After the Bastard Son Became Crown Prince, the Chrysanthemum-Like Empress Went Mad

I was the prince my mother gave birth to only so she could rescue the Empress from the Cold Palace. In her heart, the Empress would always matter more than her own son. Her expectations for me amounted to clearing the way for the Empress, who was as aloof as a chrysanthemum, and her son. I urged her to take care of herself, but she scolded me for being ungrateful. She seemed to have forgotten that it was the Empress who kept us mother and son apart for ten years from the day we were born. When I tried to claim the position of Crown Prince, she not only slapped me, but made me kneel in the freezing snow and beg the Empress and my twelfth younger brother for forgiveness. She kept saying, “For our whole lives, the two of us will belong to Her Majesty the Empress. Naturally, a son born to a concubine is the servant of the legitimate wife's child.” The cold seeped into my bones. I died soon after returning home. When I opened my eyes again, she tentatively asked what I had in mind. I smiled wryly. “How could I ever compare with my twelfth younger brother? I'm only a son born to a concubine.” Watching her smile with satisfaction, I couldn't help wondering: had she forgotten that Father the Emperor was a son born to a concubine, too?