Chapter 183: Honor's Rise and Fall

Li Ping'er ultimately couldn't bear it any longer.

The consecutive days of indulgence and invisible grinding drained the last ounce of her vitality.

She fell ill, curled up on the cold bed in the Side Hall, coughing with a heart‑rending wail, her cheeks burning scarlet, and her whole being withered rapidly.

News came from Yangxin Hall; the Emperor indifferently remarked, "She is strong and robust; a few medicines will set her right."

He prescribed some common medicinal herbs, and that night, they still had to continue.

Is this still favor?

It even no longer treats her as a human being.

Wan Tang listened to Xiao Shunzi's low report, her face calm, only pinching her palm with her fingertips, leaving a few shallow crescent marks.

That night, a small banquet was set up in the warm pavilion of Yuhuayuan.

Wan Tang, for the first time, wore a dazzling crimson palace robe, its embroidered golden vines of crabapple shimmering under the lamp.

She did not deliberately approach the throne, merely sat nearby, holding a kettle to pour wine, her fingertips like jade.

Her profile was cool, occasionally exchanging a few jokes with others; as her eyes flickered, they seemed to barely brush the supreme Emperor.

She discussed poetry, citing classics, offering unique insights, her voice clear and resonant as jade striking stone.

Her fingertips brushed the strings, playing not the usual languid melody.

Rather, an old tune tinged with hints of clashing swords and iron horses, its briskness revealing a barely perceptible aloofness.

Chu Yunzheng's gaze was gradually drawn to her.

He had seen her obedient demeanor, her cool demeanor, even her stubborn demeanor.

Yet he had never seen her so vivid, yet with a hooked aspect.

Like a fine wine, knowing it could intoxicate, yet unable to resist a taste.

Midway through the banquet, Wan Tang found an excuse to leave early.

She departed without lingering, her hem brushing the newly opened night mist at the steps, leaving a faint, elusive chill fragrance.

In less than half an hour, familiar imperial procession drums sounded outside Palace of Eternal Joy.

When Chu Yunzheng stepped into the Gongmen, Wan Tang was leaning by the window reading.

Her ink‑black hair fell like a waterfall, a plain jade hairpin slanted in it; the crimson palace robe had been swapped for a moon‑white everyday attire.

Under the lamp she appeared especially plain, a stark contrast to the dazzling figure at the banquet.

"Emperor?" she lifted her eyes, seeming a bit surprised, hurried to rise and bow.

Chu Yunzheng strode forward, grasping her wrist.

His touch was slightly cool.

He looked at her close‑up brows and eyes, his Adam's apple twitching: "Play that piece from the banquet again for me."

Wan Tang lowered her gaze slightly, her long lashes casting a small shadow: "I am a bit weary."

The tone carried a rare hint of laziness and distance, not a refusal, yet more intriguing.

The spark kindled in Chu Yunzheng's heart surged upward swiftly.

He had never experienced such a vague rebuff from her; instead it felt novel and unbearable.

He pressed his arm, pulling her into his embrace, lowered his head to inhale the cool fragrance from her hair, his voice hoarse: "Tangtang today, very beautiful."

Wan Tang neither struggled nor complied, merely tilted her head slightly in his arms.

She exposed a delicate, fragile neck line, her voice light as a sigh: "Emperor, are you here to see the official's daughter? She is gravely ill, in the Side Hall…"

"I am here to see you," Chu Yunzheng interrupted, his fingertip brushing her cheek, forcing her to look at him.

His eyes burned with familiar aggression, yet now held an indescribable obsession: "Tell me, why is today different?"

Wan Tang met his gaze, watery light shimmering in her eyes, yet her emotions unreadable.

She suddenly let out a very light laugh, her fingertip barely grazing his lapel:

"I just suddenly feel, no matter how splendid the palace flowers bloom, without anyone to admire them, they are lonely."

That night, the candles of Palace of Eternal Joy burned until dawn.

Chu Yunzheng seemed to have discovered an unprecedented treasure.

The desire he felt for Wan Tang's newly displayed, radically different charm was irresistible, completely pushing the ailing Li Ping'er out of his mind.

【Tangtang is still impressive; if she doesn't act, that's fine. Once she acts, she will definitely capture the Emperor.】

【Who's being tough‑mouth soft‑heart? It says that regardless of Li Ping'er, seeing her like this, they'd still act.】

【Li Defu tried many schemes, all to no effect. Nothing compares to Wan Tang's casual action!】

【Could this be the power of true love?】

【Ugh, love‑brain!】

Wan Tang at this moment didn't want to heed what they said; after all, she now fought for more than Li Ping'er.

In the Imperial harem, without the Emperor's favor, one loses all protection.

If the timing isn't right, how could one neglect the one who can command the rise and fall of honor?

Wan Tang thought of this and gave a bitter smile.

She turned to look at the man beside her, who was now sound asleep.

Chu Yunzheng was like a child, finally gaining long‑awaited stability, sleeping so peacefully.

The morning light was faint, filtering through the gauze curtains into the tent.

Chu Yunzheng woke, and in his arm was Wan Tang's warm, soft body.

He was in a good mood, his fingertips intermittently twining her hair, then said, "In a few days, Spring Gate, I will take you there."

Wan Tang, leaning in his arms, eyelashes trembling slightly, softly probed as if unintentionally, "Spring Gate?"

"I have heard it is mostly scholars competing in literary talent; the Emperor taking me there might invite criticism…"

Chu Yunzheng let out a low laugh, his palm rubbing her shoulder, his tone bearing the unquestionable authority of an emperor: "Literary talent?"

"That is merely adding flowers to brocade. What I seek is a sword that can command Heaven and Earth."

He paused briefly, his voice deepening a few degrees: "The Grand General's position has been vacant for too long; someone must take it."

Wan Tang knew that the opportunity she had waited for so long had finally arrived.

She smiled faintly and said "good" to the Emperor.

All followed the Emperor.

Yet at daybreak, she tied a small note to a pigeon's leg and sent it off.

The spring inspection ground, with fluttering banners, was not a place for scholars and their inkstones, but a grim battlefield for mustering troops.

The Emperor and Empress sat high upon the viewing platform.

Xiao Mingshu, in phoenix crown and court robes, held a dignified bearing, a faint smile fitting her rank at the corner of her mouth.

Her gaze, however, kept flicking toward a figure on the other side of the platform, her fingertips subtly tightening within her sleeve.

Below, a host of generals, clad in armor or battle gear, held their breath, awaiting the Son of Heaven's inspection.

Yet in this arena of masculine vigor, one figure captured the majority of attention.

Consort Hui.

She did not sit in the women's seats, nor wore elaborate palace attire.

Clad in dark lightweight armor that outlined a tall, sleek figure, her ink‑black hair was tied high into a bun, secured with a single plain silver hairpin.

Sunlight bathed her, and the long‑dormant battle attire seemed infused with spirit; the lazy fatigue in her brows and eyes vanished.

In its place shone a sharpness like a cold blade drawn from its sheath, her whole being like a polished pearl suddenly vivid and bright.

She stood calmly before the generals, her gaze blazing as she stared at the ground, the aura forged by countless battles matching that of any general beside her.

Chu Yunzheng watched the platform, and as his eyes passed over Consort Hui, a complex admiration flickered in his gaze, yet he said nothing.

The assessment began.

Mounted archery, formations, and military strategy simulations proceeded one after another.

Young talents gave their all; shouts, hoofbeats, and weapon clashes filled the air, a spectacular display.

When it came to the strategy questioning, a youth dressed like a Confucian officer spoke fluently, citing classics, earning nods from several civil official examiners.

Suddenly, a clear yet battle‑tempered female voice interrupted him: "Discussing warfare on paper!"

Everyone was startled; the gaze turned to Consort Hui.

She did not even rise, standing with arms crossed, a hint of coldness at the corner of her mouth: "Your suggestion of a 'detouring encirclement' is indeed an ancient good strategy, but the terrain of the Northern Desert is open, the enemy mainly cavalry, swift as the wind."

"You rely on infantry to loop three hundred li, never reaching their flank; the supply lines are cut, morale shattered! This is not annihilating the enemy, but a death sentence!"

The young man flushed instantly.

Consort Hui no longer looked at him, turned toward the throne, clasped her fists in salute, and said clearly: "Emperor, in the Northern Desert campaign, the primary focus is cavalry raids and logistical support."

"We should strike the Yellow Dragon with elite cavalry, supported by light cavalry guerrillas to cut their supplies, achieving a swift victory! Not clinging to ancient methods that merely drain the nation!"

Her remarks were crisp and decisive, hitting the crux, bearing the combat spirit forged in blood and fire, causing many veteran generals present to nod silently.

Xiao Mingshu watched the radiant figure below that almost stole all attention, and caught the unmasked admiration in the Emperor's eyes; the silk handkerchief in her hand nearly tore apart.

She forced a smile, softly saying to the Emperor beside her: "Consort Hui's younger sister truly retains the heroic bearing of those days."

The sourness in her tone was almost palpable.

Chu Yunzheng seemed not to hear, his gaze still on the ground, and he gave a faint "hm."

This spring inspection, due to Consort Hui's unexpected appearance, had its spotlight almost entirely taken by her.

She stood there, herself the sharpest rebuttal to the notion "women are inferior to men," silently declaring that this inner palace had never truly trapped a hawk yearning to soar.

On the high platform, Wan Tang sat beside the Emperor, her gaze neither lingering on the fierce martial contests nor paying much heed to the Empress's barely restrained jealousy.

All her attention was firmly seized by the radiant, armor‑clad figure below.

Consort Hui stood in the whistling wind, her back straight as a spear, her words sharp in debate with the generals, her eyes keen as an eagle.

She was no longer the lazy, indifferent concubine of the inner palace, but a truly revived soul with her own battlefield and will.

Wan Tang clearly felt something long dormant in her chest being struck repeatedly with each resonant word and firm gesture of Consort Hui.

She looked at Consort Hui, as if through her she saw another vast possibility beyond the palace walls.

It was not by relying on the emperor's favor, wagging a tail to beg pity, nor confined to petty rivalries with other women, but by her own talent and ability, truly standing between heaven and earth, earning respect, even wielding power.

In that instant, Wan Tang's eyes shone astonishingly, like two sudden flames igniting in the dark night.

She had always known she must contend, fight, climb, yet seemed always trapped by how to become a more favored consort, how to overthrow the Empress, how to solidify her position.

And now, Consort Hui was like a blade cutting through fog, pointing her toward another path.

A road perhaps more arduous, yet broader and freer.

Her heartbeat quickened silently, a vague yet highly tempting thought sprouted.

Perhaps what she desired was never just a morsel of the emperor's pity.

On the other side of the ground, Xu Yanchuan seemed nailed to the spot.

He considered himself to have seen the cold moon at border passes, the raging sands of the desert, and also the splendor of the Capital, the illustrious aristocratic beauties.

Yet never had anyone, like that figure on stage, forcefully and dazzlingly, barged into his view, shattering all his preconceived notions.

Consort Hui.

The dark armor against her made her skin as white as snow, yet bore no relation to the usual feminine delicacy.

It was a heroic spirit tempered by blood and fire, a composure born of commanding thousands of troops.

Her words were sharp, each hitting the mark, countering the boastful scholar‑general's flushing face; the brilliance in his brows shone brighter than autumn sun.

Xu Yanchuan felt his heartbeat pound like drums against his chest, an unprecedented surge of heat rising from his core, scorching his throat and drying his hair, his fingertips trembling.

He had seen many beauties, but none ever so destructively beautiful.

It seemed that her very existence was solely to astonish time and trample all beings.

He forgot the surrounding clamor, forgot that this was the emperor's spring examination, and in his eyes only that dark‑armored, crimson‑hearted figure, radiant with boundless light, remained.

She was like a bolt of lightning that split the oppressive world, suddenly illuminating his life.