Just as she was about to speak, the prayer beads suddenly snapped.
The Imperial Consort shrieked and grabbed Meng Wenyao's wrist. "Why would you do that? I already let it go when you insulted Quaner. But now you've broken the prayer beads too? Are you determined to curse him even in death?"
Meng Wenyao looked down at the few remaining beads in her hand and the snapped silk string. She hadn't pulled hard at all—there was no reason the strand should've broken.
Unless... it had already been frayed before it ever touched her hand.
So this had been a setup. The Imperial Consort had planned to pin this on her from the start.
But so what?
Even if she had broken the beads—hell, even if she flipped this whole shrine over—what of it? She was a ranked consort, a legitimate member of the royal harem. Was she supposed to kneel to some dead boy from the Wei family?
Lifting her gaze, Meng Wenyao stared coldly at the consort, her lips curling into a smirk. Let's see how she acts her way out of this mess.
The Imperial Consort froze. That composure, that confidence... she had to pivot—fast.
"You dare?" she hissed. "Do you understand the crime you've committed?"
Meng Wenyao gave a dismissive laugh. "What crime, exactly?"
"Those prayer beads were a gift from the abbot of Fahua Temple—the same abbot who cured the Emperor's poisoning years ago. His Majesty stayed there for three whole months. That strand of beads has protected his health and fortune ever since. And you snapped them. Was that your plan all along? To harm His Majesty?"
The crowd gasped. Meng Wenyao's eyes flicked to the scattered beads on the floor.
A sacred item, linked to the Emperor's well-being? If that was true, she'd just committed a grave offense. One that could cost her her life.
A perfect trap. The Consort had played this well—framing her in front of so many witnesses with a story that no one would dare question.
Now wasn't the time to argue. The only thing that could save her was the Emperor himself. If he chose to believe this narrative, she'd be finished—unless the child in her belly gave her leverage.
She turned the few remaining beads over in her palm. Something felt... off.
If these beads were truly that old, they should've developed a natural sheen, a patina from years of wear. But these beads looked new. Practically fresh.
So that's it. The Imperial Consort had lied.
If they weren't all watching, Meng Wenyao would've clapped. What a performance. If nothing else, the woman was clever.
"Well, is that so?" she said softly. "But... I've heard that the abbot of Fahua Temple only uses wood from the Canaan tree for his prayer beads. These don't seem like Canaan wood to me, do they?"
She had no idea what kind of wood the abbot used—but that didn't matter. She was bluffing. Fighting fire with fire.
She slowly raised her hand and held out the beads for the Consort to see.
Sure enough, the woman's face twisted.
The other consorts leaned in, practically salivating at the drama. One twist after another—this was better than the theatre.
The Consort was trapped. She had publicly declared these beads were a royal relic. There was no walking that back without shame.
She cleared her throat. "It seems I misspoke. In my grief, I must have confused these with another set. The true strand from Fahua Temple is still safely stored, of course."
Everyone in the hall exchanged the same look: Sure, Jan.
Meng Wenyao could barely hold back her frustration. The woman had tried to smear her with a blatant lie, and that was it? A slap on the wrist?
"His Majesty arrives!"
The hall snapped to attention as the Emperor strode in.
He went straight to Meng Wenyao and took her hand. Feeling something in her palm, he asked, "What's this?"
The Consort rushed forward. "Just... a broken strand of prayer beads, nothing of importance."
Meng Wenyao watched her scramble to contain the narrative and almost laughed.
This wasn't the first time the Consort had tried to pin something on her. The last incident with Wei Quan had nearly gotten out of hand, and yet she'd smoothed it over with a few well-chosen words. Her glibness was something Meng Wenyao begrudgingly admired.
But now... watching her scramble, watching her sweat?
Delicious.
"Your Majesty," she said sweetly, "the Imperial Consort asked me to recite prayers for Wei Gongzi. But the beads snapped in my hands. Then she said they were a gift from the abbot of Fahua Temple—the very ones that safeguard Your Majesty's life. I was terrified."
The Emperor glanced at the beads, then at the shrine setup in the Consort's hall.
He snorted. "Funny. I don't recall transferring royal relics from my private treasury to your quarters."
The Consort immediately dropped to her knees. "I was distraught, Your Majesty. I misspoke. Please forgive me."
She kept her head down, watching his expression from the corner of her eye. Over the years, she had learned to read him well. Normally, he'd scold her a bit, maybe dock her allowance, and things would go back to normal. She'd remain queen of the inner palace.
But this time... Meng Wenyao caught a flicker of something else in his expression.
A shift.
And she wasn't about to let it slide.
"Your Majesty," she said gently, "please don't blame Her Grace. She's just heartbroken. Look at her hall—it's like a shrine. She's turned the most opulent residence in the palace into a place of mourning. That alone shows how deep her grief runs."
Then she turned to the Imperial Consort, eyes wide with false concern. "Do take care of yourself, Sister. You're not just the pillar of the Wei family, but the backbone of the entire inner court. If you lose your head in sorrow and start mixing up prayer beads today... who knows what might happen tomorrow? You might wear the wrong hairpin and throw the whole palace into chaos. You simply must stay strong—for all our sakes."
The Consort opened her mouth to respond—but before she could speak, the Emperor kicked out his foot.
She nearly tumbled over.
"If the Consort wishes to chant prayers," he said coldly, "she can do so in her own quarters. From now on, all palace affairs will be overseen by the Chen Consort. You, on the other hand, should focus on your devotions."
He didn't wait for a reply. He took Meng Wenyao's hand and led her away, leaving the Consort groveling behind them.
Meng Wenyao sat in the imperial carriage, still dazed.
Just like that... she had become the highest-ranking woman in the palace?
Was the Consort truly out of favor?
She had always heard the rumors, but she'd never dared believe them. Was this real?
"Your Majesty... will this hurt Her Grace's feelings?" she asked delicately.
The Emperor rubbed his temples and patted her hand. "The things she's done over the years... I've turned a blind eye. But don't be fooled—if she weren't still useful to me, she'd have died a hundred times over."
Meng Wenyao studied his face. He didn't look angry. He looked... indifferent.
So it was true. He didn't care for the Consort at all anymore.
She didn't have the courage to ask what use she still had.
"I'm lucky you arrived when you did," she murmured. "If you hadn't, I don't think she would've let me leave that hall alive."
Her eyes were bright with feigned admiration.
The Emperor's throat tightened. Ignoring the servants, he leaned in and kissed her.
Word of the shift in power spread quickly to the An Prince's manor.
The advisors gathered again.
"So the Imperial Consort has lost control of the harem?"
"Seems she's fallen from grace."
"Good thing we didn't back her plan to drag the Meng family into this mess. Now's the perfect time to send the second Miss Meng into the palace—it'll win us favor with the new top consort."