The echo of the Crown Prince's name was still lingering under the beams.
Bang.
Someone crushed the wine cup in their hand, thin as a cicada's wing, completely losing their composure, utterly incredulous.
And some people finally breathed a sigh of relief—turns out they'd backed the right horse.
Rip.
On the women's side, the sound of silk handkerchiefs being torn rose one after another. All the concubines who had sons were pale-faced, while the Empress, after a brief daze, put on a dignified smile—only the handkerchief in her hand was clenched tight.
Song Ci glanced at those concubines and a few Princesses, saw them looking on the verge of tears, and couldn't help looking toward Emperor Chu.
As for Emperor Chu's expression—pure bad taste, like he was enjoying watching everyone make a spectacle of themselves.
