Before visiting Consort Shun, Ye Jiao returned briefly to the Duke's mansion to refresh her appearance. She shed her crimson gown and donned a rarely worn pleated skirt of cloud-blue silk. White reeds embroidered along the hem swayed gently in the breeze, while delicate pear blossoms in matching white adorned the cuffs. Her attire was understated yet elegant, save for a lapis lazuli trim along the collar shaped like mountain silhouettes. The edges were gilded, glowing like the sun setting over the peaks.
"Why dress so plainly?" Ye Rou stopped her before leaving. "Though the household's been busy, there's still time to have some new clothes made."
Ye Jiao accepted a cloak from Shui Wen and smiled at Ye Rou. "I chose to dress this way deliberately." She had heard that cool tones could calm the mind. Since Li Ce's birth mother was mentally unstable, prone to sudden mood swings, Ye Jiao avoided bright red garments that might agitate her. Yet her intentions were futile.
Before she even entered Hantang Hall, chaos erupted within. A palace attendant dashed out, nearly colliding with Ye Jiao.
"What's happening?" Li Ce stepped forward, blocking the attendant and shielding Ye Jiao.
The attendant, seeing Li Ce, seemed to find a savior. "The Consort has relapsed and is causing a disturbance in the courtyard. I've gone to summon the imperial physician to soothe her with medicine."
"I shall see for myself." Li Ce strode ahead, Ye Jiao close behind.
Upon entering the courtyard, several palace maids surrounded someone who screamed sharply. As Ye Jiao drew nearer, the maids suddenly scattered in panic. A loose floor tile flew out from the center, shattering into two pieces at Ye Jiao's feet.
The fleeing maids recognized Li Ce and fell to their knees, pleading for forgiveness.
"What's going on?" Li Ce demanded.
The lead maid reported, "Today, the Consort went to the small kitchen, seized a fire shovel, and began digging the ground. We couldn't calm her and have summoned the imperial physician."
The figure at the center was indeed a consort. Her hair was styled in a half-updo adorned with golden combs and eight exquisite emerald hairpins—a mark of her rank. Though ill, her tall, slender frame was evident beneath a crimson skirt embroidered with yellow flowers, and she wore a golden short jacket.
Yet her luxurious attire failed to capture attention. Ye Jiao's gaze was fixed on her face—astonishingly beautiful, reminiscent of dew-kissed peonies, radiant dawn clouds, and the ethereal celestial maidens of Daxingshan Temple's Water and Land painting. Time's harshness had not diminished her beauty, but her expression was far from serene.
She was tense, terrified, panicked.
Clutching the iron shovel tightly, she viciously scraped at the ground, tearing up tiles and staining her skirt with mud. Sharp shards cut her hand, yet she seemed impervious to pain. She dug frantically, desperately.
Until Li Ce rushed forward and grasped her hands.
"Mother," he spoke with reverent gravity, "it's me—Ce'er. I've returned. Look at me. Please put down the shovel."
Consort Shun briefly calmed, her gaze fixed on Li Ce. Her graceful head tilted slightly before her eyes widened, she broke free, shouting fiercely, "You're not Ce'er! Ce'er was only thirteen! Ce'er lies beneath the earth! Step aside! Let me through!"
Thirteen years ago.
That was when Yan Jide, former commander of the imperial guards, concealed the truth of the palace fire with three conflicting reports that shattered Consort Shun's mind:
—The imperial tomb collapsed; the Ninth Prince was buried alive, no chance of survival.
—Correction: the prince is unharmed and will return tomorrow.
—No, the prince was not buried, but fell into a pit, mauled by beasts; no remains found. Blood-stained garments have been sent for viewing.
Three messages brought both despair and fleeting hope, striking her sanity down in the dark. Exhausted from the night-long fire, her mind shattered into madness. Eight years had passed, yet her thoughts remained frozen in that deranged moment. Her life had halted, never moving forward.
The imperial physician soon arrived. Hantang Hall was in utter disarray. Consort Shun still clawed at the earth, while Li Ce stood beside her, torn between sorrow and fury.
"Your Highness," the physician urged, "we must take away her shovel and administer acupuncture and medicine to lull her into sleep."
Such treatment would not cure her illness—only induce a quiet slumber. Li Ce hesitated. The physician added, "Emotional agitation worsens the condition. If nothing else works, we must trouble the Consort."
Before Li Ce could reply, Ye Jiao stepped forward and interrupted, "Can acupuncture and medicine truly ease her mind?"
The physician glanced at her with evident wariness, bowing his head. "Then, what would Lady Wu suggest?"
"Bring tools," Ye Jiao declared, approaching Consort Shun resolutely, "Shovels, hoes, iron rakes—anything that can turn the earth. The more, the better."
She turned to Li Ce, her eyes full of compassion.
He immediately understood her intent and commanded the attendants, "Hurry! Weapons are forbidden in the palace, but these are farming implements. If questioned by the guards, say they are for me."
Removing his badge, he tossed it aside. The attendants rushed off and soon returned, bearing an assortment of agricultural tools.
"Spring plowing in the imperial gardens—they borrowed them from there."
"Excellent," Ye Jiao said, "if the Consort wishes to dig, let us dig thoroughly. All other palace affairs at Hantang Hall are suspended today. Dig."
The physician gaped, clutching his medicine box, unsure how to respond. Ye Jiao pushed him aside, seized an iron rake, and plunged it heavily into the soil.
Fresh earth overturned caused even the frantic Consort to pause.
"What are you doing?" she screeched, clutching Ye Jiao's wrist.
Ye Jiao met her gaze, smiling gently. "What a coincidence—you're digging too?"
The Consort stood dumbfounded, then murmured after a long silence, "I'm looking for my son."
"What a coincidence," Ye Jiao's eyes brimmed with tears. "I'm looking for my husband." Your son has grown and will become my husband. Yet you still search for your thirteen-year-old boy. Very well, I shall help you find him.
She resumed working, beckoning the attendants behind her.
"Come! Help us! Whoever finds my husband shall be richly rewarded!"
Many rushed forward. Li Ce joined, taking a tool from Ye Jiao's hand.
"I'll dig," he murmured, voice low and hoarse, restraining his tumultuous emotions.
Together, the crowd dug a pit deep enough to bury a person.
"How shall we dig next?" a servant whispered.
Li Ce had already jumped in, carving a horizontal tunnel into the pit's sidewall.
"Dig sideways," he ordered sternly. "Dig a tunnel."
A tunnel resembled a tomb passage.
Many leapt into the deep pit. Consort Shun could not follow and, desperate, brandished her shovel in frustration. Ye Jiao snatched it away, soothing her:
"These are all here to help find your son. Wait here; your son will soon be found."
The Consort struggled but eventually yielded, probing the few feet deep side tunnel, clawing blindly at the cold earth.
"Ce'er, where are you? My son?"
Her fingers soon bled, staining the soil a ghastly brown.
Ye Jiao grabbed Li Ce's sleeve, leading him before Consort Shun.
"Your Highness!" she exclaimed with feigned surprise, voice sharper than the Consort's, "Look, have we found your son?"
The Consort whipped her head around, clear, bright eyes fixed on Li Ce with tense solemnity. Her lips trembled before she stepped back and whispered, "No… he is not."
Disappointment clouded her face, yet she did not despair. She turned and resumed digging.
Digging, digging—if this one isn't him, then the next! In life and death, sleepless, relentless—she must find her son!
Tears welled in Li Ce's eyes.
He stepped forward in the cramped pit, choking on his words, "Mother—"
Before he could finish, Ye Jiao seized a handful of blood-stained soil from Consort Shun and smeared it across Li Ce's face.
His forehead, cheeks, and chin were coated thickly, leaving only two bright, beautiful eyes, identical to the Consort's, visible.
Ye Jiao pulled Consort Shun back. "Look carefully!"
Her gaze shifted to Li Ce's face; the shovel dropped from her hand.
She stared blankly at him for a long while, then slowly raised trembling hands and began brushing the dirt off herself. After several wipes, she tentatively reached out as if to cradle Li Ce's face, but paused, fingertips hovering at his cheeks.
"You… you…" she struggled to speak, words lost in her madness.
Her lips moved silently, skin trembling, tears pouring uncontrollably.
Finally, she whispered, "Are you hungry? Ce'er, are you hungry? Mother… Mother was late."
"Are you hungry?" The simplest, most profound worry a mother holds. "Mother was late." She wished to shield her son from every danger life could throw.
Li Ce opened his arms, embracing his birth mother tightly. Tears streamed down his face, yet he smiled through them, comforting her, "Mother, you're not late. Your son is well. You've worried too much."
The physician stepped forward, craning his neck to look at Consort Shun, then withdrew excitedly, opening his medical box and preparing to administer the herbal medicine.
In the courtyard, the uproar slowly calmed.
The consort's long nightmare ended.
Yet, for those who witnessed it, the palace was no longer the same. A deep sorrow and fierce hope mingled in the air.
Ye Jiao wiped her own tears and whispered to Li Ce, "Let us rebuild a new future—for you, for your mother, for the palace."