Wan Zhen’er had effectively replaced Queen Wang’s role, being the empress in all but name.
With nothing to do, Queen Wang became a teacher, instructing Ji Shi in reading, writing, and cultural knowledge.”
Palace maids may be small, but they are still women. Just being a woman makes them the natural enemy of Wan Zhen’er.
The next day, after waiting until the Emperor left Ji’s bed, Wan Zhen’er impatiently dispatched her confidant with a gift – a potent abortion drug, to be delivered to Ji, who was to drink it in front of her confidant.
Ji drank it. Survival was more important.
Unexpectedly, the potent abortion drug was not effective. Whether it was due to the drug being stored too long or the negligence of the yellow-green doctor who prepared the prescription, the result was the same. Ji remained unharmed, and the seed planted by the Emperor was thriving. Ji’s belly gradually began to swell.
This could not escape Wan Zhen’er’s notice. Wan Zhen’er gnashed her teeth in hatred. Why did heaven always oppose her? She feared something, and it would inevitably come. Like a mad lioness, she viciously kicked a nearby chair. The chair flew up and then crashed to the ground, splitting into pieces.
Wan Zhen’er called her confidant Chun Yan and brewed another batch of potent abortion drug, intending to give it to Ji.
Chun Yan went but did not give Ji the abortion drug.
Chun Yan was caught in a dilemma. This was the Emperor’s flesh and blood. The Emperor’s previous two sons had tragically died, and he had not yet designated an heir. If the Emperor discovered this, how could she survive? She would surely be executed. But if she did not follow Wan Zhen’er’s orders, she would also face certain death.
Ultimately, she could not bear it.
Chun Yan could not bring herself to act. Ji was so young, with delicate features, an angelic face, slender and fragile, blinking her large eyes, pitiful and heart-wrenching.
Chun Yan sighed.
She returned and told Wan Zhen’er that Ji was not pregnant, merely suffering from a stomach tumor, constantly crying in pain and likely not long for this world.
Wan Zhen’er believed her. Fearing the Emperor might return to Ji’s bed, Wan Zhen’er ordered Ji to be transferred from her comfortable position in the inner library to the Anle Hall to do hard labor. This was her deserved fate!
Wan Zhen’er could not tolerate even a grain of sand in her eye. Love was either a total loss or a complete victory.
Escaped Fish (1)
Wan Zhen’er did not know that the tumor in Ji’s belly would grow for ten months and emerge as a vibrant new life, a male child. This was the Emperor’s seed, the Emperor’s flesh and blood. But for Ji, this child was a ticking time bomb that could explode at any moment. If discovered by Wan Zhen’er, that evil woman, they would be buried alive by her lackeys.
Terrified of being buried alive, Ji was constantly on edge, even sleeping with her eyes open. She thought but could not bring herself to let her newborn son learn to swim and then deliberately drown him. Though cruel, she needed to sacrifice the pawn to save the king.
Ji held her son, tears falling like unstrung pearls. “Poor child,” she said, “our fate is so bitter. Why were you born into my belly? I am helpless, unable to protect you. I am but a clay Bodhisattva crossing the river, barely surviving myself. How can I possibly care for you?”
They say even tigers do not eat their young. Ji wondered how she could be worse than a tiger, contemplating drowning her own son, personally sending him to hell, separating mother and child forever. Ji cried and cried. She could not bring herself to end her child’s life. Though her son was born of her, he was not hers alone.
Narrowly, he belonged to the Emperor, to the Zhu clan; broadly, he belonged to the country and its people, destined to bear the responsibility of the Zhu clan’s leadership.
But the child could not remain with her.
If she could not bear to let him go, they would both be doomed. How could they escape Wan Zhen’er’s clutches? She feared nothing, would even pluck the Emperor’s beard for amusement.
How could one’s own life and the life of one’s son matter?
In Wan Zhen’er’s eyes, even ants were worth less.
