Liu Zhu and Liu Yun dropped to their knees with a heavy thud, the sound of their knees striking the blue bricks ringing sharply in the silent night. Both bowed low, their voices trembling.
“Please forgive us, Your Grace!”
Steward Wu arrived swiftly. Since it was not proper to enter the inner quarters, he knelt straight in the courtyard.
“Your servant greets Your Grace.”
“Uncle Wu, rise and speak.” Steward Wu was one of the old retainers left by Jiang Xingzhou’s birth mother, loyal and dependable through the years, and he deserved his due respect. Jiang Xingzhou’s tone revealed neither anger nor pleasure as he asked, “What is the matter with those two maids?”
Steward Wu stood up as instructed, though he kept his back bent respectfully.
“It is my failing to judge character poorly and choose unwisely. I have already selected several new girls who are bright and well-behaved; they will arrive tomorrow morning. Miss may inspect them herself and choose those she finds suitable to serve her.”
At these words, Liu Zhu and Liu Yun turned deathly pale, cold sweat pouring down their faces. If they were sent back to the estate’s outer grounds, they would likely never have a chance for advancement for the rest of their lives.
“This servant knows her mistake! Please show mercy, Your Grace!” Liu Zhu panicked and began kowtowing repeatedly, her forehead soon turning red. “From now on, I will serve Miss with all my heart and strength and will never be remiss in my duties again! Please forgive me, Your Grace!”
“Go kowtow outside,” Jiang Xingzhou said in a quiet voice that still carried the bite of frost, cutting off her pleas. “Do not dirty her floors.”
Liu Zhu froze, lifting her head in confusion and helplessness, unsure what to do where she knelt.
Liu Yun, however, slammed her forehead hard against the ground. When she raised her face again, her expression was firm and resolute.
“This servant is slow-witted and failed to understand Steward Wu’s instructions earlier. I beg Your Grace and Miss to grant me one more chance. From this day onward, I belong to Miss in life and in death; I shall obey her every command and guard her safety with my life.”
Only then did Liu Zhu understand what Steward Wu had meant when he told them they now belonged to Miss Feng Yi. She quickly followed suit.
“Please grant this servant another chance, Miss.”
Feng Yi sighed softly and set down her brush on the green jade brush rest. She stood, put on a light outer robe, and walked slowly out. Candlelight flickered behind her, stretching her shadow into a long, graceful silhouette.
She had no intention of wasting effort trying to win over Jiang Xingzhou’s people. They had been raised and trained for years to be unwaveringly loyal only to him; no amount of kindness from her would ever change that. The fastest way to gain their true respect was to make it clear exactly where she stood in Jiang Xingzhou’s heart.
“Lingyuan.” Her voice was soft and gentle.
Jiang Xingzhou turned around to see her—freshly washed and dressed, her long hair loosely tied back with a silk ribbon. She wore a pale apricot silk night gown that fell to her ankles, and even with the outer robe draped over her shoulders, her natural grace and beauty shone through.
A dark, hungry glint flashed briefly in his eyes, though it vanished just as quickly. He moved stiffly to take off his own outer robe and wrap it around her, then naturally took her hand, a faint smile on his lips.
“Why have you come out?”
Just to see what was going on, she thought, rolling her eyes inward. She was not revealing anything improper—why did he have to bundle her up like this? It was warm enough as it was.
“What is all this?” she asked, feigning ignorance. “Why are Liu Zhu and Liu Yun on their knees?”
“This servant has done wrong and deserves punishment,” Liu Yun spoke up first. “Please do not send me away, Miss.”
She crawled a few steps forward on her knees and grasped the hem of Feng Yi’s robe.
“Please do not cast me out, Miss.”
“I heard what you said just now,” Feng Yi said softly, letting her gaze drift slowly between the two. “From now on, you will obey only my orders?”
“Yes, Miss,” they answered in unison, holding their breath and waiting.
“Then…” Feng Yi posed the question that would test their true loyalty. “If my orders conflict with those of your master, what will you do?”
Liu Zhu hesitated, glancing between Liu Yun and Steward Wu, unsure how to answer.
Liu Yun, however, replied without a moment’s pause.
“I belong to Miss, so Miss’s wishes come first.”
Feng Yi’s smile deepened.
Liu Yun had spoken very little all day, watching silently while Liu Zhu tested the waters, and had carried out every instruction given to her perfectly. Now she had shifted her stance decisively. Intelligent, quick to read the situation, and skilled in combat—she was far too capable to waste, but exactly the kind of sharp tool Feng Yi needed at her side.
Liu Zhu, on the other hand, was skilled in many crafts, yet proud and crafty in her own way. Sometimes it was better to have someone less clever but obedient than someone like her, who was bound to cause trouble sooner or later.
Feng Yi stepped forward and helped both maids to their feet, smiling lightly.
“I was only teasing you. Stand up. I shall never give orders that would conflict with those of the Marquis.”
She turned to Jiang Xingzhou, her tone soft and calm.
“It is very late. We should rest now.”
She had no desire to play the villain.
“Mmm,” Jiang Xingzhou murmured in agreement, then gave Steward Wu a sharp look before following her back into the main chamber.
The moment the door was closed, he pulled her into his arms and leaned down to breathe in the sweet fragrance of her hair.
“Why did you not tell me when someone treated you poorly?”
“I knew you would take care of it,” Feng Yi replied, patting his back gently as if calming a large, rambunctious hound.
“Ah—” Jiang Xingzhou drew in a sharp breath through his teeth, his body stiffening almost imperceptibly.
“What is it with your back?” Feng Yi asked immediately, concerned.
“Nothing.”
“Let me see—what is really going on?” Feng Yi pushed him away slightly and reached for the leather belt around his waist, only to notice he had changed out of the formal robes he had worn to the palace. “Take off your clothes.”
“Yi Yi, the insides of your thighs are still healing from the chafing,” Jiang Xingzhou said, placing his hand over hers, already returning to his teasing tone. “No need to be so eager.”
“Lecher,” Feng Yi pulled her hand away and lightly swatted his arm. “If you keep stopping me, you can sleep outside tonight.”
Jiang Xingzhou raised both hands in surrender and let her undo his belt and pull his tunic down. His eyes looked down at her tenderly, a satisfied smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
He had long grown accustomed to such wounds, yet he could never resist craving her care and concern.
As his tunic slid down to his waist, Feng Yi caught her breath sharply. Jiang Xingzhou’s back was crisscrossed with overlapping whip marks—some deep enough to ooze fresh blood, others swollen and red with inflammation.
“Who did this to you?” Feng Yi bit out, her fingers hovering trembling inches above the injuries.
“Who else?” Jiang Xingzhou replied in a casual tone, as if speaking of someone else’s troubles. “The old man in the main courtyard, of course.”
“Is he mad? What right does he have to beat you like this?”
“Perhaps… simply because he is my father.”
Jiang Shaoguang hated his son. More precisely, he had hated Jiang Xingzhou from the day he was born, a reminder of his late wife Cui Baozhu. The man who had once risen to power thanks to his wife’s influential family had revealed his true nature once the Cui clan fell from grace, and he poured all his resentment toward his dead spouse onto their only child.
He claimed to be teaching and disciplining his son, yet what he did was nothing less than abuse. Insults and degradation were daily occurrences.
Jiang Xingzhou’s hardened, unyielding nature had been forged entirely within this twisted father-son relationship.
Jiang Shaoguang would have looked for any excuse to hurt him even on ordinary days—let alone this time, when Jiang Xingzhou had indeed returned to the capital later than expected. Though the Emperor Yongkang was not openly displeased, he had shown quiet disapproval. Even a humble report and a few well-chosen words would have smoothed everything over, but Jiang Shaoguang had insisted on punishing his son severely in the name of “maintaining public justice,” all to appease the Emperor’s anger.
He had struck with cruel force—twelve lashes, each one biting deep into flesh.
Feng Yi could hardly imagine how he had managed to endure such agony just moments ago, settling matters in the household and even teasing her as if nothing were wrong.
When Jiang Xingzhou did not hear her speak for a long while, he turned around and saw her eyes glistening with tears. Panicked, he pulled her back into his arms.
“It is nothing, only minor wounds. I am used to it.”
Used to it—how many times must he have been beaten or injured to speak those words so lightly?
Feng Yi’s chest felt tight and heavy. She closed her eyes abruptly. Logically, she should be glad to see him suffer, yet why did her eyes feel so hot and stinging? She told herself firmly she did not truly feel sorry for him—she was only pretending to care. Yes, that was it.
“Are you an idiot? Why did you have to stop and fetch me? If you had traveled alone, you would have arrived two days earlier and avoided all this pain.”
Without her slowing him down, he could have ridden day and night. Arriving before the Crown Prince regained consciousness, looking weary and travel-worn, no one would have found fault with his actions.
“Do not think foolish thoughts—it has nothing to do with you. That old bastard was just looking for an excuse to vent his anger,” Jiang Xingzhou said gently, trying to comfort her. “Besides, arriving late would have been far easier to bear than arriving without seeing you at all—that would have truly killed me.”
He could not bathe now; water touching open wounds would only cause infection and more pain. Feng Yi called for warm water to be brought over and thought of sending for his personal attendant Jiang Ji to help wash him. But Jiang Xingzhou refused.
“Yi Yi, this is your private chamber. How could I let another man enter here?”
“Then go to the front courtyard,” she replied.
“I am utterly exhausted today,” he mumbled, resting his chin on her shoulder and rubbing his face against her neck, his voice thick and hoarse with fatigue.
“How did you manage to clean yourself before when you were injured?”
In the past? He would just plunge straight into cold water and let the pain go numb until he could bear it no longer. He decided not to tell her that—it would only upset her more.
He smiled lightly and brushed it off.
“I just wiped myself down quickly as best I could.”
“Then do it yourself,” Feng Yi said, rolling her eyes.
“Yi Yi, it hurts too much to reach…” he drawled, his voice soft and pleading.
Seeing him act like a wounded, clingy hound, her heart finally softened just a little. She wrung out a warm towel, carefully avoiding his injuries, and began wiping his skin with gentle, light strokes.
“Yi Yi, my front also needs to be washed,” Jiang Xingzhou murmured, his eyes fixed intently on her, wearing a playful, mischievous grin.
“If you say another word, you can finish it yourself,” Feng Yi warned, her ears turning pink as she shot him a sharp glare.
“I will keep quiet,” Jiang Xingzhou promised, pressing his lips together while his eyes shone with deep, affectionate amusement.
Even so, Feng Yi continued to tend to him. The part he had referred to—bold and shameless like its owner—stood proudly to greet her attention.
Once he was clean and dry, Jiang Xingzhou lay face down on the bed to let Feng Yi apply healing ointment. The smile on his face never once faded. She moved her fingers so carefully, as if afraid to cause him the slightest discomfort, and after every stroke she would instinctively blow lightly over the wound to soothe the ache.
Strangely enough, the pain truly did seem to fade. He felt that same warm, comforting feeling return—the feeling he had not known since the day he burned down the village school as a boy.
Would it be worth getting injured a little more often to feel this way again? A foolish thought flickered briefly through his mind.
“Yi Yi,” he spoke up suddenly, his tone turning serious. “With the Crown Prince so gravely wounded and the court’s political situation so delicate, our wedding… will have to be postponed by a month.”
Originally, his plan had been that upon returning to the capital, he would ask He Yun to act as Feng Yi’s representative from her family. He would formally send a marriage proposal, complete all the required rituals within thirty days, and make her his wife with great ceremony and fanfare. But given the current circumstances, holding a joyful wedding was completely inappropriate.
Feng Yi’s fingers paused mid-motion. Did he truly intend to marry her? Then she laughed inwardly at herself—how could that possibly be true?
“It does not matter,” she heard herself say, her voice calm and steady.
“What were you writing in the study just now?” he asked softly, changing the subject. “A new storybook?”
“Not exactly. It was a business plan,” Feng Yi did not hide the truth from him—she would need his support and connections to bring it to life anyway.
“A business plan?”
“I want to open a publishing house.” At first, she had only thought of writing books herself. But after thinking it through carefully, she decided she wanted to leave a more lasting mark on this world and set out to do something far bigger.
She explained her vision in detail—curating and publishing high-quality works, releasing a monthly literary journal, compiling collections of past imperial examination questions and model essays, and eventually launching a newspaper that would report on current events and politics. Her reasoning was clear, her ideas ambitious and far-reaching.
Jiang Xingzhou listened, his eyes growing brighter and brighter with interest. His Yi Yi was truly brilliant. This plan was not only feasible but, if executed well, could quietly shape the views of scholars and gentry across the country—and even allow them to influence the direction of public opinion.
Yet behind his excitement, darker thoughts began to take root.
Women with such talent and education, capable of managing and editing such a large undertaking, were rare indeed. To run this enterprise, she would have to hire men. Men who would work alongside her every day, speaking and laughing freely, seeing firsthand her intelligence, her insight, and the bright, lively charm she sometimes revealed.
The thought made his chest burn with jealousy.
He could not bear it. He did not want others to see her beauty and talent, did not want her to smile and speak kindly to other men, did not want the center of her life to shift to something that did not involve him.
If she did this, he would go mad with suspicion and insecurity.
“Yi Yi,” he said quietly, “could you please give up this idea?”
Her hand applying the ointment stopped instantly. He tried to explain clumsily, attempting to mask the possessive, controlling thoughts driving him.
“I only do not want you to tire yourself out. Stay home and write your stories if you wish. If you feel bored, go visit He Yun or Yueming, buy new jewelry, have new clothes made… would that not be better?”
“And if I still wish to open it?” Feng Yi asked softly, her voice firm and stubborn.
“Yi Yi, be reasonable and do as I say,” he replied gently yet without yielding an inch.
Feng Yi suddenly let out a low, cold laugh, filled with biting sarcasm. She shook her head—how could she have almost believed again his empty promise of granting her freedom and happiness?
She finished applying the ointment roughly and, without warning, pressed down hard right onto one of the swollen, angry whip marks.
“Ah—hurts…” Jiang Xingzhou groaned into the pillow, his forehead pressed hard against the bedding.
His Yi Yi was truly angry now. He decided to play the wounded victim to soften her heart.
Serves him right.