Wen Zhuo’s expression remained blank, his gaze shifting from cold indifference to outright disdain.
He had seen no shortage of people climbing the social ladder, fawning over the powerful, but this was the first time he had encountered someone so brazenly attempting to seduce him.
A slender figure, neither servile nor arrogant, proud and unyielding as frost on snow, slowly rose before his eyes.
She was hidden deep in his memory, a presence unmatched anywhere in this world, pure and untainted.
Turning his thoughts back to the affected, vulgar woman before him, Wen Zhuo sneered and spoke a single word: “Filthy.”
Caught off guard, Shang Yao, shaken by the contempt in his gaze, lowered her head and lightly toyed with the ends of her hair, feeling rather ill at ease.
“This concubine sweeps her room every day, it’s spotless. How could it be filthy?”
The corner of Wen Zhuo’s mouth curled into a scornful, cold smile, and he said without mercy: “This prince means that you are filthy.”
“……”
Shang Yao bit down hard on her lower lip, her face visibly paling.
Despite such blunt humiliation, she kept telling herself to hold steady, men always yielded to softness, never to hardness. She must not let herself fall apart now.
Suppressing her earlier shock and anger, she reached her slender hands directly toward Wen Zhuo.
“Whether I’m filthy or not, Your Highness will only know by taking a closer look.”
Hearing her speak such shameless words without so much as a blush, darkness gathered in the depths of Wen Zhuo’s eyes, as though he might devour her whole in the very next instant.
“Shua—”
A blade, flashing with cold light, sliced through the air around them, suddenly crossing right before Shang Yao’s eyes, letting out a piercing whine.
She let out a startled cry and quickly pulled her hand back.
Had the blade come down even a moment later, her hand would have been severed clean off.
“Miss, do not come any closer!”
Behind them, Yun Chuan had drawn his blade, Xuepo, stepping forward to stand firmly in front of Wen Zhuo, warning her coldly.
“You… you insolent guard… how dare you!”
Shang Yao, still shaken, stared with wide eyes.
A thin red line had appeared on the back of her hand, crimson blood already seeping from the wound, slowly dripping down along her fingertips.
Wen Zhuo looked down at her with utter disgust, as though she were the filthiest, most repulsive thing imaginable.
“Were it not forbidden to kill a hostage, your head would have already fallen the moment you blocked my path. Do you think this prince wants you alive right now?”
Shang Yao clutched at her wound, still bleeding freely, the fortress within her heart crumbling entirely, and she could not stop herself from trembling.
Just from the sinister look in Wen Zhuo’s eyes alone, she was certain he had not been speaking idle words, he truly would kill her.
Shang Yao did not even have the strength left to make a scene, and could only watch helplessly as Wen Zhuo walked away from Chonghua Hall.
Why was it that no matter how much she flattered these princes, none of them ever showed her favor?
What a pity, as a princess in her own right, she had served the Prince of Wu diligently and repeatedly without any title or status, only to gain nothing from it at all.
Earlier, she had made such a spectacle of it, known to everyone, and now had become the laughingstock of them all.
She had set her sights on Wen Zhuo instead, only to come away empty-handed and nearly lose her life in the process.
“Waaah—”
Shang Yao lifted her leg and kicked hard at a sturdy tree trunk nearby, gritting her teeth, tears streaming down like rain.
These past few days had been an agony of suspense for Fu Ying.
Great Yong made sure the hostage women from the Northern Di were fed and housed adequately, but showed them no particular kindness beyond that.
The night Wen Zhuo had come to Chonghua Hall, the head matron had brought over a quick, capable palace maid named Linglan, who attended to Fu Ying personally, as though serving some minor mistress within the palace.
Her knee was injured, so Linglan applied medicine and massaged it for her,
She needed her clothes changed, so Linglan washed and dried them for her,
She preferred quiet, so Linglan chased away any women who came to gawk.
Seeing Fu Ying receive such preferential treatment, the other women could only watch enviously, gossiping and grumbling with jealousy.
Fu Ying herself felt uneasy about it too. Whenever she sat in the hall reading, she always had the sense that someone was secretly watching her.
But whenever she looked up, there was no one outside at all.
She sighed, chiding herself for being paranoid, then forced herself to steady her mind, focusing her attention, immersing herself more deeply in her reading.
On the twenty-fifth of the eighth month, night had fallen deep.
The head matron knocked on the door of the western side hall, followed by several eunuchs carrying wooden buckets, together bearing a wooden bathing tub between them.
Fu Ying looked closely and could not help but be startled.
What they carried was not hot water, but heated milk.
Seeing such an elaborate arrangement, the maid Linglan asked, puzzled: “Matron, what is this for?”
The head matron answered: “For the young lady’s bath.”
Fu Ying rose at once, hurriedly declining: “Matron, milk is far too extravagant, plain water will do fine for my bath.”
They paid her words no attention at all, continuing their work with heads bowed.
Bucket after bucket of milk was poured into the bathtub, and soon the whole side hall was filled with a rich, milky fragrance.
Once the eunuchs had withdrawn, the head matron explained: “Miss Fu Ying, today marks only half a month before the tenth of the ninth month. Bathing in milk for ten days or more will leave the skin smooth and supple, fine as jade, this is a nourishing method commonly used by the palace’s own masters.”
Without waiting for Fu Ying to respond, she ordered Linglan: “Linglan, attend to the young lady’s changing and bathing.”
“This servant obeys.”
Linglan half-crouched and began undoing Fu Ying’s sash, slipping her robe off.
“Matron, I can manage on my own… I’m not used to having someone attend me while bathing.”
Seeing Fu Ying’s discomfort, the head matron explained patiently: “Miss is soon to enter the Prince’s household. You’ll need to get used to it sooner or later.”
Since Wen Zhuo had previously ordered that she be well attended to, the head matron remained in the hall throughout the bath, keeping a watchful eye on Linglan the entire time.
Before long, Fu Ying had been stripped of all her clothing.
Her frame was slender, her legs long and shapely, her milk-white skin as fine as delicate jade porcelain, her figure gracefully curved, swaying like a tender willow branch in the spring breeze.
The head matron and Linglan studied her, and even being women themselves, found their eyes unable to look away, somewhat astonished.
Fu Ying was not as frail as she appeared from the outside.
Without her clothing to hide it, the graceful curves of her body were fully revealed, her waist and limbs slender and delicate, yet fully curved in all the right places.
The head matron, now past fifty, had seen countless beautiful consorts and concubines in her time, yet Fu Ying’s outstanding face and figure could still rise to the very top among a sea of beauties.
Departing from her usual sharp-tongued manner, she smiled and teased: “Miss has such immortal beauty, skin fine as congealed cream, you’ll surely win His Highness’s favor.”
Fu Ying had never before exposed her body in front of a stranger, and combined with the matron’s overly frank words, the tips of her ears slowly turned bright red.
“Come along now, miss.”
Linglan held Fu Ying’s arm, helping her step into the bathtub.
Fu Ying lowered her head and crouched down, immersing her whole body into the tub full of milk, and the intense wave of embarrassment from before gradually began to fade.
Her skin was so pale it seemed to blend entirely into the milk itself.
Linglan took a cloth and gently wiped Fu Ying’s shoulders and back.
Seeing how uneasy Fu Ying had seemed earlier, the head matron asked: “Has the young lady never lain with a man before?”
Blushing, Fu Ying shook her head.
The head matron seemed thoughtful. “Tomorrow, this servant will instruct the young lady on the proper etiquette for attending His Highness in bed.”
Hearing that she intended to teach her matters of the bedchamber, Fu Ying flushed red with embarrassment and raised her voice: “There’s no need to trouble yourself, matron!”
Startled by her sudden outburst, the head matron looked at her in disbelief.
“How could that be? Once the young lady marries into the Prince’s household, if you fail to serve His Highness properly, even this servant would be implicated. Besides, this servant can also teach the young lady certain techniques to please a man, I guarantee His Highness will become quite attached to you.”
The head matron was worrying far too much……
She and Wen Zhuo had come together purely out of mutual benefit, and would part ways once that benefit was exhausted. Marrying her into his household was merely a convenient cover for the two of them to use one another.
Given their earlier agreement, and Wen Zhuo’s icy, aloof temperament, he would never ask her to attend him in bed.
“Oh, that reminds me——”
The head matron recalled something important. “This midday, the Prince of Wei took a secondary consort into his household.”
“What?!”
Linglan could not help but exclaim aloud, then realizing it was rather improper to react so loudly in front of Fu Ying, apologized repeatedly.
Fu Ying shook her head gently, telling her not to worry about it.
She said nothing, lowering her lashes, idly stirring the white, milky water with her fingers.
Unable to suppress her curiosity, Linglan asked carefully: “May I ask, matron, whose young lady has His Highness married?”
Who could this person possibly be, that the Prince of Wei would take her into his household even before marrying such an exceedingly beautiful young lady as Fu Ying?
“Such a chatterbox.”
The head matron shot Linglan a sharp glare, then turned back toward Fu Ying, still bathing, with a smile.
“As far as this servant knows, it’s the Duke of Heng’s daughter, Xiao Yunchang, matched by the Empress Dowager’s own hand.”
Seemingly afraid this might upset Fu Ying, she added: “But His Highness did not grant Miss Xiao the title of princess consort, and the Empress Dowager consented to that as well.”
“Mm……”
Fu Ying answered softly, seeming to have little interest in the matter of Wen Zhuo at all.
The milk was still warm, and rising steam curled around her fair, delicate cheeks, tinted with a faint peach-pink blush, radiant and lovely.
The matron cautioned her: “Miss, forgive this servant for speaking out of turn, but though Miss Xiao comes from a distinguished family, she cannot compare to you, who has been personally taken in by His Highness. Once you enter the household, miss will still have every chance to stand as her equal.”
In fact, Fu Ying had never once cared whether she could win any particular standing or favor in the Prince of Wei’s household.
As a mere hostage, simply surviving safely in this vast city of Chang’an was already the very most she could hope to achieve.
Still, unwilling to let the head matron’s good intentions go unacknowledged, she nodded and thanked her: “Thank you for your guidance, matron.”
A rare, tender smile spread across the head matron’s somewhat aged face.
Time slipped by quietly, day after day, leaving no trace, like flowing water.
The tenth of the ninth month arrived at last, amid a tangle of anticipation and dread among the women.
Once Shang Yao, Shang Mei, and the others had finished washing and dressing, palace attendants led them to the long street out front, where servants sent by their respective official households came to collect them and bring them to their new destinations.
Thinking of how she had been given in marriage to a mere seventh-rank court gentleman, Shang Yao’s heart churned with mixed emotions, tears welling in her eyes.
Shang Mei had already resigned herself to fate, entirely indifferent to the news that she had been named one of the emperor’s Consorts of Selection.
“Try to look on the bright side, A Yao. The Great Yong emperor is past sixty, older even than my own father, who’s to say he isn’t already impotent? I might just end up a widow in name only, in the very bloom of my youth.”
Hearing Shang Mei’s self-mockery did nothing to ease Shang Yao’s mood in the slightest.
She could not help but turn to look toward the western side hall.
Before the western side hall, armed warriors stood in imposing formation, servants held strings of firecrackers with joyous excitement, suona horns played, gongs and drums rang out in celebration, and a magnificent four-bearer palanquin, heavy and exquisitely adorned, gleamed in red and gold splendor.
Every detail proclaimed just how boundlessly glorious it was to marry into the household of the Prince of Wei.
Wiping away her tears, Shang Yao said to Shang Mei between sobs: “You’re right. I suppose everyone has their own fate.”