any spark.

Once, the princess had cried dry her beautiful eyes for the Empress Dowager, but upon learning her own time was short, she did not shed a single tear.

Granny Cui recalled the saying: there is no greater sorrow than a dead heart.

Taking a deep breath, she pretended not to notice, lowering her eyes as she gently combed the princess’s soft, cool hair, no longer pressing her to reveal her condition to her husband.

Having raised the young lady herself, Granny Cui could easily see through the princess’s thoughts.

Given the years Xuan Mingzhu and her husband had spent together, revealing the truth to him was merely a way for her to plead for a little more tenderness and care, as if from a dying person.

There was no reason for a woman to live her life solely for the sake of a man.

Moreover, the grand princess was proud by nature and could not tolerate anyone showing her pity.

The golden candlesticks cast a brilliant glow, filling the room with soft shadows.

Xuan Mingzhu allowed Granny Cui to comb her hair, her thoughts lingering on Bao girl. She asked, “How is it at the ancestral hall?”

“Replying to Your Highness, just now we sent Xiaoyao to the ancestral hall to fetch the little miss. She was very serious, swearing on three fingers that if she didn’t finish copying the book, she wouldn’t step out of the ancestral hall for the rest of her life. She will sleep there tonight.”

Hong’er added with a light tone, “Of course, she hasn’t forgotten to drag the two young masters along. Right now, one is fanning her while grinding ink, and the other is telling her stories to pass the time.”

A smile finally appeared on Xuan Mingzhu’s face.

“Fine then, if she wants to stay there, let her be. Remember to prepare some late-night snacks; don’t let them go hungry.”

“Understood.”

As the curtains were drawn and the lights dimmed, the night passed in silence.

Xuan Mingzhu used to find sleeping alone on a cold pillow unbearable.

Although Mei Heting was aloof, his body radiated warmth year-round.

She was accustomed to curling up in his embrace, holding his slim waist to sleep, and closing her eyes brought her a sense of security.

What she dreaded most was when urgent cases arose at the Dali Temple, causing Mei Heting to be late coming home.

She would be left alone, facing the sensation of “the jade pillow and silk curtains, the night air chilling to the bone.”

Now, with her heart feeling cold, she discovered that being alone wasn’t so bad after all.

She slept soundly, without dreams.

At the hour of the rabbit, morning light filtered through the window, and Xuan Mingzhu was awakened.

Eight maids entered in succession to assist her with washing and grooming.

As Cheng’er dipped a towel, she habitually reported, “Master went to the office before dawn,” but was elbowed by Hong’er.

Xuan Mingzhu watched their little exchange with a hint of self-mockery, “This habit should be changed. From now on, I won’t ask, and there’s no need to mention his affairs.”

Cheng’er hesitated to speak.

Xuan Mingzhu inquired, “Is there anything else?”

Cheng’er spoke hesitantly, “This morning, just as the market opened, Eunuch Huang from the palace came to deliver the emperor’s decree: the grand banquet for the grand princess’s birthday was too extravagant and wasteful, reminding that ancestral teachings must not be forgotten, and extravagance should not be encouraged. He ordered… closed-door reflection and caution.”

Such words were quite severe for a decree.

Xuan Mingzhu lightly curved her lips, “My dear nephew has finally dared to tear the facade with me?”

The current emperor, still in his youth, had not addressed Princess Zhao Le as ‘Imperial Aunt’ for three years since his ascension.

Hong’er spoke softly, “Your Highness, please don’t say that. After all, he is of close kin, and if the emperor hears, it may hurt his feelings.”

“I actually hope he forgets me as his aunt.”

Xuan Mingzhu, dressed in a loose snow-blue embroidered robe, touched up her eyebrows in the mirror, paying no mind to the emperor’s rebuke.

Turning to her two maids, she smiled and asked, “How do my brows look today?”

Hong’er and Cheng’er’s eyes lit up as they nodded eagerly, like little chicks pecking at grain.

The princess was born with a bright red cinnabar mole between her eyebrows.

But ever since the prince consort had once said it looked “too seductive and improper,” she either painted it in the shape of an ornamental flower or covered it with a beaded brow decoration.

But letting it show in its natural state made her look even more charming.

Cheng’er didn’t understand all the complicated reasoning of the prince consort.

She only felt that as a dignified princess, she should be able to flaunt her beauty without reservation.

Why should she hide it?

After breakfast, the sound of rapid footsteps came from the door, and in ran a little girl dressed in a silk skirt embroidered with butterflies, her hair tied in a bun.

When she saw Xuan Mingzhu’s new makeup, she was stunned.

“Mother, you look so beautiful today! Of course, you were stunning yesterday too, but today you’re especially beautiful—so much so that I feel ashamed of myself! I think the next time I see you, I’ll faint from all this beauty!”

The little girl’s voice, sweet and full of energy, lit up the room instantly, which had been gloomy all day.

Hong’er and Cheng’er smiled and greeted her, then brought out various sweet treats to present to the little girl, the princess’s precious “pistachio.”

But then, thinking of the grand princess’s illness and seeing how adorable the little miss was, they held back their emotions and quietly retreated outside.

“Your Highness, the eldest and second young masters said they were afraid of being late for their studies at the Imperial Academy, so they won’t come in to greet you,” said Granny Cui softly.

Xuan Mingzhu’s eyes flickered slightly upon hearing this, and she replied, “I see.”

She then scooped the little girl up and placed her on her lap, breathing in the sweet milk scent from her neck.

“Are you upset that your father punished you by making you copy books?”

Mei Baoya shook her head proudly, saying, “I’m used to it by now! The little bed in the side room of the ancestral hall was made just for me, and Mei Da and Mei Er keep me company.”

Then, the little girl furrowed her brows, her ten slender white fingers twisting together as she mumbled, “Throwing ink at people was wrong, I admit that. But I asked Father: that mean aunt said bad things first, shouldn’t she be punished too? Father said… ugh, he said a whole lot of things, and I guess they made sense, but I don’t like it. Hmph, next time, I’ll still throw ink at her! Afterward, I’ll just copy more books!”

This child had been unusually clever since she was young.

Any word she heard or saw once, she would never forget.

She clearly took after her father.

Xuan Mingzhu steadied the little girl, who was squirming around like a sticky candy, and stroked her head.

“Did your father say that Chengyu was wrong first, and you were wrong later, but her fault was greater and yours was smaller? However, since no one can prove her wrongdoing, while your mischievous act was seen by everyone, you should first clear your own conscience and distance yourself from the mess before you can deal with her fault?”

Mei Baoya listened attentively and clapped her hands. “Exactly! Mother, you really understand Father!”

But she still didn’t like it—it didn’t feel fair.

Xuan Mingzhu didn’t like it either.

Fairness, rules, and propriety were the values Mei Heting lived by after the age of seventeen.

Reckless abandon had been her belief before she turned eighteen.

There was no reason her values had to yield to his.

Yet, her beloved daughter now had to suffer because of it.

Back when she gave birth to Baoya, during labor, she suffered from a hemorrhage. Even at the brink of death, she refused to give up her child.

At that time, Mei Heting was away on an official case and didn’t even know she was fighting for her life, nor could he hear her desperate cries.

That night, just before midnight, Mei Heting rushed back in a disheveled state.

Seeing the frail baby swaddled in blankets, he remained silent for a long time.

All he said to her was, “I’m sorry.”

At that moment, Xuan Mingzhu, lying weakly on the bed, was in pain all over, but when she met his guilt-ridden, red-rimmed eyes, all she felt was pity.

There wasn’t a shred of blame.

During her confinement period, Mei Heting never held the baby, nor did he touch her once.

“Baoya, your mother was so foolish back then.”

“Huh?” Mei Baoya felt a slight chill on her head and tried to turn around, but a hand gently held her in place.

She rolled her bright eyes and pointed to her head, loudly proclaiming, “This smart little head of mine got all of Mother’s good traits! If Mother were foolish, I’d be stuck at Father’s level. Ugh, that would be a real loss!”

Xuan Mingzhu couldn’t help but laugh through her tears.

In that moment, her gaze was filled with tenderness, and she felt utterly free.

Indeed, at least she still had her little Baoya—what more could she need?

---

That night, Xuan Mingzhu had a dream.

In the dream, she was an eighteen-year-old girl, wearing a bright red pomegranate skirt, standing by the Imperial Lotus Pond, holding a willow branch and gazing longingly toward the end of the curved bridge.

She was waiting for someone, for their first private meeting after the grand Qionglin Banquet.

It was strange; Xuan Mingzhu knew she was dreaming, but this dream felt too real.

She could clearly sense the girl’s anticipation and shyness, and the willow branches in her hand seemed to carry the scent of fresh greenery.

As the figure drew closer, it revealed a tall, elegant silhouette.

He embodied grace under the clear sky and the chill of frost and snow.

Seventeen-year-old Mei Heting stood tall, like a newly grown bamboo, with sharp brows and deep-set eyes that sparkled like a mountain spring, his demeanor striking and captivating.

Yet Xuan Mingzhu knew how cold the words he was about to speak would be.

Just two sentences:

“I do not believe I am suitable for Your Highness.”

“I fear I may disappoint Your Highness’s good intentions.”

If this could be considered an oath, then it must be said that Mei Heting had upheld it well in the days that followed.

Since it was just a dream, as Mei Heting was about to speak, Xuan Mingzhu stepped forward in a swift motion and pressed her lips against his.

The young man stood frozen in place, seemingly too astonished to react.

When he tried to pull away, Xuan Mingzhu bit him in frustration and then pushed him away without a second thought.

Under the blazing sun, she smiled brightly, “Mei Heting, I don’t want you anymore.”