Beloved Concubine Promotion Manual

In the spring of the 23rd year of Zhengde's reign, a broken Qingluan paper kite floated over the high wall of the East Palace. Under the wall, fourteen-year-old Yu Qingci stood on tiptoes and looked around. His eyes were clear, but there was a hint of calculation that was inconsistent with his childish age. The side door of the East Palace opened slightly, and Prince Ying Mu stepped out with a gentle and distant look, meeting her raised gaze. He leaned over and handed the kite back, and the moment their fingertips intertwined, she caught a glimpse of the waves that had never reached the depths of his eyes, which seemed as calm as an ancient well. Everyone in the government and the public knows that Crown Prince Ying Mu is a kind and upright prince, and he is a brilliant prince. There has never been a woman close to him. When the courtiers were anxious to remonstrate, he just said calmly: "There is no rush in matters concerning the East Palace." She wants to climb the clouds, but he prefers to weave a web. On the day when Yu Qing wrote her poems and hairpins, a small sedan quietly entered the side door of the East Palace. What she wanted was never favor, but authority. Ying Mu traced her eyebrows with a smile. He loved her sober ambition, her trembling eyelashes and tight lips every time she made love - she was obviously emotional, but she had to restrain herself. In the dead of night, she counted his breaths until dawn; he caressed her sleeping face, and the ink on his sleeves was still wet, writing about the life or death of the Yu family. The kite will eventually fly to a high place, but the hand holding the thread refuses to let go. When she finally touched the edge of the phoenix seal, the broken paper kite lay next to the imperial seal. "Qing Ci," his voice was as gentle as before, and an undercurrent surged in his eyes, "You can only be imprisoned in the same room for the world and your loneliness." The historian wanted to record the "deep love", but saw the emperor gently wiping the tears of his sleeping concubine in his arms. He loves her, but imperial power is the first choice. She was sober, so she didn't dare to indulge. And he sank soberly.