In the sixty-first year of Kangxi’s reign, the emperor lay gravely ill. Before his sacred bed, the sound of weeping filled the air.
Dark clouds loomed ominously in the distance, shrouding the already dim sky over Changchun Garden.
"Prince Yong, the Fourth Prince Yinzhen, embodies my virtues… and shall inherit the throne…" The aged and deeply wrinkled Kangxi struggled to utter the final words of his edict before gasping for breath and patting the bed, signaling Prince Yong to approach.
Apart from Prince Zhi Yinti, who was under house arrest, Prince Li Yinreng, who was confined for life, and the Great General Prince Yinzhen, who was fighting in the northwest, all the other imperial sons and consorts knelt by the bedside, some weeping uncontrollably, others overcome with sorrow.
Consort De, Mrs. Wuya, led the other consorts kneeling behind, her eyes brimming with tears, her body nearly collapsing as she teetered on the edge of fainting.
Moments later, heavy footsteps echoed. The ailing Consort Yi, Mrs. Guoluoluo, supported by a palace maid, coughed softly, wiped her tears, and knelt rigidly before Consort De.
Some gasped in shock. Prince Heng Yinqi and the Ninth Prince Yintang turned their heads, their faces paling in astonishment.
Consort Yi’s beauty still faintly reflected the peerless charm of her youth. But illness and overwhelming grief had reduced her to an ordinary aging consort, her former grace entirely vanished, replaced only by the desolation of a world collapsing around her.
Deaf to the surrounding cries, she lifted her gaze to the emperor on the bed—the man who had been her lifelong pillar.
Her heart was hollow.
He did not spare her a glance, whispering breathlessly to the soon-to-be-crowned new emperor.
"If… Consort Yi proves arrogant and disrespectful, do not hesitate to disregard my sentiments…"
Prince Yong glanced briefly at Consort Yi kneeling before Consort De, his eyes darkening as he nodded in acknowledgment.
Mrs. Guoluoluo had once been the favored consort, proud and flamboyant, overshadowing his own mother. Even in her old age, a starved camel was still larger than a horse…
With the emperor’s words, all was well.
Half of Consort Yi’s soul remained in her body, while the other half hovered in the air, hearing the emperor’s whispers with perfect clarity.
Grief, fury, and despair wrapped around her heart like an impenetrable shroud. In the next instant, time and space shifted, and she saw her own fate unfold.
"By the decree of the Empress Dowager, His Majesty commands—Consort Hui shall be honored as Dowager Consort Hui, Consort Rong as Dowager Consort Rong, Consort He as Dowager Consort He…"
Only Consort Yi was omitted.
Her fifth son, Yinqi, was relegated to an insignificant post, while her youngest, Yintang, was imprisoned until death, his name changed to 'Seshe' in disgrace.
"Prince Heng, there is no need to rush to the Ministry of Rites. His Majesty orders you to escort the criminal Yuntang to the Imperial Clan Court, where he shall be stripped of his imperial name and judged alongside the criminal Yunsi. What say you?"
After the palace eunuch departed, Prince Heng Yinqi knelt before her, tears streaming down his aged face.
"Mother, your son is useless!"
She gently stroked her eldest son’s braid and murmured, "It is not your fault. I failed to dissuade Yintang. He brought this upon himself."
The calamity arrived swiftly.
When news of Yintang’s death reached her, Consort Yi sat motionless in Prince Heng’s residence all night. Her black hair turned gray, she coughed up blood, and her eyes nearly went blind from weeping.
In the tenth year of Yongzheng’s reign, Prince Heng succumbed to illness. The following year, Consort Yi, with nothing left to live for, followed him in death.
Her heartache was beyond cure, and the once-beloved consort’s glory had long faded.
Before closing her eyes, only one thought lingered in her mind:
"Your Majesty, you once vowed never to betray Yunxiu. Do you remember?"
Early March, the twenty-second year of Kangxi’s reign. Yikun Palace, deep into the night.
Under the brocade canopy embroidered with crabapple blossoms and cloud patterns, Yunxiu jolted awake with a gasp, her forehead drenched in cold sweat, her body trembling uncontrollably.
Clutching the quilt, she sat up, her long black hair cascading over her chest like a waterfall.
It had only been a nightmare…
No, not a nightmare. The dream had been too vivid, foretelling her entire future.
A fleeting dream, yet one that felt all too real.
Could it be a warning from the heavens?
Her eyes flickered with bewilderment.
After a brief spell of dizziness, Yunxiu suddenly opened her eyes, her sharp gaze softening as she placed both hands on her slightly rounded belly.
Her child, nearly five months along, seemed to sense her turmoil and stirred gently, soothing Yunxiu’s racing thoughts.
The terror and despair from the dream had vanished, leaving only tranquility in their wake.
…
Lost in thought, Yunxiu’s expression darkened in the shadows until the sudden flare of a candle illuminated the chamber. The palace maids on night duty, alerted by their mistress’s cry, hurried into action.
Her chief maid, Ruizhu, carefully lifted the bed curtain and asked urgently, "Your Highness, were you troubled by a nightmare?"
Wenyuan brought a basin of warm water, wringing out a towel to gently dab Yunxiu’s forehead, her face mirroring Ruizhu’s concern.
They had not been on duty that night and had dressed hastily, their hair still undone. After sending someone to prepare calming tea, they rushed to her side.
Her Highness was carrying a prince. Though she had safely passed the first three months, a nightmare could still unsettle her—what if something went wrong?
Not only would they blame themselves, but the emperor, the Empress Dowager, even the Grand Empress Dowager would never forgive them.
"It is nothing," Yunxiu leaned against the bed, pressing her fingers to her temples. Her voice was hoarse as she asked, "What time is it?"
"The fourth watch," Wenyuan answered softly, continuing to wipe her forehead with utmost care. "Your Highness should rest. It is still early, and this servant will keep watch over you."
"There is still the morning audience tomorrow. You both should retire. It was merely a dream…" Yunxiu sipped the calming tea from Ruizhu’s hands, rinsed her mouth, and lay back down.
Seeing that Yunxiu had calmed, likely freed from the nightmare’s grip, Ruizhu exhaled in relief, tucked the quilt around her, extinguished the candle, and quietly retreated from the inner chamber.
Nanny Dong, the head steward, arrived just then, her expression grave. "Is Her Highness well?"
Yunxiu could faintly hear their hushed voices: "Her Highness has fallen asleep… She carries a prince… No evil shall touch her…"
The sound of shuffling footsteps faded, and the palace returned to silence.
Moonlight filtered through the window lattice, casting a hazy glow over the bed canopy. Yunxiu’s peach-blossom eyes were half-lidded, her long lashes casting delicate shadows. A few strands of black hair brushed against her lips, lending them a touch of allure.
A prince?
Indeed, it was a prince.
Her jade-white hand rested atop the slight swell of her belly as Yunxiu recalled the scenes from her dream once more.
Her early years of triumph, reigning supreme in the harem with no rivals—all of it matched reality.
Her lips curled into a bitter smile.
Her fifth son, Yinqi, would never rise to prominence. The two children yet unborn—one would die in imprisonment, the other in infancy.
The crown prince would be deposed, and the consort she despised most, Consort De, would become Empress Dowager. Though her own sons would turn against each other and die before her, Consort De would still outshine her in life and death, buried beside the late emperor with full honors.
And what of her?
Stripped of the title of dowager consort, she would live in fear under the new emperor’s reign, trampled upon by all, forgotten as the once-glorious favored consort.
…None of that mattered now.
She had been a fool, and so had Yintang. They had meddled in the succession struggle and lost—there was no one to blame but themselves.
What chilled her to the bone was the emperor.
The knife plunged into her heart, bloody and fatal, had been wielded by none other than the Kangxi emperor—the man who now cherished her like a pearl and treasured her like a jewel.
The sweet nothings of youth amount to nothing, and even the most stunning beauty cannot withstand the ravages of time. In his later years, he took one Han woman after another into his harem—who could remember the vows of the past?
"If Consort Yi acts arrogantly and disrespectfully, do not spare her for my sake."
For his sake? What a laughable notion!
When he adored her, he claimed her little temper was utterly charming. Once she was cast aside, he called her arrogant, stripping her of all dignity.
Her heart had been wholly devoted to the Emperor, treating him as her heaven, attentive in every way, fulfilling her role as a favored consort. Even when she acted spoiled or competed for favor, she never overstepped.
Among all the consorts in the palace, how many had she truly offended?
She had never harmed royal heirs or schemed in the shadows.
She had believed she held a sliver of the Emperor’s true affection—only to end up with nothing, utterly defeated.
…
Like a sudden, sobering blow—
She finally saw the truth: emperors are heartless.
In the harem, to lose one’s heart and shackle oneself was the height of foolishness.
Beneath the bed curtains, Yunxiu’s breath hitched for a moment before she let out a cold laugh.
This was the future foretold by the heavens—why should she follow the path laid out in her dream?
She was born into a powerful Manchu clan, held the rank of Consort Yi, had a prince of her own, and enjoyed the favor of the Empress Dowager and the Empress. No one dared look down on her.
With so many regrets in her dream waiting to be undone, why should she exhaust herself, carefully vying for favor and chasing the Emperor’s elusive affection?
Ensuring her children’s success and living freely—that was what truly mattered.
As for men?
This consort is done serving them!
Just past dawn, Yunxiu was dressed and groomed by her attendants.
Though her spirits were low, with faint shadows beneath her eyes, her radiant beauty remained undiminished.
Her oval face, delicate arched brows, and mesmerizing peach-blossom eyes, paired with a pert nose and rosy lips, made her features striking—yet without a trace of coquetry.
In the harem, her looks were unmatched. Over the years, only Noble Consort Liang, Mrs. Wei, could compare.
When Mrs. Wei caught the Emperor’s eye and rose to favor, the other consorts eagerly awaited Consort Yi’s downfall—
Noble Consort Liang was a delicate, jade-like beauty, entirely different from Consort Yi’s bold allure. They assumed the Emperor, with his fondness for Han culture, would prefer a woman like Noble Consort Liang, and that Consort Yi’s arrogance would finally be humbled.
Yet after a brief infatuation, the Emperor lost interest in Noble Consort Liang. By the time the Eighth Prince was born, she had all but faded from his favor.
From her selection in the imperial examinations to her rise as Consort Yi, Yunxiu remained the Emperor’s unchanging favorite—much to the others’ silent fury.
Now, Yunxiu’s eyes were half-lidded, her face free of makeup, her usual brilliance softened into an understated elegance.
Nanny Dong, knowing her mistress had slept poorly the night before, instructed the second-tier maid Chunbai to comb her hair gently, careful not to disturb her.
"Shall we apply makeup, Your Highness?" Wenyuan asked softly.
Pregnant women were traditionally forbidden from wearing powder, and imperial consorts were no exception.
Pregnancy brought blemishes, bloating… The ladies of the harem dreaded comparison, especially in the Emperor’s presence, so they commissioned specially crafted cosmetics—harmless powders, kohl, and the like.
Yunxiu naturally had her own. Wenyuan was unmatched in blending cosmetics, and the powders she prepared carried a faint floral fragrance.
"No need. Let the others vie for attention—I need not join them," Yunxiu replied wearily.
The dream had left her restless, her thoughts churning through the latter half of the night. She had managed only a brief rest and had no energy for adornment now.
Wenyuan assented and moved even more quietly.
On the fifth, tenth, fifteenth, twentieth, and twenty-fifth of each month, the consorts, led by the Imperial Noble Consort, Mrs. Tongjia, paid their respects at Cining Palace. On other days, they simply visited Chengqian Palace to greet the Imperial Noble Consort.
Normally, the Imperial Noble Consort, now six months pregnant, would have excused them from these visits. But today was different. She had summoned them to Chengqian Palace to discuss preparations for the Emperor’s birthday and the arrangements for the upcoming Longevity Festival.
With such an order, who would dare be absent?
Consort De, four months along, would likely arrive even earlier than Yunxiu.
After dressing, Yunxiu casually pointed to a pale apricot gown embroidered with winding branches—prompting startled glances from Wenyuan and the others.
Consort Yi had always favored bright colors. What had changed today?
