"Your Majesty, it's too big. I can't fit it in one bite. Are you teasing me on purpose?"
Meng Wenyao stared at the massive hunk of lamb held out to her.
The Emperor chuckled, took a large bite himself, and then placed the remaining piece gently into her mouth.
They shared a pair of chopsticks—alternating bites, laughing and eating with such intimacy that it looked like they'd been lovers for years. It wasn't until Meng Wenyao finally shook her head, too full to eat another bite, that the Emperor relented and set the chopsticks down.
"Full already?" he asked gently.
She stifled a burp just in time and glanced up at him, her expression practically screaming: Can we go to bed now?
She couldn't help being curious. The palace had always whispered that the Emperor rarely summoned anyone to his bed for the past two years. Didn't that mean he wasn't interested in women? But now… this man looked like he hadn't seen a woman in two lifetimes.
Without thinking, she blurted out, "I heard that for the past two years, Your Majesty hasn't asked anyone to serve in bed. But now you seem so…"
The Emperor laughed, eyes twinkling. "And what does my dear Yaoyao think?"
"I used to assume Your Majesty… lacked stamina. But judging from last night, I must've been terribly mistaken."
The way he performed last night? No way was he weak or inexperienced. He didn't look like someone who had spent a decade quietly wasting away in his harem. No, he looked more like he was trying to rebuild a dynasty—one bed at a time.
"Hahaha! You're right. I do lack stamina… with other women. But with you, my little Yaoyao, I can't seem to hold back."
That was clearly the kind of sweet lie meant for coaxing children, and she didn't buy a word of it. Still, if he wasn't going to explain further, she didn't want to keep poking the bear.
"Your Majesty certainly knows how to flatter me."
The Emperor rose, scooping her up in his arms and carrying her toward the bed.
"If you want proof, my dear, you're welcome to test it yourself."
Soon enough, the silk curtains swayed, and red blankets rolled like waves in a storm.
Suddenly, a strange thought hit Meng Wenyao: most of the furnishings in Hanxiang Hall looked… flimsy. And with the way the Emperor moved, wasn't this bed in danger of collapsing?
She'd die of embarrassment if word got out. She made a mental note to gently suggest changing some of the furniture—though maybe she should wait until she'd secured her position. Maybe once she was pregnant?
Pregnant…
Her mind drifted back to her earlier audience with the Imperial Consort. It didn't seem like the Emperor favored the Consort much anymore. But if there was ever a conflict between them, whose side would he take?
If she did get pregnant and her powerful maternal family made the Emperor uneasy, would he keep the child and dispose of her? The thought chilled her.
She needed to learn where the Consort stood in the Emperor's heart. Carefully. Strategically.
But as the Emperor pushed her beyond coherent thought, strategy gave way to survival instinct. She wasn't sure she'd survive long enough to get pregnant if this kept up.
The next morning, a palace maid arrived at her quarters, announcing that the Consort was hosting a grand banquet for the six palaces.
Meng Wenyao didn't want to go. She was utterly exhausted—physically wrecked and emotionally drained. All she wanted was to lay in bed and recover.
But the Emperor had already passed a decree: the concubines were no longer required to pay daily respects. That meant her opportunities to interact with the Consort were now limited. If she didn't go today, who knew when she'd get another chance to gauge the Consort's standing?
Dragging herself up, she got dressed, and with Ruxin and Ruyi in tow, headed to the Jiaofang Palace.
Inside, the air was rich with the scent of incense and jewels glittered in every direction. The palace was packed—dozens, maybe over a hundred women—beautiful, dolled up, and eerily identical in status: none had children, and none had held pregnancies. Their ranks were all fairly low.
Aside from the Consort, only Meng Wenyao held the official title of Fei. That meant she only had to greet the Consort—everyone else was irrelevant.
"Greetings to the Imperial Consort," Meng Wenyao said, bowing low.
Her legs were still sore, and her knees nearly gave out. Luckily, Ruxin supported her before she could collapse.
The Consort smiled sweetly in front of everyone and said, "Sister, do rise. You've served His Majesty for two nights straight—you must be quite fatigued. Someone fetch her a chair."
That one line instantly sparked a flurry of whispers.
"Only two nights, and she's already acting like she's on death's door," someone muttered. "As if no one else in this palace has ever shared the Emperor's bed."
Another voice chimed in, "The Imperial Consort was once favored above all others. She served the Emperor every night and never once showed weakness—not even when greeting the Empress."
"I've shared the bed a few times myself," another said with a giggle. "Always woke up refreshed. Some women really do love to put on a show."
The murmurs wormed their way into Meng Wenyao's mind. Was it really that exhausting? Was she just weak?
"System," she hissed silently, "didn't I take all those pills to enhance my strength? Why do I still feel like I got hit by a war chariot?"
[Host, the pills you consumed were for enhancing physical endurance during childbirth, not… intercourse. They help you survive giving birth, not thrive in bed.]
"…Is there anything else you've been hiding from me?"
[Absolutely not! Everything else is top-notch. Full quality assurance, guaranteed.]
Surrounded by gossiping women she didn't know and didn't care to argue with, Meng Wenyao quickly grew bored.
So this was what counted as palace intrigue? Petty backbiting and passive-aggressive digs? Yawn.
Just then, the Consort clapped her hands. "Sister, are you feeling bored already? Xiang'er, bring her out."
All heads turned toward a side room, from which a woman glided out slowly.
"Recognize her?" the Consort asked with a syrupy smile. "You haven't seen each other for two days. I imagine you've missed her dearly."
Meng Wenyao instantly sat up straight.
Meng Wenxian.
The Consort had dragged her into the palace?
So she wasn't the only one trying to feel the other out. The Consort clearly wanted to test her—but using Meng Wenxian was going to backfire. She was the wrong pawn.
"Your Highnesses," Meng Wenxian said, bowing, "I am Meng of the Minister's family."
In just two days, the girl had changed drastically. Gone was the sweet, soft persona. What stood before them now was timid and skittish—broken.
So this was what the Wei family's "training" looked like. Meng Wenyao could only imagine what her own life had been like in that den back in her previous life. But this time, every single person who had wronged her would pay.
"You seem… different," Meng Wenyao said coolly.
"So do you, Sister," Meng Wenxian replied, just as pointedly.
The Consort, playing hostess with fake grace, motioned for everyone to be seated. She took the center seat, with Meng Wenyao on her left—first seat of honor. The rest of the concubines arranged themselves below.
Meng Wenxian circled the room awkwardly, ignored by everyone. It wasn't until the dishes were served that the Consort's maid, Xiang'er, guided her over—to the Consort's own table.
Eating at the same table as the Consort?
The awkwardness on Meng Wenxian's face disappeared. She threw Meng Wenyao a smug look, triumphant.
But just as she was about to sit—
"Oh, don't be shy," the Consort said, her voice sweet as poison. "Meng here is not only the younger sister of our dear Concubine Chen, but also the concubine of my nephew. She's family—she'll help serve me today."
Meng Wenxian froze.
No seat. No honor.
Just a glorified servant in a banquet of snakes.