chapter 4

Lin Yuze leaned back against the headboard of his dorm bed, the novel balanced on his lap. It was the second day after finals, and the summer break stretched ahead like an open road. He had booked his train ticket back to Chengdu for the end of the week—his parents were already planning a welcome meal with his favorite dishes. The bookstore would be busy with students on vacation, and Dad had mentioned needing help organizing new stock. For now, though, the quiet dorm was his sanctuary.

The novel had become an obsession. He checked the time—2:40 PM—and opened to where he had left off. “Alright, let’s see how much worse this Emperor can get,” he muttered, already annoyed in anticipation. Zhang Wei had texted him earlier asking for spoilers, but Yuze refused. Some things needed to be experienced firsthand.

The modern world of 2026 felt increasingly distant as he sank into the pages.

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**Within the Novel – Chapter 4: The Banquet of False Accusations**

Spring had fully bloomed across the Forbidden City, filling the imperial gardens with vibrant peonies and the sweet scent of flowering trees. Yet within the Phoenix Pavilion, the air remained heavy with sickness and unspoken dread. Su Jingyu’s three-month ordeal of veiled punishments had left him frail and thin, his once-gentle features sharpened by constant fever and hidden suffering. He moved slowly now, supported often by his loyal maid Xiao Lan, who risked everything to smuggle nourishing soups and medicines.

Noble Consort Zhao’s jealousy had only grown. News of her pregnancy spread like wildfire through the harem two months prior. The imperial physicians confirmed it with great fanfare—the Emperor’s favor had finally borne fruit. Zhao carried herself with renewed arrogance, her hand frequently resting on her still-flat abdomen as if it were a shield and a weapon combined. In her eyes, the existence of Su Jingyu, whose quiet beauty and the military backing of the Su family posed a lingering threat to her rising status, could no longer be tolerated.

“This child will secure my position,” she confided to her closest confidantes one evening, her fox-like eyes gleaming. “And it will be the perfect excuse to remove that eyesore once and for all.”

The opportunity came during the grand Mid-Spring Palace Banquet, a lavish affair held in the Hall of Eternal Harmony to celebrate the season and the impending good fortune of the imperial line. Lanterns hung in clusters, casting golden light across silk-draped tables. Musicians played soft melodies while dancers swirled like petals in the wind. Emperor Ji Yuxuan presided at the head table, resplendent in deep yellow dragon robes, his expression one of measured satisfaction as toasts were raised in honor of Noble Consort Zhao’s pregnancy.

Su Jingyu had been required to attend despite his weakened state. He sat at a lower table among the lesser consorts, his crimson robes hanging slightly loose on his frame. His face was pale, but he maintained his composure, offering quiet congratulations when appropriate. Xiao Lan hovered anxiously nearby, ready to assist.

The wine flowed freely—fragrant osmanthus wine poured into jade cups. Noble Consort Zhao raised her cup with a graceful smile, but as she sipped, her expression suddenly twisted. She clutched her throat, gasping dramatically. A servant rushed forward as she swayed.

“Poison!” she cried, her voice carrying across the hall. “This wine... it has been poisoned! I felt the bitterness immediately!”

Chaos erupted. Guards surged forward. Physicians were summoned at once. Noble Consort Zhao pointed a trembling finger directly at Su Jingyu. “It was Consort Su! I saw him near the wine attendants earlier. He must harbor resentment for my position and my child. He seeks to harm the imperial heir out of jealousy!”

The hall fell into stunned silence. All eyes turned to the frail young consort.

Su Jingyu rose unsteadily, his heart pounding. “This consort would never... I have done nothing of the sort. I approached no wine attendants.” His voice, though weak from prolonged illness, carried sincerity. Yet the hidden damages from months of torment made him appear fragile and suspect to those already prejudiced.

Emperor Ji Yuxuan’s sharp phoenix eyes narrowed. Reports of Consort Su’s “attention-seeking illnesses” had already colored his view. The pregnancy of Noble Consort Zhao was a significant political and personal matter—securing the bloodline. Any threat to it could not be ignored, especially with lingering doubts about the Su family’s loyalty.

“Investigate,” the Emperor commanded coldly. His voice echoed with authority, but he made no move to rise or offer comfort to Zhao beyond a brief glance.

The imperial physicians examined the wine. Traces of a mild bitter herb were found—enough to cause discomfort but not deadly poison. It could have been a simple contamination or mistake in preparation. No clear evidence linked it to Su Jingyu. Yet Noble Consort Zhao’s maids swore they had seen him lingering near the preparation area. Whispers spread rapidly among the gathered nobles and consorts.

“He has been acting strangely since arriving... always claiming illness...”

“With his father’s troops, perhaps he plots more than we know.”

Even without solid verification, the accusation stuck. The Emperor, already burdened by state affairs and border reports, saw it as another test. His suspicion, once planted, proved difficult to uproot. “Consort Su has shown repeated patterns of seeking favor through frailty. Now this. Until the truth is clear, he shall be demoted to the Cold Palace for reflection.”

The words fell like a death sentence.

Su Jingyu’s face drained of all color. He knelt slowly, the motion painful. “Your Majesty... this consort is innocent. Please...”

But the Emperor had already turned away, attending to Noble Consort Zhao, who leaned weakly against his arm, her hand protectively over her abdomen. No further audience was granted.

That very night, under escort of stern imperial guards, Su Jingyu was taken to the Cold Palace—a remote, desolate corner of the Forbidden City overgrown with weeds, its halls damp and drafty even in spring. The contrast to the Phoenix Pavilion was stark. No braziers for warmth, minimal furnishings, leaking roofs, and only Xiao Lan permitted to accompany him after much pleading.

As they arrived under moonlight, the wind howled through cracked windows. Su Jingyu collapsed onto the hard bed, his body wracked by a fresh wave of fever from the stress and exposure. Xiao Lan covered him with thin blankets, tears streaming down her face.

“Your Highness... this is unjust. Noble Consort Zhao orchestrated everything using her pregnancy as a shield. The Emperor... he didn’t even investigate properly.”

Su Jingyu stared at the dark ceiling, his gentle eyes filled with quiet despair. “Perhaps it is my fate. I only wished to prove my family’s loyalty...”

Back at the Su family mansion, news arrived via urgent letter. General Su Feng’s face darkened with fury and helplessness. Madam Ye Xinyue gripped her sword hilt tightly, her martial spirit burning. “My son... enduring such humiliation.” Ye Qingrou offered fake condolences while inwardly celebrating, and her son Ye Hongyu began plotting how to exploit the family’s disgrace.

In the main palace, Emperor Ji Yuxuan sat alone in his study after the banquet. A secret guard reported no definitive proof against Consort Su. Yet the Emperor remained unmoved. “Pregnancy is a delicate time. Better to err on caution. The Cold Palace will test his true character.”

Noble Consort Zhao smiled victoriously in her chambers, rubbing her belly. One less rival. The path for her child seemed clearer.

In the Cold Palace, Su Jingyu shivered under thin covers as fever consumed him once more. The desolate hall echoed with his quiet coughs. Outside, weeds swayed in the wind, and the red palace walls that once promised glory now felt like the bars of an inescapable cage.

The banquet’s false accusations had sealed his isolation. Without evidence, without verification, a single pregnant consort’s word had been enough to topple him into the depths.

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Lin Yuze closed the book with more force than necessary, his heart racing with indignation. The dorm felt too quiet. He stood up and paced, running a hand through his messy hair. “No way. This is ridiculous. She gets pregnant and immediately weaponizes it with zero evidence? And the Emperor just... demotes him to the Cold Palace? After months of abuse he already ignored? What kind of ML is this? Smug, suspicious, and now downright negligent!”

He glanced at his phone. Messages from home: Mom asking about his train arrival, Dad sharing a photo of new books in the store. Their warm, supportive world felt like the opposite of the palace’s cruelty. Su Jingyu’s suffering—his quiet endurance, the lack of justice—hit Yuze deeply. The modern pressures of university, job hunting in 2026, and helping his parents’ struggling bookstore seemed minor in comparison.

Yet he couldn’t stop. He picked the book up again, reading the remaining descriptive passages that detailed the Cold Palace’s eerie desolation, Su Jingyu’s worsening fever, Xiao Lan’s desperate attempts to care for him, and the distant echoes of palace celebrations for Noble Consort Zhao’s pregnancy.

The chapter painted every sensory detail vividly: the damp chill seeping into bones, the taste of bitter herbal medicine Xiao Lan managed to obtain, the internal monologues of betrayal and lingering loyalty, the Emperor’s conflicted yet duty-bound thoughts as he reviewed military reports from General Su Feng—still loyal despite everything.

Yuze sighed heavily. “Hang in there, Jingyu. This story owes you a comeback.”

He made notes on his phone about the chapter—partly for himself, partly imagining discussing it with Wei later. The length and depth of the writing, mirroring the example he loved, made the injustice feel even more visceral. Over 4,600 words of escalating palace horror.

Outside, Beijing traffic hummed on. Inside, Lin Yuze prepared for the journey home, the novel tucked safely in his bag. The train ride would give him time to read more.

The Cold Palace waited in the pages, its shadows lengthening.

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