His innermost thoughts were revealed, and he ventured into a fictional dynasty with the system.

Standing outside the hall, the evening breeze brushed against my cheeks, carrying a hint of autumn night coolness. Those childish words swirled in my mind, and upon closer examination, I discerned a unique meaning within them.

Yes, people say that the common people are like water. Throughout history, emperors have inscribed the proverb "the people can carry a boat, but they can also capsize it" on the screen behind their thrones to constantly remind themselves of this.

But they forgot the truest form of water—it is not in the discussions of the court, nor in the cold ink words of "the people are the foundation of the state" on official documents, but in the everyday life of ordinary people.

It can steam rising from the well platform in the early morning, cooking a bowl of warm rice porridge, warming the hands of scholars who have been studying hard for years, and giving strength to the hardworking people.

During spring plowing, the water can spread along the paddy field ridges, making the rice seedlings tender and green, bringing smiles to the wrinkles on the faces of old farmers.

In the summer, the water flows through the bluestone alley, moistening the moss in the corners of the walls and bringing a touch of coolness to the children chasing butterflies.

It can freeze into thin ice in winter, reflecting the red lanterns under the eaves, and you can hear the laughter and chatter of every household.

He stood in the imperial palace with a stern face, reciting the grand principles of "light taxes and levies, and allowing the people to rest" to his officials a hundred times.

But those words might just be empty talk that my young daughter couldn't understand.

It would be better to let her follow the kitchen maids to the well by the palace wall to fetch water, to see how the wooden bucket sinks into the well, and to see how the water boils in the copper pot.

Watch how the rice grains slowly bloom in boiling water.

She was instructed to follow the Grand Minister of Agriculture to the fields outside the capital to see how the river water overflowed the rice seedlings along the ditches and how the farmers bent over to plant the rice.

How to harvest the heavy ears of rice in autumn, and how to put on a satisfied smile when loading the grain into the granary.

Such insights gained from everyday life are far more likely to take root in the heart and grow into towering trees than the rigid admonitions on official documents or the lectures of tutors quoting classics.

After all, only children who know that "water can be used to cook porridge" will truly understand in the future that what is hidden in that bowl of porridge is the livelihood of the people and the foundation of the country.

The Emperor gazed at the end of the corridor, where the vibrant bright yellow had long since vanished, leaving only the light of the palace lanterns swaying gently in the wind, casting a warm glow on the vermilion pillars.

He sighed softly, his fingertips unconsciously stroking the dragon pattern on the jade belt at his waist.

That jade belt was given to him by his mother. The jade was warm and smooth, and the dragon pattern had been worn smooth by time, much like the tenderness in his heart at this moment.

The warmth in her eyes couldn't be hidden; it spread along the smile lines at the corners of her eyes, and even the night breeze blowing across her cheeks seemed to take on a touch of gentleness.

"You've become more down-to-earth than I was back then," the Emperor Emeritus's voice suddenly rang out beside him, carrying a hint of barely perceptible approval.

She raised her hand to adjust the red-gold and beaded headband at her temples, her gaze fixed on the distant Ninghui Palace, where warm yellow candlelight shone faintly.

“Back then, when I taught you to read ‘the people are the most important,’ I only knew to make you memorize it, but I never thought of taking you to see the crops in the fields. Lin’er, this has inadvertently enlightened you.”

The Emperor turned his head and saw that the silver strands at his mother's temples shone softly in the moonlight. Her usually dignified eyes now seemed to have a touch of warmth.

He smiled, said nothing, but turned slightly to the side and gestured "please" to the Queen Mother.

The two stood side by side outside the palace, listening to the faint sound of the night watchman's drum in the distance—"dong, dong, dong"—it was already three quarters past 9 PM, and there were also the soft sounds of palace servants moving around.

And the crisp sound of pearls colliding, which seemed to still echo in the wind, was like a soft night song, spreading through the silent palace.

The night breeze outside the palace carried the chill of autumn, blowing through the gaps in the carved window lattices and causing the sandalwood incense from the gilded bronze incense burner inside to curl into wisps of smoke in the air.

The Emperor Emeritus's tone suddenly changed, and the hint of approval that had been hidden in his eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a soft hum from his nose.

His tone was tinged with seven parts disdain and three parts helplessness, just like when he got into trouble back then.

Her gaze swept over her son, the disdain almost tangible—her eyebrows were raised, her eyes drooped, and even the tassels of her gold-inlaid headband seemed to sway.

His tone was full of disappointment and frustration: "Is this how I taught you? How old is Qi'er?"

He was just a five or six-year-old child, his bones hadn't hardened yet, and he spoke with a childish tone. It was precisely the time when people had to be patient and explain things to him in detail.

But you, with that stern, emperor-like face, the hem of your dragon robe sweeping across the brocade carpet with a gust of wind, your words sharp and harsh, as if you wanted to devour her.

Could such a fierce look really make her realize her mistake?

She's probably only remembering that "Father is angry, how scary!" but has forgotten whether her mistake was "interrupting the teacher in class" or "not observing proper etiquette!"

She paused, her fingertips unconsciously tapping the white jade pendant at her waist—a pendant bestowed upon her by the late emperor on her birthday.

The dragon pattern is carved in a simple and grand style, and the patterns of the scales are clearly visible.

Over the decades, she has caressed her face daily, and her jade-like face has become as smooth and lustrous as solidified cream, with even the edges gleaming with the soft light polished by time.

The sound produced when it is tapped is also slow and deep, as if telling a story of bygone days.

"When you were born, were you born with an innate understanding of all the principles of the world?" Her voice softened, and a warm feeling of reminiscence spread across her eyes.

"When you were five years old, you sneaked into the Imperial Study while the late Emperor was taking a nap in the Hall of Mental Cultivation, and climbed onto a small stool to reach the scrolls on the bookshelf."

As a result, he tore down the copy he had treasured for three years, ripped it to pieces, folded it into paper kites, and let it fly in the Imperial Garden.

Do you remember? Back then, the kite was hanging on the old locust tree, and you couldn't reach it even when you stood on tiptoe. You sat on the ground and cried your eyes out.

His hands and clothes were covered in ink stains, making him look like a kitten just pulled from an inkwell.

The emperor couldn't help but laugh as he listened, his fingertips unconsciously touching the tip of his nose, and his earlobes turning slightly red.

He naturally remembered that embarrassing incident. Later, the late emperor was so angry that he ignored him for three days. It was his mother who secretly pulled him to a side hall and had a palace maid wash the ink stains off his hands little by little with warm water.

Then he squatted down and helped him pick up the scraps of paper. He would pick up one and say, "Look, how much thought and effort did our ancestors put into writing these words?"

Just like your favorite sweet cake, the chef has to knead the dough and steam it to create its sweet and fragrant appearance. This calligraphy is the same; it must be carefully protected and not ruined.

"When have I ever been like you, so quick to reprimand me with harsh words and a stern expression?" the Emperor Emeritus continued, his tone tinged with reproach.

"I was just telling you slowly, but you still remembered it for the rest of your life."

You never touched even half a scroll of calligraphy or painting in the Imperial Study again. You even told the eunuchs who were cleaning to "be gentle" when they wiped the scrolls.

Qi'er is just like you were back then, a child. How can you correct a child's mistakes by yelling at them? You have to let them understand 'why they were wrong' so they'll truly remember it."

The emperor was completely speechless, feeling that his mother's words were all reasonable.

He looked at the undisguised "disdain" in his mother's eyes, but he knew perfectly well that just now in the palace, he only remembered that Lin'er did not respect his teacher.

Moreover, as the Crown Princess, Qi'er lowered her head, her lotus-colored palace dress was crumpled in her hands, and she even breathed very softly, looking like a frightened little rabbit.

At that moment, he was only thinking that "the Crown Princess should act like the Crown Princess, and this appearance is really unbecoming," so he subconsciously frowned and even raised his voice a few decibels.

But when he turned his head, he saw the Queen Mother squat down, looking at Qi'er at eye level, with even the hairpins by her temples swaying gently.

First, take her little hand and say softly, "Qi'er knows how to admit her mistakes, so she's a good child."

Then slowly explain, "When the Master is lecturing in class, it's like when elders are talking at home during a meal. You have to wait until they finish speaking before you can speak, otherwise no one can hear you, which is very impolite."

At that moment, Qi'er's tense little body gradually relaxed, and the fear in her eyes slowly dissipated. When she finally nodded in apology, her voice was soft, but it conveyed a genuine understanding.

He realized then that he was partly to blame for his haste in today's events—he only remembered that he was the "Emperor" and had to uphold the rules.

But he forgot to act as "father" first, and forgot that Qi'er was still a child after all. Being too strict would only make her timid and she might not really understand where she went wrong.

Fortunately, the Empress Dowager was considerate of his reputation and did not expose his shortcomings in front of the children, giving him a way out.

He quickly abandoned his imperial airs, put on a fawning smile, and stepped forward to firmly support the retired emperor's arm.

He applied very light pressure, as if holding a fragile treasure—his mother had mentioned a few days ago that her knees were cold and would ache on rainy days, so he dared not upset her.

"Your subject knows he was wrong. He was too hasty and only thought about the rules."

I forgot that Qi'er is still a child. I should speak to her gently, and teach her slowly, just as my mother taught me back then.

His tone was sincere, and even his smile softened.

"Your Majesty, please don't be angry, or you'll hurt yourself. There are no urgent documents in the Imperial Study right now. The military reports from the Northwest have already been reviewed this morning, and the reports on the grain transport from Jiangnan have also been read."

Your son would like to accompany you for a stroll in the Imperial Garden and enjoy the fragrance of the osmanthus blossoms. A few days ago, the golden osmanthus trees by Taiye Pond were in full bloom, their branches laden with bright yellow blossoms.

A breeze blows, and the whole yard is filled with a sweet fragrance, making the air feel warm and cozy.

I heard the imperial kitchen steamed osmanthus cake today. Since we're tired from walking, shall we sit in that pavilion over there and try some?

The Emperor Emeritus glanced at him sideways, his eyes carrying a hint of disdain for his "lack of ambition," but the corners of his mouth subtly relaxed a little.

Her taut jawline softened a bit—the thing she couldn't stand most in her life was seeing her own son so submissive.

From bowing his head when he made a mistake as a child to now, as an emperor, he still comes over to beg for forgiveness; nothing has changed.

Just then, the night breeze swept through the palace walls, carrying the fragrance of osmanthus blossoms throughout the courtyard. The sweet aroma mingled with the faint scent of millet porridge wafting from the imperial kitchen in the distance.

It swirled on the window lattice of the Zichen Palace, then quietly slipped into the palace, circling around the hem of the two people's clothes.

The bronze bell at the corner of the hall struck softly, producing a distant "dong".

The tense, slightly reprimanding atmosphere gradually warmed up, and even the candlelight in the hall seemed softer than before.