CHAPTER THIRTY‑TWO — NOT THE SAME
"What is the girl intending to do?"
The Emperor leaned forward slightly, his interest wholly captured.
"This humble girl… shall sing a little tune," Tang Ke Xin replied, steeling herself. If she was going to do this, she would do it boldly.
Of course, she could not perform too well. As Ye Lan Chen had so helpfully reminded her, Tang Ke Xin had been a fool for eighteen years. If she suddenly displayed a refined, complex talent, suspicion would bloom instantly. The Emperor's request was born of momentary curiosity; his expectations were not high. Something novel, amusing, and harmless would more than suffice.
She cleared her throat delicately.
"The song is called… Everyone Rejoices."
She announced the title with solemn dignity, as though presenting a masterpiece. In truth, she had chosen it because it was simple, lively, and utterly ridiculous—perfect for her purposes. She would never forget the mentally ill child she once treated, who had forced her to listen to this song day and night until it was etched into her bones.
"That is a delightful name," the Emperor said at once, nodding with genuine anticipation. "Very good. Very good indeed."
The others exchanged looks—some baffled, some wary, some already bracing themselves.
Tang Ke Xin inhaled, cleared her throat again, and began.
What followed was… chaos.
A cheerful, nonsensical chant about vegetables, sheep, wolves, sunshine, macaroni, and inexplicable joy. A pastoral anthem of absurdity. A melody so repetitive and childish that it seemed to echo endlessly through the hall.
When she finished, silence fell like a dropped curtain.
Everyone stared at her.
No one spoke.
"Does it… not sound good?" Tang Ke Xin blinked innocently. She genuinely could not understand their expressions. The song was catchy enough—if one had no choice but to listen to it for several days straight.
Then—
"Hahaha!"
The Emperor burst into laughter, loud and unrestrained.
"Marvellous! Absolutely marvellous! This girl is truly something. Interesting—very interesting indeed!"
He was delighted. After years of stiff, formal court performances, this absurd little spectacle was a breath of fresh air.
Ye Lan Jue's lips curved ever so slightly.
As expected.
The Crown Prince remained outwardly composed, though his fingers tightened around the arm of his chair.
"What was that even about?" Ye Lan Chen muttered, smirking. "All I heard was vegetables and sheep."
He found it amusing—far more amusing than he would ever admit.
Tang Ke Xin ignored him entirely.
"Your Majesty… are you satisfied?"
That was all she cared about. She had sung her heart out for that wish.
"Very satisfied," the Emperor declared. "So satisfied, in fact, that I have decided—no matter whom you choose in the future, I shall personally act as your matchmaker. Whatever you desire, I shall grant it."
Ye Lan Chen nearly collapsed on the spot.
"What are you doing?" the Emperor asked, puzzled. "Why are you so excited?"
"No—nothing," Ye Lan Chen stammered, shaken by the sudden image that had flashed through his mind.
Tang Ke Xin, however, was stunned for an entirely different reason.
This… this was not the wish she wanted.
But how could she say that?
There was a sorrow unique to this moment:
When the Emperor believes he has granted your heart's desire… and you cannot correct him.
"Looks like Xin'er need not worry about marriage," the Empress said warmly, clearly pleased. Her smile blossomed like a flower.
"She is gentle and virtuous, lively and lovely, beautiful and generous, slender and graceful. Everyone loves her and flowers bloom at her passing—naturally she will not lack suitors."
The Emperor chuckled, borrowing Tang Ke Xin's own outrageous words.
The Empress laughed softly. The more she looked at Tang Ke Xin, the more satisfied she became.
Tang Ke Xin felt her soul leave her body.
If she had known it would end like this, she would never have fought so hard.
Ye Lan Jue glanced at her downcast expression. In his cold, star‑bright eyes, a faint, almost imperceptible smile flickered.
---
"It grows late," the Emperor announced. "Let us dine here at Kunning Palace. Since you are all present, stay and accompany me. And someone keep an eye on the little girl."
"Yes, Your Majesty," came the chorus of replies.
"I shall remain in the palace tonight," the Empress added lightly. "I will have someone inform the Prime Minister's Estate."
"Very well," the Emperor agreed without hesitation.
Dinner was unexpectedly lively. Laughter—the Emperor's laughter—echoed through the hall again and again. Those outside Kun An Palace were astonished; they had never heard him so cheerful.
After the meal, the Crown Prince, Third Prince, and Fourth Prince all took their leave. The Emperor, however, remained seated, making no move to depart.
Tang Ke Xin knew well that in the harem, the Emperor's favour was everything. The Empress should have been delighted.
But she was not.
Her expression was calm—too calm.
Feeling awkward, Tang Ke Xin excused herself and stepped out.
Moments later, the Emperor emerged as well—his face dark, cold, and utterly devoid of the earlier joy.
Tang Ke Xin's heart lurched.
What happened? He was perfectly fine a moment ago…
"Xin'er."
The Empress's gentle voice drifted from behind her.
Tang Ke Xin turned—and froze.
The Empress was smiling. Truly smiling. No trace of worry, no hint of sadness. Her expression was warm, serene, almost radiant.
"Will you sleep with me tonight?" she asked softly, taking Tang Ke Xin's hand.
"Oh…"
For the first time, Tang Ke Xin felt her mind fail her completely.
What on earth was happening?
Later, lying on the Empress's bed, listening to her warm, affectionate chatter, Tang Ke Xin felt as though she had stepped into a dream.
Eventually, the Empress's voice faded. The room fell silent.
After an unknown stretch of time, the Empress slowly sat up, gazing at the sleeping girl beside her.
Her smile vanished.
In its place was a deep, aching sorrow.
"Xin'er," she whispered, her voice trembling, "I only want you to grow safely. I only want you to be happy… truly happy."