The Legend of Zhen Huan: Year after year, we share the spring breeze

The news that Concubine Duan was sent back to the Forbidden City to recuperate quickly spread throughout the Old Summer Palace. When everyone heard about this, although they couldn't help but feel a little confused, they didn't speculate too much when they thought about how Concubine Duan had always been weak and would always fall ill during the change of seasons.

Two days later.

Outside the Qinzheng Hall, raindrops fell softly, hitting the white marble steps in front of the hall and splashing tiny water droplets.

The doors and windows of the hall were tightly closed, blocking out the sound of the rain but also keeping the summer heat locked in. The smoke of agarwood burning in the gilded incense burner curled upward, blending with the chill emanating from the ice basin, creating an inexplicably oppressive atmosphere.

Sun Heyin stood beside the imperial desk, her slender fingers gripping a cinnabar inkstone, slowly circling it across the Duan inkstone. The subtle rustling sound of the inkstone rubbing against the inkstone was particularly clear in the pin-drop silence.

Yongzheng's face was pale, a faint blue shadow under his eyes, and a look of indelible fatigue settled between his brows. His knuckles were slightly white from gripping the red brush, and he would occasionally cough softly behind his lips, but he still refused to put down his pen.

The piles of memorials on the desk were opened one by one. The red-ink handwriting was still so powerful that it could be seen through the paper, but there was a hint of fatigue and stagnation in the strokes of the pen.

Sun Heyin lowered her eyes, her hands moving non-stop, and the inkstone pool was gradually filled with the bright red cinnabar.

She had long understood the emperor's habits - as long as there was ink in the inkstone, he would tirelessly write and would not stop until the ink was used up.

So she subtly controlled the grinding speed so that the inkstone always remained full of ink.

Su Peisheng walked in cautiously, leaning forward. After placing the teacup next to Yongzheng, he whispered, "Your Majesty, Princess Wen Yi is requesting an audience outside the palace."

Yongzheng finally raised his head from his memorials, rubbed his sore brow, and took a sip of tea. The tea was just the right temperature, soothing the dryness in his throat.

"Let her in."

After a moment, Wen Yi walked into the hall in a dignified manner and bowed politely: "Daughter pays respects to the Emperor, Father. May the Emperor be blessed with good health and happiness."

Yongzheng looked up at her. His daughter was already fourteen years old and was becoming more and more pretty. The gentleness and indifference between her eyebrows and eyes even had some of the shadow of Concubine Duan. He was a little dazed.

Who is Wen Yi's biological mother?

Seeing that he was immersed in his own thoughts, Wen Yi asked tentatively: "Emperor Father?"

Yongzheng's expression softened a bit. "Get up. It's raining outside. Why are you here?"

Wen Yi stood up without looking up. "In reply to Your Majesty, yesterday the Imperial Noble Consort said that my mother had a sudden illness and had been sent back to the Forbidden City to recuperate. My daughter...my daughter is deeply troubled. I beg Your Majesty to show mercy and allow me to return to the palace to serve my mother."

"I know about this. Your mother has always been in poor health. The Imperial Concubine has already sent people to make proper arrangements. You don't have to worry too much."

Seeing that Yongzheng disagreed, Wen Yi took something out of the pouch on his waist and raised his hands above his head.

She choked up and said, "Your Majesty, I have received the loving care of my mother for over ten years. Now that she is ill and alone, it is my duty to serve her by her bedside, offering her medicine. This is my mother's most cherished possession. I beg Your Majesty, for the sake of... for the sake of our past friendship, to grant me this act of filial piety."

After saying this, she fell to the ground and cried bitterly.

Yongzheng's eyes fell on the wooden carp. It looked strangely familiar, but he couldn't recall where he had seen it before. He gestured to Su Peisheng to bring the wooden fish over, and he took it in his hands to examine it carefully.

He suddenly remembered that this was the token of love he gave to Qi Yuebin more than 30 years ago.

Thinking of this, a hint of reminiscence flashed in his eyes. He didn't expect that she still kept it after so many years.

Ever since she heard the news that Concubine Duan was secretly sent back to the Forbidden City, Sun Heyin knew in her heart that Concubine Duan was imprisoned because her deeds were exposed.

Seeing Princess Wen Yi insisting on returning to the palace to tend to the sick, she glanced at him and softly advised, "Your Majesty, the princess's filial piety is truly touching. But..." She paused, wanting to say something, "I heard that Concubine Duan is suffering from tuberculosis, a disease that is particularly prone to transmission. The princess is a precious child, what will happen if she gets infected?"

Yongzheng frowned when he heard this. He naturally understood the severity of tuberculosis. If it spread in the palace, it would cause endless troubles.

After thinking for a moment, he said in a deep voice, "You are right. Wen Yi, you can rest assured and live in the Old Summer Palace. Su Peisheng, go to the Imperial Hospital immediately and tell Wei Lin to select a few imperial physicians to ensure that Concubine Duan is treated well."

"Slave, let's do it now."

Wen Yi was about to speak again, but Yongzheng continued, "Your mother mentioned to me a few days ago that she had taken a liking to the youngest son of the Earl of Zhongqin. I have already ordered the Imperial Household Department to begin preparations for the marriage." He slowed his tone. "If you become ill now and delay your marriage, it would be a waste of your mother's efforts."

Wen Yi said helplessly: "My daughter obeys your order!"

Having said that, he walked out.

Only after her figure disappeared outside the palace gate did Yongzheng withdraw his gaze and once again examine the wooden fish in his hand, his fingertips unconsciously stroking the lines on the fish's body. The scales, which should have been sharp and angular, had become rounded and smooth, as if they had been repeatedly stroked.

His thumb rested on the barely perceptible groove at the fish's eye, and with a slight pressure from his fingertips, the wooden fish split in half with a "click".

A neatly folded letter fell from the fish's belly.

Yongzheng picked up the letter and opened it curiously. The handwriting inside looked familiar.

After reading only a few sentences, his hands began to tremble uncontrollably, his face turned pale and his breathing became rapid.

The handwriting gradually became messy from its initial neatness, as if the person writing was enduring great pain: