Chapter 338

…

Meng Xiang, though once Empress, was a woman of great suffering.

It was widely known that appointing Meng Xiang as Empress was not due to Zhao Xu’s personal feelings, but a political arrangement orchestrated by Gao Taotao—who chose Meng Xiang, known for her steadiness and lack of factional ties, to consolidate the Old Party’s power.

Zhao Xu himself strongly resisted this marriage; he favored Liu Qingjing, who catered to his tastes, and remained cold and distant toward Meng Xiang.

This loveless marriage left Meng Xiang isolated and unprotected from the moment she entered the palace, deprived of even the most basic shelter a husband should provide.

Liu Qingjing, emboldened by Zhao Xu’s favor, grew arrogant and repeatedly openly challenged Meng Xiang’s authority as Empress; later, she fabricated a witchcraft case, falsely accusing Meng Xiang of using dark magic to curse the Emperor, aiming to overthrow her position.

Zhao Xu, without thorough investigation, immediately believed Liu Qingjing’s accusations and deposed Meng Xiang, banishing her to the Cold Palace.

This deposition stripped Meng Xiang not only of her title and status, but also cast her from the heavens into the dust, making her a victim of political struggle and her husband’s favoritism.

Historically, though Meng Xiang was reinstated twice afterward, she could never escape the shadow of being a deposed Empress, living her entire life under the chain reaction of Zhao Xu’s cruelty.

As a husband, Zhao Xu gave his wife Meng Xiang neither the respect nor protection she deserved; instead, he became the one who hurt her most, making her tragedy begin with marriage and permeate her entire life.

Even more pitifully, Meng Xiang’s only daughter died young; historically, she bore no children at all.

Had she been an ordinary woman, faced with her husband’s cruel deposition, her daughter’s early death, and over twenty years of solitary confinement in a Daoist nunnery, she would likely have been crushed by fate’s hammer, withered in resentment, or sunk into despair.

But Meng Xiang did not.

After the Jingkang Humiliation, facing a shattered realm and a leaderless court, she chose to forget the pain Zhao Xu and the Song had inflicted upon her, prioritizing the greater good; she emerged as Empress Yuan You and issued an edict calling for regional forces to come to the Emperor’s aid, openly supporting Zhao Gou’s succession and providing the most crucial legitimacy for the Southern Song regime.

Soon after the Southern Song’s founding, when Zhao Gou refused to resist or avenge the humiliation, fled southward, indulged in nightly revelry, favored eunuchs, and administered rewards and punishments unjustly, Miao Fu and Liu Zhengyan launched a coup, forcing Zhao Gou to abdicate and installing his three-year-old son Zhao Fu as emperor to seize control of the court; she stepped forward again, outwardly accepting the rebels’ “plea,” assuming the role of Empress Dowager and presiding behind the curtain to stabilize the mutineers, while secretly contacting generals like Han Shizhong and Zhang Jun outside the capital, transmitting edicts calling for loyalist troops, planning a counterattack, and firmly refusing the rebels’ demands to execute senior ministers, preserving the core strength of the Southern Song court. Ultimately, Han Shizhong and others led troops to suppress the rebellion, Zhao Gou was restored, and the Southern Song regime was saved from collapse.

After the Miao-Liu Rebellion, the Jin army continued its southern advance; Zhao Gou fled southward, and Meng Xiang was forced to follow in exile—from Yangzhou to Yuezhou, then to Wenzhou—traveling thousands of miles in hardship and displacement, yet even in her most desperate circumstances, she maintained composure, helping Zhao Gou stabilize the Southern Song regime.

Throughout Meng Xiang’s life, though pushed into the abyss by her husband’s indifference and the turmoil of her age, she never bowed to fate, never drowned in personal sorrow; instead, she forged extraordinary resilience and wisdom through suffering, and at the nation’s hour of crisis, shouldered the fate of Great Song alone, becoming the anchor that held the dynasty together, repeatedly pulling Great Song back from the brink of annihilation.

Even if he were not Emperor of Song, Zhao Yu held great affection for Meng Xiang.

Moreover, since Zhao Yu was Emperor of Song, how could he not hold profound affection for Meng Xiang, who owed Song nothing and whom Song owed everything?

He still remembered the first time he saw Meng Xiang—she was like a solitary orchid blooming in a deep valley, detached from the world; though trapped in hardship, she still radiated a moving grace.

At that moment, Zhao Yu had already been moved by her.

But reason told Zhao Yu he must not pursue Meng Xiang—it was dangerous and not worth it.

Now, the Empress Dowager had given Zhao Yu this opportunity, and the aphrodisiac had amplified his desire—what more was there to say?

The details need not be recounted.

Only the result matters: under Zhao Yu’s ministrations, the orchid of the deep valley bloomed fully.

Zhao Yu suspected that, under the drug’s influence, Meng Xiang harbored a desire to avenge Zhao Xu’s cruelty; otherwise, the usually cold and dignified woman would never have behaved so unrestrainedly, even surpassing Liu Qingjing in wild abandon…

More than two hours later.

The drug’s effects faded; Zhao Yu and Meng Xiang grew calm. Zhao Yu held Meng Xiang, who turned her back to him—two people who knew each other intimately yet felt like strangers, neither knowing what to say.

Explain?

At this point, how could Zhao Yu and Meng Xiang not know what had happened?

After an indeterminate silence, Zhao Yu broke it first, gently caressing Meng Xiang’s silken skin as he said: “I will take responsibility for you. I will not abandon you as Emperor Zhe did.”

Upon hearing this, Meng Xiang’s body trembled noticeably, then settled again.

Clearly, though she had spent years in the Daoist nunnery, Zhao Xu’s cruelty remained an insurmountable barrier for Meng Xiang.

After a long while, Meng Xiang spoke slowly: “Your Majesty must forget today’s events and devote yourself entirely to being a good Emperor—for the sake of the state and its people.”

Zhao Yu was about to say more when a weak, breathless cough came from within the inner chamber.

Meng Xiang, who had been lying quietly in Zhao Yu’s arms, upon hearing the Empress Dowager’s voice, immediately shoved him away in panic, frantically pulling on her clothes.

Zhao Yu saw that Meng Xiang’s face was flushed, and her snow-white skin was entirely crimson.

Perhaps, had there been a crack in the floor, Meng Xiang would have instantly slipped into it.

Zhao Yu had never imagined Meng Xiang could be so endearing; he lay still, watching her scramble to dress.

Too flustered, she only realized Zhao Yu had not moved at all—that he had been lying there, watching her dress—just as she finished fastening her elaborate garments.

Meng Xiang grew anxious: “Why does Your Majesty not change your clothes?”

Zhao Yu sat up, spreading his hands, and lied without a blush: “When have I ever dressed myself? How could I know such a lowly task?”

Meng Xiang could not help doubting he was teasing her, yet Zhao Yu had lived since childhood with servants attending to every need—he might truly not know how to dress himself.

More importantly, the Empress Dowager was about to enter; Meng Xiang dared not risk it.