In the sandalwood-scented inner chamber, Madam Luo pressed a hand to her chest, so irritated she could not sleep.
She could hardly believe she had been intimidated by an eighteen-year-old girl.
And that girl was her daughter-in-law. The thought alone was humiliating.
Madam Luo’s face remained cold as she said, “I thought someone from a small household would be obedient and timid. I never expected such a sharp tongue—she cannot even be spoken to properly!”
It had only been a few remarks meant to establish rules, yet the girl had managed to leave them all speechless.
“Does she have even a shred of behavior expected from a secondary wife? She just entered the household and already behaves so arrogantly. What will she become in the future?”
The more Madam Luo thought about it, the more her head hurt.
Since Jiang Yao was, after all, the mistress of the house, Nanny Zhou did not dare comment directly. She could only comfort her softly.
“Please calm yourself, Madam. The young madam is still very young. There is still time. You can slowly teach her the rules.”
Though in truth, she privately doubted those rules would ever be taught.
“Only Mingzhu suffers,” Madam Luo sighed, thinking of her eldest son. “His first wife was already a sickly woman, and now this one… also unwell. My poor son.”
“Madam, please look on the bright side,” Nanny Zhou said gently. “The young madam looks healthy and rosy. Perhaps she only sleeps a bit more than others.”
As for this so-called “sleeping illness,” Madam Luo did not fully believe it. She suspected it was simply an excuse for laziness. But since her eldest son had no objections, what could she say? In the end, the household still belonged to him.
In truth, Madam Luo did not require her daughters-in-law to perform morning and evening greetings daily, but she disliked Jiang Yao’s attitude.
The second and third daughters-in-law always treated her with respect—why was Jiang Yao the exception?
She could not help but sigh again. “Mingzhu has always preferred peace and order, yet he married someone so unruly. It is truly difficult for him.”
Nanny Zhou, however, saw it differently.
From her perspective, the couple—one calm, one lively—were quite well matched.
“Madam, look at it another way,” she smiled. “The young madam is so beautiful. Their children will surely be very good-looking.”
After thinking it over, Madam Luo felt her anger ease slightly.
Meanwhile, Luo Fuqu stared at her reflection in the mirror, growing increasingly frustrated.
No matter how much she had carefully applied her makeup, why did she still not look as good?
Why was it that Jiang Yao had perfect features—bright eyes, fair skin, elegant proportions—without a single flaw?
Even after applying jade-powder foundation, she could not hide her imperfections. Her eyes were not as lively or alluring either.
She muttered to herself, unaware that her husband, Second Young Master Pei Mingxue, had just entered with a birdcage in hand.
He chuckled. “Didn’t you already say she’s beautiful? Naturally she’ll look even better with a little enhancement. No matter how much you try, you can’t compare.”
Luo Fuqu, already irritated, shot him a sharp glare. “Do you only know how to talk?”
Her gaze then landed on the birdcage in his hand, and her anger deepened.
“If you spent even half that effort on your studies, you would have passed the imperial examinations by now. Then I wouldn’t have to suffer looking at other people’s faces for favors.”
At least even the second brother—born of a concubine—had an official post.
“Passing the exams isn’t that easy,” Pei Mingxue replied lazily, still teasing his bird.
“You’re only twenty-five. Some people only pass at fifty. Why can’t you learn from their perseverance?”
“And some people die at twenty-five,” he said with a grin. “Should I learn from them too?”
Even he laughed at his own joke, his handsome face bright as he smiled.
But Luo Fuqu only grew more irritated. “Always joking around—who are you trying to impress? You’re going to ruin our son too!”
She had once been deceived by his appearance, thinking he was a refined scholar. Only after marriage did she realize he was a useless playboy.
Even the romantic poems he once wrote for her had been written by someone else.
“Impress you, of course,” he said cheekily, leaning closer. “Don’t worry. I may not pass the exams, but our son definitely will.”
Luo Fuqu rolled her eyes so hard it hurt.
As the sun dipped toward the west, golden light spilling across the sky like burning silk, Pei Zheng entered his residence.
A faint fragrance greeted him—medicinal, yet soft and lingering.
Walking past the screen, he paused.
A stretch of pale skin came into view, so bright it was almost blinding.
On the bed, Jiang Yao lay on her stomach atop a crimson embroidered quilt of mandarin ducks. Her undergarment hung loosely at her waist, revealing a large expanse of fair skin.
Two maidservants were by her side—one applying medicine from a porcelain jar, the other gently massaging her lower back while asking if the pressure was appropriate.
Meanwhile, Jiang Yao was leisurely flipping through a book, occasionally picking grapes from a plate and eating them, entirely at ease.
None of the three noticed his arrival until a low cough broke the silence.
Zi Shan and Lü Fei immediately stood and bowed. Jiang Yao turned her head as well, though she showed no intention of getting up.
Pei Zheng approached, his gaze briefly sweeping over her exposed waist before landing on the medicine jar.
“What are you doing?” he asked evenly.
“The young madam’s body is sore. We are applying medicine,” Zi Shan replied.
With a wave of his hand, he dismissed them.
After they left, Jiang Yao set down her book and rested her chin on her hand.
“You sent them away,” she said lazily. “Then who will apply the medicine for me?”
He did not answer. “Do not catch a chill.”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pulled her garment up slightly, then paused.
His gaze lingered on the faint marks across her skin—clear imprints of fingers and redness along her waist.
“These… were left from last night?” he asked.
“Mm,” she replied with a lift of her brow, as if to say: obviously.
A trace of guilt flashed across his eyes. “Sorry.”
“I will be more careful next time.”
Last night, he had been inexperienced and had not controlled his strength well. It would not happen again.
He was not some reckless young man with no restraint.
He had always been confident in his self-control.
Jiang Yao glanced at him. “You’d better be.”
Her tone was lightly teasing, her eyes full of allure.
Pei Zheng lowered his gaze, his throat moving slightly.
He took the ointment jar, undid her thin clothing without looking directly at her, scooped out some medicine, and began gently massaging the bruised marks on her waist.
But the moment his palm touched her skin, she sharply inhaled.
“You’re hurting me!”
“Do you have knives in your hand or something?”
He paused, looking at his palm. “No. Just calluses.”
She took his hand and examined it closely. Sure enough, there were thin calluses across his palm.
No wonder it hurt like a blade.
“Aren’t you a scholar? Why do you have so many calluses?”
Before he could answer, she added, “But your hands are quite big.”
His palms were broad, fingers long and well-defined. If not for the calluses, they would have been perfect—like a work of art.
Even with them, the hands were not diminished; instead, they carried a sense of strength shaped by time.
She began playing with his hand—bending his fingers, wrapping her own around his palm, interlacing their fingers—until the warmth in his hand deepened noticeably.
“Have you had your fun yet?”