The Love-Brained Empress (13) Even as foolish as Empress Xiao was, she knew her father was standing up for her. But the way he chose to do it—the methods, the execution—were completely unacceptable to her.
She lifted her head and looked at the father who felt increasingly unfamiliar, struggling not to let her tears fall. “Do you… really care about me?”
Qin Jingzhou released the hand that had been gripping her wrist. “If I didn’t care about you, I never would’ve allowed you to choose your own marriage. I never wanted a royal alliance. Whether Emperor Taizong was alive or not made no difference.”
The original host truly had thought that way.
He looked at his troublesome daughter. “I loved you the most. What I got in return was you relying on that love, growing more arrogant by the day.”
Empress Xiao felt unbearably wronged: You’re right—but how can you scold me in front of so many people?! She held back again and again, but tears still spilled.
She cried hard—yet had to admit her father had struck a nerve… even if only a little.
Among all the palace women, she treated Qi Langhuan as a mortal enemy precisely because the emperor had genuine feelings for her. Faced with the emperor, Empress Xiao couldn’t help but feel small. He didn’t love her—fine. But she also didn’t want him loving anyone else.
Earlier, when she personally witnessed the emperor’s affair with Prince Jing’s wife, she’d only been angry for a moment before thinking: He’s just that charming. Otherwise, how could she herself have fallen in love at first sight?
But when the emperor wrapped his arms around Qi Langhuan and wore that “let’s just leave it at that” expression—she exploded inside.
After all these years, no matter how unwilling she was to admit it, she understood that the emperor’s rare fragment of true affection belonged to Qi Langhuan.
With that unique imperial favor, Empress Xiao could do little to Qi Langhuan—despite having used her natal family’s power during her father’s years of seclusion to do plenty of dirty work for the emperor, clearing away obstacles.
Thinking of this only darkened her mood further. She had given so much, yet the emperor still refused to acknowledge her worth. She… couldn’t accept it.
So if Prince Jing’s wife was willing to help her deal with Qi Langhuan—well, that wasn’t unacceptable.
Her vision was blurred with tears, yet she clearly saw Prince Jing’s wife grinding her teeth in rage. They were, in a way, kindred spirits.
Qin Jingzhou took one look and knew his daughter had figured something out. She’d never had much depth to begin with, and after entering the palace her intelligence had mysteriously dropped another notch…
He frowned slightly.
The emperor was still holding the Noble Consort, inexplicably forgiving her, while looking at Qin Jingzhou as if wanting to flare up but not daring to. Prince Jing’s expression, meanwhile, was… complicated, to say the least.
Qin Jingzhou immediately perked up.
Since the moment was ripe, he might as well provoke the Noble Consort a few more times—see whether Qi Langhuan could also inflict an “intelligence debuff” on him.
So he amiably patted Prince Jing on the shoulder. “At this point, forcing it is meaningless. Letting go might at least leave you with some fond memories.”
Prince Jing was thinking exactly the same thing.
He could fool around all he liked—but his wife sleeping with the emperor? That he couldn’t swallow. Still, her natal family was a major southern clan with money, manpower, and influence. No matter how furious he was, he couldn’t afford to tear things apart yet.
Thus, even knowing Duke Cheng’en was stirring the pot, Prince Jing went along with it. “That’s true.” He looked at his wife—sitting beside the emperor yet appearing lonely and pitiful in contrast. “Princess, what do you say?”
Prince Jing’s wife lowered her eyes. “Let’s divorce.”
Qin Jingzhou turned to the emperor. “And Your Majesty? Prince Jing’s wife dares to take responsibility. What about you?”
The emperor patted the Noble Consort’s back as she quietly sobbed and gave a bitter smile. “With everything arranged like this by Duke Cheng’en, what choice do I have?”
Qin Jingzhou smiled leisurely. “Every time I see my eldest daughter, she looks aggrieved. She is aggrieved—but she brought it on herself. What grievance do you have, Your Majesty?”
He didn’t need to say more. The meaning was clear: a high-born noblewoman entering the palace as a consort—what exactly are you complaining about?
The emperor wasn’t just “benefiting while complaining”—he was being hypocritical to the extreme.
How could he be unwilling to bring Prince Jing’s wife into the palace? A few romantic scandals were nothing—but seizing a minister’s wife was a reputation killer.
He’d planned to let her struggle between him and Prince Jing, then pull in her natal family as guarantors before smoothly taking her as a consort. Duke Cheng’en was clearly humiliating him, but the emperor had to admit one thing was right: several southern clans were still wavering. If he pushed too hard and drove them to side with the rebelling princes, he’d lose far more than he gained.
So he continued holding the Noble Consort, adjusted his expression, and addressed Prince Jing’s wife. “In that case, enter the palace and attend me. Let this wish be fulfilled.”
Prince Jing’s wife stared—first at the emperor, then at the Noble Consort buried in his arms—before finally lowering her voice. “Very well. This consort obeys.”
Qin Jingzhou nearly laughed out loud.
Prince Jing’s wife was clearly stunned by how matter-of-fact the emperor was.
Because Empress Xiao had always been so submissive, so devoted, the emperor had developed the illusion that aside from the Noble Consort, all women were interchangeable—once in the palace, they’d live or die by his favor.
But Prince Jing’s wife wasn’t Empress Xiao. Once she entered the palace, a woman meticulously raised by a great clan would, after understanding the emperor’s limits, likely find a way—after bearing a son—to eliminate the emperor, the Noble Consort, and the Sixth Prince altogether.
Qin Jingzhou knew mere words wouldn’t fix his foolish daughter. And since he’d be leaving the capital in a few months anyway, he might as well introduce a ruthless character—see if proximity could improve her.
Since he’d already gone this far, he didn’t intend to let the Noble Consort off. “Your Majesty, given Prince Jing’s wife’s background, a mere consort title seems insufficient. As for the Qi family—back then they could barely be called third-rate.”
Prince Jing’s wife kept her head lowered, silent.
The emperor considered it and found no loss in it.
He favored the Noble Consort, yes—but the Qi family’s foundation was thin. Recently, Qi family members had been scrambling to insert themselves among military ranks, but despite their efforts, few responded. He couldn’t rely solely on them anymore.
Knowing Duke Cheng’en was deliberately provoking the Noble Consort and the Qi family, the emperor chose to play dumb once he got something in return. “Fair enough. You were once a princess; it wouldn’t do to bury you. Upon entering the palace, I’ll name you Virtuous Consort.”
Qi Langhuan finally snapped. She shot up, crying out, “Your Majesty!” Her gaze instinctively darted toward Prince Jing.
Among the Four Consorts—Virtuous, Noble, Pure, and Worthy—the Virtuous Consort ranked just below the Noble Consort!
For years, Empress Xiao’s attacks had gone from alarming to merely annoying. Without Duke Cheng’en, Qi Langhuan could’ve treated her as entertainment. But Prince Jing’s wife was different—ambitious, ruthless, and openly hostile. Worst of all, the old trick of using the emperor to restrain the empress wouldn’t work on this woman.
Yet the man she pinned her hopes on didn’t respond for a long while.
Qi Langhuan’s heart went cold. She shot Duke Cheng’en a vicious look, then collapsed back into the emperor’s arms. “Your Majesty… do you resent me?”
The emperor hugged her tightly, paused, then spoke the truth. “A little.”
This time, Qi Langhuan didn’t look up—only clenched the emperor’s sleeve.
Just now, when Qi Langhuan glared at him, Qin Jingzhou felt a faint buzzing in his ears… and then nothing.
Just as he was about to think “that’s it?”, the system spoke. “Let me show you.” He then saw it: golden merit light—originating from his foolish daughter, much of it shrouded around the emperor’s head—suddenly surged back. Roughly a third returned to Empress Xiao.
A veteran of many storms, Qin Jingzhou commented dryly, “Wasn’t my daughter a ten-lifetimes saint? This is all the merit she has left? How useless is this emperor?” The system was delighted. “The key point is—she’s finally wavering!” “That’s true,” Qin Jingzhou mused. “She treated the Noble Consort as a mortal enemy, but deep down she envied the emperor and the Noble Consort’s ‘true love.’ Seeing today that even that so-called true love crumbles before her eyes—of course her idol collapsed.” “Now is the perfect time to educate her!” the system urged.
Qin Jingzhou smiled. “That’d make me too cheap. Let her fall a few more times, hit rock bottom, and develop retirement thoughts first.” …
Five days later—on the eve of Lady Mi (formerly Prince Jing’s wife) entering the palace—the Noble Consort stormed in on the emperor.
“My younger brother fell from his horse and broke his leg! Your Majesty, if I don’t speak up now, I’ll be bullied to death!”
The emperor had been feeling guilty toward her. His temper flared, and his order came out muddled. “Command the Empress to pray for the Empress Dowager. All palace affairs are to be handed to the Noble Consort!”
When the news reached Qin Jingzhou, he felt confirmed. “Without my daughter’s protection, the emperor really does get dumber.”
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