"No problem." Su Zhiruan paused and furrowed her brow, calculating the days.
A month ago, the Emperor of the Wang Dynasty suddenly fell gravely ill. Even though Ji Xiaoyuan was reluctant to leave, looking back every few steps, this matter required his personal return.
Su Zhiruan finally persuaded him to leave after much effort. Her skin was fair and delicate; a light touch could leave marks. Hence, every night's routine was fixed: first, some idle talk, then slowly getting closer, followed by nights that made one blush upon reflection, and after everything ended, he would apply ointment for her.
The courtiers exchanged glances, each with a bold guess in their hearts.
The ministers were full of curiosity, though they dared not speak out. "Your Highness..." A brave minister spoke first, "Could it be that you are..."
Upon hearing this, many old ministers' eyes lit up, and they had thoughts in mind.
