Fu Yi promised Bai Qingqing that not even a hint of this matter would reach Prince Ping’s ears. He would bide his time within the prince’s estate, quietly seeking proof.
That very day, upon returning to the palace, Fu Yi—who hadn’t set foot there in a long while—went of his own accord to the Princess Consort’s quarters.
When Nanny Chang saw him, she was so overjoyed she burst into tears on the spot and rushed inside to announce him. Moments later, the Princess Consort emerged, stumbling over the threshold in her haste.
She no longer resembled the woman in Fu Yi’s memories. Though still draped in noble silks and jewelry, none of it could mask the exhaustion etched into her face—in fact, it only made her look more wan and withered.
“Yi’er, you’ve finally come to see me!”
Whatever sharpness the Princess Consort once had had long been worn down by endless neglect and indifference. Now, seeing her son again, she didn’t scold or reproach—only wept, clutching his hand as she pulled him inside.
The room had everything it should. Zhou Sichen had made sure of that—leaving no opening for criticism. But the more meticulously things were kept, the more suffocated the Princess Consort felt, tormented daily by a creeping madness she could not explain.
“Yi’er, you don’t know what your mother has been through these days…”
Her voice broke, tears falling freely. She looked so fragile, so pitiful. “Now, you’re all I have…”
Fu Yi handed her a handkerchief. “Mother, you’ve suffered. It’s my fault. I’ve been so focused on carrying out Father’s assignments that I neglected you. But Father was wrong—you're the Princess Consort, the rightful mistress of this household. How could he treat you like this?”
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Hearing him finally speak up for her, the Princess Consort could no longer hold back the bitterness she'd been choking on for years. She poured it all out. The more Fu Yi listened, the angrier he became. At last, he rose abruptly to his feet, ready to confront Prince Ping then and there.
“Mother, just wait and see! Father's behavior is utterly shameful—he’ll be the laughingstock of the world. I will make sure you get the justice you deserve!”
He stormed out, face full of righteous fury. Behind him, the Princess Consort watched with anxious anticipation, the weight on her chest finally easing. “You were right, Nanny,” she said with a trembling sigh. “I was overthinking. Yi’er is still the same—still so filial. I shouldn't have doubted him. With him on my side, His Highness won’t dare do anything to me!”
Fu Yi strode out of the courtyard, still seething. The servants along the way lowered their heads as he passed—his image as a dutiful son, willing to rise in fury for his mother’s sake, was seared into every onlooker’s mind.
He really did confront Prince Ping. In the study, their voices rose into an argument so fierce that even the servants outside could hear. Some of them sighed inwardly—such a fine young master, if only he weren’t so beholden to the Princess Consort. Just like that, he’d ruined his standing in the prince’s eyes.
When Fu Yi left the study, his expression was dark. Behind him came the sounds of objects being hurled in anger. The servants held their breath in terror. The estate had just regained a semblance of peace—now, chaos loomed again.
But chaos was exactly what Fu Yi wanted. Alone in a quiet corner of the residence, his face went cold and still. Only in chaos could he dig up the truth. He wasn’t afraid of offending Fu Yanghong. He didn’t want to be the heir. And he certainly didn’t care whether the Princess Consort lived well.
In their past life, the Fu family had ridden smooth waters without a ripple. He’d stumbled through it all half-asleep. But now—now he would tear away the illusion of calm and see what rot lay hidden beneath.
…
After meeting with Fu Yi, Bai Qingqing hadn’t expected another set of guests to show up at Qingxin Pavilion.
“Brother Pei? Lord Ning? What brings you here?”
She stepped forward, but abruptly froze when she caught sight of Ning Yan’s expression. Her eyes darted nervously. Beautiful and quick, they flicked to Pei Zhaoyao, then back to Ning Yan. She quickly corrected herself.
“Oops, I misspoke—Brother Yan.”
She really wasn’t used to calling anyone “brother.” It made her skin crawl. If she could, she’d just mumble it and be done.