“Why do you ask this? Do you doubt me after I carried you for ten months?”
Upon hearing his question, the Princess Consort of Ji’s first instinct was to tell him the truth. But recalling the Prince of Ji’s warnings and advice, she suppressed the urge and instead looked at him with pained displeasure, countering with a question of her own.
“Ye’er dares not doubt Mother. It’s just that Ye’er has some questions.” Seeing the displeasure and accusation on his mother’s face, Leng Mingye lowered his head in guilt. After a pause, he still voiced his discontent without holding back.
“Questions? Are you blaming me for keeping my distance from you since childhood? You must understand, you are the eldest, the heir of the Prince of Ji’s household. Moreover, you’ve always been reliable since childhood, so I rarely had to discipline you. Though you are my child, I clearly spent far less time managing you because you were such a well-behaved child—you never gave your mother any cause for worry. What other questions do you have? If none, then go back and rest to recover from your injuries.”
Hearing Leng Mingye’s words, the Princess Consort of Ji smiled faintly and questioned him. Seeing him frown in distress at her words, she softened her tone and continued, instructing him before lowering her head to focus on the embroidery before her.
“I… Then Ye’er will return to his room.” Seeing that he couldn’t get any answers from her, Leng Mingye had no choice but to lower his head in resignation. With Qingfeng and Baiyu in tow, he left.
However, that very afternoon, after lunch, an anonymous letter suddenly appeared beneath the pillow on his bed.
“What is this… Qingfeng, Baiyu, who entered my room?”
Holding the letter in his hand, Leng Mingye opened it with deep astonishment. Upon reading its contents—that the elder sister of the Princess Consort (as he had been told by the household’s elders) was actually his birth mother, and that the Princess Consort was not his real mother—his hands trembled slightly. Struggling to compose himself, he carefully tucked the letter away and called for Qingfeng and Baiyu.
“No one came in. What’s wrong, Master? Did someone enter your room while we were out earlier?”
Seeing his unusually grave expression, the two were puzzled. Qingfeng spoke up first.
“Nothing. I was just asking casually. Aunt Qingrou is my birth mother? This…”
Hearing their response and recalling that they had indeed stepped out briefly, Leng Mingye muttered distractedly. Though he didn’t know the identity of the person who had sent the letter, the shocking revelation weighed heavily on his mind.
That very night, he did something unexpected.
He went to the ancestral hall in the rear courtyard and abruptly took Qingrou’s memorial tablet, hiding it away.
He deliberately allowed a maid cleaning the courtyard to witness his actions.
The news quickly reached the ears of the Prince of Ji.
“What? You’re saying the heir took Miss Qingrou’s memorial tablet?”
Stunned by the maid’s report, the Prince of Ji turned to her in disbelief.
“Yes, Your Highness,” the maid confirmed.
Without hesitation, the Prince of Ji rose and headed straight for Leng Mingye’s quarters.
“Father, why have you come?”
Seeing his father arrive as expected and recalling the anonymous letter, Leng Mingye feigned ignorance, struggling to sit up in feigned surprise.
“Lie down—you’re still injured. I ask you, why did you take the memorial tablet of your Aunt Qingrou from the ancestral hall?”
Troubled by his son’s unusual behavior, the Prince of Ji helped him lie back down but pressed him with a stern question.
“I… After much deliberation, I made this decision. I had doubts about my identity and questioned you and Mother. Mother was furious because of it. Though I don’t know why Feng Moli told me these things, Aunt Qingrou was merely Mother’s elder sister. Why is her tablet in our ancestral hall, and placed below yours? It makes no sense. That’s why I…”
Though Leng Mingye had anticipated his father’s questioning, he still hesitated, lowering his head guiltily. After all, using someone else’s memorial tablet to pressure his father was hardly filial conduct.
“You… Where is the tablet?”
Though the Prince of Ji had long sworn to keep this secret, hearing his son speak of Qingrou’s tablet ignited an uncontrollable rage within him. His face darkened as he demanded an answer.
“Is her tablet that important to you?”
Seeing his father’s anger, Leng Mingye feigned surprise, raising an eyebrow in response.
“This is none of your concern. I only ask—where is the tablet? Your Aunt Qingrou’s tablet…”
Though puzzled by his son’s persistence, the Prince of Ji pressed again, his voice icy.
“Father, it seems Aunt Qingrou means a great deal to you. But she was merely Mother’s elder sister. For you to care so deeply about her tablet—what would Mother think if she knew? She has been by your side for over twenty years, bearing you several children. Is this how you repay her?”
Though guilt gnawed at him, Leng Mingye stood his ground, countering his father’s fury with calm defiance.
“You—you insolent brat! Are you questioning me now? I ask you one last time—where is the tablet?”
Enraged by his son’s defiance and his defense of the Princess Consort, the Prince of Ji seized Leng Mingye by the collar, his patience worn thin.
“I’m not questioning you. I’m standing up for Mother. I burned the tablet. If she’s not a member of the Leng family, what right does she have to occupy a place in our ancestral hall—”
Before he could finish, the Prince of Ji’s fist struck his face.
“Silence! Others may doubt her, but not you. So what if she isn’t a Leng? How could you—”
The Prince of Ji, hearing that his son had burned his birth mother’s tablet, could no longer contain his fury. He struck again, gripping Leng Mingye’s collar as he roared—only to abruptly stop, realizing what he had just revealed.
As the father and son argued, Qingfeng and Baiyu, fearing the worst, rushed to fetch the Princess Consort of Ji.
“Your Highness, what are you doing? In his condition, how can he withstand your blows? How can I face my deceased sister if you treat him like this? Ye’er…”
Just as the Prince of Ji raised his fist again, a figure rushed forward, seizing his arm. Tears welled in the Princess Consort’s eyes as she pleaded with him. When the Prince of Ji hesitated and released Leng Mingye, she caught him as he staggered, her voice trembling with heartache.
“Mother, I’m fine. I was only standing up for you. You bore three children and worked tirelessly for this family, yet his heart belongs to another woman. What does it matter if I burned her tablet? Shouldn’t I have?”
His father’s reaction only deepened Leng Mingye’s suspicions. As the Princess Consort approached, he subtly withdrew his hand, blood at the corner of his lips, and coolly challenged his father. His meaning was clear—if she wasn’t a Leng, why keep her tablet? Burning it was the right thing to do.
“You… child, you…”
The Princess Consort, torn between her son and her husband, looked at Leng Mingye helplessly before casting a pleading glance at the Prince of Ji. She had not forgotten his warnings.
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