After the incident, the Eastern Palace remained quiet for a long time, with Weilin’s visits restricted to about once a month, preventing her from seeing her daughter Yaya. Her mother-in-law seemed burdened with worries, and Weilin felt exhausted as she tried to comfort her.
As winter approached, Yan Capital experienced an abundance of sticky snow that irritated the heart, and the Eastern Palace mirrored its neglected master, lacking attention and warmth.
With the arrival of spring, Weilin was a month away from giving birth. Xi Linxuan often stayed by her side as they discussed naming their child.
“You’ve only chosen boys’ names. What if it’s a daughter again?” Weilin rubbed her belly.
“It’s a son, definitely a son. I’ve dreamed about it,” Xi Linxuan said confidently.
“Not all dreams come true. Do you really believe that?” Weilin laughed.
“When you were carrying Yaya, your belly was round. This time it’s pointy, so it must be a son,” Xi Linxuan retorted, crumpling a paper filled with names and discarding it. “Let’s use ‘Qi’. I hope he’ll have a long life like Qi Mountain and be as blessed as Qi Water.”
Weilin glanced at him. “It sounds good, but I fear some might read too much into it,” she replied, aware that Qi Mountain was the location of the imperial shrine, which carried significant implications.
“He’ll be the future crown prince and emperor. Using this character isn’t overstepping,” Xi Linxuan said.
Weilin’s heart skipped a beat as she looked at Xi Linxuan, whose expression was calm, as if what he said was ordinary.
Xi Linxuan bent down to meet her gaze, his warm hand gripping hers tightly: “As a husband and father, I don’t want my wife and children to suffer. It’s unfair. I know you don’t want me involved in this mess, but I have no way out. From the day the memorial was torn, we’ve had no retreat.”
Weilin silently held his hand, feeling anxious about their uncertain future. This path led to either life or death, with no room for compromise.
