An hour later.
Qu Dubian left the Astrology Bureau holding several sheets of paper.
Ye Xiaoyuan looked dazed as he watched his little prince go from being polite and unfamiliar with Zhang Chansi to chatting with her like old friends—all within just one page of math problems.
Once Qu Dubian explicitly expressed his interest in mathematics, Zhang Chansi’s favorability—which had been crawling forward at a snail’s pace—finally rose from 7 to 11 within such a short time—a gain of 4 points!
If it weren’t for bad timing, Qu Dubian really wanted to recite The Nine Chapters on Mathematical Art from start to finish for Zhang Chansi—surely that would earn him another 30 or 40 points?
Fortunately, he resisted temptation and suppressed his mischievous impulse. Progress needed to be taken step by step.
The papers he carried contained math problems left for him by Zhang Chansi.
Qu Dubian planned to solve them after Consort Yun’s posthumous recognition ceremony and then present them back to her.
—
Back at Zichen Palace:
Ye Xiaoyuan pulled Wen Xiaochun aside. For a while, neither spoke a word.
Eventually, Wen Xiaochun broke the silence first. “I didn’t handle things properly. I promise this won’t happen again.”
He reflected seriously on his mistakes.
Ye Xiaoyuan asked coldly: “And how will you handle it next time?”
Wen Xiaochun replied earnestly: “If there’s a next time, I’ll stuff some cotton inside my clothes to alter my build.”
Ye Xiaoyuan added: “If there’s a next time, find out who’s on patrol beforehand so we don’t run into them.”
Neither realized they had subconsciously accepted that such incidents—arson or worse—might happen again someday. Both were disturbingly calm about it.
Instead of thinking about how to avoid such situations entirely, they focused on how best to clean up afterward without implicating their little prince.
Ye Xiaoyuan took a deep breath and said: “Since His Highness protected you this time, I won’t say more about it. For now, stay low-key for a while. If you see patrol teams while outside—keep your head down or avoid them altogether. Better yet—don’t go out at all.”
Wen Xiaochun muttered gloomily: “Then what should I do?”
Ye Xiaoyuan thought for a moment before suggesting: “You can help His Highness complete Tutor Fang’s assigned coursework. It’ll give you practice with your handwriting too. His Highness is still recovering and shouldn’t overexert himself. If he wants to write himself—let him; if not—you can use yours as a substitute.”
He vaguely felt that His Highness was practicing writing with a purpose, deliberately learning unfamiliar words and phrases, but showed little interest in the coursework assigned by Tutor Fang.
Wen Xiaochun replied, “Alright.”
—
A few days later.
The Sword-Holding Marquis’ Residence.
News about the Seventh Prince gradually reached the Marquis’ residence.
Hearing that he was fine and had mostly recovered from his illness, the heavy weight in the Old Madam’s heart finally lifted.
“The ceremonial meal for tomorrow’s posthumous recognition is being handled by the Ministry of Imperial Household Affairs, correct?”
The Sword-Holding Marquis’ second brother, Xu Jianyan, was currently the Minister of Imperial Household Affairs. Despite his advanced age, he held a leisurely position, though his favored son had repeatedly failed the imperial examinations.
However, after Xu Yueqing (Consort Yun) entered the palace and was conferred as a consort, the Marquis’ family and Xu Jianyan’s second branch had almost completely severed ties, maintaining only a superficial semblance of civility.
“Yes, Old Madam,” replied Mama Fang. “They’ve been busy for quite some time now. I heard they even inquired at the main kitchen about the Seventh Prince’s preferences. The ingredients prepared for him are all top-notch.”
“They’re truly relentless,” the Old Madam said coldly. “Seeing that the Seventh Prince is gaining more favor from His Majesty, they’re trying to curry favor again.”
“All their schemes are directed at their own family members, yet they remain foolish beyond belief. This is a ceremonial meal—if it exceeds specifications, it won’t be good for the Seventh Prince.”
She frowned slightly and paused her flower pruning. “Does the third branch know about this?”
Mama Fang replied, “Naturally, they do.”
Unlike Xu Jianyan’s second branch, which still held an official position in the Ministry of Imperial Household Affairs after splitting from the family, the third branch had fallen into commerce within the capital.
Xu Jianyan’s younger brother, Xu Laosan (Third Master Xu), and his wife lived year-round in a remote mountain monastery, leaving family affairs unattended. The one managing their household now was their second son—Qu Dubian’s maternal uncle—named Xu Tingfeng.
The Sword-Holding Marquis once treated Xu Tingfeng like his own son and brought him to the northern frontier to fight in battles. However, within two years, Xu Tingfeng violated military regulations and was sentenced to severe punishment. His legs were crippled as a result, and he was sent back home.
Since then, Xu Tingfeng had become despondent and refused to speak of military matters again. He even gave up on civil service examinations and instead turned to commerce—a path filled with “the stench of money” and despised by scholars.
Now everyone among the capital officials knew that Xu Laosan’s family resented the Sword-Holding Marquis because of Xu Tingfeng’s situation. For years, there had been no contact between them.
The Old Madam asked thoughtfully: “Do you think Tingfeng will interfere with this ceremonial meal?”
Mama Fang hesitated. “But… Young Master Tingfeng is a merchant. How could he have any influence over affairs at the Ministry of Imperial Household Affairs?”
The Old Madam placed her freshly pruned plum branches into a short vase.
“We’ll see if His Majesty punishes the Ministry of Imperial Household Affairs this time.”
—
Xu Residence – Third Branch
Smoke curled up from the kitchen chimney.
Xu Tingfeng busied himself in the kitchen while a young servant pushing his wheelchair sighed helplessly behind him. “Young Master, please take a rest and let us handle it.”
“No way,” Xu Tingfeng said firmly.
He ground millet into powder with practiced ease and pinched some between his fingers to check its texture. His phoenix-shaped eyes were calm and restrained; when he smiled, he exuded warmth rather than any trace of aggression—a demeanor more akin to a refined general.
“This meal is special,” he said with a smile.
The servant asked curiously: “What’s so special about it?”
Xu Tingfeng explained with a grin: “Every child in our Xu family must eat a bowl of our ancestral dish when they’re old enough to dine on their own.”
“What dish?”
“Mai Xian Geng[mfn]Wheat Salt Soup[/mfn]. It must be made personally by an elder to receive blessings from our ancestors.” As he rolled out dough for flatbread, he added casually: “Both his mother and I have eaten it before. Even if he doesn’t know its significance, he should still taste it.”
However, this version of Mai Xian Geng had been modified—anyone unfamiliar with it would never recognize it.
The servant asked hesitantly: “Did Second Master’s family have another child recently?”
Xu Tingfeng didn’t answer directly. He worked through the night until dawn while two other servants took turns assisting him. Finally, he placed the finished Mai Xian Geng into a food box and carried it himself.
“Let’s go—take me to the back gate.”
The wheelchair rolled toward the rear entrance of Xu Residence. When it opened, there was an inconspicuous carriage waiting outside. Upon hearing the door creak open, a hand extended from behind its curtain.
Xu Tingfeng handed over the food box to his servant. “Pass it over.”
The servant quickly handed it to the person inside without seeing their face. The driver immediately urged the horses forward after receiving it.
From start to finish, there was no exchange of words between Xu Tingfeng and whoever was inside that carriage.
Scratching his head in confusion afterward, the servant asked: “Young Master… was that meal meant as a gift?”
“Yes,” Xu Tingfeng replied nonchalantly. “Why?”
“Uh… well… I just thought that meal didn’t look very… presentable.”
“You don’t understand,” Xu Tingfeng said with a chuckle. “That’s called simplicity.”
Besides—even if someone were punished later—it wouldn’t fall on him. He was just an innocent merchant—what would he know about palace affairs?
—
Fengde Hall
The posthumous recognition ceremony began at 9 o’clock sharp.
Just as Zhang Chansi had predicted—it was indeed a clear day.
Though cold, there wasn’t a single cloud in sight; the sky was bright blue.
After musicians from the Court of Imperial Sacrifices completed their performance, Her Majesty led the consorts into Fengde Hall.
Only consorts ranked as Pin[mfn]Imperial Concubine[/mfn] or above were allowed cushions inside; everyone else knelt outside in the freezing cold next to small tables.
Qu Dubian had risen early that day and changed into especially formal attire.
His inner robes were pure white while his outer robes were black with peony patterns embroidered in matching thread—subtle yet luxurious under sunlight.
At this moment, he stood alone at the bottom of Fengde Hall’s grand staircase.
According to tradition—as Consort Yun’s biological son—he had to walk this path alone as a sign of respect.
Although Qu Dubian was very young, Emperor Chongzhao initially wanted to break protocol by allowing Ye Xiaoyuan to accompany him up—but Qu Dubian refused. He wasn’t truly a child; this event was significant both emotionally and ceremonially for his original self—it was only right for him to complete it alone.
Standing at the top of those stairs watching that small black figure below struggling upward reminded Emperor Chongzhao of how weak Qu Dubian had been just days ago when feverish—and how unreliable his antics in Zichen Palace had been recently—which made him start feeling uneasy inside.
Can this little rascal really make it up there on his own?
The officials from the Ministry of Rites announced from below: “The time has come!”
Qu Dubian turned his head to glance at Wen Xiaochun, who was watching him with concern. He gave him a reassuring look, then steadily took his first step forward.
One step at a time, climbing each stair.
For a child just over two years old, it was like conquering a small mountain.
But the many officials present—those from the Ministry of Rites, the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, and the Ministry of Imperial Household Affairs—watched this once-taboo little prince in silence as he climbed.
He moved very slowly.
But his steps were incredibly steady.
It was as though he understood how important this moment was for his late mother.
All his attention was focused on his feet, careful not to make a single misstep.
Even though he had never experienced his mother’s love and care, the seriousness in his demeanor stirred a faint ache in everyone’s hearts.
Emperor Chongzhao’s emotions were equally complicated. When that small black figure finally reached the top step and stopped in front of him, steady and composed, he extended his sleeve.
“Walk with me.”
Qu Dubian grasped Emperor Chongzhao’s sleeve—not because he didn’t want to hold his hand, but because he was too short. If they held hands, Emperor Chongzhao would have to stoop the entire way.
The consorts kneeling on their cushions on either side lowered their heads slightly.
Once inside Fengde Hall, Qu Dubian knelt before his own cushion and looked up at the ancestral tablets enshrined ahead. Newly engraved among them were the posthumous titles for Consort Yun as Empress.
Emperor Chongzhao stood beside the Empress, who held a bronze lamp with nine candles lit by Emperor Chongzhao himself before she carried it forward as an offering.
The Empress led the consorts in paying their respects. Aside from her and the Emperor, everyone else had to bow three times.
Qu Dubian followed along with them.
After the lengthy rituals concluded, an official announced: “It is noon—begin the ceremonial meal!”
Palace attendants brought out meals prepared by the Ministry of Imperial Household Affairs and served them according to rank and status. Each person’s ceremonial meal adhered to strict specifications.
A meal was placed before Qu Dubian as well.
According to tradition, he needed to finish this meal before bringing one of Consort Yun’s relics into Fengde Hall.
Ye Banban said that the Minister of Imperial Household Affairs is my maternal grandfather’s second brother, Qu Dubian thought. The food they prepared shouldn’t taste too bad, right? With this mindset, he opened the food box.
Inside was a single bowl of hot soup with a grayish-yellow hue and some unidentifiable strips floating in it.
“……”
Qu Dubian’s hand holding the spoon trembled slightly as he fell silent.
Looking around at the other consorts, their ceremonial meals were neatly arranged and at least looked appetizing.
From where he stood on the side of the hall, Ye Xiaoyuan noticed what was happening and immediately frowned.
“This…”
Even the Empress and several nearby consorts hesitated upon seeing it. Noble Consort Lan glanced over in surprise—regardless of anything else, this was still a prince! Using such methods to humiliate him during such an occasion—was the Minister of Imperial Household Affairs tired of living?
Moreover, given that the Minister was distantly related to the Seventh Prince through family ties, what could possibly be gained by presenting such a meal?
The Empress said: “Perhaps there was a mistake by someone at the Ministry of Imperial Household Affairs? Your Majesty, why not replace it? Eating this might cause discomfort.”
Emperor Chongzhao replied: “Ceremonial meals are strictly regulated—replacing it would violate protocol. Let him eat it as is.”
Noble Consort Lan froze for a moment before feeling secretly pleased. The other consorts exchanged glances—perhaps His Majesty didn’t value the Seventh Prince as much as they’d thought?
Those who had been hesitant about competing for the position of foster mother for the Seventh Prince became even more uncertain. On one hand, they wanted children of their own; on the other hand, they considered how fostering a prince could bring benefits.
But if fostering the Seventh Prince meant falling out of favor with Emperor Chongzhao, wouldn’t it be more trouble than it was worth?
Qu Dubian braced himself and took a bite.
Hmm?
He took another bite.
Huh? It’s actually delicious.
Despite its poor appearance, there was a distinct wheat aroma in the chunks floating in the soup. The fish wrapped inside had no trace of fishiness and melted in his mouth.
The soup itself was salty with a slight tanginess—perfectly warm and oddly appetizing.
From her place further back, Consort Xuan set down her chopsticks and said: “The Seventh Prince is still young; he doesn’t need to finish all of it—a few bites will suffice.”
Qu Dubian raised his bowl and replied cheerfully: “It’s alright, Consort Xuan—this is really tasty.”
Of course it was delicious—it was Xu family’s Mai Xian Geng. Emperor Chongzhao recognized it because years ago, out of curiosity, Consort Yun had personally made it for him once.
Though its appearance was off-putting, its flavor was excellent—and well-suited for children.
As Emperor Chongzhao looked at that bowl of soup, his eyes narrowed slightly while his right index finger lightly rubbed against the jade ring on his thumb. No one could tell what he was thinking.
Likewise, no one else knew that this action left those present—including officials from the Ministry of Rites and consorts like Noble Consort Lan—feeling disheartened.
Ye Xiaoyuan dared not show anger or speak out; he could only watch helplessly as His Highness ate every last bite of what appeared to be an unappetizing meal.
How could something that looks so bad taste good?
These past few days had seen Emperor Chongzhao treating His Highness kindly—and His Highness growing closer to him in return. It wasn’t hard to imagine that deep down inside Qu Dubian harbored renewed hope and longing for paternal affection.
Since His Majesty had told him to eat it—and given such an occasion—how could His Highness refuse?
Meanwhile, Consort Xuan pondered how different Emperor Chongzhao’s tender demeanor when retrieving Qu Dubian from her palace had been compared to today’s cold indifference. Which side was real? Which side was false?
After finishing every last drop from his small bowl, Qu Dubian proudly held it up for display: “All gone!”
Completely unaware of everyone else’s internal struggles.
Seeing his son’s bright eyes sparkling with pride—Emperor Chongzhao instinctively responded as he often did during meals shared with Qu Dubian these days: “Not bad.”
This entire scene—a supposed display of “the Emperor’s indifference toward ceremonial meals” contrasted with “a dutiful young prince seeking only his father’s approval”—was completely lost on both father and son.
After finishing their meals, palace attendants presented a rectangular box.
When opened, it revealed a mounted scroll painting inside.
Emperor Chongzhao took out the scroll and said: “This is one of your mother’s relics—and it has something to do with your name.”
He untied the silk ribbon sealing the scroll, and as he unfurled it, the painting was revealed.
On the canvas, a solitary plume of smoke rose in the vast desert under a blood-red sunset. A woman dressed in green, her ink-black hair flowing, sat on the city walls of a frontier fortress in the northern borderlands. The light and shadows seemed to converge on her figure, and even the strands of her wind-swept hair exuded a sense of carefree joy.
Beside the painting was an inscription:
“Wild geese fly in cold beyond the pass, the winding melody crosses the border.”
Emperor Chongzhao said with a touch of nostalgia: “The painting was one she brought with her. The poem was written when she was pregnant with you. Your name comes from this.”
While Emperor Chongzhao reminisced, Qu Dubian fell silent.
He silently recited the poem again in his heart. His mind conjured an image of a woman in green robes sitting by a window at sunset. The fading sunlight streamed through the latticework, illuminating the scroll as she penned these words.
What had she been thinking when she wrote them?
Was it memories of a past she could never return to? Or perhaps it was the cold yet liberating winds of the frontier?
This wild goose that flew from the borderlands to the capital had ultimately been trapped in the gilded cage of the imperial palace—a cage where she eventually met her end. Yet she had hoped that her child could live freely.
A single painting, a single poem.
It was a mother’s unspoken love and hope for her child.
The palace attendants carefully rolled up the scroll and handed it to Qu Dubian. He personally placed it into one of Fengde Hall’s compartments and then knelt to pay his respects.
Though he disliked trouble and was known for his pettiness, he had inherited this bloodline and with it, Consort Yun’s familial ties and blessings. Therefore, he would make sure to uncover the true culprit behind her demise.
This blood feud—he would avenge it himself.
Ah, ok.