Remarried to a top-tier playboy, her reborn ex-husband is filled with regret.

Outside the Imperial Study.

Consort Zhao had been kneeling at the bottom of the white marble steps for half an hour.

She wore a plain white dress with no patterns, and only a simple hairpin in her hair. Her face was unadorned, and the fine lines at the corners of her eyes were clearly visible in the afternoon sunlight.

She knelt there motionless, her head bowed and her back ramrod straight.

The door to the Imperial Study was tightly closed.

The chief eunuch stood on the steps outside the door, looking down at himself.

Occasionally, he would lift his eyelids to glance down the steps, then look away expressionlessly.

From the day Consort Zhao entered the palace, she never needed to announce herself before entering the Imperial Study.

For more than twenty years, she would push open the door and go in, and then sit down next to the emperor.

Sometimes, while the emperor was reviewing memorials, she would grind ink beside him, and as she did so, the emperor would put the memorials down.

No other woman in the entire palace received this treatment, not even the Empress.

But today was different. She knelt for half an hour, but the door remained closed.

Consort Zhao gritted her teeth and cursed those fools in the Zhao family eight hundred times in her heart.

Why kill people when you're just grabbing land?

It's one thing to kill someone, but to not even clean up the mess is another.

The investigation uncovered everything, even implicating her son.

A bunch of useless trash!

But she couldn't leave; her son was waiting for news from her, and she had to get through this.

Consort Zhao took a deep breath, straightened her back even more, and continued to kneel.

Just then, footsteps came from the other end of the corridor.

Consort Zhao did not turn around; she was all too familiar with those footsteps.

Her steps were steady and unhurried, and when she landed, there was a slight clinking sound of pearls and jade, which was the dangling beads on her phoenix crown swaying.

Her back stiffened slightly.

The Empress walked over carrying a tray with a white porcelain bowl on it.

The bowl is filled with freshly brewed ginseng soup, and steam rises gently from the gaps in the lid.

The empress wore a bright red phoenix robe, and her head was covered with jewels that shimmered in the sunlight.

This formed a stark contrast to Consort Zhao, who was kneeling on the ground with her face bare.

He paused briefly as he passed by Consort Zhao.

The Empress lowered her head and glanced at Consort Zhao kneeling on the ground, her eyes devoid of any expression.

There was no schadenfreude, no kicking someone when they're down, and no sympathy.

It was as if the person kneeling there was someone she didn't know at all, someone not worth her emotional investment.

The Empress withdrew her gaze, picked up the ginseng soup, and walked past Consort Zhao.

He walked gracefully up the steps and pushed open the door to the Imperial Study.

The door opened for a moment, then closed again.

In that instant, Consort Zhao saw the mountain of memorials piled up on the dragon desk in the imperial study.

I saw a withered hand holding a cup of tea.

Consort Zhao knelt on the ground, her fingernails slowly digging into her palms.

The Empress went inside.

She had been kneeling for so long and still couldn't get in.

When the Empress entered, the eunuch did not even announce her arrival.

On what grounds?

The Empress is old and her beauty has faded; how many years has it been since the Emperor last entered her palace?

She always had to lower her head and give way to me when she saw me.

Today, however, he looked down at me condescendingly and left without saying a word.

That glance was more painful than slapping her.

But she couldn't have an attack, or even stand up.

She could only kneel.

Consort Zhao knelt on the ground, gritting her teeth, and silently wrote down the humiliation of the day, one stroke at a time.

Once she gets through this ordeal, once her son ascends to the position of crown prince.

She will return the favor to everyone who has laughed at her, one by one.

Especially the Empress.

She wanted to drive this old woman out of Kunning Palace and make her kneel at her feet until she died.

The white marble steps were warmed by the sun, but her knees grew colder and colder.

Consort Zhao knelt there, her back still ramrod straight, her face still bearing a pitiful and sorrowful expression.

But deep in her eyes burned an uncontrollable rage.

However, no matter how humiliating it was, she had to endure it.

The Zhao family used it to vent their anger for His Majesty and to give the court officials an explanation.

All of this suppression is temporary.

What she needs to do now is to maintain her son's advantage in the inheritance process.

As long as the Wing King ascends the throne, the Zhao family can get back everything they have lost, double the amount.

Conversely, the Zhao family's temporary glory was nothing but a mirage.

The Yong'an Marquis's Residence.

The plaque was taken down at noon.

Several imperial guards in brocade robes climbed up a ladder, pried an iron bar into the gap between the plaque and the lintel, and forcefully pulled it off.

The four gilded characters "Yong'an Marquis's Residence," which had hung there for over thirty years, let out a groan of unbearable strain.

It fell straight down from a height, crashing onto the stone steps in front of the door and breaking into three pieces.

From the broken wood, honeycomb-like rotten wood chips, hollowed out by insects, were exposed, raising a small cloud of dust in the afternoon sun.

No one dared to step forward and stop them.

The mansion gates were wide open, and cries and shouts filled the air from inside.

The inspectors filed in, their swords still sheathed, but their menacing, jeerful air and utterly uncouth manner were enough to make everyone's legs go weak.

Prince Lu Zhao of Qing'an stood in the courtyard, holding a roster in his hand, calling out names one by one.

The men whose names were called were forced to squat in the corner with their hands tied behind their backs.

The women were herded into the flower hall and placed under centralized surveillance.

Some people tried to resist, but were kicked to the ground.

Some people rushed forward crying and trying to pull him away, but were unceremoniously beaten and kicked.

"Gu Jinghuai".

When Lu Zhao read the name, his tone was completely flat.

Gu Jinghuai was dragged out of the study by two纨绔 (playboys).

He was no longer the respectable man he once was, and now, being dragged outside, he could barely stand.

His two legs dragged limply on the blue brick ground, one of his shoes had fallen off, revealing a dusty gray sock.

His face was ashen, his eyes were sunken, and his cloudy eyes rolled around blankly, as if he did not fully understand what had happened.

Lin Hui, the heir apparent of the Duke of Fuguo, personally stepped forward with the chains.

"Young Master Gu—oh no, you're not the young master anymore."

Lin Hui shook the rattling heavy shackles and looked at him with a smile.

"Young Master Gu, please."

"No! Impossible!"

Gu Jinghuai snapped back to his senses, took a step back in alarm, and slammed his back against a pillar, his face turning deathly pale.

His gaze passed over Lin Hui's shoulder and landed on the dark mass of imperial guards in the front yard.

I saw the shattered plaque at the gate, and I saw the backs of my clansmen being dragged out like sacks.

His lips trembled.

"This can't be—this isn't my life! The Gu family shouldn't end like this!"

Lin Hui stopped smiling, strode forward, grabbed Gu Jinghuai's arm, twisted it behind his back, and swiftly forced him to kneel on the ground.

Gu Jinghuai's knee slammed against the blue brick floor, making a crisp, bone-cracking sound.

A sharp pain shot up his knee, and he let out a piercing scream, his face contorted in agony.

Lin Hui pressed his face against the cold blue bricks with such force that his cheekbones almost embedded themselves into the cracks between the bricks.

Lin Hui gritted her teeth, leaned down, and whispered something slowly in his ear.

"Not your life? Are you still daydreaming? Idiot!"

Gu Jinghuai's pupils suddenly contracted, and he opened his mouth as if to say something, but Lin Hui increased the force of her blows.

His lips pressed against the rough brick surface, and he could only let out a muffled whimper.

Xiao Fang walked in through the main entrance.

Today he was dressed in a black outfit with a bright red cloak over it, and the imperial sword bestowed by His Majesty was hanging at his waist.

His pace was neither hurried nor slow; the soles of his boots crunched on the broken plaque on the ground with a crisp sound.

Xiao Fang stopped in front of Gu Jinghuai and looked down at him.

Gu Jinghuai's face was pressed to the ground, and only the tips of his black boots could be seen.

The boots stopped in front of him and lingered for a while, as if admiring his current disheveled state.

Gu Jinghuai felt extremely embarrassed. Just then, he heard a very soft laugh coming from above him.

The laughter was low and short; it wasn't mockery or a cold laugh.

It was a faint, nonchalant, condescending contempt.