If the Noble Consort died now, who would kill Prince An? Even if she had schemed something in secret, even if the Emperor truly harbored murderous intent toward the prince, as long as the Empress Dowager lived, he couldn't lay a finger on him.
"Your Majesty," someone advised carefully, "the Noble Consort holds too high a rank. If she were to suddenly drop dead, tongues will wag. It might be wiser to strip her title first, and then deal with her quietly at a later time."
"Approved."
And just like that, the once-glorious Noble Consort was demoted to the lowest rank of Liangren, kicked out of the resplendent Jiaofang Palace and shoved into a shabby, forgotten side hall.
The palace eunuchs and maids, once eager to serve her, vanished overnight like rats from a sinking ship. Those lowly concubines and court ladies she used to trample underfoot now strutted past just to spit in her face.
Every night, she ground her teeth in hatred, and all of it was thanks to her—Consort Chen.
Naturally, this venom didn't go unnoticed by Meng Wenyao. She had her people whisper in the fallen consort's ear, subtly fanning the flames of her grudge—not toward herself, but toward Prince An. But despite days of effort, the woman remained obsessed with her own downfall, not with vengeance.
Meng Wenyao sighed. If the Noble Consort couldn't be used as a weapon anymore, she'd have to be dealt with too.
That evening, after dinner, she gently voiced a new thought:
"Your Majesty, the Empress Dowager hasn't been looking well. I suspect it's because she's been worrying herself sick over Prince An. Why don't we invite him to the palace for a family meal sometime soon? A bit of warmth might ease her mind."
The Emperor hesitated. Just the thought of Prince An made his skin crawl, especially after that suspicious encounter between him and Wenyao. But the fact that Wenyao—who must be even more disgusted—was willing to put aside her pride for the Empress Dowager's health… it moved him deeply.
His Yao'er was always so gentle, so considerate.
"You shouldn't overexert yourself," he said tenderly. "You need to focus on your health."
Wenyao leaned into him and murmured softly, "But I'm going to be your wife. Isn't it a wife's duty to keep the family harmonious and see that the children thrive? Our household... lacks heirs. No matter what he's done, Prince An is still the Empress Dowager's flesh and blood. It's not right to let a small misunderstanding make Her Majesty suffer. I'm thinking of the Empress Dowager, yes—but I'm thinking of you, too. You and your mother shouldn't grow distant over this."
Her words struck a chord. The Emperor went quiet.
Was that how it had happened? Had his relationship with his mother grown cold… all because of Prince An?
When did she start seeing only her grandson and not her son?
As his gaze dropped in contemplation, Meng Wenyao slipped her arms around his waist, her voice laced with concern.
"Your Majesty, I only want to see you smile. So does your son. Don't be upset, alright?"
The Emperor chuckled and kissed her on the forehead. "I'm not upset. You don't know how happy I've been these past few days—happier than the day I ascended the throne."
"Truly? What about the day you met me?"
Holding her close, he replied with a rare softness, "Every day I spend with you is better than the last."
"And I feel the same. I want to write my father and tell him how happy I am now."
"No need to write," the Emperor said warmly. "I'll summon General Meng back myself. He should be here for your coronation."
The sudden rush of joy left her eyes misty. In her past life, they had been separated by death. In this life, they would be reunited in glory.
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
The Emperor looked at the radiant beauty in his arms and felt blessed beyond reason.
"No, Yao'er. It's I who should thank you."
Three days later, Prince An arrived at the palace for dinner as requested. Meng Wenyao accompanied the Emperor to Changle Palace.
The Empress Dowager burst into tears the moment she saw her grandson. She dared not mention the imperial edict for his marriage—not in front of the Emperor. Instead, she poured all her affection into spooning food into Prince An's bowl.
"This ham is your favorite. Eat more. You've gotten so thin."
Silent and hollow-eyed, Prince An ate without a word.
Heart aching, the Empress Dowager turned to the Emperor. "Your brother died young and left behind only this child. I was too lenient with him. Please, don't hold it against him."
The Emperor's expression eased. "A father figure should never bicker with his juniors. Mother, don't trouble yourself."
Pleased, the Empress Dowager pressed further. "If your brother had lived, he'd be a prince by now. Since he's gone, why not elevate An'er's title to Prince too? It would honor your brother's memory."
Meng Wenyao lowered her eyes and calmly ate her food. What a sly old woman, she thought. Couldn't get him the throne, so now she's begging for a princely title. Anything to line her grandson's pockets.
And knowing the Emperor's reputation for filial piety, he probably wouldn't refuse.
Time to twist the knife a little.
"That's wonderful," she said sweetly. "If Prince An is promoted, then my poor sister can be buried with the honors of a prince's wife."
Bullseye. The Empress Dowager and Prince An both flinched.
Meng Wenyao nearly burst out laughing and had to cover her mouth.
"Are you feeling nauseous?" the Emperor asked with concern, breaking the tension.
Meng Wenyao nodded, frowning. "It's the soup. The smell's too strong."
The Emperor quickly had it removed, adjusting her dishes to ones she liked, fussing over her so thoroughly that no one could get back to the original conversation.
But the Empress Dowager wouldn't give up. She shot Wenyao a glare and turned back to her son. "An'er is young—of course he'll make mistakes. But you shouldn't always suppress him. Just look at him now. He's lifeless. Why not give him the title to lift his spirits and chase away the bad luck?"
Bad luck? Wenyao scoffed internally. You mean the 'bad luck' of seducing a proper woman and then abandoning her for your own reputation? He's the walking curse.
"Your Majesty," she said aloud, "the reason Prince An looks so miserable is because today marks the seventh day since my sister's passing. He's grieving. I had people burn some offerings by the water where she fell. Since Prince An is so sorrowful, why don't we all go together to pay our respects?"
The Empress Dowager's hand trembled with fury—but what could she say? Admit that Prince An didn't care about her daughter? He hadn't even visited the Meng household to mourn. If he refused now, the whole court would condemn him.
All she could do was stammer out: "Consort Chen, you must eat more. Your child is what matters now."
It was the first time during the entire dinner that she'd shown the slightest concern for Meng Wenyao's pregnancy.
Wenyao played her part, eyes wide with surprise and emotion.
"Thank you, Your Majesty. Since I conceived, you hadn't said a word to me. I was starting to worry that you didn't care about me or the royal heir."
The Empress Dowager nearly choked on her own blood.
She had been preoccupied with Prince An these past few days and had overlooked Wenyao's condition. If the Emperor found out, he'd take it as an insult not just to his consort—but to his own unborn child.
And sure enough, the Emperor's face turned stormy.
In his mind, his mother's neglect of Meng Wenyao was nothing less than neglecting him.