“I understand. No matter how things turn out, I’ll always be grateful to you,” Han Jinyi said sincerely.
Yunzhao had shared the information, and whether or not it changed the outcome, at least her father would be prepared—which was far better than being caught off guard.
Han Jinyi couldn’t sit still—she had to write a letter home immediately.
After sending Han Jinyi off, Song Yunzhao called Anshun inside.
Lowering her voice, she instructed, “Spread the news that the Left and Right Prime Ministers are pressuring His Majesty to issue a self-reproach edict.”
Anshun didn’t know what his mistress intended to do, but he didn’t need to—his job was to obey.
Song Yunzhao exhaled slightly.
Once the rumor spread in the harem, Qin Xiyue would surely recognize the advantages.
She refused to believe that this time, Qin Xiyue could still remain untouched.
And Consort Lu?
If she still wanted her title back, this information would surely make her eager to act.
Then there were Consort Wan and Consort Zhuang—both were seasoned strategists.
With an opportunity like this before them, there was no way they would let it slip.
This entire edict issue was undoubtedly linked to their families.
Seeing His Majesty favor Song Yunzhao, yet unable to defeat her directly, their families had stepped in, forcing the Emperor to yield, hoping it would weaken his favor toward her.
Now, Song Yunzhao faced two choices:
Either she fought them to the end, or she lost favor.
And if she lost favor?
She didn’t even need to think—she knew exactly what her fate would be.
That path? Absolutely not an option.
So the only way forward was to battle all the way.
If she could stir conflict among them, she could sit back and enjoy the spectacle.
They had forced her to press forward against all odds—now, it was their turn.
As for herself? Song Yunzhao was going to play the role of the gentle, understanding concubine, soothing the Emperor’s fire-breathing temper.
If she didn’t increase his favor now, when would she?
If she had favor to raise, she would raise it.
If she had no favor, she would create it.
Taking some private silver, she ordered Yu Momo to request a soup from the imperial kitchen.
Instead of ginseng broth, she opted for pork bone and arrowroot soup—a cooling remedy to calm the Emperor’s temper.
Once the soup was ready, she changed deliberately into a soft-colored, elegant gown, radiating warmth and gentleness.
Then, she set off for Taiji Palace.
The atmosphere in Taiji Palace was frigid as the depths of winter.
Zhang Maoquan was handling affairs outside.
When he spotted Song Jieyu from afar, he stiffened for a moment, quickly dismissing his junior attendants before hurrying over.
“Greetings, Jieyu.”
“No need for formalities, Steward Zhang.” Song Yunzhao smiled, gesturing to the food container Xiang Xue carried.
“I’ve prepared a soup for His Majesty. Would he have time to see me now?”
Zhang Maoquan thought to himself—just this morning, he had passed the news to Anshun, and now Song Jieyu had already arrived.
What a bold woman.
She was truly stepping into the fire.
“Please wait, Jieyu. I’ll go in and announce your arrival,” Zhang Maoquan replied.
“Much appreciated,” Song Yunzhao said.
Zhang Maoquan turned and entered the hall, leaving Song Yunzhao standing outside.
From a distance, she could see court officials hurrying by, their movements quick and purposeful.
Where were they coming from?
Where were they going?
Before long, Zhang Maoquan returned, smiling at Song Jieyu. “His Majesty invites you inside.”
Song Yunzhao nodded with a smile, taking the food box from Xiang Xue before stepping into the grand hall.
The chamber was silent—its vast, towering space amplified the stillness that waspressing down with weighty tension.
Approaching, she bowed.
“Your Majesty, I pay my respects.”
Feng Yi didn’t lift his head.
“Rise. What brought you here with soup tonight?”
Song Yunzhao wasn’t the type to frequently deliver meals.
If she came without reason, he wouldn’t believe it.
Seeing that his tone wasn’t harsh, Song Yunzhao stepped forward, smiling.
“I heard Your Majesty’s mood was troubled, so I had the kitchen prepare a broth to ease your tension.”
Feng Yi set down his brush, finally looking up at her.
“Who told you that?”
Song Yunzhao smiled knowingly.
“Your Majesty, news like this spreads quickly in the harem.”
Without a single authority controlling the inner palace, information leaked too easily.
Zhang Maoquan had passed word to Anshun—what were the chances that Xu Sixi or Meng Jiuchang hadn’t spread it further?
Feng Yi’s expression darkened.
“So you came just for this?”
“What do you mean just for this? To me, this is a matter of utmost importance. Anyone who displeases Your Majesty is my enemy.”
Song Yunzhao opened the box, presenting the bowl of soup, and gently placed it before him.
“Your Majesty, try it—see if it suits your taste.”
Feng Yi didn’t glance at the soup—his gaze was locked onto her.
Anyone who displeased him was her enemy.
The words shook him.
No one had ever said that to him before.
Song Yunzhao lifted her gaze, meeting the Emperor’s eyes head-on, without backing down.
Her expression remained gentle and soft, vastly different from how she usually carried herself.
Feng Yi suddenly chuckled.
Song Yunzhao was the first person to show genuine concern for whether he was happy or not.
Whether it was because he was the emperor, or for some other reason, at least she truly cared.
Taking the soup bowl, Feng Yi drank it slowly, finishing every last drop.
Song Yunzhao collected the empty bowl, placing it back into the box, before casually saying, “Shall I grind ink for Your Majesty?”
Before Feng Yi could respond, she had already begun.
Her narrow-sleeved gown made it easy to work, and she steadily rotated the ink stick, filling the hall with its fragrance.
As the scent deepened, Feng Yi’s anger slowly dissipated, mirroring the rhythmic swirls of ink.
“What do you think about the self-reproach edict?”
Hearing him finally speak, Song Yunzhao casually answered, “Your Majesty has only ruled for five years, yet the court ministers have long held power, refusing to let go. If mistakes have been made, how do they concern Your Majesty? Whoever wields authority should bear responsibility, should they not?”
Feng Yi had heard far too much blame today, but suddenly, hearing this response, the weight on his chest lifted.
“You truly think so?”
He watched her intently.
Song Yunzhao set down the ink stick, flashing a sharp smile.
“Did I say anything wrong? If officials don’t take responsibility, then why do they even exist? If something happens in Wangyou Palace, wouldn’t Your Majesty hold me accountable first? So tell me—what does a river dyke collapsing have to do with Your Majesty? Did you command the rain? Did you build the dam? Instead of investigating why the dyke collapsed, ministers are blaming Your Majesty. I say they’re only doing this to divert your attention before you discover their incompetence and hold them accountable.”
Her words made Feng Yi pause, a sharp realization dawning on him.
She was right.
The dykes were maintained by officials—they were supposed to ensure they were sturdy and secure.
He had allocated plenty of funds for dam repairs—so how had the flood swept them away so easily?
He had been led astray, allowing his ministers to frame the narrative—using natural disasters to pressure him, all while avoiding their own culpability.
Well played.
They were very well played.
Seeing the change in the Emperor’s expression, Song Yunzhao knew she had struck the right note.
The ministers wanted to push her down—she’d let them taste her retaliation first.
She couldn’t intervene directly in the court, but she could influence the Emperor’s thinking.
After all—pillow talk was a powerful tool.
