They couldn’t tell from just one sentence whether it was their own family being mentioned, so they could only pray to the heavens for mercy, hoping it had nothing to do with them.

The sharper-minded among them quickly noticed something amiss. Though they had only heard three words, the voice sounded like that of a child under five years old. Aside from the Ninth Princess and Eleventh Prince, who were being held by their nursemaids at the front, the youngest children present—including those of their colleagues—were at least eight years old.

So where had that "Wait a moment" come from?

The reactions of these officials did not escape the Emperor’s notice.

As a ruler—and a capable one at that—his thoughts ran deeper. Though the voice had been abrupt, it had sounded as if spoken right beside his ear. If not for the reactions of the Empress Dowager, the Empress, and some of the ministers, he might have thought he was hearing ghosts in broad daylight!

All these thoughts flashed through the minds of those present in an instant. Meanwhile, Yue Fuguang, after the system’s sudden cry of "Wait a moment," feared that delay might bring complications.

After waiting only two or three seconds, she began her performance as planned.

Following the script they had agreed upon, she asked, "Spirit Artifact, what’s wrong? Why did you tell me to wait?"

Those who heard her: Qi Ling? Qi Ling? Was that the child’s name?

Everyone’s gaze turned to the only person present with the surname "Qi"—Qi Yinghua, the Chancellor of the Imperial Academy.

Minister Qi had also heard the voice. When his colleagues all stared at him, he quickly shook his head slightly, signaling, "Not my family."

The second voice was clearly not his child’s, and besides, he hadn’t brought any boys today—they were all at the academy.

If not the Qi family, then perhaps it wasn’t "Qi" but "Qi"?

There was indeed another minister with the surname Qi—Qi Congxue, the Junior Supervisor of the Household of the Heir Apparent.

But Minister Qi couldn’t hear Yue Fuguang’s conversation, so when his colleagues fixed their eyes on him, he was utterly bewildered.

Panicking inwardly, he wondered what had happened. Why were his superiors all standing frozen? The Emperor had arrived—shouldn’t they be bowing? Why was no one moving, and why wasn’t the Emperor reprimanding them?

It wasn’t that Emperor Mingxi wasn’t displeased. If Minister Qi had dared to look up, he would have seen the Emperor’s expression darkening.

If not for the fact that he was a benevolent and wise ruler, he would have demanded an explanation the moment that first voice had spoken.

Instead, he waited until now, listening to Yue Fuguang’s words.

From his elevated position, he could see clearly—no child nearby had spoken. The farthest child seated was at least thirty or forty meters away. Even if they had spoken, their voice couldn’t have reached his ears so clearly. So then…

His eyes flickered with surprise as he glanced at the Empress Dowager, whose face was equally grave. Then he looked at the Empress, who was quietly instructing her maid to investigate.

But the maid’s confused expression told him she hadn’t heard anything.

That explained the reactions of some ministers—not everyone present could hear the voice!

Emperor Mingxi turned to his personal eunuch, Qian Gui, who immediately understood his master’s silent command and slipped away to investigate.

The Emperor noted that Eunuch Qian could hear, while the Empress’s maid, Su Xing, could not.

Among the ministers, some had heard while others, judging by their reactions, had not. Why was that?

As he pondered this, the childlike voice spoke again.

[Master, you must not bow to this mortal emperor!]

Master? Who?

Mortal emperor? Did they mean His Majesty?

To refer to the Emperor as a "mortal emperor"—did that mean the speaker wasn’t human? Was it a god? A demon? A ghost?

And the one they called "Master" was among those about to bow. Whose family did that child’s voice belong to?

Couldn’t one of their colleagues step forward and claim responsibility?

Whose child was this?

The Yu family—aside from the three siblings of the third branch, who couldn’t hear—had all heard clearly.

But not one of them recognized the voice as belonging to their own child.

The Yu family had only heard Yue Fuguang address them as "Grandfather," "Grandmother," "Uncle," and "Aunt" on the day she returned home. After that, they hadn’t seen her again, let alone heard her speak.

Madame Sun had visited her courtyard but hadn’t exchanged more than a few words, and her attention hadn’t been on Yue Fuguang, so she hadn’t listened carefully.

That morning, Yue Fuguang had greeted them, but it had been a simple exchange. As a result, they still hadn’t recognized the girl’s voice as belonging to the child they had just brought home.

"Why can’t I bow to him?"

[Because he cannot withstand your obeisance. He has less than ten years of life left as it is—your bow might send him straight to the afterlife!]

"How is that possible? Didn’t you say my master sealed my divine power, just like my memories? If my power is gone, how could he not endure a single bow from me?"

[Master, though your divine power is sealed, your divine nature remains. A mortal emperor, even one blessed with imperial qi, is still a mere human. How could he bear your reverence?]

"Little Pearl, you’re my spirit artifact. You’re not taking advantage of my lost memories to deceive me again, are you?"

Yue Fuguang’s voice dripped with skepticism.

Everyone who heard her—including the Emperor—was stunned.

Some gasped audibly, the sound piercing the dead silence of the hall.

The sharpest among them had already grasped the staggering implications of this brief exchange.

And to claim that their Emperor, not yet forty, had less than ten years to live—such words were treasonous! Under normal circumstances, such a statement would cost countless heads.

But if the speaker was not human… that changed everything.

Emperor Mingxi had also heard these words, his heart roiling with shock and fury.

The Empress Dowager stepped forward and seized her son’s hand, while the Empress stared at him with undisguised alarm.

The Emperor gave them a silent shake of his head, urging them to keep listening.

Those who could hear didn’t dare so much as breathe, torn between their dread of what they were hearing and their desperate curiosity about what would come next. Their faces cycled through a kaleidoscope of emotions.

The ones who couldn’t hear watched their colleagues stand frozen, expressions shifting as if possessed, and shuddered, wanting nothing more than to hug themselves and flee.

Surrounded by people like this, how could they possibly survive?

[Master, how could you doubt your Boundless Pearl? I am your most loyal spirit artifact! I wouldn’t dare deceive you!]

"But if you won’t let me bow, and everyone else kneels while I’m the only one standing, don’t you think that’s ridiculous?"

To those listening, her concern seemed misplaced. Was that really the issue here?

[That’s easily solved. I’ll cast an illusion over you—to everyone else, it will look like you’re kneeling.]

The child’s voice was cheerful, as though creating such an illusion was effortless.

"Are you sure I can’t bow? I really wanted to try!"

At her words, everyone’s hearts leapt into their throats.

A few impulsive souls nearly cried out in protest, stopping only when the Emperor silenced them with a look.