The st time Ying Qionglou visited Fengyi Pace was two months ago. At that time, Zhao Wumian had still been unwell, cking energy, and he had only sat for a short while before leaving.

  "Your Majesty, please sit. I was just about to order the meal," Zhao Wumian extended a polite invitation for the emperor to take a seat.

  Linshui and Zhaohua had already brought in the tea.

  Ying Qionglou gnced at his young empress.

  She had fallen seriously ill, and though her complexion was still a little pale, she seemed much calmer than before.

  "How is the Empress feeling? What did the imperial physicians say?"

  "The physicians advised continued rest and recuperation, but there’s no need for Your Majesty to worry. I’ll recover with time," Zhao Wumian replied.

  Ying Qionglou made a neutral sound in response, but internally, he noted:

  —The imperial physicians had told him that the empress was already out of danger, and that she only needed to gradually rebuild her strength.

  Where did this "continued rest" come from?

  Still, looking at Zhao Wumian’s current state, a little more rest wouldn’t hurt.

  "Once the newcomers enter the pace, things should return to normal here," he stated.

  Zhao Wumian had anticipated this and knew there was no avoiding it, so she simply replied, "Yes."

  Ying Qionglou sipped his tea, waiting for her to bring up the matter of managing the harem—if she did, he pnned to use her own excuse of needing rest to dismiss the idea.

  But to his surprise, Zhao Wumian said nothing further.

  The silence lingered for a bit too long, and it started to feel awkward.

  At st, Zhao Wumian spoke up.

  "Does Your Majesty have any particur dish in mind? If not, shall I make the arrangements?"

  "The Empress may decide," Ying Qionglou answered, feeling that she was throwing a tantrum again.

  Zhao Wumian promptly gave the kitchen orders, then turned back to him with a pleasant smile.

  "After such a serious illness, I think I must have grown weak. These days, I just keep craving food."

  That much was true—after all, her predecessor had died from the illness, and Zhao Wumian had only just taken over this frail body.

  She had lost a lot of weight and truly needed time to recover her strength.

  Drinking tonics is one thing, but nothing nourishes better than a banced diet of meat and vegetables!

  “That’s as it should be. I’ll instruct the imperial kitchen to take good care of you—just focus on recuperating.” Ying Qionglou responded.

  “Very well. I’ll listen to Your Majesty.” Zhao Wumian replied cheerfully.

  As they spoke, the meal was brought to the table.

  Ying Qionglou said no more and simply took his seat with Zhao Wumian.

  Since the emperor had come, this meal could hardly be a simple one—a full banquet was id out before them.

  Zhao Wumian maintained perfect dining etiquette, eating with grace and composure. The emperor, naturally, was even more meticulous—having been trained since childhood, his every movement followed the proper rituals of nobility.

  The two of them quietly finished their meal, after which the emperor accompanied her for a while longer, sipping tea as a mere formality before finally saying:

  “I’ll take my leave now—there is much work to do. Once you’ve fully recovered, I’ll come see you again.”

  Zhao Wumian smiled and nodded. “Your Majesty is busy with state affairs. I am perfectly fine—please, return without worry.”

  Ying Qionglou gave her a long, thoughtful look.

  It was unusual for her not to pester him.

  But what was she thinking?

  Whatever it was, he did not ask, simply nodding before getting up to leave.

  Zhao Wumian escorted him to the door, watching as he departed before covering her mouth with her sleeve to stifle a yawn.

  She had been sick for too long—her body was still weak.

  Without a nap, she would surely die.

  “Is everything ready? I’m brushing my teeth and going straight to bed,” she muttered, practically sleepwalking.

  Linshui had originally wanted to comfort her, saying that His Majesty would surely come to stay the night soon, but seeing how exhausted her mistress was, she wisely held her tongue.

  Zhao Wumian colpsed onto the bed and fell asleep instantly.

  Meanwhile, the emperor, upon returning to his pace, ordered his attendants to send her some nourishing supplements.

  At the very least, he should make a token gesture of care.

  It wasn’t that Zhao Wumian cked beauty—when she had first entered the pace, the emperor had not been entirely indifferent to her.

  But her temperament was simply unbearable, and her intelligence left much to be desired.

  Over time, his interest had waned, and the less he saw her, the more she made a fuss—leaving Ying Qionglou feeling utterly helpless.

  After all, she was the Empress—even as a successor, she still held the title. No matter the reason, he couldn’t just dismiss her.

  It simply wouldn’t do for two successive empresses to meet unfortunate ends.

  That said…

  Having her ill and bedridden for the past six months had made the pace significantly quieter.

  ___

  The Tenth Day of the Month—Selection DayZhao Wumian rose early.

  She was still extremely drowsy, barely nibbling at her breakfast before getting dressed.

  Seated before the mirror, Zhaohua, the most skilled handmaiden in Fengyi Pace, began styling her hair.

  Zhao Wumian was a beauty—her delicate brows and eyes were perfectly shaped.

  When she wasn’t smiling, she carried a slightly distant elegance.

  But when she did smile, her eyes shone like rippling waves, making it impossible to look away.

  No one in the harem was ugly, but even among them, the Empress’s beauty stood out.

  Unfortunately, her bad temper and ck of wit made people disregard even her stunning appearance.

  “All done, Your Majesty,” Zhaohua announced.

  Zhao Wumian opened her eyes and nodded in satisfaction at her reflection. “Let’s go.”

  She wore a light red embroidered cloud-patterned ruqun, over which was draped a pale green blouse with floral patterns and a light yellow silk shawl.

  Her hair was piled high, adorned with golden ornaments, and a small floral mark was pced between her brows.

  Her makeup was light, but just right.

  “Not bad—Zhaohua, your hands are quite skillful. I’ll reward you when we return.”

  “Many thanks, Your Majesty.”

  A procession departed Fengyi Pace, making its way toward Wu Ji Hall.

  Though Wu Ji Hall was located in front of Fengyi Pace, the Imperial Pace was vast—so much so that “nearby” still meant passing through several gardens and courtyards.

  Zhao Wumian arrived neither early nor te.

  By the time she entered, neither the Empress Dowager nor the Emperor had arrived, but the higher-ranking consorts were already present.

  Not all of them had come—only the highest-ranked consorts: Guifei, Xian Fei, Li Fei, and Rong Fei.

  Upon seeing Zhao Wumian, the four women—regardless of their true feelings—performed the proper courtesies.

  Zhao Wumian waved a hand dismissively before taking her seat.

  “You may sit. Are the candidates ready?”

  “They are,” Guifei replied with a smile.

  Today was an important occasion.

  Many had expected the Empress to dress extravagantly, yet to their surprise, she had not.

  And because of that, the four consorts—who had all dressed with great care—ended up looking far more adorned than her.

  This, ironically, made them feel somewhat uncomfortable.

  Among them, Guifei was a particurly enchanting woman.

  She was a year younger than the Emperor, and at this age, her charm was at its peak.

  And as fate would have it, her name was Qi Yuhuan.

  She was a woman who smiled often—having entered the Eastern Pace as a Liangdi, she had been favored since the start.

  The Eldest Princess was even a year older than the Eldest Prince, a testament to Guifei’s early favor.

  Unfortunately, she had been too young when giving birth, suffering a severe injury in childbirth.

  Even after years of careful nourishment, she had never conceived again.

  Meanwhile, Xian Fei, who had once been less favored, had given birth to the Second Prince—a son.

  However, the Second Prince was sickly, and rumors suggested this had something to do with the te Empress Shen.

  Xian Fei herself had suffered complications from childbirth, and it was said she could no longer bear children.

  The Second Prince had been born after the Emperor ascended the throne, and was now five years old.

  These two were far from friendly, yet their facades were impeccable—whenever they met, they acted like the closest of sisters.

  Zhao Wumian sat quietly, listening to the conversation, but she had nothing to say.

  In contrast, the consorts were expecting the Empress to speak—but as time passed, she remained silent.

  By the time the Empress Dowager and Emperor arrived, Zhao Wumian had still said nothing.

  This was truly odd.

  The Empress was never this quiet.

  She always went head-to-head with Guifei at these gatherings.

  Yet today?

  Silence.

  …Could it be that she still hadn’t recovered her strength?