The next morning, Jun Xiang decided that his beloved wife could not be trusted alone.
He kept her within arm's reach—literally. Even when Wan'er needed to use the toilet, he followed and stood guard outside like a stubborn, overprotective wolf.
"Your Majesty! I can't even breathe in peace!" she cried from behind the door.
"I'm just making sure you don't sneak off to your farm again," he replied flatly.
Wan'er groaned. "You're worse than my shadow guard!"
Later that morning, in her little "imperial farm," the Empress was kneeling happily among rows of tomato plants, her sleeves rolled up and a serene glow around her.
Jun Xiang, watching her from the shade, couldn't help but feel strangely… calm. The whole place radiated warmth and vitality. Even the air tasted sweeter.
"No wonder," he murmured, crouching beside her. "When I entered your chamber last night, I felt as if my strength returned. These plants… they have spiritual essence."
Wan'er smiled proudly and plucked a ripe tomato, pressing it into his palm. "Here. Eat this. It's fresh and safe."
Jun Xiang hesitated for a moment, then took a bite. His eyes widened. "T-this is delicious."
The emperor of Jun Kingdom—conqueror of ten provinces—looked like a boy discovering candy for the first time. Wan'er chuckled.
"Spiritual essence is one thing," she said, her tone softening. "But… I can also make these plants grow ten times faster. What I plant today will bloom tomorrow. Sometimes it scares me—but maybe, one day, I'll understand why I can do this."
Jun Xiang's hand paused mid-air. Her voice was gentle, but something inside it made his heart twist. It sounded like farewell.
"Why are you speaking as if you'll disappear?" he said, frowning.
Wan'er looked up at him, sunlight glinting off her eyes. "Because, Your Majesty, I might not belong here forever. If fate decides we must part someday, then I'll be ready to let go."
Jun Xiang's composure broke. He caught her shoulders, pulling her close.
"Don't," he whispered, his voice rougher than usual. "Don't leave me."
Wan'er blinked, startled by his sudden intensity. "When did I ever say I was leaving? Only you can drive me away."
He exhaled, visibly relieved—until she added cheekily, "Now, let go. I can't breathe."
Jun Xiang stared at her, half-amused, half-exasperated. "Are you seducing me right now?"
"When did I ever—?! What kind of emperor are you?!" she sputtered.
He laughed softly, leaning closer, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. "The kind who falls harder every day."
Wan'er's face turned crimson. "Y-you shameless beast…"
The "battle" between them continued, filled with teasing, laughter, and warmth that only lovers could share.
That evening, when Wan'er finally drifted to sleep, Jun Xiang rose quietly, his expression shifting back to the ruler he was.
"Investigate her past," he ordered his guard from the shadows. "Discreetly. Leave no traces."
Then he left for the imperial study.
On his way, he encountered a familiar figure.
"Greetings to His Majesty," said Li Ruyi, bowing gracefully, her smile carefully painted.
Jun Xiang merely hummed in acknowledgment, uninterested.
"Your Majesty," she began, her tone trembling with false modesty, "this concubine has… good news."
He turned slightly. "Speak."
"I am… four weeks pregnant."
The emperor's brow furrowed. He tried to recall the last time they had even met privately. Nothing came to mind.
"Oh."
And with that single word, he walked past her.
"Investigate her too," he murmured coldly to his attendant.
Behind him, Li Ruyi's delicate smile twisted into something venomous. "You'll see, Your Majesty. You'll have no choice but to recognize this child."
When the news reached Wan'er, she only sighed.
"What has happened can't be changed," she said, placing her brush down. "If she's truly pregnant, then so be it."
Since that day, Wan'er resumed her duties as Empress—reviewing petitions, hosting court banquets, managing the palace. Surprisingly, she handled it all with effortless grace.
"Her Highness is truly gifted," whispered the court ladies."Even the Emperor smiles more often now."
But Wan'er herself felt oddly… tired. Her body ached, her energy dimmed.
"These days, I just want to sleep," she murmured. "No appetite, always tired…"
She suspected something—but before she could summon the imperial physician, Ruan rushed in, breathless.
"Your Highness—urgent message from the border! A plague has spread in the west!"
Wan'er's heart stopped. The west… That was where she had been researching the strange energy disturbances.
She rose immediately. "Prepare my travel gear."
When Jun Xiang heard, he stormed into her hall.
"You're going?!" His voice trembled between disbelief and anger. "If you leave, you'll be abandoning your post as Empress!"
Wan'er met his gaze calmly. Around them stood ministers—and her older brother, General Wei.
"Little sister, it's too dangerous!" Wei pleaded.
Wan'er removed her phoenix hairpin and placed it gently into the Emperor's hand. "This belongs to the throne. I'll return it… when I come back."
Jun Xiang's jaw tightened. The golden hairpin slipped from his grip, clattering onto the floor. "Wan'er… don't."
"If my gift can save lives," she said softly, "then let me go. You once said you admired courage—so please, don't cage mine."
Before anyone could stop her, Wan'er vanished, light as a falling petal—her qinggong carrying her beyond the palace walls.
[At the Edge of the West]
By the time she reached the borderlands, the air stank of rot and poison. The once-green valleys were shrouded in a thick green mist.
Wan'er tied a handkerchief over her nose and pressed onward. The landscape was eerily quiet.
Then she saw it—a small body lying in the mud. A child, no older than seven, his skin gray and blistered. Inside his chest glowed a strange rune box.
Her hands trembled as she knelt. "This is too cruel…"
She placed her palm over his chest. Spiritual light flowed from her fingers, and from the ground, a single blossom tree sprouted—its petals shimmering softly.
"Grow well," she whispered, voice breaking. "I'm sorry I was too late."
A gentle breeze stirred, carrying a faint, childlike voice. "Thank you…"
Wan'er covered her mouth, tears spilling freely. Her chest ached with a pain she couldn't name.
When the mist finally cleared, the devastation around her became visible—collapsed homes, starved villagers, lifeless fields.
She approached the survivors, thin as bones, eyes hollow with despair.
"May I ask… how long has it been like this?" she asked quietly.
"We don't remember," an elder rasped. "Only that one day, a man in a black robe came… Our little Xian followed him—and then the sickness began."
"Why didn't you leave?"
"We tried," the man said bitterly. "But soldiers blocked the road. They said anyone who fled would be killed."
Wan'er clenched her fists. This isn't a plague—it's man-made.
The old man handed her a cracked wooden plaque. The single character carved into it made her freeze—"Jin."
Her breath hitched. Prince Jin's crest…?
By dusk, Wan'er stood beside a small river. She touched the water and felt the faint pulse of clean energy.
"This stream is pure," she announced. "Fetch water here. It's safe."
With a few graceful movements, she drew spiritual symbols in the air. The river rippled—and a giant silver carp leapt into her arms. The children gasped as she smiled faintly.
"Cook this. Feed everyone. Tomorrow, I'll show you how to plow the land again. We'll plant vegetables, replant the trees… This land will breathe once more."
Under the faint silver moonlight, the exiled Empress—once mocked as a "farming maniac"—stood among the starving villagers like a beacon of warmth.
She wiped her tears, her smile gentle yet resolute.
"If this is my fate," she whispered to the wind, "then I'll rewrite it with my own hands."