Joy of Life: Starting by clinging to the eldest princess's coattails!

Chapter 93 Offering to God, and a Broken Home

Kyoto, hundreds of miles away, at the Taiji Hall.

The atmosphere at today's morning court session was unusually heavy, with an inexplicable sense of eeriness.

Emperor Qing remained composed on the dragon throne, but deep within his eyes lay something only he knew.

Eunuch Hou unfurled the bright yellow imperial edict, his shrill voice echoing through the hall:

"...Last night, auspicious omens descended from the heavens, hundreds of birds gathered, and a goddess descended from the sky. This is a sign that Heaven favors our Qing Kingdom... Today, we honor Ye Qingmei as the Goddess of Qing Kingdom, to enjoy the incense offerings of all people and to receive sacrifices for a thousand autumns..."

The courtiers listened with their heads bowed, each with their own thoughts.

Last night, the flock of birds that blotted out the moon was seen by everyone in Kyoto.

Many ministers stood in the courtyard and watched as flocks of dark birds flew overhead; the oppressive feeling they experienced still makes their hearts clench when they think about it now.

Today, during court, many people were thinking about how to offer their suggestions and resolve this matter.

Such a strange phenomenon must have an explanation.

Whether it's a good or bad omen, if it's an ominous sign, we need to make plans early.

But now there's no need to think about it anymore.

His Majesty directly characterized it as an auspicious omen and a miracle.

Ye Qingmei became a goddess.

Guo Huai, the Minister of Rites, was the first to step forward, bowing and saying, "Your Majesty is wise! The goddess's protection is a great blessing for our Qing Kingdom!"

Wen Zisheng, the Minister of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, quickly echoed, "Your Majesty, I will immediately begin preparations for the grand ceremony to honor the gods, and I will certainly not fail in your trust!"

The high priest of Qing Temple, dressed in a deep purple robe, slowly raised his head and said in an old voice, "A temple dedicated to the goddess will be set up in Qing Temple, where incense will be offered day and night."

No one objected.

This is the best explanation.

It's better than calling it an omen of evil or a harbinger of disaster.

Ye Qingmei became a goddess, and everything she left behind became a blessing bestowed upon the Qing Kingdom by the goddess.

Last night's flock of birds was like a miracle performed by a goddess.

Emperor Qing looked down and slowly nodded: "This matter will be jointly handled by the Ministry of Rites, the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, and the Qing Temple. It must be done with great solemnity."

"Your Majesty, we obey!"

With the arrangements made, Emperor Qing finally felt a little relieved, the tension that had been building up all night eased somewhat.

Was he afraid? Of course he was.

If Ye Qingmei's ghost really comes back to claim my life...

Therefore, she should be worshipped.

She was enshrined in the Qing Temple, where she receives incense offerings and worship, so that she may rest in peace.

Moreover, the High Priest of Qingmiao is his man. Now that Ye Qingmei has become a goddess, how to explain this "divine will" in the future is entirely up to him.

Thinking of this, Emperor Qing felt that he should reward Eunuch Hou handsomely later.

At this moment, Fan Jian suddenly stepped forward.

"Your Majesty!" His voice was filled with excitement, "I request permission to assist in the affairs of worshipping the gods! I am willing to provide full assistance regarding the portrait of the goddess!"

Chen Pingping sat in her wheelchair, her fingers gripping the armrests tightly.

He tried to stop them, but they were too far apart.

Fan Jian had already knelt down.

Emperor Qing looked at Fan Jian, his gaze deepening. "Granted. Since you are so willing, Minister Fan, the portrait of the goddess will be entrusted to you."

"Thank you, Your Majesty!" Fan Jian kowtowed, his face filled with undisguised excitement.

Chen Pingping closed her eyes.

Fan Jian didn't hear a single word the young lady said last night.

The young lady asked him to take good care of the lady. What is he doing now? Busy drawing a portrait of the young lady?

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

After the court session ended, at the Fan residence.

Zhou sat leaning against the bed, her face frighteningly pale.

The sunlight streamed in through the window, but it couldn't reach her eyes.

Liu Ruyu sat by the bed, holding a bowl of medicine in her hands, and said softly, "Sister, have another sip."

Zhou shook her head.

She didn't want to drink it.

What's the harm in drinking it?

The child is gone.

Her eldest son, who was so young, died in the chaos a few days ago.

And her husband...

Zhou tried to smile, but couldn't manage it.

Marriage.

She knew it was an arranged marriage.

Fan Jian had feelings for Ye Qingmei, and she knew it too.

She didn't expect Fan Jian to love her like in the stories; she just wanted some superficial respect, to save face for her in front of others.

But Fan Jian didn't even bother to pretend.

What now?

Their child was lost because Ye Qingmei's son died, and because of this blow, she is now pregnant and could die at any moment.

Dr. Fei Jie had clearly instructed Fan Jian to spend more time with her.

Where is Fan Jian?

I'm off to work on painting Ye Qingmei's portrait.

Looking at Zhou's ashen face, Liu Ruyu felt a pang of sadness in her heart.

She had always admired Fan Jian, and even knowing that he had someone else in his heart, she was willing to follow him even if it meant becoming his concubine.

But this time, she really felt that Fan Jian had gone too far.

"Sister," Liu Ruyu put down the medicine bowl and held Zhou's cold hand, "you must take care of yourself, not for anything else, but for the baby in your belly."

Zhou slowly turned her head and looked at Liu Ruyu.

"Ruyu," her voice was very soft, so soft it seemed it might break at any moment, "tell me... if I were to die like this, would he be sad?"

Liu Ruyu's eyes immediately reddened.

"Sister, don't say that!"

Footsteps came from outside the door.

Liu Ruyu looked up, saw the person who had arrived, and was taken aback: "Commander Zhou?"

Zhou Tong, dressed in the armor of an Imperial Guard commander, stood at the door.

He didn't come in; he just stared at his sister on the bed, his face ashen.

"Brother..." Zhou struggled to sit up.

"Lie down." Zhou Tong's voice was stiff as he stepped in, his armor making a slight metallic scraping sound.

He stopped in front of the bed, looked down at Zhou's pale face, then looked up at Liu Ruyu: "Where is Fan Jian?"

Liu Ruyu opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Zhou Tong sneered, "Got busy with his 'Goddess,' huh?"

Zhou turned her face away, tears sliding down her cheeks.

Zhou Tong clenched his fists.

The muscles in his arms under his armor tensed, but he said nothing, simply turning and walking away.

He stopped at the door, his back to the house, and said, "Take good care of yourself. If you need anything, have someone go to the Imperial Guard headquarters to find me."

After saying that, he strode away.

Looking at Zhou Tong's retreating figure, and then at Zhou Shi silently weeping on the bed, Liu Ruyu felt a tightness in her chest.

She suddenly remembered that last night, the first thing Fan Jian asked the housekeeper after returning home was, "Is there any news from the Censorate about the child?"

After learning that Chen Pingping had withdrawn everyone, he immediately rushed to the Supervisory Council, without even visiting his wife who was seriously ill at home.

Liu Ruyu closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

She had always believed that as long as she loved Fan Jian enough, she would one day be able to win his heart. But now she had some doubts.

Is a man who can ignore his wife who has just lost her son really worth it?

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Meanwhile, at the Court of Imperial Sacrifices.

Fan Jian spread out a sheet of fine Xuan paper in front of him, holding a brush in his hand, but hesitated to put pen to paper.

She painted leaves and lightly touched her eyebrows.

He closed his eyes, his mind filled with the white figure in the sky last night.

Dressed in plain white, standing on the back of a crane, with birds flying all around behind her.

That's Qingmei.

It really is a light eyebrow.

Fan Jian opened his eyes and picked up his brush, dipping it in ink.

The pen tip falls.

The ink spread across the rice paper, gradually outlining a delicate silhouette.

Fan Jian was very focused on his painting.

He completely forgot that at home, his wife was lying on her sickbed, pregnant and heartbroken.

He also forgot that his eldest son, who died young, hadn't even had a proper funeral yet.

……

unconsciously

On the rice paper, Ye Qingmei's portrait was slowly taking shape.

With a smile in her eyes and an ethereal air, she seemed as if she would step out of a painting at any moment.

Fan Jian looked at the painting, his eyes welling up with tears.

"Qingmei," he whispered, "don't worry, I will take good care of your child... I promise."