ITVCFITB CHAPTER 80

Chapter 80 – So Be It

What does “thirty jin heavier” look like?

No one knew better than Shen Mingyun. He wanted to slim down. But his stomach had stretched; whenever he saw snacks, his hand moved on its own, and once he started, he couldn’t stop.

Luo Shuyu, terrified the confinement would be botched, had him drowned in tonics and rich supplements. Day after day, forced “nourishment.” Add winter’s hunger and no exercise, and, well… here they were.

Now even a mirror scared him. Holding his newborn daughter, his thickened palms made her look even smaller.

On the return road to the capital, he considered starving himself a couple days. Steward Yang ruined that plan, somehow bewitched by “take good care,” the man kept sending delicacies. Shen’s mouth grew picky; plain greens made him sulk. He ate. And ate.

Thus, safe and well-fed, Shen Mingyun came home.

At the door, the Fourth Prince took one look at the round figure and almost kicked him back out. “Who are—” nearly burst out. He swallowed it just in time.

Those who knew said he’d been in Gucheng to give birth; those who didn’t would think they’d penned a pig.

The shock froze the Fourth’s smile. He even forgot to look at the infant. And he did not feel close to this daughter. How could he, when doubt gnawed: was she his? The more he thought, the less she felt like his, and the messier his heart got. Why had Shen ballooned now, when he hadn’t after their son? Sour mood from being dragged away from “that someone,” binge eating because the Third couple split them up?

Shen knew he’d lost his only point of pride, his looks. This wasn’t the full-figured Tang. The Fourth smiled, yes, but that first frozen beat told the truth.

He rushed to promise, guilty and small: “I’ll lose it. I don’t want to be like this either. Winter in Gucheng barely worked up a sweat, and my cousin kept ordering up good food.”

The Fourth forced patience. “I get it. A little plump is fine. But yes, you need to cut.”

“I will. I must. Summer not slim, winter must gr—” He bit off the line himself.

Strangely, seeing three layers of chin, the Fourth’s earlier fury… drained away. Perhaps this was payment for bolting from the capital. Oddly, he wasn’t angry anymore.

Back to court meant bows all around. One night and the whole palace learned Gucheng “fattened you right up.” People asked if Luo Shuyu had also grown unrecognizable.

Stabbed in his sore spot, Shen confessed, “No. Cousin Shuyu looks the same.”

Rouged and powdered, the Empress actually perked up. “Then why you?”

Shen improvised: “Maybe I didn’t suit the climate. Winter was cold. I ate more and… gained.”

The Emperor saw him too and laughed half the afternoon, then wandered to Consort Mei to grumble about Shen’s shape and, somehow, to say he missed Mingjin and Shuyu. “I wonder if they’ve grown thin, or fat.”

Consort Mei, cool as ever: “Have them painted, and you will know.”

A light went on. “Brilliant! I’ll send at once and have a court painter sketch the two of them as they are.”

---

Gucheng

When Shen left, the snows had just melted. Two months later: spring, warm and light.

A courier arrived with the Emperor’s letter; the painter followed soon after. Luo Shuyu checked a brand-new spring robe. “How about this? Makes me look slimmer.”

Li Mingjin, still in black practice gear, fresh from drills: “You aren’t that someone. No need to ‘look slimmer.’”

“Change clothes,” Shuyu scolded. “The painter’s waiting.”

Mingjin grumbled. “Why does Father want portraits now?”

“Likely to confirm we haven’t become unimaginable balls, so he won’t be shocked when we return,” Shuyu teased.

Mingjin snorted, but he believed him. “You guess right too often.”

The painter was a local master; the colors vivid, faces alive. Shuyu asked for a joint portrait: he seated, Mingjin standing behind his left shoulder, then single portraits for keepsakes. All because one person got fat; well, at least this aftermath was pretty.

In the capital, with the Chancellor Yan stripped of office, the Crown Prince and Fourth Prince were locked in a death match. More and more stood behind the Fourth. As for Chancellor Yan, shunted to the shadows, battered yet intact. Treason letters on the emperor’s desk could be called forgeries by enemies; centuries of service don’t topple at one push. The emperor would be cautious; he had old ministers to steady.

Yan was sly; the Fourth, overeager. He, a two-reign pillar, wouldn’t fall to a handful of letters. But from this, Yan saw clearly: the emperor did not want the Crown Prince enthroned. The Crown Prince’s true rival was always the emperor.

Yan also knew: the emperor knew the truth of the prince’s blood.

Time for the next move.

---

A Summer Strike

Year 20, Sixth Month. Hotter than usual. In the dog days, all anyone wanted was shade.

Consort Mei sipped iced mung-bean soup in the emperor’s resting hall. Not her doing, unlike the others, she didn’t pander with sweetmeats. If she cooked, it was boiled sweet potato or corn. Safe. Simple.

She drained one bowl, then claimed a second, his, too. “Did Your Majesty call me here to drink soup?”

The emperor waved in his chief eunuch with a scroll. “To show you a painting.”

Her eyes brightened. “Mingjin and Shuyu have sent theirs?”

“They look well. Come, see.”

Two eunuchs raised the hanging. Shuyu seated, Mingjin at his shoulder, handsome as ever, more refined now. Consort Mei’s judgment was crisp: “He’s steadier; Shuyu more contained.” In her heart: the son sharpening his edge; the son-in-law’s brilliance undimmed.

The emperor sighed happily. “They’re restful to look at, aren’t they? But why did Mingyun get so fat in one year, while those two haven’t gained an ounce? Is the north so harsh you can’t plump up?”

“If you miss them,” Consort Mei said, “call them back to serve at your side. See them daily.”

“I wish,” he said. “But the timing… who holds the border if they return?”

She never pressed policy; at that, she fell quiet. After a moment: “May I keep this painting in Changle Palace?”

He had asked for it on a whim. He didn’t need it daily. “Take it.”

Just as she turned to thank him, pain knifed through her belly. She crumpled, unconscious, so sudden the smile was still on his face when she hit the floor.

“Mei Fei? Mei Fei!” Panic shattered the hall. “Summon the physicians! Now!”

Diagnosis came fast. Poison, arsenic, traced to the mung-bean soup. Two bowls: one hers, one his. Both tested.

They forced emetics; she brought up everything. He gagged to hear it. Everyone who touched those bowls was dragged out. Unforgiving canes thudded on palace stones. The emperor, rattled, trusted no one, not even the old eunuch who’d served him for decades.

Who wanted him dead most?

The Crown Prince. The Yans.

The palace went on war footing. Any whisper of suspicion landed one in the dungeons. The dose, the physicians said, was small, lethal if high. Perhaps the poisoner hadn’t meant to kill outright.

Three days later, Consort Mei’s life was hauled back from the brink; she could take thin gruels. She would live.

No one dared tell the Third Prince. The emperor’s guilt curdled: she had taken the blow for him. He owed Mingjin.

The court kept silent.

Mingjin, however, still learned.

---

The Letter

The message galloped north; the day after Consort Mei woke, Mingjin had the news. Luo Shuyu blanched. Mingjin nearly started packing for the capital when a second letter arrived, in Consort Mei’s own hand.

They read it, then stared at each other.

That night, Mingjin shut himself in his study till dawn; Shuyu left him undisturbed. The letter explained everything.

In the morning, Mingjin climbed back into bed, wrapped Shuyu close. “I’m too weak, A’Yu. What should I do? Mother shouldn’t have to bear this. For me, she nearly staked her life. I’ve failed her.”

Shuyu forced himself awake and stroked his arm. “Don’t blame yourself. ‘A mother is fierce for her child.’ She wrote she chose this. For twenty years she felt she’d failed as a mother; now she wants to act. She holds you in her heart. I don’t approve of the method, hurt the enemy eight hundred, injure oneself a thousand; it cuts years from her life. But we can only tend her carefully hereafter.”

“What should I do?” he whispered again.

“Do as she asks,” Shuyu said softly. “Let her be at ease.”

Consort Mei had written that the poisoning was her own stagecraft, to force a break between the emperor and Yan, to make the emperor suspect the Fourth, yet never suspect her. One stroke, three gains.

Her aim was clear: Mingjin must use the window. Don’t waste the chance.

Shuyu admired her resolve. A woman worth bowing to no wonder; a princess of the realm. If she’d been born a man, she’d have carved a name at court.

No one would know the poisoning was self-directed, she wrote.

And the court did ignite. The emperor glared at Yan; Yan accused the Fourth. The Fourth and emperor breathed the same air and pointed at Yan. The Yan clan took heavy blows; the Empress and Crown Prince staggered under palace suspicion. The emperor, wary of a Lin-style mutiny, peeled back Yan’s power, reclaiming the troops.

Yan had long raised private soldiers. It was time to sweep them up.

Whom to send?

He chose the Fourth. No one knew the hideouts better.

Under the banner of “bandit suppression,” the Fourth marched.

War was inevitable now.

In Changle Palace, Consort Mei set down her ginseng broth and opened Mingjin’s steady, ordinary letter, same as always, a report of quiet days.

So be it. Pretend to know nothing.

You are only a far-north prince, guarding the border.

Nothing more.

---

Author’s Note
Third Prince: I don’t want to lose again.
Luo Shuyu: Then I’ll let you win today.
Third Prince: Great~
Luo Shuyu: Count to three.
Third Prince: One, two, three…
Luo Shuyu: You win.
Third Prince: …

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