The next morning, the sudden rain had just ceased, with droplets still falling from the eaves.
Song Yao had just risen, and Ru Shuang was helping her change clothes when she noticed the bite marks on her mistress’s shoulders. Her brows furrowed tightly. “Mistress, this servant will avenge you!”
Song Yao: “Hmm?” After realizing what Ru Shuang meant, she couldn’t help but laugh. “Avenge what? This is just a playful gesture between us as husband and wife.”
Ru Shuang wore a stern expression, filled with righteous indignation, as if with Song Yao’s permission, she would draw her sword in the next second and charge off to fight Nangong Yi to the death.
“But even after a night, these marks haven’t faded. It shows how fiercely the Crown Prince bit you. Mistress, this isn’t playful—this is him bullying and hurting you!”
Song Yao was momentarily stunned, then burst into laughter, tears nearly welling up in her eyes. She pinched the young maid’s cold cheek and spoke earnestly:
“Ru Shuang, have you considered the possibility that His Highness bit me just a while ago?”
There was no court session today, and Nangong Yi had only just left. If nothing unexpected happened, he was likely at the training grounds now.
This imperial noble was extremely disciplined, which resulted in a physique that was, well, quite pleasing to the eye.
“Oh.” Realizing her misunderstanding, Ru Shuang let out a dazed “oh” and quietly continued helping her mistress dress.
As for biting as a form of playfulness, Ru Shuang didn’t understand it, but she respected it. As long as her mistress wasn’t wronged and was happy, that was all that mattered.
“By the way, Mistress, Qian Mian returned earlier and brought back some news. Additionally, Furen asked her to relay a message and deliver something to you.”
Song Yao covered her mouth with her hand and let out a bored yawn. “What is it? Bring it here for me to see.”
Song Mother had sent Qian Mian—Qian Mian was the brand-new Granny Cai from the other day. True to her name, she had a thousand faces.
A master of disguise, she was a talent in Song Yao’s assassin organization.
What Song Mother had Qian Mian bring was a medicine formula—a dubious prescription claiming to ensure a woman would give birth to sons and not daughters.
The message she relayed was nothing more than the usual unpleasant remarks, followed by the line, “This is all for your own good, don’t be ungrateful.” It ended with the phrase Song Yao had heard so often her ears were calloused: “You’re just here to collect a debt.”
Song Yao sneered repeatedly and casually handed the medicine formula to the pink-clad maid serving nearby.
“Take it and burn it. Also, go to the flower garden, break off a few branches of the red peonies Mother loves the most, and send them to her. If she has the leisure to dabble in these crooked methods, it seems Mother is living too comfortably.”
Pink-clad maid: “Yes.”
The vibrant flowers and plants in her front garden were all treasures. For instance, those blood-red peonies—their fragrance would become intensely rich at night, and prolonged exposure would cause listlessness.
As for during the day, they were just ordinary red peonies, exceptionally pleasing to the eye and nothing more.
Ru Shuang: “Mistress, there’s one more thing. Qian Mian discovered that Furen has been exchanging unusual letters with the manager of a bookstore. After investigation, it was found that the man is Furen’s childhood playmate—they could be considered childhood sweethearts.”
Song Yao raised her delicate eyebrows, extremely surprised by this.
Had her foolishly love-stricken mother finally grown disillusioned and shifted her affections elsewhere?
“Tsk.”
Song Yao clicked her tongue, straightened her exquisite snow-gauze dress, and took a Baiyu Banzhi of exceptional quality from her jewelry box, slipping it onto the index finger of her left hand. Only then did she speak slowly and sensibly:
“As children, how can we interfere in our parents’ affairs? It’s best to pretend we know nothing. Let’s go, I’m hungry. It’s time for breakfast.”
Though she said that, Song Yao didn’t actually go to dine first. Instead, she personally visited the training ground before having her meal.
Nangong Yi didn’t join her, as he needed to practice martial arts and would bathe and change clothes again afterward, telling her to eat first.
Song Yao didn’t decline either. After last night, the two had grown much closer, and there was no need for her to put on pretenses over such trivial matters today.
The weather in June was always unpredictable. Though it had cleared up this morning after the rain, by noon the sky was again covered with dark clouds, and in the blink of an eye, a torrential downpour began.
The noisy thunder and rain outside made the study appear particularly tranquil and serene.
Nangong Yi was reviewing official documents. Whether by coincidence or intention, the man who always wore dark robes was today dressed in a python-patterned robe the same color as his wife’s skirt.
Song Yao was nearby, ostensibly there to grind ink for Your Highness, but in reality, she spent most of her time eating chilled, sweet lychees with a small silver fork.
Occasionally, when her conscience pricked her, she would offer a crystal-clear lychee to Nangong Yi’s lips, her beautiful eyes curved in a smile, appearing extremely docile and harmless.
Nangong Yi indulged her, grinding his own ink when it ran out and eating the lychees she fed him.
Before they knew it, more than half of the documents had been processed. By the time Song Yao grew tired of lychees and began sipping green tea in small mouthfuls, the pile of documents on the desk had all been reviewed.
Nangong Yi set down his wolf-hair brush and waited for Song Yao to put down her celadon teacup before speaking: “Furen.”
Perhaps due to his imperial lineage or his background as a military general, Nangong Yi always sat with a commanding presence, exuding both intimidation and the overwhelming sense of security of a mature man’s hormones.
His phoenix eyes gazed at Song Yao as he patted his thigh, the invitation for the beauty to come sit clearly implied.
Song Yao gladly took the seat, her delicate hands naturally encircling Nangong Yi’s neck. Without speaking, she lowered her head to meet the man’s gaze, pleased with her current superior sitting position.
Nangong Yi, being meticulous, naturally noticed this. Smiling faintly while making a mental note of his wife’s preference, he brought up matters from a few days later: “Will you accompany me into the mountains for hunting during the Summer Hunt?”
Song Yao’s long eyelashes fluttered as she shook her head gently with a troubled expression, effortlessly spinning lies without blushing or her heart racing: “This humble servant’s horsemanship is poor, and my archery skills are lacking. I fear I would embarrass Your Highness.”
“Ah, that’s right—most importantly, this humble servant is also afraid of blood. The sight of blood makes me dizzy and panicked.”
Song Yao was quite the actress. As she spoke, she even covered her chest with her hand, adopting the delicate appearance of a frightened willow swaying in the wind.
Nangong Yi was someone who rarely showed his emotions, so his thoughts remained unclear for now.
Outside the study, under the corridor eaves, Ru Shuang stood guard at the door opposite a guard. Beneath her cold exterior was a thunderstruck expression.
She silently looked up at the lightning-streaked sky, fearing that the heavens might grow tired of her master’s nonsense and send down a bolt of lightning.
Inside the room.
Since Song Yao didn’t want to go, Nangong Yi didn’t press her.
However, Nangong Yi picked up the brush again. This time, it wasn’t to review documents but to hold Song Yao with one arm while skillfully painting on pristine white paper, depicting a vivid little fox.
The little fox was beautiful, its eyes seeming to gleam with cunning. Overall, it appeared very sly, with sharp claws and teeth.
“Your Highness paints so well, this fox looks as if it’s real…” Song Yao focused on providing ample emotional validation, delivering a long stream of lavish praise about his painting skills before curiously asking,
“Is Your Highness planning to hunt foxes this time?”
Nangong Yi smiled without speaking, showing no intention of clearing Song Yao’s confusion. As a clap of thunder shortened the distance between them, his tall nose bridge brushed against his wife’s chin, silently seeking a kiss.
After receiving her consent, he explored her crimson lips—now gentle pecks, now passionate kisses, now deep entanglements. The intensity of their intimacy nearly overwhelmed Song Yao.