Here is the requested translation:
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The red-clad woman's eyes briefly grew sore; she slowly bowed and smiled sweetly:
"Thank you, Prince."
If she truly bore a child, Qin Qingluo would essentially be acknowledging a bastard. This would undoubtedly disgrace her ancestral lineage, for Qin Qingluo could entirely insist the child bear the surname Zhu.
Yet, Qin Qingluo's decision—whatever the hidden motivations—on the surface, meant that any such child would inevitably be regarded as a royal descendant, a prince or princess.
As those words of gratitude fell, Zhu E noticed that Qin Qingluo's complexion grew even paler, and her heart ached.
She had long cared for her niece, and the blood covenant between them made them virtually connected in spirit. Only she truly understood the depths of Qin Qingluo's suffering over the past couple of days.
