Chapter 117: I Dug My Own Grave, and Now I Want to Cry

Empress Dowager Wang began to pour her heart out to Song Ci. After listening for the duration of a tea break, offering only occasional, "Yes, you are right," or "Exactly," responses, Song Ci began to grasp the true temperament of the exalted woman before her.

Good heavens, this Empress Dowager turned out to be a chatterbox and a disgruntled radical—no, a disgruntled elder!

Looking at how vigorously she slapped her thigh, that first impression of dignified, composed grace was clearly nothing more than a facade.

"Tell me, A-Ci, my entire family was wiped out, so by what right do they continue to enjoy such luxury? Just because they share my surname and belong to my clan? Bah! My own flesh and blood are all gone, and those closest to me didn't even leave a single soul to carry on the incense. Don't talk to me about clans and kin," Empress Dowager Wang said with a sneer.

Hearing this, Song Ci couldn't help but gently remind her, "Your Majesty, you should say your maternal family. Your own household, here in the palace, is complete and well." After all, the Emperor was her son, and all the descendants, empresses, and consorts in the palace were the true, large family of Wang Muhe.

Empress Dowager Wang went silent. She had been so immersed in her performance—how could A-Ci interrupt her? How was she supposed to continue?

"You are right," the Empress Dowager said, somewhat deflated. "I should have said my maternal family. Alas, they are so greedy. Being the Earl of Zhongqin wasn't enough; they wanted to be Dukes of Zhongguo. Hah, their ambitions were truly grand. Back when the late Emperor and I were struggling as refugees among the common folk, they never once reached out a hand to hide or protect us. My own kin were all killed in battle, and the women hanged themselves with white silk. Yet, those people remained perfectly safe. If you tell me there was nothing fishy about that, I wouldn't believe it for a second. If they had at least saved a single sprout of my family, things wouldn't have ended up like this."

At this, the Empress Dowager couldn't help but tear up.

Lianqiao quickly handed her a handkerchief. "Your Majesty, please take care of your health."

The Empress Dowager dabbed the corners of her eyes and said, "I just can't swallow this resentment. A-Ci, others may not know, but you do—the hardships the Emperor and I endured back then."

Song Ci replied, "Your Majesty, the dead are gone, and the living must go on. Please do not grieve too much, or your family members in the afterlife would surely ache for you."

"I can't help it," the Empress Dowager sniffled. "All these years, they have brought up the matter of an heir every single year. It wasn't out of any genuine desire to see my Wang family line continue, but purely for the sake of prestige."

"But Your Majesty, dragging it out year after year is not the solution. Your branch of the family needs someone to inherit the incense and offer paper and prayers for your kin on holidays. If you truly despise those people, why not choose one yourself? Find someone who is orphaned, someone who—if I may be blunt—is as solitary as you are. Never mind their background; if you raise them yourself and they eventually have sons of their own to carry on the line, wouldn't that be better than those they keep pushing on you?" Song Ci suggested. "Only someone who has no one else will be truly devoted to your branch."

The Empress Dowager hesitated. "Raise them myself? I am already at this age."

"Can't you find reliable people to help you raise them? You are the Empress Dowager; surely you have a few trusted confidants," Song Ci thought, barely suppressing the urge to roll her eyes. This Empress Dowager was nothing more than a naive, sheltered soul.

The Empress Dowager's eyes lit up. "I do! A-Ci, I have already picked someone. How about you and Yunzhi help me raise him? You and Yunzhi are the ones I trust most."

Song Ci, who had just taken a sip of tea, spat it right out.

What? Had she just dug a hole for herself?

Meanwhile, as Song Zhiyuan reached the front of the Taiji Hall, he let out a sneeze and rubbed his arms, wondering why a sudden, bone-chilling gust of wind had just brushed past his back.