The soft, melodious yet sorrowful voice came from... the middle-aged nun who was feeding Yang Bu-yao her medicinal broth.
Yang Xinzhi's birth mother... was her?
Yes, it made sense. The nun's beautiful eyes shone with boundless maternal tenderness as she gazed at the sturdy young man—such natural affection could never be feigned. Yang Xinzhi also choked up as he asked, "A Niang, how is your health? Why did they say you were suffering? Has your old illness flared up again..."
Before he could finish, the nun's hands trembled violently, and with a clatter, both the bowl and porcelain spoon fell onto the bed. Yang Xinzhi hurried forward to steady his mother, while the maidservants and Wei Shufen rushed to help, carrying the nun to a nearby couch to rest.
On the bed, Yang Bu-yao struggled to prop herself up halfway, panting as she said, "Auntie... why must you... I told you not to come if you're unwell... Take care of yourself first..."
Wei Shufen took the nun's wrist to check her pulse, finding only weakness and exhaustion—common among long-term vegetarian practitioners of meditation, with no immediate danger. Seeing Yang Xinzhi sweating anxiously, she reassured him and suggested he carry his mother back to her quarters for some warm, nourishing broth and proper rest.
Yang Xinzhi agreed, effortlessly lifting his mother's frail body with his strong arms and heading for the door. The nun nestled against her son's shoulder, smiling contentedly as she closed her eyes—only to open them again when Yang Xinzhi stopped abruptly at the bedroom doorway.
Before him stood his father, Yang Shidao.
The imperial son-in-law's expression was complex, a mix of sorrow and joy as he gazed at his first wife and eldest son, his mind seemingly drifting far away.
Unable to bow while holding his mother, Yang Xinzhi pressed his lips tightly shut, saying nothing. The nun—Yang Shidao's first wife, née Ma—sighed softly and whispered, "Let's go," before closing her eyes again. Yang Xinzhi shifted his shoulders and stepped past his father, descending the stairs outside.
Yang Shidao silently watched his wife and son disappear into the glaring daylight beyond the door, then raised his hands in a salute—just as he had earlier for his current wife, the Guiyang Princess. Turning back, he said to Wei Shufen, "Please do your utmost to treat the Princess of Hailing."
There was no avoiding it now.
Wei Shufen had little to say. She sat by Yang Bu-yao's bedside and proceeded with diagnosis. The symptoms were unremarkable—typical postpartum lochia retention—something Wei Shufen could treat in her sleep. The "Crab Claw Decoction" and "Fermented Soybean Decoction" her mother had recently used for postnatal recovery would suffice perfectly.
Consort Yang and her mother were of similar age, both having borne multiple children. Summer heat during childbirth had caused comparable complications. Based on Wei Shufen's limited experience, while the condition looked alarming, proper care would prevent mortal danger.
Though if mortal danger—or certain death—were desired... that wouldn't be difficult either.
Two ounces of achyranthes root, two ounces of talc, one and a half ounces each of rice-paper plant pith and ampelopsis japonica... or boiled elm bark extract, slowly administered... would cause endless bleeding. These were technically "postpartum remedies" for "retained placenta or stillbirth"—even itinerant physicians might struggle to discern when they were appropriate."Lady Yang, I heard that during your childbirth, the palace sent High Truth Master to attend to you. Is that true?" Wei Shufen suddenly recalled this rumor and leaned over the pillow to ask the new mother. Yang Buyao weakly shook her head:
"How could someone like me be so fortunate... It was only my aunt who delivered the baby. Who else would care about the lives of me and my child..."
So it was indeed just a rumor. Judging by Yang Buyao's condition, it didn't seem she had received proper midwifery care. Wei Shufen had been skeptical anyway—she doubted the Emperor truly cared that much about Yang Buyao and her child. He probably just told Yang Shidao, "Go take care of your niece," and considered his duty done.
So if Consort Yang, Princess of Hailing, were to die from postpartum hemorrhage, wouldn't that please everyone?
For the Son of Heaven and his consort, it would rid them of a femme fatale tarnishing the virtuous ruler's reputation. For Yang Shidao and the Fifth Princess, it would mean less responsibility and fewer troubles. Even for Yang Buyao's newborn son, it might be a blessing—the Emperor could order Yang Shidao to bring the boy into the palace to be raised by a childless concubine, who could later retire as "Dowager Consort of [Principality]" with her adopted son, ensuring the child would be well cared for.
As for Yang Buyao's two daughters, they would undoubtedly grieve deeply at first. But their futures were already predetermined—they would marry with the title of "County Princess," just like their elder cousin Li Wanxi. Whether their mother's illicit affair with the Emperor would bring them fortune or misfortune was hard to say. Putting herself in their shoes, Wei Shufen thought that if she were them, simply marrying safely and living quietly would be the greatest blessing.
If the peerless beauty Yang Da were to die silently on the birthing bed...
She gazed at the delicate face on the pillow—pale from blood loss, yet all the more pitiable, with a serene, untroubled expression. Yang Buyao was as she always had been: her frowns and smiles vivid and charming, her alluring appearance captivating, yet at her core, she was even more indifferent and numb than the former Crown Princess Zheng Guanyin, utterly detached from everything in this world.
Including her own life... Yang Buyao met Wei Shufen's gaze from the pillow, panting for a while before suddenly asking, "Wei Niangzi... you never entered the palace, did you?"
During their last meeting, Wei Shufen had deliberately led her to believe she was a newly favored concubine of the Emperor, thereby learning many secrets. That misunderstanding wouldn't be hard to uncover—Yang Buyao could simply ask the Emperor's fifth sister, the Guiyang Princess. Wei Shufen hadn't expected the ruse to last long anyway. Hearing the question now, she replied calmly:
"I currently reside in the Purple Void Monastery within the forbidden garden."
The beauty's pale cherry lips curved into a faint smile. "Then... why...?"
Why indeed? Why was I drawn into pursuing these matters? Why did I risk my life, rushing about heedlessly, and what have I gained in the end? Why, when there were easier paths that would please everyone without effort, did I stubbornly refuse to take them?
Wei Shufen searched her heart but found no answer. Yet the feeling was familiar—this confusion, this temptation that made decisions agonizing, this knowledge that the smooth road ahead was strewn with flowers and brocade, yet she turned instead toward thorns and hardship, toiling with bare hands and feet.
"One sheng of crab claws, two chi each of licorice and cinnamon bark, two liang of donkey-hide gelatin. One and a half sheng of fermented soybeans, one square cun of deer antler powder..."She slowly dictated the prescription to the maidservants beside her and Yang Shidao standing behind, letting them record and prepare it. Yang Buyao lay quietly under the quilt, listening indifferently. When the decoction was finally prepared and brought to her bedside by her daughter, she opened her mouth without hesitation to sip it—obedient, docile... and utterly despairing.
If I had followed your suggestion and pinned the blame for Princess Linfen’s murder on her nurse HeBa, Wei Shufen thought, you wouldn’t be alive today. Once you start taking the easy path for profit, there’s no stopping. Going against your conscience isn’t easy, but once you set foot on that road, there’s no turning back.
As night fell and the city gates closed, Wei Shufen stayed overnight at the Temple of Compassionate Harmony. The next morning, Yang Buyao showed significant improvement, but the middle-aged nun who usually cared for her—her former aunt and Yang Xinzhi’s birth mother, Lady Ma—was even weaker and more exhausted than the day before. Wei Shufen’s medical skills were limited, and she couldn’t diagnose the cause. Fortunately, that morning, Chai Yingluo was also summoned by Yang Shidao from her home.
Chai Yingluo first examined Yang Buyao, praising Wei Shufen with words like “great progress” and “prescribing the right medicine,” but her gaze seemed to carry a deeper meaning. Wei Shufen said nothing and led her to see Lady Ma. Yang Xinzhi pleaded desperately by the bedside. After a long, focused examination, Chai Yingluo sighed and asked:
“Aunt, forgive my bluntness, but who prepares your daily meals? Do you have any enemies in this temple? Who would... poison you?”
“Poison?” Wei Shufen and Yang Xinzhi exclaimed simultaneously. The nun Lady Ma, her face ashen, shook her head:
“The High Truth Master overestimates the matter. This humble nun is but a speck of dust, insignificant to the world. Who would trouble themselves with such evil...”
Before she could finish, a young nun rushed into the room in a panic, announcing breathlessly: “Master, Master! A group of horsemen has arrived outside the temple to escort you to the palace—to see Empress Zhangsun!”
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