The baby-making system is unreliable

Consort He's heart was filled with jealousy and hatred towards Ulina. That hatred burned like a raging fire in her heart, making it impossible for her to extricate herself.

"Throughout history, which empress has ever had the emperor personally escort her coffin as you have? You are merely someone who has already died once, yet you still bask in such splendor before me."

Her eyes were filled with such hatred, and she bit her lip tightly until a trickle of blood seeped out, but she didn't even notice.

"Your first death may have been your fate, but you insisted on dying a second time, and His Majesty still remembers you so fondly. What kind of sorcery did you use to make His Majesty so deeply in love with you?"

Consort He had only one thought in her mind: hatred for Ulina and longing for His Majesty's favor.

Why can she win the heart of an emperor, while I can't? She has everything she lacks, and her father is even an official in the court.

"I have schemed and plotted to win His Majesty's favor, but you have stolen my thunder time and time again. Even in death, you will not let me rest in peace."

She didn't know how to get out of this predicament, so she could only silently vent her dissatisfaction and resentment on the imperial city wall.

That lonely figure looked even more desolate in the cold wind, as if abandoned by the whole world.

Meanwhile, another person was also feeling uneasy. Yun Ziyuan, dressed in plain clothes, followed the funeral procession, but his mind was filled with all sorts of thoughts.

Yun Ziyuan, as the only prince of the current emperor to be included in the family genealogy, should have been a chosen one of heaven, but his father's favorite was always his older sister, Yun Xinrou.

He was flustered, but he couldn't lose face as a member of the royal family. He reached out and touched his sleeve, smoothing out the hem of his clothes. He looked up slightly and glanced around. The person in the coffin was none other than his stepmother.

He and his sisters studied in the palace and were clearly good at everything, but every time his father gave them a small test, he would only remember to hold Yun Xinrou and give her a piece of candy.

Ten years ago, in the Imperial Library, Emperor Wude was not as decadent as he is now. He stood upright with a handsome figure, a prosperous and peaceful face, and calluses on his hands from years of writing.

Emperor Wude would visit the library every day, seemingly searching for someone, standing under the tree by the window.

Sunlight would pierce through the vast sky, refracting into a seven-colored and warm light, and the young emperor seemed to stand in the light, stepping into it.

The teacher sat in front lecturing, and Yun Ziyuan listened attentively, his small body sitting upright. From a young age, his mother had told him that he was his father's only son.

Therefore, he had to study hard and listen attentively to his teacher's lectures, only in this way could he not disappoint his father.

Yun Ziyuan was self-disciplined and respectful to his teacher from a young age. He wrote neat and tidy characters, which his teacher often praised.

Yun Xinrou, on the other hand, was completely different. She was willful and unruly from a young age, disliked the teacher's lessons, and would either sleep or drag her study companion along to tease the teacher. What was her name again? Lin Dongqian. She was not serious about her studies.

He used to not understand why, even though they were both the emperor's children, the emperor couldn't see him. Despite his hard work, he still couldn't get a single word of praise from him.

In mid-spring, sunlight poured into the courtyard like gold foil, and newly sprouted buds trembled in the breeze, exuding vitality everywhere.

As usual, His Majesty stepped into the courtyard in the morning light to visit the princes and princesses. However, today, as if by fate, Yun Xinrou was absent from the class once again.

The man stamped his feet anxiously, beads of sweat forming on his temples, and sighed repeatedly, "That girl, who knows where she's run off to again! Lin Dongqian, you'd better keep a close eye on her, lest she cause any more trouble!"

Lin Dongqian nodded silently, but her gaze was already fixed on the lush greenery outside the courtyard, as if searching for that familiar figure.

Just then, a clear voice with a hint of stubbornness came from behind the flowers. It seemed that she had realized everyone was looking for her and had come out to beg for mercy.

“Father! You can’t punish me! Although I skipped class today, I saved it! Anyway, I don’t like the teacher’s flowery poems and essays. I prefer the lively entertainment outside the palace.”

At that time, Yun Xinrou really liked the variety shows outside the palace. She heard from Lin Dongqian that the variety shows outside the palace were very lively, and every year on the fifteenth day of the first lunar month, there were also opera troupes performing in the capital.

I heard that she also has a younger brother who is very lively and mischievous. He loves playing tricks, especially the kind that breathes fire.

At this moment, everyone looked in the direction of the sound and saw Yun Xinrou running out from the shadows of the flowers. Her face was covered with mud, and her clothes were already stained with grass juice and dust, making her look like a little sparrow that had just rolled in the mud.

But her clear eyes shone with an astonishing brightness, filled with an undeniable determination, and she was all smiles.

She carefully opened her dirty little hand, and in her palm, a small bird with slightly damaged wings was huddled up, its feathers ruffled, yet it still struggled to lift its head and let out a faint chirp.

Yun Xinrou tilted her head back, mud dripping from her hair, but it couldn't hide the burning light in her eyes: "It fell from the tree and injured its leg. If I don't save it, it might be snatched away by a wild cat... Father, skipping class is wrong, but isn't saving its life a greater thing?"

The wind quietly stopped, and through her eyes, it seemed she could still see that person; those eyes overlapped with the eyes in her memory.

The spring sunshine in the courtyard seemed to be concentrated in her eyes, which were covered in mud but full of pure kindness, when suddenly she heard that person's voice.

Of course, Ulina was imprisoned, and although she was originally conscious, she had been affected by the Gu worms and no longer showed such clear and bright eyes.

His Majesty gazed at his daughter, her stubborn yet sincere expression leaving him speechless for a moment. The words of reproach he intended to utter turned into a silent sigh as they touched the trembling life in her small palm.

At that moment, the mistake of skipping class and the good intention of redemption intertwined in the spring light and shadow, even moving the majestic emperor to some extent.

The emperor's lips curved slightly, his smile as gentle as a spring breeze rippling across a lake. Without hesitation, he reached out and gently embraced his daughter, who was covered in mud.

He didn't care that his clothes were covered in dust; he just held that small figure tightly in his arms, as if he were holding the most precious treasure in the world.

The warm sun shone down, casting dappled shadows, and the embrace was as gentle as spring sunshine, enveloping Yun Xinrou with indescribable love.

Yun Ziyuan had no recollection of what his father had said that day, but he always remembered that such a day had ever existed.

This tenderness was a sweetness Yun Ziyuan had never tasted before, a distant and unattainable longing deep in his heart.

On that day, the boy stood silently by the window, like a statue forgotten by time, so lonely.

Through the window, he gazed intently at the heartwarming scene in the courtyard, where father and daughter embraced, laughing and chatting.

Inside the window, a warm and loving family scene unfolded; outside, his lonely and desolate figure stood. In the boy's eyes, a complex mix of emotions welled up—envy, sadness, and a hidden, stifling pain—quietly spreading in a corner unnoticed by anyone.

Sunlight streamed through the windowpane, casting a distinct line at his feet, as if separating two worlds. He simply stood there quietly, hiding all his emotions in his silent silhouette, letting the longing and loss take root and grow silently in his heart.

The snow fell softly from the sky, like scattered jade, quietly covering the entire capital city. The cold wind swirled the fine snow, howling softly through the streets and alleys, as if even heaven and earth were moved.

The funeral procession slowly emerged from the city gate, the dark figures stretching endlessly through the snow, white mourning clothes like clouds, and cries of grief like a tide.

The plain white banners fluttered in the wind, the funeral couplets hung low, and the ink characters against the snow appeared even more sorrowful and solemn. Deep footprints were left underfoot in the fresh snow, silently telling the story of parting.

At the head of the procession were several white horses draped in plain veils, pulling a black hearse. The wheels creaked and groaned as they rolled over the snow, as if time itself was struggling to move forward in sorrow.

On the hearse, the coffin was covered with plain brocade, and decorated with white chrysanthemums and pine branches. The cool fragrance of the flowers mixed with the snow vapor filled the air, adding a touch of sacred sorrow to this solemn farewell.

The snow fell silently, yet it illuminated everyone's grief with exceptional clarity. The hustle and bustle of the capital was swallowed by the snow, leaving only this path of pure white and sorrow, stretching into the vast expanse of the distant sky and earth.

As the procession moved further and further away, the outline of the capital city gradually blurred in the snow, like an old dream fading into the distance.

Upon reaching the outskirts, a cemetery surrounded by pine and cypress trees came into view, with white banners fluttering and an altar already set up. The crowd stopped as the pallbearers slowly led the hearse to the tomb.

The chief priest stepped forward and read the eulogy in a deep and solemn voice, each word like snow falling on a lake, stirring up ripples.

At this moment, the emperor slowly stepped forward, dressed in plain clothes, his brows furrowed with unwavering resolve. He gently placed a newly broken pine branch on the coffin and whispered, "The past is gone, the wind and snow send you off. May you rest here forever, accompanied by mountains and rivers, and may the years be without sorrow."

After speaking, tears fell onto the snow, melting instantly, as if burying all the unspoken words into the cold earth.

One day, he too will return to this land and be buried in this mausoleum, together with her.

The snow continued to fall, silently covering the tombstones and the sorrow of everyone. The mourners slowly dispersed, their figures fading into the distance in the snow, leaving only the white chrysanthemums in the cemetery swaying in the wind and snow, like watchful souls, silently guarding that indelible memory.

The world is vast and silent, the snow falls in silence. A funeral bids farewell not only to a departed person, but also to a period of time, to the past.

Snow may bury the past, but it cannot bury the longing deep in people's hearts. Amidst the wind and snow, the lights of the capital city gradually come on, like stars falling to earth, illuminating the way home and warming the hearts stained by parting.

……

That year, the snow fell exceptionally heavily, swirling and fluttering like goose feathers, blanketing the sky and continuing for days. The silvery frost enveloped the entire capital in a vast expanse of white, long icicles hung from the eaves, streets and alleys were buried in snow, and even the vermilion gates of the palace were tinged with a cold desolation by the snow.

However, even more heartbreaking than the bitter cold was the sudden influx of refugees into the streets and alleys. They were ragged, pale, and carrying their families, huddled in the wind and snow, their eyes filled with helplessness and despair.

With frozen hands, he held a broken bowl and hesitated in front of the shop, just hoping for a hot meal.

The young child nestled in his mother's arms, his cheeks red from the cold, and his cries sounded particularly piercing in the cold wind.

Inside the palace, a charcoal fire burned brightly in the imperial study, yet it could not dispel the worry etched on His Majesty's brow. His desk was piled high with reports of snow disasters from various regions; the words "disaster situation," "displaced people," and "grain depletion" were jarring and alarming.

Emperor Wude stood with his hands behind his back by the window, gazing at the vast expanse of snow-covered world outside the palace walls. His gaze was heavy, as if a thousand pounds of weight were pressing on his heart.

He would sometimes furrow his brow, sometimes let out a long sigh, and the tea on the table had long since gone cold, yet he never touched it.

The officials were also deeply worried, and they argued endlessly during discussions. Some advocated opening the granaries to distribute grain, while others worried about the empty national treasury. Some officials even offered advice, requesting tax reductions to reassure the people.

However, each countermeasure was like a flurry of snowflakes, failing to address the immediate crisis.

"The refugees have nowhere to live, suffering from hunger and cold. How can I sleep peacefully?" Emperor Wude finally spoke, his voice low but filled with unwavering determination.

"Issue an imperial decree to immediately set up soup kitchens in the south of the city to provide porridge and relief to the people. Also, allocate cotton clothing from the imperial treasury to distribute to the refugees. I want to go and see for myself."

The following morning, Emperor Wude, dressed in plain clothes and with a simple entourage, trudged through the thick snow to the soup kitchen in the south of the city. In the cold wind, refugees lined up in long queues, their hands, frozen purple, holding steaming bowls of rice porridge, tears welling in their eyes.

An old woman, her hands trembling and frostbitten, clutched her cane and sobbed, “Heaven is unjust, but thankfully His Majesty is merciful and has saved our family’s lives!”

"Good heavens! How are we going to get through this winter?! My child, you're so unlucky!!" A frail man holding a baby was so thin that he was practically skin and bones, clearly having gone without a proper meal for days.

The line was extremely long, and the people in it were all refugees from the north who just wanted to have enough to eat and wear.

Emperor Wude was also shocked by this, and his eyes welled up with tears. He looked at these disaster victims from afar. They were just trying to get a bite to eat and survive.

In the wind and snow, His Majesty's figure blended into the refugees, his worry and sense of responsibility transforming into a warm and bright spot in the snow.

The palace was also bustling with activity. The concubines in the harem donated their cotton-padded clothes and jewelry. Yun Xinrou led the palace maids to cook porridge and deliver clothes, her young face full of seriousness.

Yun Ziyuan volunteered to assist in managing the resettlement of refugees. The silent young man worked tirelessly in the wind and snow, his eyes revealing a newfound resilience and sense of responsibility.

The snow that year, though heavy and cold, failed to freeze the warmth in people's hearts. His Majesty worked day and night, devising disaster relief measures, reducing taxes, and encouraging wealthy households to donate grain.

Finally, spring approached, the snow began to melt, and the refugees found shelter under the court's care. The streets of the capital gradually returned to life.

However, the enormous expenses accumulated like an avalanche, and the once full treasury gradually became empty. The figures in the account books decreased sharply day by day, causing the officials in charge of the Ministry of Revenue to lose sleep and be filled with worry.