Transtor Xiaobai:

  Dear Readers,

  I hope this message finds you well. I know this year has been incredibly challenging for everyone, especially my U.S. readers. With talks of a recession and rising costs, I understand how hard it is to support yourselves and your families right now. No matter where your political views lie, I know we’re all feeling the strain.

  That’s why I’m reaching out with a humble request: If you’ve enjoyed the novels I’ve transted, could you take a moment to like or share my Etsy shop, adorablethingsbynoen.etsy.com?

  You don’t have to spend a single dolr—but if you help spread the word, someone else might find something they love in my shop. Every like, share, or even a kind comment helps me earn a little income to keep doing what I love: bringing you amazing stories for free.

  Times are tough, but your support means the world to me. Together, we can keep this community thriving.

  Thank you for being here, and thank you for anything you can do to help. ??

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  _____

  “I have nothing to say about court affairs,” the Empress Dowager began. “I don’t understand those things. I didn’t interfere during the te emperor’s reign, and I won’t meddle now. But as emperor, continuing the royal bloodline is your duty. So tell me—how old are you now? Have you truly done your part when it comes to heirs?”

  It was the emperor’s responsibility, after all.

  “Yes, Mother. Your words are right—this son has erred,” Ying Qionglou lowered his head. In this matter… he had nothing to show for himself.

  “There may not be many women in the harem, but there are still quite a few. Are they all incapable of bearing children? The ones who came from the Eastern Pace, fine—leave them be. They’ve had their share of suffering.”

  (Indeed, the te Empress Shen had done her share of scheming against other women back when she was crown princess, all to secure her position.)

  Neither the emperor nor the Empress Dowager usually dwelt on that past, but facts were facts.

  Even so, those who entered the pace ter still hadn’t conceived that the Empress Dowager could not overlook.

  “The Empress, Li Fei, Jiang Zhaorong… they all entered the pace in the fourth year of Xihe. And yet, not a single one has borne a child. Should I not suspect favoritism on your part?” she said coldly.

  “Royal Mother’s criticism is justified.” Ying Qionglou had no defense.

  Jiang Zhaorong had given birth to a daughter, but the child hadn’t survived. As for the others, none had even been pregnant.

  At this point, Wumian couldn’t help but wonder: Maybe the emperor is the problem? At least a few pregnancies should’ve happened by chance, right? Good grief—when a general is incompetent, the whole army suffers…

  “You are the emperor—you should know right from wrong. You favor Li Fei, and even though I dislike her, I’ve tolerated her for years. But if she cannot conceive, and you still insist on staying only with her, then this harem will never bear you an heir.”

  “I know I was wrong, Mother. I’ll correct it—please don’t be angry,” Ying Qionglou said, bowing his head. There really wasn’t much else he could say in front of his own mother.

  “The Empress is young, and now that her health has recovered, you should visit Fengyi Pace more often. I’m hoping for a legitimate heir. Also, show some attention to the younger consorts—don’t let your own harem harbor resentment against you,” the Empress Dowager said with a frown.

  “Yes, I’ll follow all of Mother’s guidance,” Ying Qionglou replied calmly, his tone unhurried, clearly unfazed by her scolding.

  “Don’t be upset, Mother,” Wumian added with a soft smile as she poured tea. “Li Liangyi is already pregnant, and the new consorts haven’t even been in the pace for two months. Give it time—there will be more to come. As for Li Fei, she’s not barren, just needs more treatment. And the other sisters—well, they’re all of a good age, but children can’t be forced. In time, I’ll also encourage His Majesty to visit the newcomers more often. I guarantee that in three years, you’ll have plenty of imperial grandchildren to look after.”

  Pouring tea was more symbolic than anything. The Empress Dowager didn’t need her tea poured, but the gesture showed deference.

  The Empress Dowager gave a nod. “The Empress has matured—I’m pleased. Since it’s a festival today, I won’t scold you anymore on her account. Go on then, both of you. Come back tonight and keep me company for dinner."

  “Thank you, Mother. Then I’ll escort the Empress back now. You should rest too—you’ve been up since dawn,” Ying Qionglou said sincerely. No matter what, he was genuinely filial to the Empress Dowager.

  Outside Yi'an Pace, Ying Qionglou let out a sigh. He may be close to his mother, but being nagged by her still grated on his nerves.

  “Is Your Majesty returning to Taiji Pace?” Wumian asked, stifling a yawn.

  “Didn’t Mother just say I should visit the Empress more often?” he replied with a half-smile. “I’ll go with you. You must be feeling quite drowsy by now?”

  “Mm. His Majesty is truly perceptive,” Wumian answered frankly.

  “You’re not even trying to hide it. Are you full at least?” Ying Qionglou ughed.

  “Very. So, are you returning to your pace or coming with me? Either way, I desperately need a bed right now…” Wumian muttered. I’m exhausted. Absolutely tapped out.

  Seeing how worn out she looked, the Emperor chuckled. “Is it that bad? Alright then, I’ll return with you.”

  Ancestor above, Wumian thought, can’t you find somewhere else to entertain yourself?

  Each with their own thoughts, they returned to Fengyi Pace. Wumian had already started yawning, eyes watering as she covered her mouth.

  “Your Majesty, I’m really tired. I’d like to nap for a bit… If you’re not sleepy, maybe read or write?”

  “I’ll nap with you,” Ying Qionglou said, intrigued by this unfamiliar version of her.

  Wumian didn’t argue. She immediately had her hairpins removed, face washed, outer robes loosened, and climbed into bed.

  The Emperor followed, and she didn’t move. She really was tired—and she was out within moments.

  When she woke up, she was surprised to find the Emperor still there.

  Still asleep, even. That was rare.

  Wumian didn’t know what time it was, nor did she care to move. Instead, she turned to look at his sleeping face.

  This man has such a high nose bridge, she thought. Even lying down, his features are so defined.

  She reached out and touched his nose, then his chin.

  Ying Qionglou opened his eyes and looked at her. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing. You looked good, and my hands got itchy,” Wumian replied casually—completely at ease, no trace of embarrassment.

  After all, he was her man. Why not touch him?

  “How do I look good?” Ying Qionglou turned to face her.

  Wumian stretched. “Like a mountain from the side, and a peak from the front—very pleasing to the eye.”

  “What kind of metaphor is that?” he ughed, eyes lingering on the bit of her waist revealed as she stretched. He reached out to pull her close. “Since you think I look good, why not admire me properly?”

  “No thanks. Lusting in broad daylight isn’t the act of a virtuous ruler,” she quipped—not in the tone of a scolding Empress, but more like someone simply stating a fact.

  “I wonder what time it is. Your Majesty, are you hungry? I am,” she added.

  Ying Qionglou looked amused. “After how much you ate this morning?”

  Wumian considered bming her need for nourishment on her recent illness, but then changed her mind. Why be subtle?

  “Yes,” she said, utterly unapologetic.

  The Emperor gave her an intrigued look. “Then let’s get up. I’d say it’s around midday.”

  And he was right—just a quarter past noon.

  Lunch was simple: light dishes and porridge. After all, they still had a banquet to attend that evening. Three rich meals in one day was a bit much.

  That afternoon, the Emperor returned to his duties, and Wumian flopped down for a leisurely afternoon, conserving energy for dinner with the Empress Dowager and the evening opera.

  Everyone else was doing fine.

  Except Li Liangyi.

  From the moment she woke up that morning, she’d been pgued by an unbearable itch—red bumps appearing on her belly, the inside of her upper arms, and the creases of her thighs. The sight was enough to arm anyone.

  But it was the Dragon Boat Festival, and everyone was celebrating. She didn’t dare summon a physician just yet, for fear of seeming overly delicate due to her pregnancy.

  Nor did she dare use any ointments. All she could do was rinse with water, which offered only temporary relief. The itching persisted.

  By nightfall, it had finally eased somewhat, the bumps receding little by little.