Wumian smiled to herself. This girl was really quite simple.

  “Your Majesty isn’t going to dye your nails?” Lin Cairen asked. “Your fingers are so beautiful. If you dyed them red, they’d look even better.”

  “I find it troublesome,” Wumian replied. Sure, dyed nails looked pretty, but once the new nails started growing in after half a month, the tips would oxidize and look dull.

  Dyeing them every two weeks? That sounded exhausting.

  “Your Majesty’s hands are already so lovely—your nails are pink and full, trimmed neatly. Honestly, they look fine without dye,” Lin Cairen said earnestly.

  Wumian smiled at her. “You really do notice everything.”

  Once the heat started to rise, the two of them headed back.

  That evening, word came that the Emperor had gone to Li Fei’s pace again. Barely half an hour passed before another round of rewards was sent to her. No one knew exactly what had been bestowed.

  Wumian only learned about it the next morning during the routine greetings. She didn’t pay it much mind—after all, Li Fei was the Emperor’s favorite, and now she was pregnant. It wasn’t surprising that she was being showered with gifts.

  After lunch, Wumian enjoyed a comfortable nap.

  As evening fell, the Emperor arrived at Fengyi Pace. She wasn’t surprised.

  She greeted him as if nothing had ever happened: “Your Majesty, you’ve come. I pay my respects.”

  “No need for formalities, Empress. Today is the first day of the month; I ought to come,” Ying Qionglou said, not realizing he sounded a bit deliberate.

  Wumian only smiled at him without replying.

  Strangely enough, after sitting for a while, Ying Qionglou suddenly asked, “Is the Empress still angry?”

  “When was I ever angry?” Wumian replied with a question of her own. “Why would Your Majesty say such a thing? You’ve confused me.”

  “So the Empress is no longer upset.” Ying Qionglou fixed his eyes on her.

  Wumian smiled bitterly. “You really are… Some things are best left unspoken. Between husband and wife, not every little thing needs to be crified.”

  “You always have a way with words.” Ying Qionglou reached out his hand.

  Wumian pced her hand in his palm.

  “What soup has the Empress prepared tonight?” he asked casually. Truthfully, he had grown fond of the soups in Fengyi Pace.

  “You guessed right, Your Majesty. There is soup tonight. Try it ter, but I can’t guarantee you’ll like it,” Wumian replied with a mischievous smile.

  Ying Qionglou’s heart skipped a beat. What kind of soup would make her smile like that?

  When dinner was served, he frowned the moment he saw the soup. “You like this?”

  Wumian nodded. “I think it’s quite good. Technically, it’s more of a stew. I know Your Majesty doesn’t like bitter melon, so just try a little.”

  Normally, Ying Qionglou wouldn’t have touched it. He didn’t like it, so why force himself?

  But perhaps because of a lingering sense of guilt, he nodded.

  It’s just one bowl, he thought. And a small one at that.

  Wumian personally served him only half a bowl. “Try it, Your Majesty. If you drink slowly, you’ll find it fvorful.”

  It was a bitter melon and tofu stew, with a few green vegetables tossed in. There was a hint of white pepper to enhance the taste. No rich broth base—just a light starch-thickened soup.

  Ying Qionglou took a sip, bracing for the bitterness. But it wasn’t as bitter as he expected—just a faint hint. The fresh, savory taste was surprisingly pleasant.

  “In summer, one ought to eat cooling foods,” Wumian expined. “Bitter melon is cooling by nature. If prepared poorly, it’s both bitter and stringy. That’s why I bnch it beforehand and stew it with soft tofu. It makes for a refreshing dish.”

  Ying Qionglou nodded and, to his own surprise, finished the half bowl. When he reached for another serving, Linshui hurried to dle him a full bowl.

  As he ate, he thought to himself: He’d never ask the Taiji Pace kitchen to serve something like this, but here in the Empress’s pace, he didn’t mind.

  Did he love it? Not exactly. But he didn’t dislike it either.

  And somehow, the taste lingered—mild and soothing, like the Empress herself. Hard to describe, but memorable.

  He wasn’t sure whether it was the soup or the person that stirred something in him.

  That night, Ying Qionglou was especially vigorous in bed.

  At first, Wumian humored him, but ter she stopped bothering. It was too tiring to cooperate. She didn’t resist, but she kept making small compints—saying she was tired, that he was crushing her hair, that she was sore.

  Ying Qionglou, oddly enough, wasn’t annoyed by the interruptions. On the contrary, he seemed even more energized.

  By the end, Wumian was so exhausted she felt like a dead fish. She couldn’t help but wonder: Li Fei looks so delicate. How does she endure this?

  She didn’t know that Ying Qionglou had felt, inexplicably, like everything was perfectly aligned tonight—a rare moment of satisfaction and joy.

  Lying beside her afterward, Ying Qionglou gently stroked her back. “That tired?”

  “Mmm… I shouldn’t be this tired. After all, Your Majesty is the one who worked hard. I must be overdramatic,” Wumian murmured, drowsy and unaware that her words sounded oddly passive-aggressive.

  Ying Qionglou chuckled but said nothing. He patted her back lightly, silently urging her to sleep.

  Meanwhile, Wumian sighed inwardly. Didn’t he care that they hadn’t even washed before falling asleep? How unsanitary.

  But as for getting up right now—absolutely not. Forget it. She’d already slept with this man who belonged to everyone; what difference did it make if it was dirty? Luckily, they’d both washed before bed.

  The next morning, when she was woken, the Emperor hadn’t left yet. There was no morning court today, so it was rare for him to sleep in this te.

  Since he was still there, there was no need to rush. He decided to stay and have breakfast at Fengyi Pace.

  Naturally, when word spread that the Emperor was here, all the consorts who came to offer morning greetings made sure to dress carefully—they wouldn’t dare miss such an opportunity.

  To be honest, it was Ying Qionglou’s first time sitting in Fengyi Pace to watch the dies of the harem come to offer greetings.

  And so, it was also his first time seeing the Empress sitting there so calmly, exchanging all the proper but empty pleasantries.

  Ying Qionglou sipped his tea and thought to himself: Not a single word she’s saying is genuine.

  It was obvious she was just making polite conversation, but somehow she made it sound proper and convincing.

  “Speaking of which,” Guifei said, “it’s rather convenient. Though it’s the middle of summer, we’ve already started preparing things for autumn. The Department of the Inner Pace has submitted the list of fabric and supplies to be distributed. I’ve already drafted the allocation list and was going to show it to Your Majesty ter.”

  “No need,” Wumian declined without hesitation. “You’ve always handled this well. Just continue as you see fit. I only have one request—give special consideration to the pregnant consorts. As for the rest, you can handle it however you like.”

  Ying Qionglou watched this exchange and thought: The Empress’s refusal was clean and direct.

  To be honest, he couldn’t even tell anymore if she truly had no interest in such matters or if she was using the tactic of retreating to advance.

  But Guifei… she was trying a little too hard.