Chapter 335

…

A night of surprise?!?!

Well, such things often happen to Zhao Yu; one more time isn’t surprising.

Moreover, you may doubt Liu Qingjing’s character, but you cannot doubt Liu Qingjing’s fertility.

Consider that Zhao Xu had such poor reproductive capacity, yet Liu Qingjing bore him one son and two daughters. Zhao Xu had only five children in total, and more than half were Liu Qingjing’s.

Such fertility among women is undoubtedly among the highest.

Zhao Yu and Liu Qingjing pairing up, conceiving in a single night—logically, such a possibility certainly exists.

But given Liu Qingjing’s character, and her obvious scheme against him—and that she succeeded—Zhao Yu couldn’t help but suspect whether the child in her womb was even his.

What if Liu Qingjing didn’t even know which random man fathered the child, and made him the patsy?

With these suspicions, Zhao Yu met Liu Qingjing.

The meeting place was no longer Chong’en Palace, a location Zhao Yu found inconvenient to visit, but a small, secluded courtyard Zhao Yu had specially granted to Liu Mingjie.

That day, “coincidentally,” Liu Qingjing came to visit her adopted daughter Liu Mingjie.

As soon as Zhao Yu was ushered into the room by Liu Mingjie, he saw Liu Qingjing prostrate on the ground, saying: “Your servant knows her crime; I beg Your Majesty to spare my life and my child’s. I only wish for one son to console me—I ask for nothing else. I beg Your Majesty to grant this!”

Liu Qingjing’s self-reference as “your servant” was incorrect.

“Your servant” is the term used by imperial consorts or princess consorts when addressing the Emperor; but Liu Qingjing, as the Empress of the late Emperor Zhao Xu, held the exalted status of a former Empress and belonged to the elder generation (by the late Emperor’s rank), and should normally refer to herself as “this grieving one.”

“This grieving one” is the self-designation of a widow, expressing mourning for the late Emperor while affirming her unique status, maintaining a relationship with the new Emperor that is respectful yet distinct from that of the current Emperor’s consorts or princesses.

Only this title properly upholds the supreme authority of imperial power and preserves the principle of “hierarchy and order” within the ancestral system.

But Liu Qingjing paid no heed to these norms; shamelessly, she immediately defined herself as Zhao Yu’s consort, hence her use of “your servant.”

Although Zhao Yu greatly disdained Liu Qingjing’s character and despised her actions, he could not deny that seeing his former enemy—who once carried herself with arrogance, issued commands with disdain, and refused to even look at him—now prostrated before him, pleading desperately for mercy, and recalling how she had exhausted every trick to please him that night, filled him with immense satisfaction.

If one word were needed to describe Zhao Yu’s current state, four characters suffice: petty man triumphant.

Notably, Liu Qingjing’s exclusive favor from Zhao Xu was not without reason—her skills were truly exceptional, granting Zhao Xu an ultimate experience.

Precisely because of this, even though Liu Mingjie had been Zhao Yu’s original target, he had unconsciously directed all his attention onto Liu Qingjing.

Perhaps it was precisely this that led to today’s bitter fruit.

Zhao Yu looked at Liu Qingjing and asked sternly: “How can you bear to betray Emperor Zhezong?”

Hearing this, Liu Qingjing replied as calmly as she could: “I was left with no choice.”

Clearly, mentioning Zhao Xu—the man who loved her wholeheartedly, elevated her to the heavens, and even risked the accusation of “favoring a concubine over the wife”—still moved her slightly.

Perhaps at this moment, Liu Qingjing was recalling the moments she shared with Zhao Xu?

Perhaps she imagined that if Zhao Xu were still alive, it would not be her kneeling before Zhao Yu, begging his forgiveness, sacrificing her own purity, making herself appear like a promiscuous woman stripped of all imperial dignity—but Zhao Yu prostrating before her, licking her feet, pleading desperately for her mercy.

Or perhaps Liu Qingjing truly believed that although she had wronged Zhao Xu, she was driven to this desperate act by Zhao Yu, Empress Dowager Xiang, and Minister Meng.

As for what Liu Qingjing actually thought, Zhao Yu didn’t care—she had already walked this path; no one could call her a chaste woman, could they?

Moreover, given that Liu Qingjing could even seduce Zhao Yu, her former husband’s younger brother, Zhao Yu reasonably assumed that even if Zhao Mao had remained alive and ascended the throne, and Liu Qingjing had taken the regency, she would have become another Wu Zetian, keeping numerous male favorites and placing countless green hats on Zhao Xu’s head.

Thus, emperors like Li Zhi and Zhao Xu were utterly foolish: they had become emperors, wielded real power, yet still hanged themselves on a single twisted tree. In the end, women like Wu Zetian and Liu Qingjing, relying on their favor, grew arrogant, blocked other consorts from conceiving. Wu Zetian even killed five of Li Zhi’s sons (two of whom were her own), while Zhao Xu died without a single surviving son, and even his only son perished in infancy.

This is the tragic fate of emperors who dote on a single woman.

To this, Zhao Yu had only one saying: Deserved, the lickspittle isn’t worthy of sympathy.

Now, about Zhao Xu.

Though he was a decent emperor, he owed Zhao Yu not a single favor—he never once intended to pass the throne to Zhao Yu, even though Zhao Yu clearly proved himself the most suitable heir.

Moreover, until his death, he remained suspicious of Zhao Yu, determined to pass the throne to his younger brother Zhao Shi, despite Zhao Shi’s unsuitability.

Furthermore, Zhao Yu was a reincarnated soul; he had no fraternal bond with Zhao Xu whatsoever.

Given all this, bedding Zhao Xu brought Zhao Yu not the slightest guilt.

In short, Zhao Yu did not probe Liu Qingjing’s excuse but cut straight to the point: “What exactly do you want?”

Seeing Zhao Yu no longer press her about betraying Zhao Xu, Liu Qingjing exhaled inwardly and emphasized for the third time: “I only wish for a son—I ask for nothing else. I beg Your Majesty to grant this.”

Seeing Liu Qingjing still using this excuse to evade him, Zhao Yu asked coolly: “Why do you want a son? Moreover, Emperor Zhezong has been dead for a year—how do you explain giving birth now?”

Liu Qingjing replied: “Your Majesty, do not jest. For a woman, having a son or not is the difference between heaven and earth—especially within the inner palace. I am a woman, and I dwell in the inner palace—how could I not desire a son?”

Uh… alright.

That reason is perfectly valid.

Under the feudal palace system, motherhood determines status—the core survival logic. Without offspring, especially a prince, a woman’s position and fate in the harem are fraught with uncertainty; even an Empress may face a miserable end.

Liu Qingjing, already “finalized” in her status, is relatively better off.

Otherwise, if an Empress had no prince, amid the fierce palace competition, imperial favor rarely lasts. Without a son as foundation, once she lost favor, she would easily be sidelined by other consorts with children, even deposed and imprisoned in the cold palace.

Consider Liu Qingjing’s situation.

In this era, women depended on men for survival. After the Emperor’s death, consorts with sons could accompany their sons to their fiefs or live in comfort within the palace; those without sons might be sent to guard the imperial tombs, spend their remaining years in solitude, or even be forced into suicide.

Moreover, a palace woman’s status was tightly linked to her family’s interests. Without a prince to solidify her position, her family might lose the Emperor’s trust and support, suffering political suppression.

Thus, having a son versus not having one made a crucial difference to Liu Qingjing—indeed, it determined whether she could live securely, and whether her family could continue to flourish.

The key is, Liu Qingjing’s downfall stemmed from her son’s early death; otherwise, she would have been the final and greatest victor.

Under these circumstances, Liu Qingjing’s obsession with a prince is entirely understandable.

Seeing Zhao Yu seemed to accept her desire for a son, Liu Qingjing quickly unveiled her plan: “I have heard that several of Your Majesty’s consorts are now pregnant; their due dates should be nearly identical to mine. At that time, let one of them ‘give birth’ for me. Later, under the pretext of continuing the late Emperor’s lineage, Your Majesty can bestow the child born to her upon me…”

Liu Qingjing meant: she would secretly give birth, and Zhao Yu would find a consort with a similar due date, claim she had given birth to twins, then adopt the extra child as Liu Qingjing’s.

This way, the child’s identity would be whitewashed.