This was the Emperor’s seed, the first time in history to bear fruit.
Thirty-seven-year-old Wan Zhen’er and the twenty-year-old Emperor proved their fertility was completely normal. No need for imperial doctors to examine them or seek mysterious remedies.
If the Emperor’s seed was male, the future Crown Prince – and future Emperor – would surely inherit the golden throne. Wan Zhen’er’s position as Empress Dowager would also be secure. Heaven or hell doesn’t discriminate by age.
Wan Zhen’er must plan for her future.
Prepare for all possibilities.
Now, blessed by heaven and ancestors, her body could create life – a tremendous joy for both her and the Emperor.
There could be no greater news under heaven.
The imperial physician took Wan Zhen’er’s pulse and then told her, definitively, that she was pregnant.”
Wan Zhen’er was stunned for a moment, then immediately broke into a radiant smile, so happy that her teeth showed but her eyes disappeared. She was excited like a child, almost jumping a foot high, and was fortunate to maintain her composure despite her excitement.
Wan Zhen’er said: “Congratulations, Your Majesty, congratulations. Your Majesty is going to be a father.”
The Emperor also broke into a bright smile, even more excited than Wan Zhen’er: “We also congratulate our beloved concubine. Our beloved concubine is going to be a mother.”
Empress Dowager Zhou’s gaze softened, and she asked, “It must have been hard?”
Wan Zhen’er nodded and answered honestly, “A bit, after all, I am getting older.”
Empress Dowager Zhou spoke from her experienced perspective, “Being a woman is always like this, enduring the hardships of childbirth.”
Wan Zhen’er smiled, “This concubine is not afraid.”
What was this hardship?
When Wan Zhen’er first became pregnant, it was truly difficult, being of advanced maternal age.
She vomited terribly, throwing up everything she ate, even bile, and her entire body became so thin that she was no longer the charming Wan Zhen’er, but a typical haggard wife.
The Emperor was heartbroken. He did not despise her for becoming unattractive but instead constantly hovered around her. The Emperor cared more about Wan Zhen’er than himself, wishing he could share her pain.
He even lowered his status, playing the comedian. He told jokes, made funny faces, performed skits, and was just short of braying like a donkey.
At this moment, the Emperor did not seem like an Emperor. Instead, Wan Zhen’er was more “Emperor-like”.
“Emperor, bring me water!”
“Emperor, massage me!”
“Emperor, I’m tired. Help me to bed to rest.”
The Emperor was not unhappy but eagerly listened to her commands. Later, as Wan Zhen’er stopped vomiting, she began craving sour things, especially cherries, grapes, and bayberries. The Emperor eagerly had people find and buy as many as possible.
An experienced old palace maid confidently said that craving sour foods definitely meant a son.
As a result, Wan Zhen’er and the Emperor were very excited. If Wan Zhen’er gave birth to a son, she would not only provide an heir to ensure the country’s continuation but could also, according to tradition, be granted a title and status.
Wan Zhen’er was overjoyed in her heart – she had given birth to a prince! A royal firstborn son! Tears, “gurgling” from the corners of Wan Zhen’er’s eyes, streaming like spring rain. These were tears of joy, happy tears. Wan Zhen’er thought that her years of effort, struggle, and dreams had finally become reality, truly and completely hers.
Ah, everything had turned sweet after bitterness.
The Emperor was equally ecstatic. Of course, everyone knew that Wan Zhen’er’s happiness was the Emperor’s happiness, her fortune was his fortune.
To celebrate the birth of his first beloved son and to please his beloved Wan Zhen’er, the Emperor spared no expense.
He commissioned officials from the Ministry of Rites to travel nationwide, bowing to Buddha three times, offering three incense sticks, greeting monks with “Amitabha”, and praying to the gods to bless his and Wan Zhen’er’s son – hoping he would grow tall, healthy, clever, and live a long, peaceful life.
Because of her successful childbirth, Wan Zhen’er was rapidly promoted from a first-rank concubine to Imperial Consort, just half a step from becoming Empress. With her new status, she moved to the more well-equipped Zhao De Palace. Suddenly, thirty-eight-year-old Wan Zhen’er was at the height of her power and influence.
Indeed, because Wan Zhen’er became a popular star, her family rode her coattails and also rose to prominence, becoming rocket-level cadres. First, Wan Zhen’er’s father Wan Gui, this time truly becoming noble – not just noble, but billionaire noble.
Who knows how many people who previously looked down on this criminal’s family now regret not recognizing his potential. Wan Gui’s life changed dramatically, becoming the current emperor’s father-in-law, honored as imperial nobility. In his seventies or eighties, nearly needing a walking stick, he surprisingly obtained the position of Chief Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.
One person’s success raised the entire family.
Glory and wealth were shared by family members, with no one left behind.
Wan Zhen’er’s elder brother Wan Xi was also “happy”, being made a Battalion Commander by his imperial brother-in-law, soon promoted to Deputy Chief Commander. Her second brother Wan Tong was a Battalion Commander, and another younger brother, Wan Da, also prospered and was made a Deputy Commander.
The entire Wan family found positions because of Wan Zhen’er.
“Having connections in the court makes official positions easy” – this saying didn’t come out of thin air.
This was understandable; they were Wan Zhen’er’s family, and blood is thicker than water.
The most interesting case was a man named Wan An, a distant relative with no real connection. The only similarity was sharing the surname “Wan” with Wan Zhen’er. That was enough. Since he shared her surname, creating a “bootlicking culture” was not difficult.
Wan An had likely thoroughly studied “The Art of War” and understood the strategy of “indirect rescue”.
Wan Zhen’er asked: “I heard you are a Grand Scholar?”
Wan An stood with both hands hanging down, extremely respectful and devout, replied: “Reporting to Imperial Noble Consort, this nephew is.”
Wan Zhen’er said: “Not bad at all.”
Wan An still stood with both hands hanging down, still using an extremely respectful and devout voice to answer: “By the grace of Imperial Noble Consort.”
Wan Zhen’er narrowed her eyes.
Wan Zhen’er knew that the Grand Scholar’s power was not great, with an official rank of only fifth grade, merely an imperial attendant consultant, without seal of authority, serving in the Hanlin Academy with a stipend. But climbing step by step to this position through his own efforts was already rare and precious.
While her father and brothers held important positions, everyone under heaven knew they relied on nepotism, not true ability.
Although heroes do not ask about origins, Wan Zhen’er was born lowly, with a thin foundation and shallow roots. Compared to her peers—the emperor’s nominal wives—her family background appeared inferior, sometimes making her feel slightly insecure.
Wan An wanted to borrow Wan Zhen’er’s influence to rise quickly. Conversely, Wan Zhen’er could use Wan An to decorate her family’s facade.
Liang Fang and Wang Zhi had several things in common: they were both “roundworms” in Wan Zhen’er’s belly, thinking and doing what Wan Zhen’er did and being loyal to her; they were clever, cunning, and skilled in flattery, deeply loved by her; and they were both eunuchs. However, as disabled individuals, they did not feel dejected, but had ideals and ambitions, persistently pursuing desires and enjoyments beyond sexual love, such as power.
