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  Back then, it was only because the Empress had fallen gravely ill—and because the previous Empress had proven unreliable—that Guifei was temporarily entrusted with managing the harem.

  Ying Qionglou had originally intended to return that authority to Wumian at the end of the year. He’d wanted more time to observe her, to see just how much she’d truly changed.

  But now that Wumian had stung him with those words in front of everyone, that fsh of anger refused to subside.

  Fine, he thought. I’ll hand it back to you now. Let’s see what you can do with it.

  Wumian rose and bowed. “I shall do my utmost, Your Majesty.”

  Guifei’s fingers curled into fists inside her sleeves, her nails nearly digging into flesh. She had spent nearly a full year carefully managing the pace—and now, with just a few words from the Empress, it had all been taken back. How could she not feel hatred?

  But even if Wumian recimed the title, so what? For years, she’d mismanaged the pace. And now, after almost a year of Guifei’s careful restructuring, no one would obey Wumian overnight.

  Let her try. She’d probably just make a mess of everything—and when that happened, she’d lose the power again, this time for good.

  That would be far more humiliating.

  Ying Qionglou didn’t concern himself with whatever Guifei might be stewing over. To him, returning harem management to the Empress changed nothing. The official wife managing the household was only natural.

  In fact, in the depths of his male-centric worldview, he believed consorts had no right to compin. No matter how hard you worked, if he told you to step aside, you stepped aside. If he showed you understanding, it was a kindness, not an obligation.

  “Make it known,” Ying Qionglou ordered. “Li Fei acted recklessly and vioted pace protocol. She must be punished. From this day forward, she is demoted to the rank of Zhaoyi. All pace halls are to conduct self-inspections. We’ll deal with the rest once more is uncovered. And let this be a warning to all of you: before you make your next move, think of your family, think of your life. If you’re not afraid to die, then go ahead and court death.”

  Everyone dropped to their knees in unison. “We wouldn’t dare!”

  Ying Qionglou added, “As for Li Zhaoyi’s attendants, the Empress need not trouble herself—Lu Zhong will handle the matter.”

  “Yes,” Wumian replied calmly, clearly unbothered.

  In the end, it was a demotion—but only from second rank to third. Among the Nine Consorts, Zhaoyi still held the highest position.

  But once it began, the decline was hard to stop.

  Li Zhaoyi’s favor was already on shaky ground, and this blow would only make it worse. Sooner or ter, she would fall completely out of favor.

  Even so, just seeing her demoted had pleased many in the harem.

  Sure, Zhaoyi was still far above them, but at least she’d been knocked down a notch.

  The concubines all took their leave. Guifei did too.

  Even if the handover of responsibilities would take time, she knew her role had officially come to an end.

  Wumian didn’t hurry to leave.

  Since she had publicly contradicted the Emperor earlier, and now that everyone had gone, perhaps she ought to offer a private word—say something soft, a little conciliatory. Show some submission, at least in appearance.

  So she smiled at Ying Qionglou and said, “Your Majesty, are you still upset? It was my fault—how could I dare raise my voice at you?”

  Ying Qionglou gave her a cold gnce, the displeasure written pinly on his face. His voice was frigid: “You overthink things.”

  Wumian ughed. “When you’re not upset, you call me Wumian from time to time. But now that you’re angry, you use ‘Empress’—so formal, so distant.”

  “All women in the pace hope they’re special to Your Majesty. I’m no exception. Besides, I am your wife. And even when a wife is at fault, surely her husband needn’t be so angry?” She dipped into a graceful bow. “I ask for Your Majesty’s forgiveness.”

  Her bow was elegant and fluid—light as air, and utterly poised.

  Just as Ying Qionglou opened his mouth to speak, she straightened up and added with a smile, “Well then, I’ll take my leave. Better not stay here and offend Your Majesty’s eyes. Come find me when you’ve cooled down. But with all the unpleasantness tely, please take care of yourself first. Don’t skip meals. Get proper rest. I’ll be going now.”

  Ying Qionglou watched her back as she walked out of Yinguang Hall, expression cold as ice.

  He let out a low snort—but in the end, said nothing at all.

  Still, he had to admit… her little bow? He did rather enjoy it.

  One thing about Ying Qionglou—he’d grown up in a sheltered, favorable environment.

  The te Emperor had passed before he’d reached the age of suspicion, before he began doubting and fearing his own sons.

  He was the legitimate eldest son of the Emperor, born to the main consort—so naturally, everyone had always shown deference to both him and his mother.

  The reason Empress Dowager Fu had only one child was that childbirth had damaged her body, making her unable to conceive again. It was not because the te Emperor had avoided sharing a bed with her.

  Though the te Emperor had many concubines, he had always held Empress Fu in high regard and even loved her, so the two of them had rarely suffered the inner-court struggles common to the harem.

  If Empress Dowager Fu had ever needed to contend with the concubines, that was simply part of pace life—there were so many women, after all.

  But Ying Qionglou himself had always stood above it all. His younger brothers had only ever shown him respect. The greatest challenge he faced came after ascending the throne, when some of his imperial uncles attempted rebellion.

  Even that was quickly suppressed and never developed into a sting threat. Instead, it only strengthened his confidence.

  This is why his pride was a certainty, and his sense of masculine authority was unmistakable.

  You might say his inner self was strong and complete.

  Self-doubt had no pce in his heart, nor did excessive suspicion.

  A man like him, even when angry, would express it pinly. He didn’t engage in yers of scheming.

  He could be indifferent to the women around him, but he wouldn’t stoop to calcuting against them.

  Wumian’s open defiance may have embarrassed him, but it wasn’t something he’d hold a long grudge over.

  Otherwise, with the way the old Wumian used to be—so foolish and unremarkable—even if she cimed to have changed, the Emperor would have had every reason to ignore her.

  So even now, though irritated, he was just… annoyed. He wasn’t thinking much beyond that.

  Of course, if his anger ever did reach its peak, he would act without hesitation. He wouldn’t tolerate being stifled.

  And Wumian understood him perfectly—that was why she walked away without any guilt or hesitation.

  What couple doesn’t argue sometimes? she thought. So what if we’re Emperor and Empress? At the end of the day, we’re still just two people.

  When she returned to Fengyi Pace, all the pace maids and attendants knelt in unison, offering cheerful congratutions.

  “Congratutions, Your Majesty, on regaining control of the inner pace.”

  “Get up, all of you. There will be rewards.” Wumian raised her hand. These past few months, without pace authority, the servants of Fengyi Pace had been walking on eggshells. She understood that.

  The crowd bowed again, this time with joy and gratitude.

  Wumian summoned Jinbo and Dukang.

  “Dukang, you’ll continue overseeing internal matters in Fengyi Pace. Jinbo, you’ll focus on external affairs. Your roles differ, but the level of care and attention required is the same.” Jinbo was sharp, quick-witted, and had a pleasant disposition—perfect for handling outer affairs.

  Dukang was meticulous and dependable, with a keen sense for managing sudden situations—Wumian relied on her greatly.

  Both pace servants bowed in acknowledgment.

  “Jinbo, you can write, can’t you?”

  “Replying to Your Majesty, this servant can read and write a little, but I’ve never studied properly. When I was young, my uncle taught me the Thousand Character Cssic,” Jinbo replied.

  “That’s fine. For everyday work, basic writing is enough. I’m assigning you a task now. I’ve already asked you to keep an eye on the stewards in each division—go ahead and write down who’s trustworthy and who isn’t. If there are words you don’t know how to write, ask Feixu for help—her handwriting is quite good,” Wumian said.

  “Yes, Your Majesty. I’ll submit the report by tomorrow,” Jinbo promised.