100. There are indeed those in the world who are passionately devoted in love.

Within the Chenghua Palace, Pei Jinghong had not seen Fu Lancheng return all day. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, a sharp pain gripped her chest. Was something amiss with Fu Lancheng? Anxious, she caused an uproar, demanding to see him immediately.

Madam Wu hurriedly ordered messengers to gather information. The palace attendants returned with news: after leaving the Zongzheng Temple, His Majesty walked alone, with no one following him.

Madam Wu’s worry deepened. She dispatched more people to search while trying to coax Pei Jinghong to rest. Unknown to them, Pei Jinghong had grown cleverer lately. She feigned sleep until the servants had dispersed, then quietly slipped out on tiptoe.

Not knowing where to find Fu Lancheng, she relied on instinct, tracing familiar palace walls, one path after another. The wind carried rain, and snow mingled with the downpour. She did not know how far she had run until finally, behind a secluded corner of the palace wall, she found Fu Lancheng curled up in a shadowed nook.

She had never seen Fu Lancheng like this—not even on the day Empress Zhao Su passed and was entombed had he appeared so broken.

Unsure of what to do, she approached gently and embraced him, mimicking Madam Wu’s soothing gestures as she stroked his back. Seeing Fu Lancheng so devastated made her own heart ache in tandem.

When he saw her, surprise flickered across Fu Lancheng’s face before he allowed himself to be held, burying his head in her embrace. Pei Jinghong listened to his sobs, waves of grief that echoed in the stillness.

Snow began to fall again, but she felt no chill, only the warmth of holding him tightly. It was not until Madam Wu and others found them that she finally led Fu Lancheng back to the carriage.

The imperial edict concerning Prince Qi’s fate was issued without delay. The ministers remarked that although the new emperor was young, his decisiveness rivaled that of the former sovereign in his early reign. Prince Qi, Fu Yuan, was stripped of his title and reduced to commoner status, confined to his fief at the Qi Prince’s Mansion, forbidden to leave without summons.

On the day Prince Qi departed the capital, Fu Lancheng made a point of seeing him once.

The prince’s wife had been several months pregnant before last winter’s festival, a long-awaited blessing for Fu Jinning. But Fu Lancheng informed him, “Your Highness, the third prince, after years of marriage, has only recently been blessed with an heir. In the two months you have been detained at Zongzheng Temple, you missed the news. About a month ago, the little prince caught a cold; medicine was ineffective. He passed away three days ago. The prince’s wife grieved excessively and, weakened by childbirth, followed him soon after.”

Fu Jinning’s eyes widened in fury, as if he wished to devour Fu Lancheng alive. He shouted, “Fu Lancheng, you are taking revenge on me! You hate me, but why destroy my wife and child? Why?!”

Fu Lancheng calmly brushed off his sleeve, his expression composed. At that moment, he resembled their father—cold, ruthless. With a clear voice, he warned, “Third prince, be careful with your words. Accusing the emperor is a grave crime. If you intend to return to your fief to mourn your wife and child, do not cause further trouble, lest your punishment be increased.”

Fu Jinning’s cries were heart-wrenching, sorrowful enough to move all who heard.

Until death, neither brother forgave the other.

In the early spring of Taihe’s first year, the new emperor formally decreed the titles of the two consorts who had served during his concealed residence. Lady Cheng was bestowed the title of Virtuous Consort and resided in Hehuan Hall; Lady Lu was titled Worthy Consort and resided in Rouyi Hall. Together, they oversaw affairs of the Six Palaces.

That same month, the second young lady of the Pei family from the Marquisate of Wujing, Pei Jinghong, was granted the rank of First-Rank Noble Consort, receiving the title “Jinghong,” also known as “Consort Jinghong,” residing in Jinghong Hall.

Fu Lancheng had intended to elevate her directly to empress, but the Lady of Yongjia advised, “Miss Pei’s mental state remains unstable. If she were made empress now, she would inevitably need to entertain noble consorts’ wives, adding many constraints. It is better to confer the title of noble consort first, allowing her to recuperate quietly in the palace, without diminishing the honor of the Wujing Marquisate.”

After careful consideration, Fu Lancheng accepted the advice and held a grand ceremony to confer the noble consort title. The emperor personally oversaw the event, with the Minister of Rites in charge. The splendor of Consort Jinghong’s elevation rivaled that of an empress and far surpassed the earlier ceremonies for the Virtuous and Worthy Consorts.

Even the ceremonial robes she wore—the phoenix crown and embroidered cape—were newly crafted, with Fu Lancheng meticulously scrutinizing every detail, as if examining an official report.

All palace attendants in Jinghong Hall had been transferred from Chunhui Hall. Fu Lancheng appointed Madam Wu as the head stewardess of Jinghong Hall, instructing her to care for Pei Jinghong with utmost dedication.

Thus, ministers and common folk alike privately marveled at how the new emperor’s obsession with the Pei family of the Wujing Marquisate remained undiminished through the years.

The imperial edict conferring the title of Consort Jinghong was proclaimed throughout the realm and neighboring states. Henceforth, only the living Miss Pei Jinghong existed—the woman Xu Guiyi was nothing but a ceremonial tomb occupant, the “Consort of Crown Prince Xiao Zhao Hui.”

Though Lady Cheng and Lady Lu held equal rank, everyone in the palace knew that Lady Cheng devoted herself entirely to pharmacology, rarely managing affairs. It was Consort Lu of Rouyi Hall who effectively oversaw matters.

Jinghong Hall was perpetually suffused with the scent of medicinal herbs. Although Consort Jinghong appeared simple and somewhat absent-minded, the emperor’s favor never waned. Even an adopted son of mysterious origin from the Wujing Marquisate was granted the title of Eternal Duke.

Fu Lancheng did not intend for Pei Zhun to inherit the Marquisate, for in his eyes, the title “Wujing” was not to be borne lightly by anyone. Thus, he bestowed upon Pei Zhun a new noble title.

“Prudence is thrift, cherishing eternal stability,” a phrase taken from the Classic of History.

Exotic herbs were refined into fragrant pills, burning slowly in an incense burner. The scent spread like mist over the bed where Pei Jinghong lay. This was a new method developed over half a year by Chi Di, famed for its efficacy against soul loss, specially sent to Master Bai Bai.

Pei Jinghong lay quietly with closed eyes as Master Bai Bai sat beside her, gently inserting slender golden needles into acupoints such as Shenmen, Neiguan, Shenque, and Yongquan.

His movements were exquisitely light and slow, fingers barely perceptible. The herbal mist thickened, filling the room, yet Pei Jinghong showed no response. Meanwhile, Master Bai Bai perspired profusely, clearly enduring hardship.

Fu Lancheng had dismissed all attendants from the hall, sitting silently nearby, his gaze unwavering. Yet after long moments, his worry surfaced. “Master, how is she?”

Several days of acupuncture followed this pattern. On the final day, Master Bai Bai finally spoke, “This is the last method. The outcome now depends entirely on fate.”

Fu Lancheng’s posture stiffened. He forced a dry smile. “Thank you, masters, for your efforts. I shall await fate’s verdict—it matters little. As long as Pei Jinghong lives, I am eternally grateful.”

Nearby, Lady Cheng looked on sorrowfully at the unconscious Pei Jinghong, tears welling yet unshed. Over the years, she had cried enough; now, it seemed she could no longer weep.

Outside Jinghong Hall, Fu Lancheng stood beside Master Bai Bai beneath the palace eaves. April’s spring sunlight bathed the scene; the wind was light, the clouds sparse.

Master Bai Bai began, “From what Your Majesty describes, some signs suggest her condition may be self-healing. Combined with this acupuncture, full restoration of consciousness is quite possible.”

Fu Lancheng’s heart weighed heavy, uncertain whether to rejoice or grieve. He said nothing. After a pause, Master Bai Bai added, “Your Majesty, have you considered how you might relate if she regains all memories of the past? Such a reunion could be difficult.”

Though casual in tone, this question struck at Fu Lancheng’s deepest anxieties. After all, between them lay a history of loss and bitter enmity.

“I have lived through two separations by death and endured many trials of love. My heart is as solid as stone. I ask for nothing, desire nothing. If she remains as she is, I will care for her. If memory returns and she demands a course, I will follow without interference or control.”

Fu Lancheng spoke with calm resolve.

“Remarkable that Your Majesty, so young, possesses such a mindset. Truly rare!” Master Bai Bai’s admiration deepened. No matter how the world changed, even now that Fu Lancheng reigned as emperor, he would always remember the bright youth from the broken temple years ago.

“Your Majesty, pardon my impertinence, but may I ask a bold question? If Miss Pei’s cure requires Your Majesty’s own heart’s blood as a catalyst, would you be willing?”

Master Bai Bai’s eyes gleamed with faint hope, a subtle smile touching his lips.

Fu Lancheng was momentarily stunned, having never considered this. After a pause, he sighed with a wry smile, “Master, you know the answer best. Why ask?”

Surprised, Master Bai Bai admitted that, despite knowing Fu Lancheng’s character, he was still taken aback. “I know your answer would always put Miss Pei first, even at the risk of your own life. I should not have asked. Yet, knowing Your Majesty now sits on the throne, I wondered if your reply might differ.” His laugh was self-deprecating, chiding himself for such doubts.

Fu Lancheng smiled, but it was tinged with helplessness. “Master, what does it mean to be crown prince? What does it mean to be emperor? If becoming emperor allowed me to forsake Ah Zhao, then how would I differ from my own father?”

Master Bai Bai smiled and waved him off, descending the steps, reciting aloud, “The world is full of passionate souls; such matters are beyond the influence of wind or moon.”

As spring arrived, unrest brewed in the northern territories. General Cheng Jingyun was wounded, and an imperial edict summoned him to return to the capital to recuperate. The northern army of one hundred thousand marched swiftly three thousand li to the outskirts of Guangling City. Yet, just as they neared the gates, Cheng Jingyun halted and refused to enter.

Was this... a show of independent power?

At dinner, a fire burned as Cheng Jingyun discarded his armor and sat alone in his tent, treating his wounds with golden ointment. He had dismissed all his deputies and guards, tending to himself.

Outside, a subordinate reported, “General, the emperor has issued a fourth edict. Shall we accept or refuse?”

Cheng Jingyun raised an eyebrow, calmly continuing to dress.

At midnight, still awake, a voice whispered outside, “General, palace envoys request an audience.”

Impatient, Cheng Jingyun rose, his voice low and commanding, “Send them in.”

After hearing the full report, Cheng Jingyun unfolded a bright yellow imperial decree and read aloud, “I have long heard of Sir Cheng’s valor and wounds. Remembering your loyalty, my heart is often moved. I have ordered Virtuous Consort to host a banquet at Qingluan Hall, hoping to rekindle familial bonds and restore the ties between sovereign and subject. By imperial command!”

A banquet hosted by the Virtuous Consort? Familial bonds? Reconciliation between monarch and minister?

Cheng Jingyun sneered, “Bring pen and ink. This general will reply.”

“Your orders, sir!” his attendants responded promptly.