The Eighth Prince took poison in place of the Emperor, shielding him from disaster. So the Emperor believed the Imperial Astrologers' Office and became convinced the Eighth Prince could ward off calamity for him.
That's why the Emperor doesn't want the Eighth Prince to die.
When Serena heard this, she was so angry she wanted to flip the Emperor off.
Seriously, this Emperor treats his own son like some disaster-blocking object. If that's his idea of 'affection,' then forget it—no one needs that kind of love. The Eighth Prince must have the worst luck imaginable to end up with a father like this.
Seeing how furious Serena was, Imperial Noble Consort Helena Hsieh, who had been holding back her tears, finally let them fall.
All the palace women envied her for having such a 'lucky' son, but only she knew how much pain she was really in.
She didn't care about any so-called auspicious fate—she just wanted her son to be safe and well. But she couldn't say that aloud; if she did, not just the other women in the harem, even the Emperor would never let him go.
Faced with this, Serena didn't know how to comfort Imperial Noble Consort Helena. For the Eighth Prince, this was also a kind of opportunity.
In the rear palace, without the Emperor's favor, even as Imperial Noble Consort, Helena Hsieh could only do so much for the Eighth Prince. For example, when he was sick, the imperial physicians saw he wasn't favored and wouldn't treat him seriously.
In the harem, aside from the Empress, status isn't about rank—it's all about favor. With the Emperor's renewed interest, Helena Hsieh and the Eighth Prince finally have a foothold in the palace.
After Serena offered some comfort, Imperial Noble Consort Helena Hsieh did feel a bit better.
In this palace, life is what it is—thunder and dew are both the ruler’s grace. As the Emperor’s women, they have no right to choose, only to accept.
As soon as Serena left Radiant Hall, she was dragged off by several more consorts—some wanted pregnancy-preserving medicine, some wanted tonics, all of them treated Serena like a miracle-worker, hoping she’d prescribe them fertility or aphrodisiac drugs.
Aphrodisiac drugs were impossible to bring into the palace—unless they got them from Serena, since her medicine chest always passed inspection.
By the time Serena finally left the palace, she was drenched in sweat.
Too many wolves, not enough meat—the Emperor’s getting old, and these ravenous women will do anything to win his favor. Using medicine is just par for the course.
Honestly... Serena was sure that if the Emperor actually visited the harem more often, he’d be drained dry in no time.
With so many women around, even an iron rod would get ground down to an embroidery needle!
Everyone seemed busy lately—Left Shore and Dorian Owen hadn’t been seen in ages. And ever since Ninth Royal Uncle came to scold Serena that night, she hadn’t seen him for seven or eight days. She missed him sometimes, but most of the time she was too busy to even touch the ground.
After returning from the palace, Serena immediately called for Simon Sun to discuss the plan for the Little Prince's surgery.
If, in the first couple days, Simon Sun was only pretending, by now he had truly come out of the pain of losing his father. Though the ordeal had left him silent, his spirit was strong.
That was enough for Serena.
Serena laid out all the details about the Little Prince—every measurement and position of his cleft lip—and began discussing the surgery plan with Simon Sun. Halfway through, the butler came rushing in.
"Miss, Zhai, Zhai..."
Before the butler could finish, Dominic Zhai barged in, shouting, "Serena, quick, bandage me up! I’m hurt!"
As he spoke, Dominic Zhai dragged his bloodied arm into the room.
"How did you get hurt so badly?" Serena jumped up, helped Dominic Zhai to a seat, and motioned for Simon Sun to fetch the medicine chest and bandage his wound.
"Don’t even ask. I’ve had the worst luck lately—trouble keeps piling up. This city gate job? I don’t want it." Dominic Zhai looked worn out, his eyes red and swollen from lack of sleep, and he smelled like pickled vegetables.
Uh... Serena didn’t say a word. Dominic Zhai’s busy spell was thanks to Lance Quinn.
Dominic Zhai didn’t need Serena to ask—he spilled everything, rapid-fire, like beans out of a bag.
First, someone broke into the palace and stole something—the Emperor ordered him to investigate. He’d been searching for over ten days and hadn’t found a single clue. Well, what could he do... He was just incompetent.
But then, someone tell him—Princess Consort of Chun is dead, and her guards used the manor’s city pass to leave town. That’s his fault, too.
He was just the city gatekeeper—how was he supposed to know Princess Yara was dead, or that the manor’s token was so easy to steal? Now the guards are gone, and it’s all pinned on him.
Serena didn’t hear Dominic Zhai’s complaints—she only caught one crucial detail: "Princess Consort of Chun? Are you saying Princess Yara is dead?"
Serena was stunned. Ever since Princess Yara married, she’d kept a low profile—how could she suddenly be dead?
"Yeah, Princess Yara—the one who always gave you trouble. Good riddance, but why does her death have to drag me down too?" Dominic Zhai gritted his teeth and slammed the table, only to jolt his wound and wince in pain.
Serena had no energy to comfort him—she was still reeling from the news of Princess Yara’s death.
"How did Princess Yara die?" Serena wondered who could be so bold—she’d thought for ages but couldn’t imagine a way to kill Yara without provoking Lyndaria’s revenge.
Killing Yara was a slap in Lyndaria’s face. No matter how little they valued her, a princess dying unnaturally was something the royal family couldn’t ignore.
Royal pride and dignity cannot be challenged.
"They say it was suicide." Dominic Zhai was well-informed—he knew about the rift between Serena and Princess Yara, so he didn’t hide it from her.
"Suicide?" Serena shook her head without even thinking. "Impossible. Princess Yara would never kill herself." If she’d really wanted to die, she wouldn’t have kept backing down after Prince Terrence’s fall, marrying into Prince Chase’s household and keeping quiet.
Princess Yara would never choose death—she didn’t have the courage for it.
"Who cares if it was suicide? Eastlyn is sticking to the story: she tried to harm imperial offspring, was exposed, and killed herself out of guilt." Even in death, Princess Yara wouldn’t escape blame—Eastlyn would make sure she wore a criminal’s label.
"Harm imperial offspring? Did another mistress at Prince Chase’s Manor lose a child?" That was Serena’s first thought.
"One side-consort and one concubine—two children lost at once. The concubine’s baby was six months along, a fully formed boy. All the evidence pointed to Princess Yara, and that night she hanged herself." No one realized until noon the next day; by then, her body had already gone cold.
"What a tragedy," Serena said, a heaviness settling in her chest.
Not for Princess Yara, but for those two lost children.
"Exactly. Prince Chase really is a disaster—if he can’t protect his wives and children, he shouldn’t let them get pregnant. And now, thanks to him, I’m suffering too." Dominic Zhai was bitterly jealous.
How did Prince Chase manage it? Every woman in his household ended up pregnant. Dominic Zhai, hoping to continue the Zhai family line, had taken more than a dozen wives, working hard whenever he could, but so far, not a single child.
Dominic Zhai looked at Serena, hesitating—should he ask her to take a look at him?
But... this sort of thing was just as embarrassing as being impotent. How could he bring it up?