The day the child was born, the first rain of autumn fell over Ming Capital.
Xu Tianran set down his brush and memorial, then looked up at the gloomy sky outside the window. For some reason, unease stirred in his heart. He had a feeling something momentous was about to happen.
Xu Yanli sat nearby, reading a storybook.
Suddenly, Luo Xu came rushing in.
The old steward had served Xu Yanli for over a decade, but now he looked utterly bedraggled. He had lost one boot, most of his hair had come loose from its bun, and he could barely contain his joy. Even his voice trembled as he cried, "Your Majesty! Your Highness! Her Majesty the Empress has given birth!"
Xu Yanli sprang to his feet, his chair scraping across the floor with a shrill screech.
The next moment, he was gone.
Xu Tianran also rose quickly, but glanced back at the towering heap of memorials piled on his desk.
Then he turned away for good and strode out of the Imperial Study.
By the time he hurried to the empress's palace, the entire courtyard was already buzzing with activity.
Maidservants hurried back and forth with basins of hot water and stacks of clean white cloth, their footsteps so quick they seemed to stir up a breeze.
Inside the birthing room, the midwife shouted instructions, urging the woman inside to push. Her sharp, ringing voice carried clearly through two sets of courtyard gates.
Under the eaves, Lezheng Yang stood in silver armor with his sword at his side, his posture ramrod straight. Yet the hand gripping his sword hilt was clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.
Behind him, Lezheng Xuan, Lezheng Yao, and the other younger generation stood stiffly, their faces tense. Not one dared so