After nine days of transporting the coffin and twenty-one days of mourning—once the Emperor’s unique mourning ritual, which substituted days for months, had come to a complete end—it was time for the hectic coronation ceremony. 

Although it was merely a ceremonial formality, everyone took it with extraordinary seriousness. Only the children were carefree. What left the deepest impression on His Majesty Maomao about the entire proceedings—aside from the endless kneeling and bowing (whether he was kneeling to pay homage to Heaven, Earth, and his ancestors, or others were kneeling to shout “Long live the Emperor!”)—were the varying pitches of the phrase “By the Mandate of Heaven.” The voice of the official reading the congratulatory address was truly high-pitched; even the Zhonghe Shao music, with its bells and drums from the Ministry of Rites, couldn’t drown out his voice. 

Oh, wait—Wen Maomao remembers one more thing.

Before heading to Fengtian Gate that day to receive congratulations from civil and military officials and participate in the enthronement ceremony, the young prince shook the two dangling pearl strings on his ceremonial crown so vigorously they clattered loudly. His mother, Imperial Consort Huo, waved away the palace attendants assisting with his attire. As she personally bent down to adjust his robes and headgear time and again, she asked anxiously, as if nothing were ever quite perfect: “Is the jade hairpin straight? Does the golden hairpin rest just below your eyebrows? Is the Milky Way sash around your neck tied just a little too tight?” 

Huo Jintuo, the second son of the Huo family, who had been ordered by his elder brother to provide protection and escort, said, “That’s not a matter of whether it’s too tight or not. It seems like your son might be able to see his great-grandmother a little bit.” 

Then, driven by a mother’s fierce determination, drew his sword on the spot and gave chase after her brother—she would not tolerate anyone uttering a single inauspicious word on the day her son ascended the throne.

Her child’s life would surely be smooth sailing, with success in everything he undertook! 

Amid the ensuing chaos, the little boy Wen Maomao’s already minimal nervousness was completely washed away. All that remained was the voice of Little Tiger 666—who had also changed into a new outfit—telling him, “This is called the Imperial Audience. It signifies that you, the host, have officially taken office and will now be the true Ruler of Heaven!” 

The Ruler of Heaven couldn’t care less about that; all he cared about was when he would finally get to start reading. 

In the blink of an eye, nearly a month had passed.

Great Qi welcomed another peak of summer. Just yesterday, the vermilion-lacquered palace gates still seemed to carry the distinctive coolness of early summer mornings and evenings in the north, but today they had already collided head-on with the unbearably hot southern winds. 

As Uncle Zhong would say whenever he came to the palace to pay his respects, even the sunlight seemed to have suddenly gained weight. 

The shadows cast by the colonnade’s pillars—which should have been slanted—shrank the moment they touched the scorching sunlight, vanishing by more than half. 

Wen Maomao was very fond of a white imperial cat he used to play with, but it had vanished without a trace these past few days—no one knew where it had gone to escape the heat. On the rare occasion it did appear, it would simply sprawl lazily on the steps, flattening its entire body into a thin white blanket of fur, ignoring everyone, as if the sudden heat had completely melted it away. 

It’s so hot that even the children can’t attend morning court in the Hall of Bright Righteousness; in the midst of their busy schedules of watching puppet shows, they’ll stop to catch a glimpse of the tip of its wagging tail. 

After Wen Maomao officially moved into his newly renovated quarters in the Wuwei Hall, all the arrangements for his studies were finally in place. Or rather, the court officials had finally reached a reluctant compromise regarding the appointments of imperial lecturers for the young emperor, with the various factions maintaining a relatively balanced power dynamic.

Imperial Consort Huo was now seated beside the ice-filled basin in the Cool Hall, discussing her son’s education with her cousin, Shen Zhiwei.

Regardless of the dynasty or era, and whether among high-ranking officials or commoners, a child’s early education is a crucial stage in life.

Imperial Consort Huo could no longer recall what preparations her family had made before she was sent to study with the female tutor at home alongside her cousin. After all, at that age, she was carefree; her daily thoughts revolved not so much around how to sneak out of the mansion with her second older brother to run wild across the world, but rather on the girlish fantasies of how she might rule the world—or, failing that, destroy it. 

She had plenty of ideas about destroying the world, but not the faintest clue about how to save it. 

Ahem. In any case, it wasn’t until she grew up and it was her turn to go to school that Huo Hanguang realized just how much she regretted not having paid closer attention back then to all the matters her mother had been so concerned about.

But it didn’t matter. She not only had an exceptionally wise older brother but also an all-powerful cousin.

People always say, “Rely on a mountain, and it may collapse; rely on a person, and they may run away,” but Huo Hanguang had never worried about this, because her family was brimming with talent—after relying on this one, she could always rely on another. 

As luck would have it, her cousin’s “little troublemaker” had just enrolled in the Bai family’s clan academy this year. To be precise, as soon as the New Year passed, his parents rushed him off to the academy—so she should have plenty of experience to draw upon.

Imperial Consort Huo wrote to her cousin seeking advice, and to her surprise, her cousin submitted a token that very same day to request an audience at the palace.

“Oh my, how can I possibly explain this in writing as clearly as I would in person?” Lady Shen appeared sensible on the surface, but in reality, she had a bold and spirited personality. Today, she wore a jade-green summer blouse to the palace that looked refreshingly cool at first glance. The cuffs were tapered, and the waist was loosened by two inches; as she walked, only a faint bulge of her baby bump was visible. As always, she held her shoulders and back straight, and her steps were light and brisk. 

Shen Zhiwei had become pregnant just before her grandmother passed away. The timing of the pregnancy was truly inopportune, but she couldn’t very well give the child up. Fortunately, unlike her eldest son Bai Shengye back in the day—who had caused a commotion for the entire family even before he was born—this pregnancy had spared her a great deal of worry. 

As her pregnancy progressed, her vitality and spirit only grew stronger; she was truly radiant. 

Those carefully attending to her were on the edge of their seats with worry, yet Shen Zhiwei acted as if nothing were amiss. Visiting her younger sister at the palace felt no different from visiting her aunt next door; she blurted out, “Where’s our nephew?” 

“Here he is.”

Imperial Consort Huo was reclining on a small couch by the window. With the exquisite fan she’d been idly fanning herself with, she pointed toward her cousin, her gaze passing over the embroidered butterfly design on the fan that rose and fell with her wrist and the half-drawn bamboo curtain hanging from the rod, landing on the relatively shaded corridor outside the main hall. 

“He’s playing hopscotch with the Duke of Yin and the Duke of Xin.”

Shen Zhiwei sat on the embroidered stool next to her cousin, leaning slightly toward the window, just able to see a splash of bright yellow not far away, hopping energetically like a little jumping bean. 

The five- or six-year-old Emperor, dressed in a summer dragon robe as thin as a cicada’s wing and adorned with a white jade pendant on his forehead, had a face flushed red by the sun, yet he paid it no mind. Wen Maomao was completely absorbed in the game, trying to hop on one foot into the small squares marked by gold bricks. His little body wobbled slightly, and he barely managed to maintain his balance with his arms outstretched, resembling a clumsy yet earnest fledgling.

Beside him stood two other children who appeared slightly older; one looked quite defiant, while the other stood at the end of the square, helping him keep an eye on where to land.

“Just the other day, he was being a little brat, begging for another bowl of lychee sorbet and constantly whining, ‘Mommy, I’m so hot!’ But the moment Guan Guan and Meng Zheng arrived, he was gone in a flash—running off to play like crazy, as if he’d forgotten all about the heat.” Although Huo Hanguang spoke with feigned exasperation, her expression told a completely different story; her delicate features were brimming with suppressed laughter.

Is the child too rambunctious? No problem—she’ll spoil him rotten.

“Tsk, he jumped off-balance again. He clearly stepped on the line just now, but he refused to admit it, stubbornly lying on the ground claiming the sun had blinded him. It made Meng Zheng so angry that he gave him a real scolding. Even Prince Su, who’s usually so grateful to him, didn’t want to play with him anymore.”

Yes, that troublemaker, Prince Su, stayed behind in the capital with his old lady.

He really stirred things up in the imperial court with the “catfish effect.”It was actually Wen Maomao who first mentioned the “catfish effect” to Huo Hanguang. The little boy tried his best to babble on about it, but he never quite explained what it actually was. In any case, from what Huo Hanguang observed, the culture of endless bickering in the imperial court was significantly curbed from then on, and many pending matters were handled efficiently and swiftly—her older brother couldn’t have been happier.

Among these matters was the follow-up handling of the various imperial concubines.

These were the imperial concubines whom Emperor Yingzong had left behind as a result of his misdeeds, intended to be married off in political alliances. The oldest was no more than 17, and the youngest was only nine—an age when she couldn’t even do simple math—yet they were already being prepared for marriage. Wasn’t that sheer nonsense? But as the saying goes, “Children of terrible parents grow up fast.” Each of these imperial concubines was as clear-sighted as a mirror; none of them wanted to return to the parents who had sold their daughters for personal gain. With no other options, they sought help from the Grand Princess of Pingyang. 

Grand Princess Pingyang, an elderly woman in her eighties who had just returned to the capital after several years away- what could she possibly do? She had no choice but to turn to her own son.

But the cost of raising a child was a minor concern; the real trouble lay in the tongues of the censors. They might tolerate parents selling their children, but they would never tolerate a child showing disrespect to her parents.

In the end, it was Wen Maomao—who had heard about the matter from Prince Su—who stepped in. He argued that since the cousins were originally intended to be raised by the Emperor, they were all the Emperor’s children. Although the Emperor was no longer with them, his wealth remained. 

It wasn’t until Wen Maomao was arranging for Uncle Zhong to purchase a property in the capital that he realized just how wealthy Emperor Yingzong had been—and how much of the emperor’s estate he himself had inherited. 

Although others had previously told Wen Maomao that the Emperor’s wealth was as vast as the sea, it was truly difficult for a child to grasp the concrete meaning of such phrases. It wasn’t until Bi Fang opened one of the Emperor’s five private treasuries that he finally understood just how spectacular this real gold and silver truly was. It was truly an inexhaustible, bottomless supply. 

Most importantly, with this arrangement, there was no longer any need to worry that the Grand Consorts and Consorts living out their twilight years in the various palaces would feel lonely in their remaining days because there were only three children to share their care. 

With the Grand Consorts having children and the Imperial Princesses regaining their mothers, everyone now has a bright future ahead. 

Grand Princess Pingyang was undoubtedly the happiest of them all. Some people are just like that—having once been caught in the rain themselves, they now feel happy just seeing others saved from the same fate; it feels like a blessing. With his mother happy, Prince Su was naturally happy as well, and he found Wen Maomao more and more pleasing to the eye. 

“What is this toy? Why didn’t we ever see anything like this when we were kids?” Shen Zhiwei was quite curious.

“I have no idea. He probably made it up himself,” Imperial Consort Huo shrugged, tapping the cloth tiger that had been placed on the small table—a gift meant to amuse his mother on his behalf. “Day after day, the mischievous ideas in his head spring up like bamboo shoots after the rain, popping out one after another. He never wants to settle down for a moment.”

Imperial Consort Huo could barely contain her desire to show off her child’s intelligence. Cousin Shen teased her, saying that while she was tough all over, her mouth was the toughest of all.

She could only hastily change the subject: “Where’s Shengye? Why didn’t he come to the palace with you?” Although her cousin’s son was a real handful—often driving Huo Hanguang to the brink of a headache—family ties are a strange thing: after not seeing him for a while, she actually missed him quite a bit. From Emperor Yingzong’s death to the new emperor’s accession, a mountain of affairs had weighed down on Imperial Consort Huo, leaving her with no respite for months; she hadn’t had a chance to chat idly with her family like this in a long time. 

“Don’t even mention it—he’s at home crying right now. He absolutely refuses to leave the house because he thinks it’s embarrassing. It’s the first time I’ve realized that our Shengye can actually feel shame.” Naturally, he hasn’t had time to wreak havoc on the world either.

“What happened?” Imperial Consort Huo hurriedly asked with concern; she hadn’t heard anything from her eldest and second brothers—who frequently visited the palace—about any trouble involving her nephew. 

“He fell off his horse.” 

Huo Hanguang’s face, as radiant as spring blossoms and autumn moonlight, was filled with bewilderment: “Huh? He fell off his horse?” How come no one had told her about such a major incident? Surely they should at least have invited a few imperial physicians to the palace.

“It’s the kind of ‘fall from grace’ that means he’s gotten himself into trouble.” Shen Zhiwei calmly explained the situation to her cousin. 

The “Chaos Demon”, ever since entering the Bai Family Academy, had relied on his powerful leadership qualities, his extraordinary intelligence—including a photographic memory—and…his great-grandfather; he was undisputedly appointed as the academy’s new headmaster. 

As the head of the children’s section, his duties amounted to little more than maintaining discipline and collecting homework. 

But when it came to homework—let alone collecting others’—Bai Shengye didn’t even have the patience to do his own. He had a rather convincing line of reasoning: “If I knew how to do it, why would I need to write it? If I don’t know how, how could I write it?” In any case, it’s easy to imagine that Bai Shengye wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about collecting homework.

His most audacious feat was that even if he’d collected just one assignment, he’d dare tell his elderly uncle—who was retired and served as a teacher at the clan school—that the entire class had all the assignments turned in.

Although his clan uncle was advanced in age and occasionally a bit senile, he wasn’t blind. He immediately dismissed Bai Shengye from his post and launched an investigation into this flagrant violation of the rules.

Student Bai lamented the hardships of a scholar-official’s life and the decline of moral standards. After reflecting deeply on his misfortune, he began to devote himself at home to studying the ups and downs of the bureaucratic world, hoping that one day he would be as unstoppable as the Azure Dragon. 

Huo Hanguang：“……”

She had originally intended to discuss this with her cousin: according to ancestral tradition, the young emperor’s studies required at least eight tutors. Empress Dowager Pei had already sent a young master from her own clan. Naturally, Imperial Consort Huo had to send someone from her maternal family as well; otherwise, people might think she, Huo Hanguang, was at odds with her own family.

But as for the Huo family, most of their close relatives were stationed at the northern frontier, where they had lived for generations. It wouldn’t be right to make a child travel thousands of li, leaving home and family behind to live alone and helpless in Yongji, just to serve as a reading companion for her son, would it? And among those in Yongji, there was only Huo Hanguang’s family—their family…

Even with three people, they can’t produce a single child. 

The only one who could be counted was Bai Shengye, the son of their cousin—who, in truth, wasn’t much different from them in terms of ability. But Bai Shengye…

When he thought about that elegant and refined young man from Empress Dowager Pei’s family, he couldn’t help but feel that his own son was a bit lacking in comparison. What should he do?