The weather in the eighth lunar month is at its most sweltering, though even hotter are the women in the imperial harem, who are as anxious as ants on a hot pan.
Ning Wanwan merely had to beg for mercy, and she was instantly restored to favor. How else could one describe a Son of Heaven whose moods remain inscrutable, his temperament changing faster than the turning of a page?
Ning Wanwan returned to her former residence, Ruyi Palace. Its appointments were as luxurious and exquisite as ever; everywhere one looked, there was the scent of money. She reclined on her old daybed, savoring grapes in total comfort. Look at that—this is the life of splendor and wealth that any normal person would crave. Though, to be fair, this kind of opulence is not something just anyone can achieve.
Chapter 118