Chapter 275: Private Desires (III)

Dan Qiong was about to explain the situation to Xiang Zhijie when the main hall of Qingxi Palace swung open once more.

Xiang Zhijie thought to himself, great, caught by Consort Zhuang again.

The bond between mother and son was thin, and their temperaments ill-matched.

This showed in the fact that Consort Zhuang almost never spoke to him.

And Xiang Zhijie told her almost everything.

...Though not the things she particularly wanted to hear.

With that in mind, Xiang Zhijie looked up and unexpectedly locked eyes with Xi Ying, who stood on the steps above.

He froze.

Xi Ying, upon suddenly seeing him, was first startled, then completely flustered.

She was immensely grateful that when Imperial Consort Zhuang had let her into the hall to rest, she had made some effort to tidy herself up.

Even so, she still hurriedly smoothed her temples, afraid of ruining the few good impressions she had left on Xiang Zhijie.

Xiang Zhijie was stunned for a moment, then quickly knelt on one knee: "Consort Xi."

"Oh, get up quickly!" Xi Ying's face went pale with distress. "Why are you kneeling all of a sudden? The ground must be scorching in this blazing sun."

"He loves kneeling." Zhuang Lantai, who had heard his earlier words, emerged from the hall, expressionless. "The ground is warm—good for his joints."

Xi Ying: "..." Their views on raising kids clearly didn't exactly align.

But Xiao Liu wasn't hers anymore, and the Imperial Consort beside her was not someone she could provoke.

Xi Ying could only shoot a bitter glare.

Unfortunately, she stood on the high platform, and her glare was on full display.

Not just to Xiang Zhijie and the maids and eunuchs below—even Zhuang Lantai picked up on her displeasure.

Zhuang Lantai gave a light cough and said coldly, "You're early."

Xiang Zhijie replied with utmost respect, "For Mother's birthday, your son wouldn't dare be late."

Zhuang Lantai: "Rise."

"Yes. Thank you, Mother."

"What have you brought?"

Anything sent into the palace had to undergo meticulous inspection and registration by the inner court.

Books had to be checked page by page to make sure nothing was hidden inside, and food had to be sampled and kept on record by the Imperial Kitchen.

And Xiang Zhijie could not openly state that the medical text and donkey-hide gelatin were gifts from Le Wuya, so he had to pass them off as his own: "A medical scroll, an embroidered volume of the Shangqing Register, and a string of agarwood prayer beads—may your longevity rival the Southern Pole Star and your fortune match the Eastern Flower."

Zhuang Lantai hummed: "Dan Qiong, take them."

Seeing how polite they were with each other, all question and answer, with not a hint of mother-son warmth, Xi Ying's heart clenched in pain.

If it were Xiao Qi, he'd already be yelling about how hot it was outside and demanding to go inside with his forever-eighteen-year-old mom to eat watermelon.

But this was someone else's turf, so she could not say anything—she could only hang her head gloomily, thinking she shouldn't have come at all.

Before she could finish the thought, she heard Xiang Zhijie call her: "Consort Xi."

Xi Ying jerked her head up: "Ah?"

By then, Xiang Zhijie had already handed nearly all his gifts to Dan Qiong, leaving just one exquisite food box.

Xiang Zhijie said softly, "Thank you for visiting Mother. This is ten taels of tribute gelatin—may you enjoy good health and eternal youth."

To anyone watching, it was simply the Sixth Prince setting aside a portion of his gifts for his foster mother and offering it to Consort Xi as a courtesy.

...Perfectly reasonable.

Consort Xi stood frozen, taking a long moment to snap out of it before calling out in a trembling voice: "Suqiu! Suqiu!"

Suqiu hurriedly took the food box, her eyes welling up with tears.

"Sixth Prince..." Consort Xi wanted to say something polite, but her tongue wouldn't cooperate, and the words just wouldn't come out right. In the end, all that came out was a tearful murmur: "...He's taller than Xiao Qi."

Xiang Zhijie lowered his head, suppressing his emotions, and said respectfully, "My seventh brother and I are about the same height—there's no difference."

"Maybe I was seeing things?" Xi Ying forced a smile. "Perhaps I misjudged."

Imperial Consort Zhuang's chest rose and fell as she sighed silently, then said, "You're standing up there and can't see clearly. Go down and compare for yourself."

Xi Ying abruptly turned her head, a flicker of hope lighting up her eyes: May I?

Zhuang Lantai: ...

What are you staring at? You silly thing—just go down already!

She had half a mind to pack up this troublesome borrowed son and Xi Ying together and toss them out of the palace, but that would hardly fit her image of being above worldly matters, so she let it go.

Seeing that Zhuang Lantai wasn't looking at her, Xi Ying cautiously shuffled down the steps.

Xiang Zhijie gazed at the approaching figure, a blazing fire lodged in his throat.

Their most intimate time had been those ten months when they were connected by blood.

Back then, he listened to her heartbeat and her chatter, and when he moved now and then, that was his reply.

And the day they were separated, they were completely cut off, divided by half the palace grounds.

From then on, they rarely met, passing each other like strangers.

Even when they did meet, it was one calling her "Consort Xi" and the other addressing him as "Sixth Prince"—pleasantries exchanged, then each went their own way.

Likewise, gazing at this familiar yet strange face, Xi Ying was flooded with emotion.

In the past, she had dared to steal glances at him from the shadows, from afar.

Every time she did, she'd be lost in a daze for half the day.

And whenever that happened, Xiao Qi would always sidle up, pointing at his round face and coaxing, "Mom, look at me."

In the past, she had always thought Xiao Qi simply didn't understand grown-up minds, and when he saw her staring blankly and ignoring everyone, he'd come over to seek her affection.

At that moment, Xi Ying suddenly understood his meaning.

...Mother, he and I look alike. Look at me, and don't be sad anymore.

The thought nearly made her knees buckle.

Standing before Xiaoliu, she was seized by an overwhelming, ill-timed longing for Xiaoqi.

Soon, Xi Ying snapped back to reality.

What was she doing?

Thinking of Xiaoqi while facing Xiaoliu, and thinking of Xiaoliu while facing Xiaoqi?

...She was wicked. She was absurd.

Xi Ying snapped out of her reverie and reached out to touch Xiang Zhijie's cheek.

But halfway there, she had a rare flash of sense.

She measured herself against him, then turned around with reddened eyes and said in a cheerful voice, "Exactly the same height!"

Xiang Zhijie's fingers tightened slightly at his side, his chest burning hot.

His thoughts ran deeper and further.

—Why had his teacher come to the Ministry of Works precisely at noon? Why prepare two sets of congratulatory gifts? Why hint for him to enter the palace in the afternoon?

Consort Zhuang was cold by nature and never mingled with the other consorts.

And Consort Xi, for the sake of herself and Xiaoqi, always kept to the rules and steered clear of suspicion. Even when she came to see him as a boy, she'd just huddle in a corner, like a skittish thrush, ready to bolt at the slightest noise.

The two should never have crossed paths.

Recently, the only chance for them to intersect was on Consort Zhuang's birthday, when the Jiahe Palace had to send gifts.

That way, his modest gift could be passed to Consort Xi without raising eyebrows.

...Could this be coincidence? Teacher?

Xiang Zhijie had no idea that Xiang Zhi had once spoken at length with Le Wuya about an old, buried palace secret concerning him, nor that Xiang Zhi had gone into the palace and laid out the truth of that affair to Xi Ying:

It wasn't that Imperial Consort Zhuang had refused to save him—she simply couldn't.

If she gave in this once, she'd have to break her knees and yield forever—all for Xiang Zhijie's sake.

If Xiang Zheng was ever displeased, he could find some fresh excuse to go after Xiang Zhijie.

He no longer needed to shove Xiang Zhijie into a lake like he had in childhood. He only had to, in the name of father and sovereign, dress him down unjustly a few times, so that every move he made was a fault, and he could grind Xiang Zhijie into dust, piece by piece.

So Zhuang Lantai could not yield.

What's more, Xiang Zhi suspected that on the day Xiang Zhijie fell in, Xiang Zheng hadn't acted on impulse—he'd planned it all along.

Because the imperial physician had been on the boat from the start.

Why would the Emperor need a physician on a pleasure cruise?

And so the question arose.

When Xiang Zhijie went under and Le Wuya fished him out, he was hanging by a thread.

At that moment, Le Wuya was hauling the unconscious Xiang Zhijie, scrambling frantically back onto the deck.

And the Emperor had just stepped out of the cabin, his face dark.

That was plainly the perfect moment for the physician to step in and treat him.

So why did the physician only show up after Le Wuya had already carried Xiang Zhijie on his back and helped him cough up the lake water?

Or rather—at that moment, who needed the physician more?

And Xi Ying, a voracious connoisseur of palace gossip, knew one extra detail no one else did.

—Imperial Consort Zhuang bore a deep scar on her wrist.

The palace's official story was that Zhuang Lantai had fallen from a horse as a girl and a branch had run through her wrist.

But Zhuang Lantai had been on the maiden roster, passed the second round, and was legitimately granted to Xiang Zheng.

With a scar that obvious, she'd have been weeded out long ago—she'd never have qualified to stand before the Emperor.

And Xi Ying recalled that after Xiang Zhijie's drowning, Zhuang Lantai had come down with a "grave illness" of her own, seeing no one for a full half year before recovering.

Before this, Xi Ying and Imperial Consort Zhuang had been too far apart in rank to know each other, so she'd never have thought to study whether that scar was fresh or old.

But after hearing Xiang Zhi's account—and with her own son's life at stake—Xi Ying pieced together the truth of that drowning faster than anyone.

To the drowning Xiang Zhijie, Zhuang Lantai chose indifference.

She turned, went into the inner cabin, picked up the little fruit knife from the table, and drove it into her own wrist.

...She watched Xiang Zhijie drown. She didn't kill Bo Ren, but Bo Ren died because of her.

She owed a life for a life.

And with only one physician aboard, busy tending to her, he naturally had no time for Xiang Zhijie out on the deck.

It was only after grasping all this that Xi Ying made her trip to Qingxi Palace.

Not to wish her a happy birthday, but to offer her heartfelt thanks.

Imperial Consort Zhuang might not have been a good mother, but she had already done everything she could.

...

Secrets rarely stay buried in the palace.

The conversation at Qingxi Palace was relayed verbatim to Qiu Sinian before the night was out.

Not long after, Xiang Zheng summoned him to Shouren Hall.

Xiang Zheng cut straight to it: "I hear that when Xiaoliu went to Qingxi Palace with gifts, Consort Xi was there too. True?"

Qiu Sinian nodded.

Xiang Zheng, still drunk, rubbed his temples and asked, "Xiaoliu and Consort Xi are mother and son by blood, after all. Did they show any warmth toward each other?"

Qiu Sinian paused, scribbled on his ledger, and held it up for the Emperor to see: "Consort Xi and the Sixth Prince are strangers to each other. She doesn't even know his height—said he's taller than the Seventh Prince."

...He had told the truth, so it wasn't a lie.

As for how Xi Ying's fingertips trembled as she mimed the height, and the tears that fell the moment she turned away—these were small things.

He could leave those out.

Xiang Zheng smiled and shook his head: "Consort Xi's still the same—scatterbrained as ever. What mother in this world can't tell if her own son is tall or short?"

Qiu Sinian put away his booklet, knelt at the foot of the dais, and remained silent.

Satisfied, Xiang Zheng brushed it off as a minor incident and waved his hand: "You're dismissed."

...

In Qingxi Palace.

After sending off that equally troublesome mother-and-son pair, one after the other, Zhuang Lantai opened the "Compendium of Longevity" that Zhi Jie had sent.

She was surprised to find a daylily flower tucked between the pages.

Although the palace strictly forbade sending items in, the daylily carried special meaning—firstly, it praised maternal virtue, and secondly, it carried the blessing of "daylilies banish sorrow," which happened to match Imperial Consort Zhuang's birthday.

Although the Eunuch had the duty to inspect, he didn't dare spoil the Sixth Prince's act of filial devotion. After confirming it was indeed a daylily, he put it back just as he'd found it.

Zhuang Lantai frowned slightly, held the dried flower up for a closer look.

...Zhi Jie wasn't the sort to do something like this.

She had never let him call her mother.

He would never have sent her a flower like this.

With this thought, Zhuang Lantai lowered her gaze to the open pages.

This was an ordinary pharmacopoeia, recording various nourishing medicinal soup recipes. No one could find anything unusual in it, no matter how they looked.

But on the very page it fell open to, there was a line that read: "...According to the 'Compendium of Materia Medica,' if wind-stroke strikes the internal organs, vital qi suddenly collapses, like a lamp whose oil runs out and the flame suddenly dies..."

The next part was about how older folks should guard against stroke.

Zhuang Lantai: "...?"

Anyone else reading this line wouldn't think twice about it.

But an elderly person she wanted dead—Zhuang Lantai happened to know just such a one, and she couldn't help but read more into it.

Her chest tightened. She snapped the book shut and looked around.

After confirming no attendants were present, she opened the book again.

Using the daylily as a bookmark was clever.

No creases, no handwriting. And even after removing the daylily, it took Imperial Consort Zhuang a good while to find that page again.

She read the line again and again, and a touch of color crept back into Zhuang Lantai's face.

At the very least, she could be sure this wasn't Xiaoliu's doing.

—Because this wasn't a gift; it was a knife.