In a simple chamber at the rear of the Dali Temple, Mei Heting, who had been resting with his arms folded on the desk, suddenly awoke with a start.

Morning light filtered through the window, illuminating the cool contours of his side profile, as if thin light met a layer of light snow, leaving little warmth behind.

Mei Heting lightly furrowed his brows, his thumb lingering on the corner of his lips.

— The dream he had just experienced felt too real; the soft touch, the moist breath, the vivid scent of blood lingered as if still on his lips.

The image of the fiery figure in his dream was faint yet vivid, and that bite… truly stung.

Was it that he had been thinking of her during the day, thus dreaming of her at night?

After spending two full days without seeing Xuan Mingzhu, especially after being turned away the day before, it was no wonder he had dreamed of her being angry.

As for the inexplicable words she had said before he woke up—Mei Heting frowned.

It was just a dream; how could he take it seriously?

He braced his head with one hand, his temples throbbing from the overnight watch, and walked to the northern window.

Splashing cold water from a basin onto his face helped clear his mind.

After adjusting his clothing, tidying his sleeves, and fastening his crown, he turned to organize the documents on his desk, preparing to review the details of the embezzlement case from the Ministry of Revenue before the morning court session.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, revealing two colleagues with broad smiles on their faces.

The first, dressed in a crimson robe, and the second in a light yellow robe, both sported a pouch of red fish hanging from their belts.

What was most incongruous with their formal attire were the pairs of bamboo chopsticks they held.

Lu Chunfeng, the chief clerk of the Dali Temple, and Li Qian, the assistant examiner, stared at Mei Heting with hungry eyes, filled with grievances.

“What brings you two here?” Mei Heting asked, puzzled.

“I’m hungry,” Lu Chunfeng replied, rubbing his stomach.

“Time for food,” Li Qian added, licking his lips.

Mei Heting’s brows furrowed further. “Get out.”

The two men, combined, were over seventy years old, yet they acted childishly, making it almost unbearable to watch.

Lu Chunfeng exchanged a knowing glance with Li Qian, who smirked, as if to say, “See, I told you Mei Daren doesn’t know how to joke.”

Lu Chunfeng chuckled awkwardly. “Mei Daren, it’s not that we lack ambition. It’s just that the morning meals provided by the department… Well, you know, compared to the delicacies from your estate, they’re like clouds and mud—”

As he gestured, his gaze accidentally caught sight of the neatly made bed behind Mei Heting and the slightly messy desk, his eyes widened.

“Mei Daren, you didn’t stay up all night going over the embezzlement case, did you?”

As the emperor’s relative, the prince consort was not only willing to take the night shift but also worked diligently, making them feel ashamed of their lax attitudes.

Li Qian tapped Lu Chunfeng’s chopsticks with his own, signaling him to stay on track, prompting Lu Chunfeng to clear his throat awkwardly.

“Actually, I wanted to ask… Is your cook not at home these past couple of days?”

In the Great Jin Dynasty, the three provinces and six ministries had a system to provide meals for officials on duty, but the meals provided were known to be bland and unappetizing—just enough to fill the stomach.

However, someone like Mei Heting, the favored in-laws of the emperor, received three meals daily from the grand princess herself, which was quite exceptional, making him a treasure in the department.

His colleagues at the Dali Temple benefited from this, enjoying royal meals every day, and their palates had grown spoiled.

Even Dali Qing Cui Jinyi joked, “The Criminal Ministry always wants to recruit Mr.Mei, but I can’t bear to recommend him, for fear my subordinates will revolt against me!”

For five years, meals had been sent to Mei Heting without fail, with the grand princess personally selecting the menus according to his tastes.

Each month had three unique menus, which required considerable effort.

Initially, he would thank her for her hard work, but gradually, it had become something he took for granted.

Now, a sudden wave of annoyance washed over him.

Sitting at his desk, eating a less-than-usual breakfast while feeling the various resentful gazes around him, the usually composed Mei Heting found it hard to keep his cool.

What was happening at home that they couldn’t manage to send meals?

Then, he tried to reason with himself: the food at home and in the department was the same; there was no need to be picky.

Why couldn’t he adapt?

But the taste buds that had long become accustomed to good food clearly told him that what he was eating was hard to swallow.

Mei Heting’s face remained expressionless.

Or was Xuan Mingzhu still upset with him, using this petty way to remind him of her presence?

The more he thought about it, the more certain he became that this must be the case.

Although they had been married for many years, she still had many childish traits that she couldn’t shake off.

Even though he disapproved of personal feelings influencing official matters, he couldn’t blame her.

After all, she cared about him deeply.

Recently, he had been busy with the Ministry of Revenue’s major corruption case and had indeed neglected her, not even paying attention to the preparations for her birthday banquet on the fifth day of the month.

Mei Heting’s mood lightened.

He quickly finished his meal, thinking that he could leave the court early today, as there was still a gift he hadn’t given her.

When Xuan Mingzhu saw it, she would surely be happy.

---

That morning, Xuan Mingzhu had no appetite and only ate half a bowl of lotus seed porridge.

After taking her medicine, her stomach felt unsettled.

Hong’er, feeling sorry for her, brought a plate of candied plums.

Xuan Mingzhu forced herself to eat one, but the bitter taste on her tongue was hard to overcome, and it did nothing to help.

After resting for a while, Imperial Physician Yang arrived to check her pulse, accompanied by Lin Xuan, the former head of the Imperial Pharmacy, and another physician, Zhou, who specialized in blood disorders.

Lin Xuan, an elderly man who had retired many years ago, was dressed in plain green robes, his hair and beard white as frost.

He had been specially invited by the Imperial Medical Bureau to attend to the illness of the Princess.

Xuan Mingzhu had ordered everyone who knew about her illness to keep it a secret.

Not only was it a private matter, but she also held the command of the Imperial Guard in the northern part of the city and a portion of the elite Yu Lin Army cavalry.

These two military commands were the protection the late Emperor Jinming had left her before he passed.

Though the Princess had long stayed in the inner residence and stayed away from court matters, it was no exaggeration to say that her influence on the court was still substantial.

Naturally, this couldn’t be hidden from the Emperor.

Xuan Mingzhu promised to find the right time to personally report to him, and only then did Physician Yang agree to temporarily keep her illness confidential.

The three physicians washed their hands and solemnly took her pulse.

Afterward, they exchanged glances, remaining silent for a while, before saying nothing at all.

Granny Cui, who had been closely watching the physicians’ expressions, immediately burst into tears.

It was clear that, given the combined expertise of these renowned physicians, there was no chance of a misdiagnosis.

Xuan Mingzhu had anticipated this outcome.

She had no hopes, so there was no deep disappointment.

She had learned long ago, when her mother fell ill, that divine doctors can delay death, but not prevent it, and miraculous medicine can cure diseases, but not save lives.

Physician Yang spoke softly, “In this case, Your Highness should continue taking the medicine I prescribed the other day. This formula is an improved version of the one used for the Grand Empress Dowager. At that time, there was no precedent for this illness, so it inevitably had its shortcomings. Now, after discussion, we’ve made some adjustments, which may help extend Your Highness’s life…”

Xuan Mingzhu interrupted him, “How long?”

Physician Yang answered quietly, “About a year.”

Xuan Mingzhu nodded calmly.

A year was enough to settle her regrets.

She ordered her attendants to escort the three physicians out through the back door of the residence.

As she sipped her tea, she gently pressed her lips together, bringing a hint of color to them, and smiled at Granny Cui.

“I didn’t eat much this morning, but now I find myself craving your crystal dumplings.”

Granny Cui, wiping away her tears, quickly agreed and went off to the kitchen.

Once she was out of sight, Xuan Mingzhu set down her teacup and called Yíngxiāo inside.

Her phoenix eyes deep with emotion, she gave her instructions one by one:

“Prepare my coffin. The casket should be made of golden-threaded nanmu wood, and the outer shell from Taishan cypress. Have the finest craftsmen in the capital carve a pattern of entwined peach blossoms. Don’t worry if it doesn’t fully comply with the rituals. And don’t let Granny Cui know—she wouldn’t be able to handle the sorrow.”

Yíngxiao felt as though she had been plunged into an icy cave.

The Grand Princess was preparing her own coffin.

Yíngxiao, as a secret guard, was different from Hong’er and Cheng’er, who served closely in the inner residence.

She couldn’t help but wonder: where was the Grand Princess’s husband?

At this moment, shouldn’t he be the one by her side, providing support and comfort?

Even if he usually neglected his duties, how could he bear to let the Princess handle this matter alone?

Ying Xiao grew increasingly upset, feeling it unfair for His Highness.

If the Grand Princess hadn’t sent her down to prepare the carriage, she might have burst into tears on the spot.

However, Xuan Mingzhu didn’t think too much about it.

There are ways to live in good times and ways to live in bad times.

She hadn’t died yet, so why let the illness scare her to death first?

Little Baoya heard many supernatural stories, and one was the most absurd.

It was said that a scholar, gravely ill and near death, resolved to accomplish ten things he had always wanted to do but hadn’t had the chance.

Along the way, he encountered an old immortal who not only cured his illness but also helped him ascend to immortality.

When her precious daughter imitated the story in her sweet, childish voice, Xuan Mingzhu was thoroughly amused for quite some time.

In the past few days, this story lingered in her mind, refusing to leave.

She didn’t hope to find the path to immortality, but the idea of those ten things before dying—that, she had to seriously consider.

After seven years of living as though in a fleeting dream, now that she was awake, every moment was precious.

She must enjoy life while she still could.

---

In Yichun Music House, located in Xinghua Alley on the southern side of the city, the performances were innovative, and the performers were youthful and beautiful, attracting the favor of many officials and nobles.

The proprietor of the house was an extraordinary person.

She was once the daughter of Yang Su, a grand academician from the Hanlin Academy.

But after a family disaster, she had fallen.

Few knew that she had been close friends with Princess Zhao Le since childhood.

Years ago, when the Yang family was implicated in the poisoning case of Crown Prince Yongde, all the male members of the family were sent to Lingnan to become laborers, and the women were sent to the government’s entertainment bureau as slaves.

Later, almost single-handedly, the princess insisted on investigating the case, risking accusations of meddling in politics from within the imperial court.

After much effort, evidence was found to clear the Yang family’s name.

However, when Miss Yang left the entertainment bureau, having seen the cold indifference of the world, she stubbornly refused to shed her slave status and return to a normal life.

She said, “I shall test the character of men. If a gentleman truly doesn’t care about my background, I’ll prepare my dowry and marry him.”

Everyone was shocked by her words, but Xuan Mingzhu called it nonsense.

She knew that Yang Kezhi simply didn’t want to marry.

But there was also a clever use for this statement—it became a mirror that revealed the true nature of many fickle men.

The ornate carriage with misty purple veils and gold embroidery came to a stop in front of the music house.

A beautiful young woman with lips as red as cinnabar, her hair styled in a phoenix bun, stepped down with the help of a maid’s hand.

She was wearing a rich peach-red gauze skirt that shimmered with colors under the sunlight.

Far from being gaudy, it added a sense of nobility to her presence, making passersby too intimidated to look directly at her.

People whispered, guessing which noble family this lady might belong to, and why she had come to such a place frequented by men seeking pleasure.

Xuan Mingzhu paid no attention to their gossip, her gaze straight ahead.

As for the imperial decree ordering her to reflect on her mistakes behind closed doors—did they really think the Grand Princess Zhao Le, after all these years of self-cultivation, could be so easily manipulated?

Under the painted and gilded archway, Xuan Mingzhu’s dark eyes narrowed as she gazed at the familiar plaque.

The two characters for “Yichun” were ones she had personally inscribed.

On the day she cleared her friend’s name, she had proudly declared, “If you want to open a music house, then open one. Whoever dares to gossip, I’ll cut out their tongue and send it to you as a congratulatory gift!”

On the day they quarreled, Yang Kezhi had said, “You foolish girl, just because of a man, you won’t even step through my door. Fine, if you’re so afraid of rumors, then never come again!”

At the time, Xuan Mingzhu had been overwhelmed with guilt, tears welling up in her eyes, but she had not backed down.

She had said, “Crane Court is in the Hanlin Academy, it can’t withstand any slander. Unless I part ways with him, I won’t come back here again… Sister Kezhi, please take care of yourself.”

Years later, Xuan Mingzhu stood beneath this very archway once again.

A young woman hurried out of the music house to greet her.

The princess masked her wistfulness.

The woman wore a pine-colored silk blouse with tied sleeves, cinched at the waist with a belt, and beneath that, ink-green trousers.

She stepped confidently forward, dressed neatly and speaking briskly, “Your Highness, we humbly welcome you. We received your esteemed note earlier, and our mistress said it was an honor for such a distinguished guest to come. However, our mistress has been unwell recently and is not fit to receive visitors.”

Xuan Mingzhu had already glimpsed a corner of a jade-green skirt behind the door.

A shadow of sadness flickered across her brow.

She toyed with the emerald ring on her pinky and deliberately laughed, “What’s all this about welcoming me with a broom? Is she not planning to sweep me away with it instead? If she doesn’t see me, I won’t leave. You might as well go ask your mistress—has she ever beaten me at playing dirty since we were kids?”

As soon as she finished speaking, a figure rushed out of the small building like a gust of wind.

Standing before Xuan Mingzhu, the figure immediately snapped, “Your Highness, how thick is your skin? How could you even say such things!”

“Little Zhi.”

Xuan Mingzhu called out, her eyes red, using her childhood nickname.