The carriage moved steadily, the cabin quiet, when Song Langyu suddenly let out a cold laugh. Wen Jiao looked up and saw half of the man's face hidden in shadow, a faint chill glinting in his eyes.
"So what if we've made enemies?" His voice was cold and clear. "The realm ultimately belongs to His Majesty."
Song Langyu had always presented himself with a modest and courteous demeanor. Wen Jiao had never seen him so sharp-edged, and her heart stirred with surprise, though she quickly understood.
Born into a family of power and wealth, and famous from a young age—how could such a man lack sharpness and pride? Humility was merely his disguise; aloof arrogance was his true nature.
Wen Jiao was sent back to the Glass Pavilion. She sat before her vanity, gazing at herself in the mirror.
Her fair skin was stained with splotches of crimson blood—the blood of Princess Yongjia's maidservant.
She rubbed hard, but the stains would not come off; instead, they smeared into streaks of glaring red marks.
Today had truly been too perilous. Had it not been for Song Langyu, she would likely have met the same fate as that maidservant.
She should have been more cautious…
No, she should have been even more ruthless!
Her eyes were like stars, fixed unblinkingly on her reflection in the mirror.
She should have drowned Yongjia, then insisted that the princess had slipped and fallen on her own, and she herself could have choked on water and taken to a sickbed—anything would have been better than the current situation.
Prince Ning would not let her go. If she wanted to survive, she had to find herself a patron.
Someone who did not fear Prince Ning's power and would protect her.
Song Langyu.
His status was noble enough, his abilities outstanding enough, he did not fear offending Prince Ning, and he still bore some guilt toward her—truly the most perfect choice.
A man born as heaven's favored son, one who looked down upon the masses with arrogance, one who approached the virtue of a sage—what more could he possibly want?
Wen Jiao could not guess.
But Wen Jiao knew what he did not want—the clinging infatuation of a naive young girl.
No matter what means she used, as long as she could stir Song Langyu's emotions, whether anger or irritation, it would be the opportunity to pry open his gentleman's mask.
With her mind made up, Wen Jiao hesitated no longer.
After bathing, she went to the Calamus Courtyard.
Yingliu said Song Langyu was taking his afternoon rest, but Wen Jiao paid no heed, stumbling and rushing straight into his bedchamber.
Yingliu rushed in to pull her out: "Miss Wen, the young heir is resting. It's truly improper for you to barge in…"
The bed curtain was pushed aside by a slender hand. Song Langyu sat up and said to Yingliu, "You may go."
Yingliu shot Wen Jiao a resentful glare before reluctantly going to guard the door.
Song Langyu wore a set of white silk undergarments, his figure tall and straight. He first put on his shoes, then stood to don his outer robe, asking as he dressed, "What is so urgent?"
Though the two shared a distant kinship, they were still young man and woman. Song Langyu ought not to have appeared before her in disarray, but mindful of the fright she had suffered today, he could not bear to turn her out, and so overstepped slightly. His feelings toward Wen Jiao were only those of a brother for a sister, and his heart was naturally open and aboveboard.
"Elder cousin…" Wen Jiao's voice was thin and pitiful.
Song Langyu looked over and saw her face pale as paper, her expression panicked. His heart stirred, and he reached out to help her sit, but Wen Jiao threw herself at him, clinging tightly to his waist. Her whole body trembled as she sobbed, "I'm afraid. I've never seen anyone killed before. Prince Ning will never let me go! And Princess Yongjia—she wants me dead too!"
Song Langyu hesitated for a moment, but in the end did not push her away. He gently placed his hand on her shoulder and soothed, "If you're afraid, how about I have Xue Tang come protect you?"
Wen Jiao shook her head. "Sister Xue Tang cannot protect me for the rest of my life. Even if Prince Ning finds no opportunity to strike now, once I marry out in the future, I fear I won't survive…"
Prince Ning acted tyrannically and arrogantly, and the Emperor was already displeased with him. The gold mine case recently assigned to Song Langyu for investigation had Prince Ning implicated in it. Once the case was fully investigated, Prince Ning would hardly be able to protect himself.
But these words could not be said to Wen Jiao.
"Then what does Cousin intend to do?"
The young woman raised her head, her cheeks flushed crimson, her eyes brimming with spring affection. She bit her lip hesitantly and said, "Why not have Cousin take me as…"
Song Langyu seemed to sense something and immediately pushed Wen Jiao away, speaking sternly, "Cousin, please show some propriety!"
Wen Jiao stepped back two paces, her eyes brimming with tears as she looked at him. Her lips trembled, as if she still had more to say.
Song Langyu's gaze carried disgust, and his voice no longer held its previous gentleness. "Cousin Wen should not linger in my bedchamber. Please leave."
Wen Jiao, overcome with shame and indignation, covered her face and ran out.
Previously, Wen Jiao had already confessed her feelings to him—she had a history of this.
Today's incident had been dangerous, and she had barely managed to preserve her life. For an ordinary person, there would be no room for other thoughts. Yet she used this as an excuse, using fear as a pretext to come to the Changpu Courtyard and pester him. Song Langyu could already guess what filthy intentions she harbored.
It wasn't that Song Langyu wanted to think ill of her—it was simply that her behavior was utterly improper in every way.
She was an orphan who had found her way to the Duke Zhenguo's mansion. Seeing all this wealth and splendor before her, she had likely developed greedy and delusional thoughts.
Even her earlier act of taking the whip for Song Xiangyu was probably not out of chivalrous righteousness, but rather to hold a favor over them and seek repayment.
At this thought, the few traces of goodwill Song Langyu had toward Wen Jiao instantly dissipated. He now felt she was like a rat in a gutter—despicable and vile.
Song Langyu did not discipline the maids and servants of Changpu Courtyard, and within a single day, the entire household knew that Wen Jiao had run out of Song Langyu's bedchamber crying.
But the reason was known to no one.
Song Langyu wanted Wen Jiao to leave the Duke Zhenguo's mansion, but driving her out at this moment would be no different from killing her. He could only hope she would still have some regard for her own dignity and restrain herself.
When Madam Wu returned to the mansion and heard this news, she first went to see Wen Jiao, but Wen Jiao only covered her face and wept, refusing to say anything.
Madam Wu had no choice but to summon Song Langyu to her courtyard and said, "Today's matter was not Jiao Jiao's fault. Why did you reprimand her?"
Song Langyu dismissed all the maids from the hall before speaking with a cold expression, "It was not because of Princess Yongjia's fall into the water that I reprimanded her in that moment. It was because her intentions were improper."
Though Madam Wu was forthright in temperament, she was no fool. Knowing that Wen Jiao had come out of Song Langyu's bedchamber, she had some inkling of what might have happened. She asked hesitantly, "Did Jiao Jiao do something inappropriate?"
"Mother took her in out of pity for her having no one to rely on, but she is by no means the innocent and kind girl she appears to be. Once this storm passes, we should send her out of the mansion."
Madam Wu naturally trusted Song Langyu's character and knew he would never slander Wen Jiao without cause.
As this involved her son's reputation and future, Madam Wu was silent for a moment before saying, "I will handle Wen Jiao's matter. You may go."
After Song Langyu left, Madam Wu had someone summon Wen Jiao. With all doors and windows closed, only the two of them remained inside.
"Back then, when you came to our door with that token, I took you in out of regard for my friendship with your mother. It was an act of kindness, but who would have thought you harbored such improper intentions." Madam Wu's expression darkened. "He Gui is the heir of the Duke's household; he will inherit the title in the future. His wife must be of noble birth and well-versed in propriety. I already have someone in mind. Do not entertain vain hopes."
Wen Jiao's shoulders trembled slightly. She slowly knelt on the ground, looking up at Madam Wu with a pleading gaze. "Auntie, I don't presume to be Cousin's lawful wife. As long as I can stay by his side, I… I don't need any title!"
Madam Wu recalled how Song Langyu had offended Prince Ning today on Wen Jiao's account, and resentment welled up in her heart—both at Wen Jiao for stirring up trouble and at the tangled emotions of the day. Her words turned ruthless: "The Duke's household cannot accept a concubine of dubious origins. Do not even think of that path."
Wen Jiao and Madam Wu were not even distant relatives; it was only because Wen Jiao's mother and Madam Wu had once been close friends that Madam Wu had taken her in out of regard for that old bond.
Now that Wen Jiao had set her sights on Song Langyu, Madam Wu naturally would not permit it.
"After what happened today, you can forget about the Yang family marriage. Once the dust settles, I'll find you a well-off household and prepare a dowry for you. That will be my way of honoring your mother."
Wen Jiao only covered her face and wept, refusing to agree. Madam Wu's anger flared—furious at herself for misjudging the girl, and at Wen Jiao for her scheming nature. She slammed her hand on the table. "It's settled then. Stay here and think it over properly!"
The door slammed shut, cutting off the servants' prying gazes.
Madam Wu had treated Wen Jiao well enough, but Wen Jiao had always known that Madam Wu's kindness was a gift bestowed when the benefactor was pleased—if the benefactor grew displeased, it could be withdrawn at any moment, and she could be cast aside at any time.
When Prince Ning had flown into a rage today, Madam Wu had tried to intervene, but she would never truly clash with Prince Ning over Wen Jiao.
Wen Jiao wanted a stronger bond—one so secure it could not be casually discarded.
No one told Wen Jiao to rise, so she remained kneeling.
As dawn approached, a maidservant entered and said Madam Wu had ordered her to return to her quarters and reflect on her actions behind closed doors.
Her knees, swollen from kneeling all night, could not straighten. She rose with difficulty and shuffled slowly toward the courtyard gate, only to encounter Song Langyu arriving to pay his respects to Madam Wu.
Wen Jiao lowered her head, her eyes red. She meant to offer a proper salute, but her knees gave way and she collapsed to the ground.
Song Langyu strode past without so much as a glance in her direction.
Wen Jiao's lips twisted into a faint smile—
Song Langyu had abandoned his gentlemanly conduct and ignored her weakness and helplessness. He truly despised her.
Wen Jiao returned to the Glazed Pavilion, rested, then went to the kitchen to make pastries—the same ones she always made. One portion was sent to Madam Wu, and another to the Calamus Courtyard.
Nanny Zhou took the food box and let out a sigh, but said nothing.
Yingliu, however, refused to take the box, sneering coldly, "I'm afraid Miss Wen's pastries might be laced with something unclean. This servant wouldn't dare accept them!"
Yingliu was not unattractive, and she harbored secret feelings for Song Langyu, always hoping to one day become his chamber woman.
Yesterday, when Wen Jiao had clung to Song Langyu, Yingliu had been outside the door. She hated Wen Jiao for her shamelessness, and resented her for shattering her own dreams—if Song Langyu wouldn't have Wen Jiao, who was far more beautiful than Yingliu could ever be, how could she ever catch his eye?
Wen Jiao had not expected any kindness. She set the food box on the stone table in the courtyard and said softly, "There's nothing unclean in it."
"What does the Young Master lack? Who would want your filthy things!" Yingliu tossed the food box back at Wen Jiao's feet, and the delicate pastries inside rolled out, scattering across the ground.
Wen Jiao looked at Yingliu with a hurt expression, her voice choked with tears: "I put so much effort into making these. Why must you treat me this way, sister…"
Yingliu was about to retort with more sarcasm, but her gaze landed on someone behind Wen Jiao, and she immediately fell silent with a tense expression.
Wen Jiao guessed that Song Langyu had returned, but she did not turn around. She simply picked up the pastries one by one, carefully brushing off the dirt that clung to them, while tears splashed onto the ground with soft patter.