Help! The Frosty Noble's Son Is in Love With Me!-Chapter 426: Stealing the Spotlight

Anyone who’s given birth knows that a first childbirth is often not easy.

Some women endure three days and nights of labor before delivering.

Qu Fulan herself has never given birth, but she’s seen how difficult it can be. Take Ren Hua, for example; she was in pain for a day and night before her child was born.

Fulan doesn’t know how long hers will take.

The pain began subtly one afternoon, and experienced mothers advised her to eat more to gather strength for the delivery, warning that as the pain intensified, eating would become impossible.

Yet such advice, while easy to give, is challenging to follow.

She couldn’t manage to eat much; she had no appetite at all.

But Fulan knew she couldn’t be wilful, and forcibly made herself eat a considerable amount.

As night approached, the pain became excruciating.

She thought she could deliver, but the midwife informed her that she was only dilated one fingerbreadth, needing to reach ten before she could give birth.

Fulan felt as if the sky was falling; if one fingerbreadth was so painful, how would she endure until ten?

Aside from the midwife, the room was filled with experienced women, nursemaids, all prepared for the task; men were not allowed inside.

Thus, Pei Ji’an waited anxiously outside the door.

Originally, he wasn’t even allowed by the door—he had to be further away, out of earshot of the laboring woman.

But Jian refused; not barging into the birthing room was his limit, to keep him farther away was impossible.

If it weren’t for Mrs. Pei stopping him, he’d have rushed inside.

Not just he was anxious; seeing the emperor himself arrive at Pei Mansion indicated how significant Qu Fulan’s childbirth was considered.

Of course, the emperor could not venture to the back courtyard, only sitting in the front hall, accompanied by various elders, who were scraping out every ounce of ink from their minds until words ran dry, making for an awkward gathering.

Thankfully, the emperor was too preoccupied to notice their awkwardness; his mind was entirely focused on his daughter, drinking tea after tea, inevitably leading to frequent restroom trips.

Fulan’s pain continued as a rhythmic agony, growing in frequency, each wave feeling life-threatening, a force pushing outward from her abdomen, as if the baby inside was eager to emerge, a painful force made twice as difficult.

The midwife advised that she could only exert force when instructed, or she’d risk exhaustive fatigue, with no strength left for later—tragic indeed. But such things are uncontrollable, as she endured sounds of lament the whole time, truly exhausting her strength, leading to administering medicinal water to bolster her energy.

The entire process was dominated by one sensation: pain.

As the pain reached its peak, she felt herself go deaf, everything around her turning quiet; surrounded by many shouting at her, she couldn’t hear the calls to "push," but she knew they were shouting it, though she was deaf to it.

This was it; she was about to faint—her final thought.

Fainting during childbirth signals obvious implications.

In modern times, a cesarean would be possible, but in this historical setting, she potentially faced the death of both herself and the child.

No, she refused such an outcome; after ten months of pregnancy, she desired both her life and the child’s.

Yet some circumstances are beyond individual control; as Fulan neared unconsciousness, images suddenly appeared in her mind.

They seemed to be in a modern delivery room.

"It’s a girl, already formed..."

The scene shifted.

A woman speaking to a man.

"If we’re together again, what of the child we lost?"

She stepped closer, saw the man’s face, and felt her world reel.

...

In that instant, she felt a rush, her consciousness clearing, ears regaining everyone’s voices.

The sound was joyful, announcing "It’s out" repeatedly.

"A young prince—quickly report the birth for safety!"

"There’s still one inside—Young Lady, put forth more strength."

The first came smoothly, making the second much easier, quickly following.

Fulan was utterly spent, her forehead soaked, devoid of any remaining strength.

After handling the newborn, the midwife brought the child to her, congratulating her, "Madam, a commandery princess—congratulations on birthing dragon and phoenix twins."

Thus, the first sight Fulan had was her daughter, crying from a spanked bottom, her little face red with distress, inducing empathy from every observer.

She wished to embrace her, but she had no strength left.

The little girl was quickly taken away—a lot remained to arrange for the mother.

Not long after tidying up came to a close, Pei Ji’an entered, disregarding the chaotic birthing room.

"Lan’er, how are you doing?" Jian held her hand tightly.

Fulan smiled weakly at him, "I’m fine; did you see the children?"

Jian paused, then honestly replied, "Mrs. Pei took the children, even the emperor arrived."

He hadn’t had the chance to see them, rushing straight inside.

Meanwhile, outside, Mrs. Pei held one child, and the emperor the other, both unable to contain their grins.

"My grandchild looks delightful, so fair and pretty."

Mrs. Pei proudly shared, "Look here, newborns so attractive don’t come often; in the past our family’s children all came out wrinkled like monkeys—but these two, born with such fair skin, it’s remarkable indeed."

Onlookers praised endlessly, attributing good looks to the parents, ensuring the children wouldn’t fall short.

But soon enough, the child in the emperor’s arms began to cry, prompting the baby with Mrs. Pei to join in a wailing duet, rendering both adults temporarily flustered.

Someone quickly suggested, "Hungry, perhaps—bring them to a nursemaid, let’s go."

Reluctantly, both babies were handed to nursemaids.

The emperor stayed, intent on bestowing titles and names upon the children.

The midwife’s usage of "young prince" and "commandery princess" preceded sure foresight.

Indeed, the emperor instantly titled the boy as young prince, and the girl as commandery princess, born with titles—an uncommon gift.

But naming proved difficult, as greater attention brought complexity, leaving them unable to decide immediately.

"Titles are excellent already; naming can wait a few days—consulting scholars would be even better," suggested Marquis Pei.

Convinced, the emperor sought thorough evaluation for his grandchildren’s names—bringing in Grand Tutors and checking with the Astronomical Bureau to select a perfect name was vital.

Thus, the matter was decided; the names of Pei Mansion’s young prince and commandery princess now excluded outside interference—the emperor would personally handle it, ensuring no one dared steal his thunder.

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