The baby-making system is unreliable

“You will not die.” Yun Xinrou walked into the hall, her gaze falling on her still flat stomach. “This child should not become a sacrifice in the power struggle.”

"A sacrifice?" Yun Ning'an sneered, her fingertips gently stroking her abdomen, the movement gentle yet resolute, stubborn and unwilling to let her see her make a fool of herself.

"If he lives, he is guilty; if he dies, he is freed. Neither way is of any concern to you, my elder sister. There is no sisterly affection between us anymore."

“Father only needs the child born from the Empress’s womb, he doesn’t need us. Father abandoned me in the cold courtyard, did he ever care about the father-daughter relationship between us?”

Yun Ning'an's voice trembled, but she suppressed her emotions, unable to accept it: "When you were enjoying your pampering, did you know that I was kneeling in the snow begging for a bowl of hot porridge? Now you come to talk about children and fate, don't you find it ridiculous?"

She was just a daughter who was not favored by her father. Even if he liked her for a moment, it was not lasting and he could be discarded at will.

Yun Xinrou remained silent, a look of pain welling up in her eyes. She slowly knelt down, meeting her sister's gaze: "What happened in the past was not what I wanted, but this child is innocent. You also want your child to live, don't you?"

“He carries the blood of the Yun family and the blood of the Turks. If His Majesty finds out, he will surely be executed. I have come not to ask for your forgiveness, but to take you away.”

"Leave?" Yun Ning'an scoffed, her eyes already devoid of light. It's only been a few short years.

"In this vast world, is there anywhere for me to hide? I am carrying an illegitimate child, where can you send me to escape to? Don't lie to me... You're just afraid that I will drag you down with me, afraid that I will drag you down with me before I die."

"If that's really the case, why would I be here?!" Yun Xinrou took off the jade pendant from her neck and gently placed it on the table.

"If I were afraid you would implicate me, why would I carry my token?! If this jade is discovered by someone else, then I will truly be doomed."

Yun Ning'an gazed at the warm, old jade, her fingertips trembling slightly, but ultimately she did not touch it. She turned her face away, her voice so soft it was almost inaudible: "...Go. I don't need you to save me. I will handle this child myself."

At this moment, Yun Xinrou remained motionless, gazing at her silently, as if gazing upon the regrets of half a lifetime. The candlelight flickered, illuminating the figures of the two sisters, one still and one frozen, as if separated by a lifetime.

“Alright,” Yun Xinrou finally stood up, turned to the door, and silently glanced at him: “I won’t force you. But I will wait—until the day you are willing to believe me.”

The door closed softly, the lingering sound dissipating in the wind.

Yun Ning'an slowly lowered her head, a tear falling into her clothes. She finally reached out and gently touched the jade pendant; the cold touch felt like burning heat.

In March, the spring chill lingered, and the winds of the north still cut like knives.

On the Turkic steppe, smoke signals rose frequently, and iron hooves trampled through the remaining snow. Every day, fast horses shuttled between the wilderness and the royal court, bringing urgent military reports.

The Xueyantuo moved south, the Uyghurs moved west, and the Tiele tribes rebelled against the alliance, stationing troops north of Yinshan... The situation was like boiling water, pressing forward step by step, as if a giant net was closing in from all directions, forcing the Turks into an abyss.

Yun Ning stood within the palace walls, her fingertips tightly clutching an unopened secret letter, her knuckles turning white from the force. She wore a plain fox fur coat, and the wind ruffled her hair like tangled catkins.

Her gaze remained fixed on the northern horizon, the battlefield where her husband had once roamed. Her heart had not truly found peace since three months ago, hanging by a thread day and night, like a flickering candle in the wind.

"Princess, another letter has arrived," the maid announced in a low voice, presenting a bamboo slip sealed with sealing wax.

Yun Ning'an took the letter, her fingertips trembling slightly. She had lost count of how many military intelligence letters this was today; she only knew that with each one she opened, her heart sank a little deeper. She slowly opened the letter, her gaze sweeping over the words, her pupils suddenly contracting.

"Black Mountain has fallen, the defending general has been killed in battle, and the enemy is less than three hundred li from the royal court."

She closed her eyes, crumpled the letter into a ball, and stuffed it into her sleeve. The wind howled, as if carrying the mournful neighing of warhorses and the wails of soldiers.

She was no stranger to war, but this time, the enemy's attack was more ferocious and the internal strife more profound than she had anticipated.

The palace is now in chaos. His Majesty's illness is worsening daily, with a persistent high fever and alternating periods of lucidity and delirium. The imperial physicians are helpless, and the court officials are filled with anxiety.

The imperial edict has already been drafted, and the court is like boiling water about to overflow; it could collapse at the sound of a bell.

"Father..." she murmured softly, her voice barely audible, yet carrying an immense weight.

Emperor Wude's illness worsened day by day, and the imperial physicians took turns entering the palace. The fragrance of medicine filled the palace, but they could not dispel the deathly silence that lingered between the palace beams.

The emperor lay on his sickbed, his face ashen, his breath weak as a candle flickering in the wind. Even the head of the Imperial Medical Academy could only sigh and say, "Medicine is ineffective; we can only rely on fate."

The news spread like wildfire, shaking the court and the public. A storm was brewing within Chang'an.

With no crown prince yet, the princes secretly formed factions, powerful ministers harbored their own ambitions, and the imperial guards were wary of one another. During the morning court session, the ministers whispered among themselves, no one made a decision, and government orders were stagnant, as if a magnificent palace was trembling because its pillars were about to collapse.

Just as panic was rising and order was about to collapse, a figure stepped into the Zichen Palace through the morning mist, his steps steady and his eyes piercing... It was Yun Ziyuan.

He wore a black court robe, a jade belt around his waist, and a golden crown in his hair. His brows held the calm and majesty of someone who had long held a high position. He did not utter a word; simply standing on the steps, he was like a mountain pressing down, causing the clamor in the hall to fall silent.

"Gentlemen," he began, his voice not loud, yet each word resonating like a bell, piercing through the hall, "Though His Majesty is ill, the country cannot be without a ruler for a single day. The emperor has not yet passed away, and the state still exists. How can you allow yourselves to throw yourselves into disarray and let the world see the weakness of our court?"

The ministers bowed their heads, none daring to respond. His gaze swept across them, like a reflection in a cold pool, revealing his understanding of their hearts.

Immediately, he made a decisive move: he ordered the Crown Prince to oversee the country and manage state affairs, but secretly replaced his close attendants to prevent him from making any rash moves.

He dispatched trusted confidants to control the northern and southern offices of the Imperial Guards, sealed off the palace gates, and strictly prohibited private exchanges; he also ordered the Ministry of Rites to report the emperor's daily activities to reassure the people.

At the same time, he personally went to the Imperial Hospital to supervise the prescriptions and even tasted the decoctions himself to prevent anyone from plotting rebellion and poisoning the medicine.

In the imperial court, he was decisive and efficient, yet always measured and measured. Some secretly criticized him for "abusing power," to which he simply smiled and said, "If absolutism can preserve the country, I am willing to bear this reputation. It is better than you gentlemen talking about loyalty and righteousness while watching the country fall into chaos."

As night deepened, the candles in the Zichen Palace remained lit. Yun Ziyuan sat alone beside the imperial desk, holding a volume of "Zhenguan Zhengyao" in his hands, but his gaze was fixed on the deep darkness outside the window.

Now that his father is critically ill, he carries on his shoulders not only the power, but also the fate of the entire empire.

Yun Xinrou also visited the palace. Through the layers of gauze curtains, she saw her father, the emperor, lying on the dragon bed. He was emaciated and weak. The once majestic emperor was now so frail.

She suppressed her grief, feeling that the dragon's body was probably on its last legs. Her heart was filled with sorrow, but she could only pretend to be calm in front of others.

And Guo Wen, He Zilai, and Yu Chengji, these three key ministers, finally had a chance to prove themselves.

Like three pillars stabilizing the sea, under Yun Ziyuan's overall command, they each performed their duties and steadily established a foothold in the chaotic court.

Guo Wen was mature and prudent, managing government affairs and stabilizing the Six Ministries; He Zilai was sharp-tongued, refuting heresies and stabilizing the flow of speech; Yu Chengji held some military power, ensuring the stability of the capital region.

The three of them echoed Yun Ziyuan from afar, forming an unbreakable barrier that kept all the restless ambitions and unsettling rumors outside the center of power.

In April, Yun Ning'an gave birth to a son. At this time, the child's situation was even more difficult. It would have been better if it had been a daughter.

This child happens to be a son, with the blood of the Turkic Nurzhuoying flowing through his veins... it's really hard to put into words.

However, at this time, His Majesty was too ill to get out of bed and naturally had no time to care about the child, so the mother and child were able to remain safe.

That winter, in the biting north wind, came the devastating news that Emperor Wude had passed away. His death brought grief to the entire nation. His coffin was finally interred alongside that of his deceased empress in the imperial mausoleum, buried together beneath the cold yellow earth.

"Your father has passed away." Consort He's voice was as soft as a sigh, as if afraid of disturbing something.

"Throughout his life, he shared a bed with me, and we treated each other with respect, supporting each other through the years in the deep palace... But did we love each other? In the end, we never did."

Consort He paused, her gaze falling on the coffin surrounded by palace servants in the distance. There was no overwhelming grief in her eyes, only a weariness of having settled down and a trace of indescribable melancholy.

"But he still left after all." She murmured to herself, her solitary figure appearing particularly frail beneath the plain white mourning clothes.

"Before I left, I was still thinking about seeing him one last time." Consort He's voice was low and hoarse, her gaze still following the palace gate where the coffin was no longer visible, as if trying to pierce through the layers of palace walls.

“Ziyuan, I’ve made up my mind. I’ll go to the imperial mausoleum and guard it for him for the rest of my life. I don’t want to stay in this deep palace for even a moment longer.”

She slowly turned her head, and Yun Ziyuan's figure was reflected in her cloudy eyes. There were a thousand words in her gaze, but in the end, they only turned into a soft sigh.

"Originally... I wanted to kill that child for you. To nip it in the bud and eliminate any future troubles—that's the kind of approach an emperor should take, isn't it?"

Consort He's lips curled into a bitter smile, a smile that carried both self-mockery and a hint of ruthlessness worn down by time.

“But you child, if you don’t want to, then forget it.” She seemed to be persuading Yun Ziyuan, or perhaps persuading herself, her voice revealing a hint of weary relief.

"Mother has been thinking about this for a long, long time..." Consort He paused, each word seeming to be squeezed out from the deepest part of her heart, "and I still feel... I should trust you. I should trust my child!"

She spoke the last word, "child," very softly, yet with a resolute and trusting tone, as if the dust had settled. The wind ruffled the white hair straying from her temples, and her figure, dressed in plain white, was as lonely as a deep palace forgotten by time, as if her entire being, along with the departing coffin, had become desolate.

"..." Yun Ziyuan glanced at her, only softly calling her "Mother," and that was all.

Spring has come again, and pear blossoms are like snow both inside and outside Chang'an. Yun Ziyuan ascended the throne in the Taiji Hall, changing the era name to Yongxing, and became Emperor Yongxing.

Despite wearing the dragon robe and holding power in his hands, he showed no sign of the high spirits of a new emperor; instead, his brows were furrowed with an unyielding melancholy.

The most pressing issues are still the Turks in the north, and Yun Ning'an, the second sister in the palace, and her child whose identity is sensitive.

Before his death, the late Emperor Wude left behind a top-secret edict. The ink still carried the scent of blood, like a cold shackle that firmly bound Emperor Yongxing's heart.

The edict only stated two possibilities, both pointing to a choice between blood and fire:

If Zhuoying of the Nur tribe wins the power struggle, he will send Yun Ning'an and her son back to the grasslands unharmed as a bargaining chip for the alliance.

If Zhuoying is defeated and killed, then the two men must be executed immediately, and their heads must be sent as a pledge of loyalty to the newly risen Turkic Khan.

Now, the eagle flag on the grassland has not yet been lowered, and the life and death of the second sister and her nephew hang on the balance of this secret decree, as well as on the balance of Emperor Yongxing's decision.

He held the Emperor's Sword, but it felt as if he were holding a block of ice that had stood for millennia; whether he moved forward or backward, he faced an abyss.

Yun Ziyuan was also in a dilemma. He knew that his father was right to do so, but he still didn't want to... didn't want to kill anyone.

That summer, after more than a year of fierce fighting, Nurzhuoying narrowly won. This was a good thing, at least for Yun Ning'an.

So Yun Ning'an embarked on her journey to the Turks once again, this time with a happy smile.

Ahead of her was her husband, a man who treated her well. To her, this was already a blessing.

Yun Xinrou saw her off, and this time, she was much calmer. Perhaps it was because she was holding her child that she radiated what is known as maternal glow.

"Let's leave too, shall we?!" Lin Xiashen's eyes sparkled with a longing for freedom. She yearned for the outside world, feeling that it was the place that truly belonged to them.

“Alright!” Yun Xinrou looked at her, a hint of hesitation flashing in her eyes. She thought of her younger sister, Xue Rong, in the deep palace, and a sense of worry welled up in her heart. “Let’s take Xue Rong with us.”

Yun Xinrou spoke again, her tone firm: "Ask her. If she's willing, we'll leave together. Give her a choice, instead of... having no say in her own destiny."

Although Yun Ziyuan wouldn't hold a grudge against his younger sister for the past, Yun Xinrou was still worried. She always felt that Xue Rong deserved a new life of her own, instead of being trapped in this deep palace.

"Of course!" Lin Xia replied with a smile, her eyes full of anticipation. She thought about her various street performances and said, "It would be better if the journey was lively and bustling. The more people, the better, so I won't be lonely."

Yun Xinrou's heart warmed slightly at that smile, and she nodded emphatically, as if a great burden had been lifted. The two smiled at each other, their smiles filled with an infinite longing for freedom.

A fine horse, a wooden cart, a few people, and a journey that can be taken on a whim. No reason needed, no worries required, with companions and wholehearted support, and no pressure to survive.

And so, I took that journey, brave and fearless. And so, whatever I wanted to do, I had people supporting me—how wonderful!

(Story 8 concludes, November 23, 2025. This book also comes to an end here. There may be epilogues. Thank you.)