The imperial surname of the former dynasty.
“That old man left the Jiang estate half a month ago. His whereabouts are unknown.”
Wanqian’s expression shifted. “Which day exactly?”
“Why, the very day the Jiang sisters entered the palace,” Gao Fu replied with a grin.
The same day a few censors, goaded by Jiang Wenyuan, lost their heads.
Wanqian sneered. “So our Minister Jiang hides ambitions deeper than I thought—already cozying up with remnants of the old regime.”
“And what of Jiang Ruotian and Jiang Fuling?”
Gao Fu answered, “Concubine Fuling has a shallow mind, and she can’t sit still—she spends her days mingling with the other ladies. But Lady Tian is steady and composed. She’s quietly gaining influence in the harem.”
He phrased it carefully. After all, no matter how suspicious the emperor felt toward them, they were still his consorts. A servant could hardly speak ill of his masters.
But those few words were enough.
Fuling was brainless, absorbed in petty palace squabbles.
Ruotian, on the other hand, was building her own power base in silence.
“Keep an eye on them,” Wanqian said.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The Wanqian Emperor suddenly remembered something. “Go ask the imperial kitchen how supper preparations are coming along. If it’s ready, have them deliver it earlier today.”
“This servant will hurry someone over right away,” Gao Fu replied.
He left and soon returned with a report: the kitchen had everything prepared and was awaiting the emperor’s command.
The emperor gave a quiet hum. “We’ll proceed to the Falling Snow Pavilion.”
On the way, Gao Fu couldn’t hold back a probing remark. “For Lady Lan to receive such favor from Your Majesty—truly, that must be a blessing earned in a past life.”
The Wanqian Emperor gave a derisive laugh. “Gao Fu, have you always wondered why, when it comes to the more flamboyant Jiang Ruotian and Jiang Fuling, I let others watch them, yet I choose to personally keep an eye on this obscure illegitimate daughter of the Jiang family?”
Gao Fu offered a sheepish smile.
The emperor was in good spirits and let the impertinence pass. “Jiang Ruotian and Jiang Fuling wear their ambitions on their faces. People like them, I know how to deal with. But this Jiang Zhelan…”
He trailed off.
Gao Fu bent low, sneaking a glance at the young ruler’s face. At that moment, the emperor reclined lazily in his palanquin, one hand propping up his head, eyelids half lowered, lips pressed together. It was hard to read his expression.
Gao Fu had served him since childhood. Compared to his benevolent forebears, Li He had always been mercurial and impossible to please, his moods sharp and unpredictable. Normally, his dark eyes carried a chill, full of mockery or contempt. Even when he smiled, it was a cruel, joyless thing that left others trembling.
But now—though the emperor was sunk in thought—Gao Fu swore he caught a flicker of bewilderment on his face.
The Wanqian Emperor said softly, “I can’t see through her.”
“Ah?” Gao Fu blinked, then realized he was speaking of Jiang Zhelan.
“Jiang Ruotian is cut from the same cloth as her father. She didn’t enter the harem for affection; that much is clear. Jiang Fuling is even easier to read—just pair her off against a few impatient rivals and her every move is tied down. But Jiang Zhelan… she seems to have a purpose too, and yet I cannot fathom what it is.
“Is she covering for Jiang Ruotian?
“Or helping Jiang Wenyuan gather intelligence?”
He voiced a few possibilities, then abruptly shook his head, dismissing them.
“…No. I’ll keep my eyes on her myself. I want to see what it is she truly seeks.”
Gao Fu lowered his gaze again. Indeed, in an emperor’s eyes, anyone he could not see through became a prime target of scrutiny. To rule was to control, and to control meant knowing a person’s habits, weaknesses, and desires.
Not everyone could withstand that kind of imperial attention. What sort of fate awaited Lady Lan was hard to say.
At that very moment, the system was puffing furiously inside Ming Ming’s head, while she herself was blowing hard on the spoon in front of her.
Ming Ming nearly exploded. “Quit blowing, damn it! You huffing in my head does nothing for me out here!”
“I’m showing you moral support through action!” the system protested.
“Hurry, hurry! The emperor’s on his way. If you don’t finish now, you won’t get to eat!”
Time was tight, the mission urgent. But the steaming pork wontons were scalding hot. Ming Ming blew twice, bit off half, hissed in pain as she swallowed, then immediately started on the other half.
“He’s coming! Stop eating, put it away!” the system urged in a panic.
Half a bowl remained. Ming Ming couldn’t bear to waste it. She scooped another one, blew furiously, and tried to stuff it in before he arrived.
Who would’ve thought the Wanqian Emperor would show up so early today?
In the blink of an eye, he was already pushing open the door. Ming Ming reacted fast, popping a big wonton into her mouth, then slapping a dish over the bowl and scrambling to her feet, tense as she stared at him.
The emperor caught her little maneuver, his eyes narrowing sharply.
Well, well. Caught red-handed?
He advanced slowly. Ming Ming forced a calm front, but her mouth was too scalded to close.
“What’s this? Seeing me leaves you speechless?” His voice carried three parts authority.
Ming Ming wanted to answer, but her tongue was on fire.
So damn hot!
He stopped in front of her, gaze locked on her face, watching every twitch.
Her expression twisted tighter and tighter in pain until he barked, “Speak!”
She jolted, but still couldn’t hold on—she spat the steaming wonton right out.
The emperor stared at the fallen dumpling, his expression momentarily frozen. As though he couldn’t believe it. Or perhaps it was simply so far from what he’d expected.
He walked straight to the table, lifted the dish, and revealed half a bowl of wontons.
His eyes slid back to Ming Ming, who was frantically fanning her mouth with one hand.
Their gazes met—she dropped hers instantly, pretending to be casual, fidgeting with her fingers, shuffling her toes.
The emperor almost laughed from sheer exasperation.
He tapped his finger on the table. “Can you speak now, Lady Lan?”
Ming Ming stammered. The emperor sat down, leisurely watching.
Her words came out in a tiny, mosquito-like murmur, but he caught the meaning:
“Well, well. My Lady Lan is clever indeed—using my name to have the imperial kitchen slip her an extra meal.”
He picked up one wonton and smirked. “Look at this—thin skin, fat filling. I don’t recall the kitchen ever making them this large, do you, Gao Fu?”
“Indeed, only half the size before,” Gao Fu replied obediently.
“So. Under my banner, Lady Lan thwarts her enemies and dines on meat in peace. By all appearances, you’re the one holding me in the palm of your hand.”
Ming Ming’s quick little brain whirred. Before he could accuse her of forging an imperial edict, she blurted first. With exaggerated gestures, she declared, “This concubine never forged Your Majesty’s words! Never abused your name for wickedness! It was only… well… a touch of pampered mischief—borrowing the tiger’s might, so to speak!”
Gao Fu nearly burst out laughing, only to swallow it when the emperor shot him a frosty glance.
The emperor pinched her cheek, enjoying the soft feel, then said with a mocking drawl, “I did wonder why, eating nothing but gruel with me day after day, you haven’t lost any weight. In fact, your complexion has improved. Now I see why.”
“No, no, that’s just a tiny part of it. The real reason is… having Your Majesty beside me fills me with joy and vigor! That’s why I look so well!”
The emperor snorted. “Silver tongue.”
He flicked a glance at Gao Fu, who hurried to summon the kitchen. One by one, dishes arrived—this time including several meat dishes, with a roast duck placed right at the center.
Usually, that spot was reserved for the emperor’s beloved boiled tofu.
Ming Ming’s eyes widened in astonishment. She stared at him, dumbfounded.
The emperor said smoothly, “I thought Lady Lan must miss the taste of meat, so I had the kitchen prepare a few special dishes. But since you’ve already eaten supper, it seems you’ll have no appetite tonight. Take them away.”
“Wait!” Ming Ming clutched his arm. “No, Your Majesty, we can talk this through—don’t take them away!”
His gaze dropped to her hand on his arm. She, meanwhile, was eyeing the roast duck and swallowing hard.
“You’ve already had wontons. Where’s the room for more?”
“I’ve got room, I’ve got room! That half bowl of wontons doesn’t count—that was just a starter!”
Just then, a maid entered carrying a wooden box. “My Lady, I brought what you asked for, still hot—ah! Your Majesty! Forgive me, this lowly one deserves death!”
She collapsed to her knees, trembling.
Ming Ming shut her eyes in resignation.
The emperor found her stricken look amusing.
Gao Fu took the box, opened it, and revealed a basket of pan-fried dumplings—another special order Ming Ming had slipped to the kitchen.
The emperor clicked his tongue. “Quite the feast, Lady Lan. No wonder you sit with me nibbling leaves, unable to stomach more than a few bites.”
“Well, since you already have all this—”
Ming Ming snapped her eyes open, fixed on the dumplings, and declared solemnly, “That’s dessert! Nothing to do with supper!”
“…Don’t take them away! I can still eat!” she whimpered, clutching at his sleeve.
The emperor: “…”
Lucien On ABRWF Chapter 34.1