Chunxiao Courtyard lay in the most remote corner of the Marquis household. Though spacious with two wings, its furnishings were plain; even the dragon‑phoenix candles were cheap market goods—one word—perfunctory.
Yun Zheng gazed at the familiar yet strange surroundings and sighed.
This was less dignified than a commoner’s wedding. The Pingxi household glittered outwardly but was hollow within—stingy, dismissive.
By contrast, Ye Yizhen’s Wutong Courtyard was different, stocked with all the fine things.
Yun Zheng did not enter the bridal chamber. Instead, she stood in the courtyard and ordered: “Clear out the three rooms on the east side. I’ll sleep there tonight.”
Everyone froze. What did she mean? On her wedding night, with no groom present, the bride dismantled the bridal chamber? Was she truly refusing this marriage?
One attendant ventured cautiously: “Miss, this isn’t proper. Perhaps consult the heir first?”
Yun Zheng had brought with her four household managers, four personal maids, eight junior maids—thirty‑six attendants in all. Each carefully chosen: the managers shrewd, the maids perceptive.
“No need. Hurry. I’m tired and want to rest.” Yun Zheng, once gentle, now spoke with commanding force. None dared oppose her.
The managers busied themselves arranging dowry and rooms, working frantically.
Yun Zheng’s four personal maids hovered close, serving tea and water.
Yun Zheng lounged lazily in a chair, sipping the finest blood‑red bird’s nest, nibbling sweet Eight‑Treasure cakes. She sighed with satisfaction. This was life.
In her past life, ten years in the Marquis household had stripped her dowry, dismissed her servants, leaving only Chunhua at her side. Mistress and maid starved, suffered, endured endless hardship. This life, she would taste no bitterness.
Closing her eyes, she reviewed her moves: tearing off the Marquis household’s mask, borrowing imperial support, securing her life for now, holding half her dowry.
The Marquis household would not relent. So what? She would not relent either. Between them, it was a fight to the death—only one could survive.
Chunhua looked at the shabby furnishings of the bridal chamber and muttered: “The Marquis household shows no respect. Anyone would think this was a commoner’s wedding.”
She refused to believe Ye Yizhen’s bridal chamber was so disgraceful.
Beside her, Chunlan’s eyes widened. She scolded sharply: “Chunhua, don’t speak nonsense. Now that our lady is the heir’s wife, her status is noble and has risen several ranks. The Yun family will bask in her glory. We must be grateful.”
Chunlan was Yun Zheng’s favored maid—pretty, dressed in silks, pampered like a young mistress herself.
Yun Zheng’s gaze turned cold.
Chunlan, oblivious, continued with a look of concern: “Miss, forgive me for speaking boldly, but today you went too far. How could you shame your husband’s family? A wife prospers when her husband prospers. If the heir is well, you will be well.”
In the past, Yun Zheng might have thought her loyal. But now her eyes were filled with icy clarity.
In her previous life, Chunlan had betrayed her, climbing into Jiang Wenzhou’s bed. When the scandal broke, Yun Zheng was ruined—accused of scheming, condemned for failing to keep her husband, accused of ordering her maid to seduce him.
At the crucial moment, Chunlan confessed without hesitation, insisting Yun Zheng had arranged it. She was left defenseless, fell gravely ill, and suffered Ye Yizhen’s cruel humiliation.
“Sounds reasonable enough,” Yun Zheng murmured.
So—Chunlan had harbored disloyalty all along.
Chunlan, secretly pleased, pressed harder: “If the heir and his family dislike you, what will you do? Listen to me—be humble, flatter them, find ways to please the heir and your in‑laws.”
The Marquis household was lofty nobility. Her mistress marrying in was a blessing from past lives. Yet she did not cherish it; instead, she humiliated the heir in public.
Yun Zheng removed her ruby‑and‑pearl phoenix hairpin, idly twirling it in her hand. “Oh? And how should I please him?”
Chunlan thought of the heir’s handsome, elegant face. Her heart fluttered, cheeks flushed pink. “Our Yun family never lacks silver. Give them more—but mind the manner. Don’t hand it directly; that would be undignified.”
Thinking of today’s wedding rites with the heir, Chunlan’s heart fluttered. She was now his woman, and fortune awaited. For the heir, she was willing to do anything. “Let me ease your burden, Miss. I’ll distribute silver everywhere, win favor from the masters, and help you establish yourself smoothly in the Marquis household.” Her words sounded considerate, but beneath them lay her own schemes.
Chunhua frowned, sensing something wrong, though she couldn’t find the words to refute.
Chunlan pointed at the dowry list. “Silver alone is too crude. Add gifts as well. This set of wine cups for the Marquis. This ruby headpiece for the Marchioness. This warm jade for the heir—it suits him best.”
The wine cups—twelve pieces—were carved from the finest white jade. The dragon‑phoenix headpiece, thirty‑eight pieces in all, set in pure gold with thumb‑sized rubies rare in the world. The warm jade, cool in summer, warm in winter, nourishing the body—priceless. Each was a treasure beyond value. Yet Chunlan, a mere maid, lightly offered them as gifts, turning her mistress’s wealth into her own favors.
Yun Zheng laughed in fury. Taking the master’s possessions as your own—where is your shame?
“Someone—strike her face.”
Without hesitation, Chunhua slapped her. Smack! The print of five fingers bloomed on Chunlan’s delicate cheek.
Though a maid, Chunlan had grown pampered at Yun Zheng’s side, never suffering hardship. Her eyes reddened instantly. “Miss, what did I say wrong? I refuse to accept this.”
Yun Zheng’s gaze was cold. Mercy cannot command soldiers; righteousness cannot command wealth. The Yun family’s kindness has bred ungrateful wolves.
“Refuse? A mere maid dares question her mistress? Clearly I’ve treated you too well—so well you’ve forgotten your place.”
All the servants turned to look, faces pale with fear.
“I…” Chunlan’s face went pale, her body trembling, finally sobering a little.
Yes—she was only a lowly maid, her life and death in her mistress’s hands. All she relied upon was Yun Zheng’s favor. Without Yun Zheng, she was nothing. With a thud, she knelt, tears streaming. “Miss, I only meant well for you. I have no disloyalty.”
The Yun family had always been lenient, rarely punishing servants. That indulgence had bred arrogance, and servants had forgotten their place.
Yun Zheng’s expression was cold, determined to make an example. “A maid who presumes to decide for her mistress—I cannot keep. Don’t forget, your contract of servitude is in my hands. I can sell you off at any time.”
It was like a bucket of cold water poured over her head. Chunlan shivered, stunned. Was this a warning? Her mistress had changed—no longer merciful, no longer kind. It disappointed her bitterly. “Miss, we grew up together, like sisters…”
Smack! Chunhua struck her across the face, scolding loudly. “What nonsense! We were bought to serve Miss. We are maids. You’ve lived well for a few years and now think yourself the mistress?”
The mistress was clearly asserting authority. If Chunlan wanted to die, fine—but she mustn’t drag them down too.
Chunlan’s eyes darted nervously. This wasn’t right. Could it be… jealousy? “Miss, is it because I bowed in marriage with the heir that you’re displeased?”
She protested pitifully. “But that was your order! I didn’t want it either. I’m an unmarried girl—I hoped to marry into a good family.”
No doubt, she was clever. The moment she sensed danger, she rushed to profess loyalty, to distance herself.
Yun Zheng looked at her deeply, about to speak—when a servant reported: “Miss, someone has come from the palace.”
Yun Zheng’s spirit stirred. “Invite them in.”
Chunlan secretly breathed a sigh of relief, her eyes flickering with hidden schemes.
Yun Zheng saw it all and sighed silently. This girl cannot be kept…