Bai Ruoyao did not know Shen Yuheng well from her last life. She did not know whether his changes were the source of the altered timeline, or whether Heaven had simply thrown more stones into the river than she could see.

She did not hate him.

She did not trust him either.

For now, he was neither enemy nor friend.

He was someone who had survived something and understood that survival required preparation.

That was enough for Bai Ruoyao to regard him carefully.

The Crown Prince Consort’s voice drew her back.

“Bai Liangdi.”

Bai Ruoyao lifted her head at once.

The Crown Prince Consort looked at her. “You have been quiet. Are you unwell?”

Concern from the Crown Prince Consort was always difficult to measure. Sometimes it was genuine. Sometimes it was only household management wearing a human face.

Bai Ruoyao stood and bowed.

“Many thanks for Your Highness Consort’s concern. This concubine was only thinking that Seventh Wangfei is fortunate, and that twins are a great joy for the imperial family.”

Her answer was proper.

Not too eager.

Not too cold.

The Crown Prince Consort looked at her for a moment, then nodded.

“You have a child yourself, so you should understand the difficulty of pregnancy better than those unmarried girls outside. If there are suitable gifts, prepare them properly. The Crown Prince’s household cannot appear careless.”

Bai Ruoyao lowered her eyes.

“Yes.”

A concubine beside her smiled. “Bai Liangdi is always careful. She will surely prepare something thoughtful.”

In the past, Bai Ruoyao would have blushed and said she did not dare.

Now, she only smiled faintly.

“Then I must be more cautious. Gifts sent to a pregnant person cannot be chosen casually.”

The concubine’s smile stiffened.

The Crown Prince Consort’s eyes moved slightly, but she said nothing.

After the gathering ended, Bai Ruoyao returned to her own courtyard.

Her son was waiting beneath the corridor, bundled in a small blue cloak. The moment he saw her, he ran forward on short legs.

“Mother!”

The word struck her with the same force it always did.

Not because it was loud.

Because it was alive.

Bai Ruoyao bent down and caught him before he could trip over the edge of his cloak. His little body crashed into her arms, warm and solid, smelling of milk, sweet cakes, and the faint herbal sachet his nurse always tied at his waist.

“Slowly,” she said, smoothing one hand over his back. “If you fall, the ground will not apologise.”

Her son looked up at her seriously. “Then Mother will scold it?”

Bai Ruoyao’s mouth curved.

“Yes. Mother will scold it until it regrets being stone.”

He giggled and buried his face against her shoulder.

Bai Ruoyao held him.

For one breath, two breaths, three, she allowed herself that indulgence. His fingers clutched at her sleeve with the same trusting habit as before, and beneath his small hand, the old memory rose like a knife.

Fingers loosening.

A sleeve falling free.

A body too light in her arms.

Her throat tightened.

Her son noticed something with the sharpness of children who did not understand grief but could feel its shadow.

“Mother?”

Bai Ruoyao lowered her face and kissed his forehead.

“I am here.”

He blinked. “I know.”

Of course he knew.

Children believed presence was simple.

Adults knew better.

Bai Ruoyao carried him inside.

The brazier in her room had been lit early, and the air smelled of charcoal, dried orange peel, and the soft sweetness of steamed milk custard. Her maid, Chunxi, followed quietly and helped untie the child’s cloak.

“Young Master waited for Liangdi for half an hour,” Chunxi said softly. “He refused to eat the second piece of cake until you returned.”

Her son immediately looked betrayed. “Chunxi jiejie!”

Bai Ruoyao glanced at him. “Only the second piece?”

His small face turned solemn with calculation.

Bai Ruoyao had seen ministers hide guilt with less effort.

“I was saving it for Mother,” he said.

Chunxi lowered her head to hide a smile.

Bai Ruoyao accepted this lie with the dignity it deserved.

“Then Mother thanks you.”

The child brightened and pushed the small plate toward her with both hands. On it sat half a piece of osmanthus cake, slightly crushed at one corner.

Bai Ruoyao picked it up and took a bite.

It was too sweet.

A little dry.

The best thing she had tasted in two lifetimes.

Her son watched her anxiously. “Is it good?”

“Very good.”

“Better than the Crown Prince’s cakes?”

Bai Ruoyao paused.

Chunxi’s hands stilled.

The question was innocent. In the Crown Prince’s residence, innocence was often more dangerous than malice because it had no idea where not to step.

Bai Ruoyao wiped a crumb from the corner of her son’s mouth.

“Different cakes are good in different ways.”

Her son frowned, dissatisfied by diplomacy.

Bai Ruoyao added, “But this one was saved for me by you, so naturally it is more precious.”

He accepted this answer at once and leaned against her knee, pleased.

Chunxi’s shoulders eased.

Bai Ruoyao noticed.

She noticed everything now.

That was what death had given her: not courage, not wisdom, but the inability to look away.

After her son was taken to practise writing, Bai Ruoyao sat beside the window and let Chunxi pour fresh tea.

The courtyard beyond the lattice was quiet. Snow clung to the bare branches of the plum tree, and a few red buds showed beneath the frost, stubborn little things daring winter to object.

Chunxi said softly, “Liangdi, should this servant prepare the gift list for Seventh Wangfei?”

“Yes.” Bai Ruoyao looked down at the tea. “Nothing with strong fragrance. No rare herbs unless their source can be checked twice. No jade ornaments with old provenance. Avoid anything that could be tampered with easily after leaving our courtyard.”

Chunxi’s expression grew serious. “This servant understands.”

“Use plain but good things. Soft cloth, warming socks, silver charcoal, dried fruits from a clean source. Include a pair of small protective pendants for the children, but have them examined before they are sent.”

“Will that appear too cautious?”

Bai Ruoyao smiled faintly. “In this palace, appearing careless is fatal. Appearing cautious is only unattractive.”

Chunxi lowered her head. “Yes.”

After a pause, she asked, “Liangdi, do you wish to befriend Seventh Wangfei?”

Bai Ruoyao did not answer immediately.

The tea in her cup trembled faintly as wind pressed against the window paper.

Befriend.

What a clean word.

In the inner courtyard, friendship was rarely friendship. It was a bridge, a rope, a blade wrapped in silk. Sometimes it was all three, depending on who crossed first and who cut last.

“I wish not to offend him,” Bai Ruoyao said at last. “As for friendship, that depends on whether Heaven intends to develop better manners.”