Xuan Mingzhu raised her elegant eyebrows slightly and glanced at Mei Heting with a detached look.

Petty emotions? Limits?

Inner quarters? A mere woman?

“Was it not you, Lord Mei, who just reminded me of my esteemed position as the Grand Princess? Why is it now that the moment I act in that role, you suggest my words are not to be followed?”

Her voice was not loud, but Li Qian still trembled violently, his legs giving way as he knelt down with his forehead touching the ground.

Glancing to the side, he noticed he was not the only one—other officers from the Dali Temple, too, felt the suffocating pressure of royal authority and quickly knelt in submission.

Yang Kezhi, observing from the balcony with a slight smile, thought to herself—this was the same long Grand princess who once confidently received envoys from Silla with poise and grace at the imperial court.

Mei Heting took a step back, a strange sense of unfamiliarity washing over him as he looked at her.

Out of nowhere, he recalled that dream.

In the dream, the young girl’s proud expression had been identical to the cold detachment on her face now.

And she had said to him, “I don’t want you anymore.”

A wave of panic flashed through Mei Heting’s heart, but he couldn’t grasp it.

---

After uttering her last words, Xuan Mingzhu walked out of the music house, her steps steady.

But as soon as she boarded her phoenix carriage, she coughed up blood.

At first, she only tasted something metallic in her throat, but when she saw the bright red stains on her handkerchief, she stared at them, stunned and unable to react for a long while.

She remembered that her mother had begun coughing up blood in her final days, and once it started, she passed away in less than a month.

“Your Highness,” a voice called from outside the curtain, sharp and familiar.

Already chilled to her core, Xuan Mingzhu shuddered slightly.

She clenched her cold fingers and snapped out of her daze, stuffing the bloodied handkerchief into her sleeve.

Clearing her throat, she asked, “Is there something else?”

It was unexpected that Mei Heting, of all people, would abandon his duties and chase after her.

Was it confusion, discomfort, or displeasure from her earlier commands that prompted him to act so unusually?

From beyond the curtain, she heard him say, “I misunderstood you earlier, Your Highness. I apologize. You must have been frightened; once we return home, perhaps I can stay with you and talk? But please, refrain from interfering in official matters again. We must not provoke the Emperor’s displeasure.”

Listen to him—one ‘Your Highness,’ then another ‘Your Highness.’

After all these years as husband and wife, their relationship had become no more than that of a ruler and her minister.

He must have heard about the Emperor’s decree ordering her to “reflect behind closed doors.”

That was likely why he broke his usual demeanor and came out to advise her.

For someone like him, with his strong sense of integrity, to lower himself in such a public setting and apologize must have been difficult.

Blood churned again in Xuan Mingzhu’s chest.

She pressed a delicate hand to her heart and, closing her eyes, spoke softly from inside the carriage, “Indeed, I am shaken and unsettled. Would you, my prince consort, escort me home?”

The silence that followed confirmed her suspicions.

Smiling to herself, Xuan Mingzhu gave the order to the carriage driver, “Move on!”

As she had expected, Mei Heting was someone who always placed the public above the personal, the nation before family.

In the past, she had often felt disappointed, but after today, she would no longer care.

However, her illness was progressing more severely than she had anticipated.

The matter of separating from him would have to be addressed soon.

---

When she returned home, she learned that Bao Ya had had a nightmare during her afternoon nap.

Without even changing her clothes, Xuan Mingzhu hurried to Bao Ya’s “Chick-Feng Courtyard.”

Along the way, she discreetly handed the bloodstained handkerchief to her maid, Hong’er, while Granny Cui wasn’t looking.

Hong’er caught a glimpse of the red marks and felt her heart clench with fear, but Xuan Mingzhu’s firm gaze warned her to dispose of it quietly without raising any alarm.

In front of Bao Ya’s courtyard, the vibrant red hibiscus and layered pomegranate flowers seemed especially lively against the lush greenery in the sunlight.

The warm breeze carried the soft rustling of leaves, and as Xuan Mingzhu entered the peaceful space, her restless heart gradually calmed.

The young maid pulled back the half-rolled bamboo curtain for the Grand Princess, revealing that quite a few people were already standing inside the room.

Aside from a nurse beside Mei Baoya and two maids, there was also a female doctor waiting in the embrace of the building.

Next to the ornate cabinet draped with cloth, two young boys stood upright.

One of them, dressed in a blue silk round-collared robe, looked about twelve or thirteen years old.

The other, slightly younger, both had clear, refined features, standing side by side, giving off an air of elegance.

The two boys simultaneously called out “Mother,” bowing to Xu Mingzhu to pay their respects.

Xu Mingzhu nodded, and the little girl, with sweat sticking to her bangs, reached out pitifully from the small couch.

After washing her hands, Xu Mingzhu skillfully cradled the little bundle in her arms and sat sideways at the couch.

She gently checked Baoya’s forehead; it wasn’t hot, which eased her worries.

She dismissed the crowd and kept only the two boys.

Her gaze roamed over the three clever children, a half-smile playing on her lips.

“Come on, tell me, did you hear strange stories again before your nap, or did some good brother take Baoya to climb the rockery again?”

Baoya blinked her eyes in the fragrant embrace, obedient and silent.

The slightly shorter boy in a pale blue robe spoke first, laughing, “As for my little sister’s ‘good brother,’ Mother knows I can never compete with my elder brother.”

“Hey! Why are you being so silly, you little bookworm!” The boy in the blue silk robe grew anxious. “Mother, I swear! I haven’t even seen Baoya today. I only heard at noon after school that Baoya had a nightmare, which is why I came to check on her.”

Saying this, he squinted at Baoya, trying to recruit her as an ally to clear his name.

Xu Mingzhu smiled.

Her eldest son, Mei Yu, and her second son, Mei Hang, were both adopted by Xu Mingzhu.

When she married Mei Heting, they had no children for three years.

Although Mei Heting didn’t say anything, given Xu Mingzhu’s past character, he felt she had no reason to feel guilty.

Especially since the imperial doctor had said her body was not suited for pregnancy, Xu Mingzhu discussed adopting a son from the Mei clan, which resulted in Mei Yu.

The following year, she adopted a prince from the royal family whose parents had died, originally named Xu Hang, but he took the Mei surname, raised under her care, all to ensure the Mei family would flourish.

During those years, someone named Yu would often mock her behind her back as a “non-egg-laying phoenix,” saying she “only knew how to raid other people’s nests.”

When Xu Mingzhu learned of this, she punished that gossiping mouth a few times.

In her heart, she always regarded Mei Yu and Mei Hang as her own without a hint of estrangement.

Baoya lived up to expectations, wriggling her little bottom in her mother’s arms and whispering in her ear, “That’s right, Mei Da told me such exciting strange stories today!”

Mei Yu’s face turned dark: Baoya is framing me!

Mei Hang smiled faintly: Sister’s ability to tell tall tales is getting better and better.

“Call him your big brother,” Xu Mingzhu gently patted Baoya’s back. “Don’t bully anyone.”

“Oh.” Baoya slowly responded, grinning sweetly at Mei Yu, without actually calling him.

This child was precocious; from a young age, her eyes were bright and clear.

She often took leisurely strolls in the garden, only to return with nightmares.

When she woke up, drenched in sweat, she wouldn’t cry or fuss; she just became extra clingy, wanting her parents to sleep with her at night.

After exchanging a few playful words between mother and child, Xu Mingzhu asked about the situation.

Baoya indeed hadn’t gone to the garden, well, or the rockery that day; her last strange story had been on the eighth day.

Xu Mingzhu then instructed the nurse to consult the “Divine Spirits Book” and send off the Flower Goddess from the west side of the garden to conclude the matter.

Xu Mingzhu also had a servant bring honeyed rose candy and prepared a bowl of sweet soup to feed Baoya.

Casually asking her two sons about their recent studies, she recalled something and chuckled, “Busy with studies at the Imperial Academy, unable to come to pay respects? Is the eldest one unable to memorize his books again and trying to find excuses to linger here?”

Mei Yu sighed in admiration of his mother’s brilliance, not daring to be clever, and answered alongside Mei Hang.

Baoya stifled yawns, wanting to monopolize her mother’s attention, bouncing around restlessly:

“Mother, let me tell you a story about a scholar and a fox girl—” She suddenly paused and shook her head like a drum.

“No, no, no! I’ve never listened to such nonsense! I love reading! Confucius said, a gentleman does not stray from benevolence all day, and does not speak of strange forces and spirits. Mother, am I not good?”

Both Mei Yu and Mei Hang stood up at the same time.

Xu Mingzhu turned to see Mei Heting standing at the door.

Although she didn’t want to see him right now, she couldn’t help but freeze. “Why are you back?”

He still wore the embroidered deep scarlet official robe, carrying the faint scent of white and soapwort.

He had one good quality: after encountering a case outside, no matter how hurried or fatigued he was when returning home, he would first cleanse himself before entering the inner quarters, fearing to bring back any unpleasant odors to them.

Xu Mingzhu had once been deeply moved by the silent subtlety of these little ones.

She thought, quiet and restrained, it was his character that needed a patient person like her to explore and cultivate, like carefully sculpting raw jade.

After all, with the passing of time, there was no need to rush; collecting his little quirks, his tempers, and his charms bit by bit would make this person seem less cold and more nuanced, possessing a soul that only she understood.

Unfortunately, her mother had passed away early, leaving her without a caring elder to teach her—this meticulous approach, as careful as leafing through a book, was supposed to be a man’s way of wooing a woman.

If the roles were reversed, with a woman pursuing a man, he might not only be unappreciative but might even find it a tiresome constraint.

Xu Mingzhu realized this too late.

Mei Yu and Mei Hang exchanged glances filled with reverence, then bowed to their father and tactfully withdrew.

Baoya looked up brightly and called softly, “Father.”

Mei Heting responded with a hum, observing the serene scene of mother and daughter enjoying their time together.

He approached the couch and gently touched his daughter’s forehead to check her temperature.

He sat down beside Xu Mingzhu.

Looking into her eyes, his voice was low and resonant: “I was planning to return to the music house to handle some matters before sending the princess back.”

It was both an answer and an explanation.

Xu Mingzhu understood; the carriage had traveled quickly, and he hadn’t caught up.

A few days ago, she might have felt pleased by Mei Heting’s thoughtful change of principle.

But now, with life and death so close at hand, even the little bits of affection felt flavorless.

She replied lightly, “I’ll stay with Baoya; you go ahead and take care of your business.”

Mei Heting’s gaze dimmed slightly.

The fragrance lingering in the air seemed to fade away in that moment.

He pressed his lips together: “I have no duties this afternoon.”

Saying this, he discreetly squeezed his sleeve.

Inside the sleeve was a poetry collection he had compiled for a long time, which was supposed to be given to Xu Mingzhu on her birthday.

Unexpectedly, that day had been unpleasant, so he had set it aside.

It was perfect to take the opportunity to present it to her today.

He intended to apologize as well.

She had always been gentle and understanding; once he opened up, she wouldn’t hold a grudge.

But Xu Mingzhu suddenly stood up. “In that case, you can accompany Baoya for a bit; I’ll go change my clothes.”

Turning to the little girl, she smiled, “Mother will be back after changing.”

A fleeting sense of dissonance crossed Mei Heting’s mind.

He felt Xu Mingzhu treating him and their daughter with different attitudes today.

Before he could figure it out, Baoya had already jumped into her father’s arms, playfully saying, “Hug!”

Mei Heting carefully picked up his daughter, being cautious not to press too hard against her delicate skin.

Baoya rested her little head on her father’s shoulder, catching a whiff of the cool scent of pine needles, reminiscent of the first snowfall of early winter in Luoyang, feeling it was even more pleasant than the fragrant fruits in her room.

The little girl didn’t hold a grudge at all.

She wrapped her soft arms around her father’s neck and tilted her small face up: “Father, I’ve memorized all of the Analects!”

Mei Baoya was still under five years old.

People often said that the daughters of the Mei family resembled their mother in looks and temperament while inheriting their father’s intellect, being truly gifted.

Just quoting the Analects offhand, this young child, not yet out of childhood, spoke without stuttering a word.

Naturally, this talent had also been expressed in her mischief—hiding ant nests in maids’ bedding, climbing rockeries to gather bird eggs, tossing fish from the water well, and a recent incident involving ink splattering on someone.

Mei Heting gently brushed aside her bangs, his usual stern demeanor softening, his voice warm: “Father won’t quiz you on your studies; whether you memorize or not isn’t important. But Baoya must remember not to use her cleverness to bully others.”

“Mm-hmm.” Baoya nodded vigorously, as if pecking at rice, “I’m good.”

Even though Mei Heting was usually not one to smile or laugh, at this moment, his heart softened as he looked at the little girl, her delicate features like finely carved jade, and warmth flickered in his eyes.

He muttered to himself, “Was your mother like this when she was young?”

Baoya shook her head in disagreement, “Of course not! Mother is more beautiful than a fairy! Even a hundred Baoya’s can hardly compare to even half of Mother!”

“Is that so?”

Xuan Mingzhu returned to her chambers to change her clothes, fearing the scent of blood had clung to her collar.

She was especially wary that Mei Heting, known for his keen observation as the vice magistrate of the Dali Temple, might notice something unusual.

However, she doubted he would pay attention to such small matters concerning her.

It wasn’t that Xuan Mingzhu was deliberately hiding her illness or pretending to be overly delicate.

Rather, she had undergone a change of heart overnight and was now preparing to sever all ties with the prince consort completely.

For her plan to succeed, they had to part ways clearly and without unnecessary complications, so matters at the imperial court would be easier to handle.

After changing into simple attire in her private residence, Xuan Mingzhu did not rush to return.

Instead, she summoned Songtai, one of her trusted shadow guards, and issued two orders.

“Have Yingxiao wait near the palace gates. The news of the Grand Empress Dowager’s illness should come through in the next few days.

“And you, go discreetly to the Imperial Medical Bureau and inquire about Physician Yang. After taking his prescribed medicine, I’ve been feeling tightness in my chest and a persistent sweetness in my throat. See if there’s anything concerning. Hurry back, but don’t draw attention.”

Besides her trusted maids, Hong’er and Cheng’er, Xuan Mingzhu only trusted a handful of confidants—Yingxiao, Songnuo, Songtai, and Xuetang.

These were loyal servants she had kept close for many years.

Songtai promptly left to carry out the tasks.

Less than half an hour later, Songtai returned with unexpected news: Physician Yang had fallen at home and was now unconscious.

“What?” Xuan Mingzhu was shocked upon hearing this.

“Have the court physicians examined him? Is it serious? How could this happen?”

Songtai carefully recounted the details. It seemed that on this particular day, Physician Yang had the day off and was resting at home.

According to his wife, Zhang Shi, he had been taking a nap when, out of nowhere, he suddenly sat up, shouted, “No, this is wrong!” twice, and began pacing frantically around the room, muttering to himself.

Zhang Shi had tried to stop him from leaving the house—he hadn’t even put on his shoes—but the physician, who had been sweating profusely, slipped.

As they struggled, Physician Yang stumbled and hit his head on the doorframe.

The injury was to the back of his head. After being examined by a doctor, it was deemed uncertain when, or even if, Physician Yang would regain consciousness due to his advanced age.

Xuan Mingzhu was left in stunned silence for a long time.

Eventually, she ordered her servants to make sure the Yang household was well cared for.

However, the unsettled feeling in her chest only grew stronger.

Just then, the second dose of her afternoon medicine was ready.

Cheng’er carefully brought it over, and the thick, hot steam rising from the bowl carried a pungent scent of blood.

Looking at the bitter medicine, Xuan Mingzhu furrowed her brows but had no choice.

She took the porcelain bowl and drained it in one gulp.