CHAPTER 155: THE EMPEROR'S TRAP
"Why?"
The Emperor repeated her question softly, his eyes narrowing with a glint of cold amusement. She dared to ask him why—when it was he who ought to be demanding answers from her.
Yes, he had acted with purpose.
Yes, he had announced the marriage for a reason.
He needed to know whether Tang Kexin was his daughter.
Since Ye Lanchen was not his son, it was entirely possible that Tang Kexin was the child the Empress had borne nineteen years ago. Her behaviour over the years had made it painfully clear how deeply she favoured the girl—far more than she had ever shown affection to Ye Lanchen.
He was almost certain Tang Kexin was her daughter.
Now he needed to know whether Tang Kexin was his daughter.
If the Empress fought this marriage with her life, then Tang Kexin was likely his own flesh and blood. After all, Ye Lanjue was his son—how could the Empress possibly allow her daughter to marry her own brother?
But if she hesitated…
If she yielded…
If she allowed the marriage to proceed…
Then Tang Kexin was not his daughter.
She was the daughter of that man.
A dangerous light flickered in the Emperor's eyes before he smothered it beneath a veneer of calm.
"Do you not think Jue'er is a suitable match for her?" he asked lightly.
"Your Majesty," the Empress said after a moment, her voice low and steady, "Xin'er has only just recovered from her illness. And her past… has not been entirely favourable. I fear it may affect His Highness's reputation. I beg Your Majesty to reconsider."
The Emperor's expression eased, but his tone remained firm.
"You said it yourself—her past was before her illness. Now that she is well, it will not affect her. And Jue'er has long held affection for that girl. He will not care about such things."
"Your Majesty," the Empress continued gently, "this matter is too sudden. Xin'er has only just recovered. Marriage should not be rushed."
Her words were cautious, neither a full refusal nor an acceptance.
The Emperor's eyes narrowed again.
"Has the Empress not always worried about that girl's marriage? Why are you suddenly not in a hurry? She is nearly eighteen. Girls her age are already married with children."
"Xin'er has been ill for many years," the Empress replied softly. "She does not understand matters of the heart. I do not wish to force her."
The Emperor studied her closely.
He remembered the garden.
He remembered how Tang Kexin had reacted to Ye Lanjue—how she had not reacted. She had not flinched from him as she did from others. She had not withdrawn as she did from the Crown Prince. She had even allowed Ye Lanjue to hold her hand without recoiling.
The Empress had seen it too.
She had said nothing.
"Are you worried she does not like Jue'er?" he asked, voice deceptively mild. "That day, she said she did not like him. But the Empress must have noticed—she treats Jue'er differently. She avoids others, but not him. She recoils from the Crown Prince, but not from Jue'er. Even when Jue'er touches her, she does not resist. Does the Empress truly not see this?"
His voice darkened.
The Empress's heart tightened.
Yes, she had noticed.
Yes, Ye Lanjue's words had struck her deeply.
But now—now was not the time.
Not when danger lurked around her daughter.
Not when the Emperor's suspicion was sharpening like a blade.
"Your Majesty, this matter is still—"
The Emperor cut her off.
"This Emperor has already announced the marriage publicly in court this morning. We cannot retract it now."
He watched her intently, waiting—testing.
If Tang Kexin were truly her daughter, the Empress would fight.
She would defy him.
She would risk everything.
But she hesitated.
She yielded.
The Empress exhaled softly.
The decree had already been made.
Nothing she said now could overturn it.
She did not know whether the Emperor's anger from the previous night had faded. She did not care. Her mind was consumed by her daughter's safety.
She had seen him the night before last.
Yet two days had passed, and he had made no move.
What was he planning?
If he acknowledged Xin'er as his daughter, he would take her away—and the matter would end.
If he did not… then she would entrust Xin'er to the Third Prince. She remembered his sincerity. She remembered his devotion.
She said nothing more.
"What is this?" the Emperor asked softly. "Has the Empress agreed?"
His eyes gleamed with a cold, dangerous satisfaction.
He had his answer.
CHAPTER 156: A CAGE BUILT OF JEALOUSY
"Since Your Majesty has already made the decision, this concubine…"
The Empress answered almost automatically, her voice soft, her posture composed.
"You agree?"
The Emperor's expression darkened at once—so dark it seemed the very air in the room thickened. His narrowed eyes fixed upon her with a dangerous, simmering intensity.
She had agreed too easily.
Jue'er was his son.
How could she so readily consent to Tang Kexin marrying him?
Her reaction confirmed everything he feared.
Tang Kexin was not his daughter.
Not his.
But she was almost certainly hers.
Her daughter—but not his.
Then whose child was Tang Kexin?
Which man had fathered her?
The timing of the birth had always troubled him. She had given birth ten months after their marriage—perfectly aligned with what should have been his child.
How could it not be his?
Unless… unless the child had been conceived before the marriage, and merely born late.
The Emperor's body stiffened as the truth struck him like a blow.
He had been wrong for nineteen years.
The Empress, startled by his sudden fury, stared at him in confusion. The marriage had already been decreed. She had no power to oppose it. Why was he so enraged?
"Mu Wanging," he said, his lips curling into a cold, mocking smile, "you have lived in this palace for nineteen years. Tell me—have you ever spoken a single sincere word to me in all that time?"
His voice was low, but the bitterness beneath it was unmistakable.
Nineteen years.
Nineteen years of perfunctory smiles, polite words, and a heart that had never once turned toward him.
He had known she did not love him.
He had known she loved another.
He had known she had married him unwillingly.
And yet, he had hoped.
He had hoped that if he treated her with sincerity, she would one day see him—truly see him—and perhaps, in time, come to care for him.
For her, he had never touched another woman.
Not Ning Cai'er, whom she had pushed toward him.
Not the concubines who entered the palace.
Not even Imperial Concubine Ming.
He had given her everything.
And she had given him nothing but lies.
"Your Majesty, this concubine does not understand your meaning," the Empress said quietly, though her heart had begun to pound. Something was terribly wrong. His anger was not about the marriage alone.
"You do not understand?" he repeated, his voice rising with barely restrained fury. "For so many years, I have treated you sincerely. Have you ever held a place for me in your heart?"
The Empress froze.
What did he know?
What had he discovered?
"Why do you look at me like that?" he demanded. "Mu Wanging, your expression makes this Emperor feel you are a fool."
Her eyes flickered.
He had been testing her.
The marriage decree had been a test.
A test to see whether she would fight for Tang Kexin.
A test to see whether Tang Kexin was her daughter.
Her heart clenched painfully.
"I know you do not like me," the Emperor continued, his voice cold and heavy. "You have never liked me. But no matter how much you dislike me, you can only remain by my side. That was decided the moment you married me. You cannot change it."
The Empress's body stiffened.
She had known this truth for nineteen years.
But hearing it spoken aloud—so bluntly, so cruelly—tore open wounds she had spent years forcing closed.
If he had not forced her into marriage…
If her father had not drugged her…
If she had not been dragged into the palace half‑conscious…
She would have borne her child alone.
She would have accepted the shame.
She would have lived quietly, freely, with her daughter.
But she had never been given a choice.
"The Emperor need not remind me," she said, her voice cold, her eyes hardening with a rare flicker of defiance.
"Oh? You need no reminder?" he replied, his own eyes narrowing. "Very well. Since you understand so clearly, then from today onward, the Empress will move to the main palace."
She stiffened in shock.
"No."
She spoke before she could stop herself.
She could not move to his palace.
Here, in Kunning Palace, she had a sliver of freedom—a breath of space. If she moved to his residence, she would lose even that.
"No?"
The Emperor's lips curved into a chilling smile.
"Then I shall move here."
Her breath caught.
"What does Your Majesty mean?"
"What I mean," he said slowly, savouring each word, "is that from this day forward, except for morning court, I will remain here. I will read memorials here. I will dine here. And at night—every night—I will sleep here."
His voice deepened on the last words.
The Empress stared at him, stunned.
He intended to imprison her with his presence.
To suffocate her.
To strip away the last corner of her world that belonged to herself.
At that same moment, far away, Tang Kexin received the news—
The Emperor had bestowed her in marriage to the Third Prince.
And her world, too, began to shift.