Concubine of the Eastern Palace (Qing Dynasty Time Travel)

In the study of Chunben Hall, the stove had already been lit, making the room as warm as spring.

Yinxiang bent over, examining with great interest the wooden carving of a tiger placed on the Crown Prince’s windowsill. He wondered who had come up with such a design—it was astonishingly round and plump, making one want to laugh just looking at it. This little thing was clearly well-loved by the Crown Prince. The yellow and black stripes on the chubby tiger had been rubbed so much that they gleamed with a glossy shine, and in some places, even the lacquer had worn off, exposing the deep purple hue of the sandalwood beneath.

He was only ten years old this year. His birth mother, Lady Zhangjia, was in poor health and lacked favor, residing in the side hall of Yonghe Palace. Because of this, he had always been closer to his fourth brother, who, unlike his ninth and tenth brothers, never bullied others.

Especially when it came to mathematics, which he was not good at. Under their emperor father’s orders, his fourth brother personally tutored him, teaching him arithmetic with patience, never showing the slightest sign of frustration. Whether in the study, following the imperial entourage to the frontier, or anywhere else, Yinxiang was always like a little shadow, never leaving his fourth brother’s side.

Since his fourth brother was the Crown Prince’s little shadow, that made him the “shadow of a shadow.” So today, he shamelessly followed along as well.

Yinzhen had just turned eighteen. Born in October, he was younger in age but possessed a steady and capable nature. He also had a certain stubbornness in handling affairs—any task entrusted to him was always completed successfully.

The Crown Prince now placed his greatest trust in this brother.

As for why Yinzhen brought along his younger brother Yinxiang, it was, in truth, to make sure the Crown Prince took notice of him. With so many brothers, even their imperial father sometimes showed favoritism—how much more so would the Crown Prince? At times, it was necessary to keep a distance from certain brothers. Take the Tenth Prince, for example—born to Noble Concubine Wenxi—he had the powerful Niu Hulu clan backing him. Aside from the Eighth Prince, who was born into a lesser background and was desperate to climb the ranks, who else would dare to associate too closely with him?

And then there was Yinzhen’s own foolish younger brother, who seemed utterly clueless. He failed to notice that ever since he started mingling with the Eighth, Ninth, and Tenth Princes, their imperial father had all but stopped visiting Yonghe Palace. Yet he still thought he was fighting to bring honor to his mother—how utterly naive!

The fact that the Crown Prince could gather both him and the Fifth Prince around him was surely a tacit approval from their imperial father. After all, although he was raised by Empress Xiaoyi, he was not backed by the Tong family, and his birth mother, Lady Uya, was not influential enough to be of much use. On the surface, his lineage seemed prestigious, but in reality, it was an empty shell.

Over the years, following the Crown Prince closely had allowed Yinzhen to gradually understand the intricate political undercurrents.

Thus, a younger brother like Yinxiang—whose birth mother was of humble status—would not provoke their imperial father’s displeasure if the Crown Prince took him under his wing. And if the Crown Prince could support him even a little, his life in the palace would become much easier. Yinzhen recalled how Yinxiang had once gone out of his way to secure an extra basket of Silver Frost Coal for his mother, Lady Zhangjia, even having to bribe the Imperial Household Department. The thought made him sigh inwardly with quiet sorrow.

A son should not speak of his mother’s faults, but… Yinzhen couldn’t help but feel that Imperial Concubine De was even less considerate than Imperial Concubine Hui in this regard. In the eyes of outsiders, Lady Zhangjia was one of her people. Even if it was just for show, a little kindness would have been appropriate—but Imperial Concubine De simply refused. She knew how close he was to Yinxiang, yet she still wouldn’t extend any favors to Yinxiang’s mother. In the end, it was simply because she didn’t think highly of him as her son.

At the very least, Noble Lady Wei, who was under Imperial Concubine Hui’s influence, was treated decently. She received new clothes and accessories every season, and when she fell ill, she was never neglected—imperial physicians were summoned without hesitation. Even if she was treated like a mere pet, it was still with some level of care.

Wasn’t that because Imperial Concubine Hui had always intended to use Noble Lady Wei to manipulate the Eighth Prince, paving the way for her own son?

His thoughts had wandered too far. Yinzhen stopped pacing and stood by the window, gazing at the bodhi tree in contemplation.

More importantly, he had a growing concern. The matter of their imperial father’s personal campaign against Galdan—though unspoken—had already spread through whispers. His eldest brother was now twenty-two and had been serving in the Ministry of War for two years. He was a skilled commander in battle. Would their imperial father use him again this time? If he did, and his brother continued to grow close to the imperial clan while holding military power, it would only be a matter of two years before he was granted a princely title.

Besides the eldest brother, the Third Prince had been compiling legal codes and working on mathematical studies. He was closely connected with the Hanlin Academy and was currently engrossed in compiling The Complete Collection of Ancient and Modern Works. Though he seemed entirely absorbed in poetry and literature, the scholars and officials surrounding him—Chen Menglei, Yang Wenyan, Zhou Changyan—were all men who could wield their pens like swords, using their writing to influence the political landscape.

Yinzhen had no idea what exactly he wanted to do—or rather, what their imperial father intended to use him for.

He and the Fifth Prince were already firmly on the Crown Prince’s side, while the Seventh Prince… well, he wasn’t even worth mentioning.

The Eighth Prince was currently serving as the Eldest Prince’s shield, but he didn’t seem content to remain under someone else’s control for the rest of his life. Quietly, he had begun gathering a few of their younger brothers around him. It was strange—despite having grown up in a foster household, which had made him worldly, tactful, and considerate in dealing with others, his methods of winning people over seemed far too direct to Yinzhen. How had he managed to attract so many brothers to his side?

Yinzhen, who was known for his cold demeanor and sharp tongue—and who never had great popularity—was left utterly baffled.

—

When Yinreng entered the room, he was greeted by the sight of his two younger brothers staring off into space on either side of the room. Chuckling, he said, “What’s the matter? Have you both been roasted silly by the brazier? Sit down. Old Fourth, you’re used to coming here—find yourself a stool. Thirteenth, don’t be so reserved. What kind of tea do you like? I don’t have scented teas, but there’s Dragon Well, Mao Feng, and some fruit tea. What would you like?”

Yinxiang, still unaccustomed to the Crown Prince’s warm and easygoing demeanor outside the study hall, quickly waved his hand and replied, “No need to trouble yourself, Second Brother. I’ll just have whatever Fourth Brother is drinking.”

“Your Fourth Brother drinks bitter buckwheat tea—do you really want to follow his example?” Yinreng laughed. “That tea is unpleasant, but he insists on making himself suffer. There’s no need for that. You can have Eight Treasures Tea with me instead!”

This tea had actually become part of Yinreng’s daily routine—on A Wan’s orders, he had to drink a pot of it every day. It was made with a base of Maojian tea, blended with rose petals, goji berries, red dates, walnuts, longan, sesame, apple slices, and raisins, steeped in boiling water. It had a subtle sweetness and was said to nourish the lungs and soothe the throat.

In the dry winter weather, a pot of it wasn’t a bad idea.

“Thank you, Second Brother.”

Yinxiang watched as the eunuchs brought over a large lidded bowl, filled to the brim with ingredients. Blinking in surprise, he thought—Is this really tea? It looks more like soup. He lifted the bowl to take a sip. The warm, fragrant sweetness spread through him, warming him from the inside out. On such a frigid day, it was indeed a delight. Smacking his lips in satisfaction, he not only finished the tea but also ate the walnuts and red dates inside.

Seeing how much he enjoyed it, the Crown Prince ordered another cup for him. Then, after asking a few casual questions about his daily life and studies, he said with a smile, “Old Fourth always says your riding and archery skills are excellent, and that you’ve even mastered Buku wrestling. Hongxuan, on the other hand, is decent at his studies but hopeless when it comes to martial training. Soon, he’ll be joining the study hall. I’d like you to look after him—visit Yuqing Palace often and teach him. Would you be willing to be his martial arts instructor? Right now, he can’t even handle a soft bow properly—it’s truly worrisome.”

Yinxiang was stunned for a moment, then his eyes lit up. Standing up, he cupped his hands and said excitedly, “Yes, Second Brother! Hongxuan’s riding skills will be my responsibility. If he doesn’t improve, you can punish me as you see fit!”

This was a clear sign of acceptance—it was the Crown Prince’s way of formally welcoming him into his circle, even giving him a reason to visit Yuqing Palace regularly.

“If he doesn’t learn well, that’s his fault as a student—why would I punish you?” Yinreng chuckled. “Go on, then. Hongxuan is studying in the next room. Check if he’s slacking off and make sure he stays focused. Take your tea with you. When your Fourth Brother and I finish our discussion, we’ll come find you.”

Yinxiang had originally come along just to get acquainted with the place, so he quickly agreed and left the room.

Once Yinxiang had gone, Yinreng ordered He Baozhong to wait outside the door. Now, only he and Yinzhen remained in the room. With a sigh, Yinreng said, “Since you came rushing over, I already knew—it’s probably not good news.”

“Second Brother, you’re right.” Yinzhen’s expression was just as serious as his tone. He nodded and then began explaining everything he had uncovered.

The Ministry of Revenue had been running a deficit for years, and there were two main reasons for it.

The first was military expenditures. Yinzhen pulled a memorial from his boot and handed it over—it contained his calculations. “Every year, the imperial court spends over 17 million taels of silver on military pay alone, accounting for more than 40% of the entire national revenue. If this money were actually being used to maintain a strong, battle-ready army, that would be one thing. But…”

Yinzhen trailed off, but Yinreng already understood.

The previous shortage of soldiers in the Imperial Tiger Guards was just a symptom of the larger issue. The Banner system followed the principle of merging military and civilian life, as well as military and political governance. This model worked well on the open grasslands and within Mongolian tribes, but after entering the Central Plains, it had become increasingly unsuitable. The Banner soldiers received military pay regardless of whether there was war, sometimes in silver, sometimes in grain. They were also granted land to farm in theory, but in reality, they had become a class of idle landlords who did not engage in any real production.

Despite receiving military pay and owning land with tenant farmers, some Bannermen still managed to squander everything and fall into financial ruin. A culture of indulgence and extravagance had taken root. Once they had spent all their money, they borrowed to get by, and when they couldn’t repay their debts, they turned to their Banner leaders or even the emperor for help. Just last year, their imperial father had twice allocated treasury funds to cover the debts of indebted Bannermen—first, 6.4 million taels from the Ministry of Revenue, and then another 6.55 million.

“They receive their military pay but fail to accumulate any assets. Instead, they waste it all on luxuries, and within a year or two, they’re left with nothing.” Yinzhen shook his head. “At this rate, the national treasury will be drained dry by these parasites sooner or later.”

But the Banner military and political system was deeply entrenched. The Qing Dynasty had conquered China with the Eight Banners—tampering with military pay meant tampering with the very foundation of the empire. Any attempt at reform would inevitably face fierce opposition. Moreover, the Banner military was hereditary—each generation produced more soldiers, and the burden on the state only grew heavier. During the previous emperor’s reign, there had been only 80,000 fully equipped Banner troops. Now, that number had risen to 120,000.

And with the court preparing for a military campaign against Galdan, there was no way this issue could be addressed in the short term.

“There’s something else…” Yinzhen continued. “The practice of falsifying troop numbers and embezzling military pay has become an ingrained habit. Nearly all military officials, both high and low, are involved in this. On paper, the empire supposedly has millions of soldiers, but in reality, the actual fighting force barely reaches a third of that number. The official you placed in the Ministry of Revenue, Master Cheng, quietly informed me about this. The truth is, the Ministry has long been aware of these fraudulent troop numbers, but… our imperial father has turned a blind eye to it. Since military ranks are already lower than civil ranks, he allowed this practice as a way to supplement their incomes. But now, the greed has become insatiable. Many officials are using the military as a means to enrich themselves, and corruption has spread from the officers down to the common soldiers. The entire system is rotting from the inside.”

Yinreng let out a long sigh. The Qing government had always placed a higher value on civil officials than military ones. The civil bureaucracy had eighteen ranks, from Zheng Yipin (Senior First Rank) down to Cong Jiupin (Junior Ninth Rank), while the military had only twelve ranks, from Cong Yipin (Junior First Rank) down to Zheng Qipin (Senior Seventh Rank). The military’s promotion path had always been more restricted than the civil service, and their salaries were lower as well.

The reason for this was clear: the empire wanted to prevent military uprisings, like the An Lushan Rebellion, or the kind of power struggles where generals seized control, as had happened in past dynasties. Keeping the military weak ensured they wouldn’t threaten the central government’s authority. But with no real benefits to being in the military, who would willingly pursue a military career? That was why their imperial father had come up with this method—allowing officers to take a cut of the inflated troop numbers as an unofficial “clean governance stipend” to keep them from abandoning their posts.

These issues were not ones that could be solved overnight, and their imperial father was surely aware of them. However, they were difficult to eradicate. As long as the Eight Banners system remained, corruption would persist. But the issue of officials inflating troop numbers to pocket extra stipends—this could be reformed in other ways, though not immediately.

Yinreng felt that their imperial father had always taken a lax approach to suppressing corruption, turning a blind eye when necessary. In his mind, as long as corrupt officials were capable, they could still be of use.

Yet Yinreng disagreed. The empire was currently stable, and talented individuals were abundant. If an official was not truly irreplaceable, why tolerate corruption at all? If he were in power, he would root out corruption without hesitation. If the state treasury was being emptied, how could the common people be expected to live well? The money wasn’t ending up in the emperor’s coffers, nor in the hands of the people—it was all being swallowed up by greedy officials, wealthy merchants, and landlords.

So, was this truly the empire of the Aisin Gioro clan, or had it become a domain ruled by aristocratic families, landlords, and local gentry?

“Aside from military expenses, the second major issue is the Grand Canal.” Yinzhen pulled a small map from his other sleeve. Rice was produced in the Jiangnan region, and a vast amount of grain relied on its supply. Transporting goods by water was far faster and more efficient than by land, which was why the canal system had been developed. Since the Qing Dynasty had taken control, the court had continuously cleared and maintained the canals, stationing officials and soldiers to oversee grain transport. However, with any transport system, there were always losses along the way—so the concept of “fire loss” (excessive spoilage and pilferage) had been introduced, leading to ever-increasing allowances. Originally, the court had decreed that 4 million shi of grain should be transported. But, factoring in estimated losses, officials reported that 5 million shi ( 1 shi ≈ 100 dou, with each dou roughly equivalent to 10 liters) had to be shipped.

But were such losses real? The canal system was staffed with officials at every level—who was there to challenge their numbers? And beyond the Yangtze River, northern China relied on the Yellow River for its grain transport. Everyone knew how volatile that river was—flooding, changing course, and silting up almost every year. Maintaining it required an enormous amount of silver.

Yinzhen, having studied hydraulics at the Ministry of Works for two years under the crown prince’s direction, understood the extent of these systemic failures. The problem had not begun with the Qing—it had already been unsustainable in the Ming Dynasty. The Qing had merely inherited the same broken system. Despite repeated court discussions, no effective solution had ever been found.

After listening to these issues, Yinreng’s expression darkened. Both problems were critical, and both were at the root of the empire’s weakening military defenses. But neither he nor Yinzhen had the power to change them. Reforming these systems would mean threatening the interests of countless officials, and even their imperial father might not have the resolve to enact such changes at this time.

Was there any issue that could be addressed immediately without disrupting the entire system?

Yinzhen knew that simply discussing these matters would not change anything, but he had to speak his mind. In fact, he couldn’t help but wonder—if the day ever came when his second brother ascended the throne, would he finally be able to purge the corruption from the empire? He had the will to reform, but right now, his hands were tied.

The two brothers spoke for a long time but could only sigh in frustration.

Just then, Yinxiang entered the room with Hongxuan. Seeing his elder brothers looking so grim, he couldn’t help but ask, “Why so serious? Second Brother, Fourth Brother, Hongxuan has finished his lessons. Since the palace is noisy with all the construction going on, I thought I’d take him outside to go ice skating.”

Yinreng nodded.

As the children grew older, next year Hongxi would also be moving out to begin his studies, and the courtyard on the other side of the hallway would no longer be sufficient. The Crown Princess had already spoken to their imperial father, requesting an expansion of the courtyard to include two additional sections for the children. Since A Wan had also mentioned it to the Crown Princess, they had taken the opportunity to expand the rear chamber as well. This construction project had started at the end of last year, and even now, the sound of hammering and knocking still echoed through Yuqing Palace.

Suddenly, Yinzhen had a flash of inspiration. “Second Brother, we can make them pay back their debts!”

Yinreng was momentarily stunned. “Hmm?”

“You may not know this, but when we brothers moved out of the palace to establish our own residences, we all borrowed silver from the Ministry of Revenue. Otherwise, the Imperial Household Department wouldn’t even have been able to gather enough timber. It’s not just us princes—officials across the court have borrowed large sums of government silver. You take ten thousand taels, I take twenty thousand taels—if we collect it all, it will amount to something substantial. Besides, Imperial Father allowed officials to take loans from the state treasury, but they were supposed to be repaid within a set timeframe. Yet many of them have delayed repayment indefinitely, some paying back half while borrowing more. Even that old fox Ma Qi has probably yet to clear his debts!”

A sudden, unpleasant realization struck Yinreng—had the expansion of Yuqing Palace also been funded by a loan from the Ministry of Revenue? He would have to summon Shang Zhi to confirm this. How absurd! If that were the case, then even he was in debt!

Yinzhen had found a new path forward, one he found highly feasible. Their imperial father might hesitate to demand repayment directly, but did that mean the debts could simply be ignored? That made no sense! Debt must be repaid—this was a universal principle. In the marketplace, borrowing from a moneylender meant paying interest. Yet these officials had borrowed from the state treasury without interest and without being urged to repay—what kind of sweet deal was that?

“Write a memorial, and tomorrow we’ll go see Imperial Father together,” Yinreng decided. The idea was workable—at most, it would cause officials to lose some face and return a fraction of their wealth. But it was a far gentler approach than tackling corruption in the Grand Canal system or military payroll fraud.

Once they had secured the silver, Yinreng already had plans. He wanted to travel to Suzhou and Hangzhou—not just to inspect governance, but also to examine the state of the Grand Canal and observe the lives of the common people. Some matters could be investigated openly, while others would require traveling in disguise.

Moreover… “We can propose this idea, but if Imperial Father orders you to personally collect the debts, we should push that responsibility onto the Eighth Prince and the Eldest Prince. Do not take on that burden yourself,” Yinreng quietly advised Yinzhen as he escorted him out.

If the Fourth Prince were assigned to collect debts, countless officials would try to trip him up—especially the Ministry of Revenue, which was filled with men loyal to Mingzhu. But if the Eighth and Eldest Princes were tasked with it instead? Then Mingzhu, the Tong family, the imperial princes, and the noble clans would have no grounds to protest.

At the end of the day, Yinreng himself remained politically isolated. Yet perhaps it was precisely because of this that their imperial father trusted him. He sighed inwardly and patted Yinzhen’s shoulder. This younger brother, despite everything, had always chosen to stand by his side—he was a man of true loyalty. Yinreng couldn’t help but offer further advice: “Your nature is straightforward and principled, but that won’t work against the wily officials of the court. Don’t let yourself be worn down by these battles. It’s not worth earning Imperial Father’s displeasure over such matters.”

Yinzhen felt a surge of warmth in his heart, a deep sense of gratitude overflowing within him. He looked at the Crown Prince and softly acknowledged, “Mm.”

From the very beginning, he had known that he had chosen the right person to follow. Ever since Empress Xiaoyi had passed away, no one in the palace had spoken to him so sincerely—not even in Yonghe Palace.

Outside, snow had begun to fall again. Yinreng told him to wait, instructing He Baozhong to fetch a large oil-paper umbrella before letting him leave. “I won’t keep you for dinner. Tell the sedan bearers to be careful—the ground is slippery. Have them walk slowly.”

Yinzhen straightened his posture, then bowed deeply to the Crown Prince before departing.

After sending off the Fourth Prince, Yinreng walked toward Cheng Wanyun’s quarters, only to find the courtyard still bustling with activity.

The snowfall was light, the flakes drifting down like floating willow fluff. Cheng Wanyun had invited Harinauhai over as well. Meanwhile, Mi Mi, the cat, was circling around Harinauhai, eyes fixed on the freshly grilled lamb skewers in his hands. The skewers were slightly charred, sizzling with oil, and smelled irresistibly delicious. How could Mi Mi possibly resist? Summoning all her courage, she suddenly leaped onto Harinauhai’s leg, scrambling up in just a few swift moves until she perched on his shoulder. Stabilizing her plump body with her hind legs and raising her tail to keep balance, she struck with lightning speed, swiping at his wrist—the one holding the skewers.

Caught off guard, Harinauhai lost two skewers to the sneaky feline. Mi Mi snatched them and dashed away, settling beside E Linzhu to devour her stolen prize.

Harinauhai stood there, completely dumbfounded. He looked at the skewers in his hand, then at the cat munching away, questioning everything he knew about life.

E Linzhu, sitting to the side, was laughing so hard she clutched her stomach.

“And you’re still laughing?” Harinauhai handed her the remaining skewers and muttered in Mongolian, “I grilled these for you.”

“It’s fine, let Mi Mi have some.” E Linzhu was incredibly generous with the cat, struggling a little as she lifted the now-stuffed Mi Mi onto her lap and skillfully stroked her fur. “I love Mi Mi the most.”

“Meow!” Mi Mi rubbed affectionately against E Linzhu’s hand in a flattering display.

Harinauhai pouted but sat across from her and silently resumed grilling more meat for her.

Meanwhile, Cheng Wanyun was holding Hongxi, who appeared to be staring blankly into space but was, in reality, still deep in thought about frozen bubbles. Smiling at the two of them, she announced, “Whoever can recite the full multiplication table will get a big piece of venison as a reward. What do you say?”

E Linzhu, a huge fan of venison, immediately shot up her hand. “Mother, I’ll do it!”

Cheng Wanyun watched expectantly. E Linzhu started strong but stumbled when she reached “seven times eight…” She got stuck there, repeating “seven times eight… seven times eight…” over and over until, suddenly, a spark of realization hit her. Clapping her hands in excitement, she declared, “Seven times eight is fifty-two!”

At that exact moment, Yinreng stepped inside and was greeted by this confident declaration. E Linzhu even raised her chin proudly, as if she had just achieved something remarkable—completely unaware of her mistake.

Cheng Wanyun’s face darkened. A multiplication table that she had been memorizing for over a year, and she still got it wrong?

Then, unexpectedly, little Hongxi, who had been lost in his own world, piped up in his soft, childish voice: “Big Sister, it’s seven times eight is fifty-six.”

E Linzhu was instantly dumbfounded.

Cheng Wanyun couldn’t hold back her laughter. “Well, I guess the venison goes to Hongxi then.”

Yinreng stepped inside, lifting the curtain, and sat beside Cheng Wanyun. He tapped E Linzhu’s forehead lightly, shaking his head in disappointment. “You really need to study harder. His Majesty even mentioned last time that you should practice your calligraphy more diligently. At this rate, Hongxi will recognize more characters than you soon. I think we should let Hongxuan be your tutor—he can reinforce what he’s learned while teaching you at the same time.”

E Linzhu muttered, “I’m a girl. It’s not like I need to take the imperial examination.”

Cheng Wanyun was in the middle of pouring milk tea for the Crown Prince when she heard this. Her smile vanished instantly.

“Girls may not need to take the imperial exam, but they still need to understand reason and uphold virtue! They should not be willing to remain ignorant.” For the first time, Yinreng’s expression darkened with sternness. “You are your father’s eldest daughter. Yet, you refuse to learn to read, refuse to study even the most basic arithmetic. Are you truly incapable? When your father taught you to ride a horse, you picked it up immediately. This proves you are not foolish—you are simply not putting in the effort!”

It was the first time E Linzhu had been reprimanded so harshly. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks instantly.

“Your mother and I have only one daughter, and we have spoiled you too much.” Yinreng concluded coldly, then swept a sharp gaze over the nanny and palace maids attending to E Linzhu. “I want to know who has been teaching the Eldest Princess such nonsense! Have you all been indulging her whims, letting her play around all day? Everyone serving the Eldest Princess is to be punished—ten strikes each!”

Even the two nannies were dragged out for punishment. E Linzhu was so frightened that she forgot to cry.

Cheng Wanyun quickly pulled her into her arms, gently soothing her. “Silly child, how could you say such a thing? By your logic, since you are a girl, does that mean you shouldn’t learn horseback riding or archery either? It’s not that women are too foolish to pass the imperial exam—it’s that too many of them think as you do: ‘I don’t need to take the exam,’ and they cling to the outdated idea that ‘lack of talent is a virtue.’ They confine themselves to a narrow path! But that kind of thinking is completely wrong. You are a royal princess, already more fortunate than most. There are many girls in this world who are drowned at birth, let alone given the chance to study…”

She trailed off, momentarily lost in thought. Her heart ached. In this feudal society, such injustices were commonplace. But even in later generations, there were still countless girls deprived of education—just like she had once been, just like the thousands of girls in remote villages forced to drop out of school. She fixed her gaze firmly on her daughter.

“E Linzhu, do you realize that one day, you could actually do something for the women of this world?”

Cheng Wanyun was not foolish—she understood all too well how harshly palace rules treated someone of her background. If not for the Crown Prince standing before her like a snow-capped mountain, shielding her from the storm, even the slightest misstep in her words or actions could cost her life. She was bound, gagged by the very fabric of this feudal society. But E Linzhu was different. As the Crown Prince’s eldest daughter, her status meant she had the power to do more—even if it was only the smallest of changes…

E Linzhu stared at her, dumbfounded. She was still young, and while she understood some of what her mother was saying, much of it went over her head. She wasn’t sure what to say or do.

Cheng Wanyun sighed. I shouldn’t have said that.

Even Yinreng raised an eyebrow at her words, and she knew she had overstepped. But before she could regret it, he waved a hand, dismissing all the attendants.

Cheng Wanyun glanced at the Crown Prince cautiously.

The Crown Prince simply poured another cup of milk tea for Cheng Wanyun and then turned to E Linzhu, saying, “Listen to your mother carefully.”

E Linzhu immediately rushed over, tugging at her mother’s sleeve, burying her face in her lap as she cried and pleaded, “Mother, I was wrong.”

Although the Crown Prince wasn’t angry, Cheng Wanyun dared not continue speaking as she had before. She carefully rephrased her words in a way E Linzhu could understand. “You think memorizing the multiplication table is useless, but when you grow up, you will need to manage a household. If you don’t even understand accounting, how will you oversee the household finances? If you remain ignorant, what if someone tricks you into believing that eggs cost twenty taels each? You might actually believe them! That would be like walking straight into a tiger’s mouth—you’d be cheated and still help count the money for those who deceived you!”

E Linzhu sniffled, but before she could respond, little Hongxi, who had been quietly listening and thinking, suddenly spoke up.

“Mother, that’s not right.”

“Hmm?”

“Big Sister already thinks seven times eight is fifty-two. Even if she got sold off, she wouldn’t count the money correctly anyway.”

Cheng Wanyun: “…”

Yinreng: “…”

E Linzhu, who had just begun to calm down in her mother’s embrace, burst into tears all over again.

Fine! She would study! She would study, okay?!