Dayuan Dynasty, Fuguo Duke’s Residence.
A luxurious soft sedan chair was carried forward by twelve sturdy matrons, with dozens of maidservants following behind, bearing various items in attendance.
At the sedan’s window, red silk gauze trimmed with gold fluttered gently in the breeze, the graceful figure of a beauty faintly visible within.
Just as they were about to pass through the main gate, the matrons’ pace suddenly slowed.
“Miss.”
The maidservant Xiyu spoke up cautiously in a low voice.
“What is it?”
The voice from within the sedan was as pleasing as pearls striking jade, its tone carrying a hint of languid laziness.
Xiyu whispered back, “First Madame Jiang has blocked the way.”
“Zhao E.” First Madame Jiang had already drawn up to the side of the sedan, calling out with an air of seasoned authority.
From within the sedan, a fair, slender hand reached out and gently parted the red silk gauze.
Zhao E slowly poked her head out, revealing a face of striking beauty, her apricot eyes shimmering with a hint of playful amusement: “Oh, if it isn’t my mother-in-law. Is something the matter?”
Half a month ago, she had married Jiang Huaifu, the only son of Princess Jiang, and naturally, Princess Jiang was now her mother-in-law.
“Where exactly are you off to?” Princess Jiang asked with a stern face.
Her features were passable, but she always wore a dour expression—a woman past her prime, yet carrying an air of authority.
Zhao E leaned half against the sedan wall, smiling enigmatically: “Tomorrow is the Mid-Autumn Festival, so naturally, your daughter-in-law is off to the market to do some shopping. Would Mother care to join?”
“You’ve been married for half a month, yet every day you linger in brothels and pleasure houses, entangled with other men’s sons and the male courtesans of Nanfeng Pavilion.” Princess Jiang’s expression darkened further: “Do you have any idea what people are saying about you out there?”
“Nothing more than that I’m wanton and arrogant, dissolute and untamed—what else could there be?” Zhao E smoothed the golden peony pinned at her temple and smiled carelessly, the very picture of a spoiled hedonist: “Wasn’t I like this before I even entered this house? And yet Mother still had me carried over the threshold with full rites and betrothal gifts, didn’t you?”
Princess Jiang nearly ground her teeth: “Zhanwen is the only legitimate son of the Fuguo Duke’s eldest branch. Are you trying to end the Fuguo Duke’s bloodline?”
Zhanwen was Jiang Huaifu’s childhood name.
“Mother, saying such things does me a great injustice.” Zhao E smiled lazily: “I’d love nothing more than to spread the branches and leaves of the Fuguo Duke’s family, but alas, the ox won’t plow the field. No matter how fine my fertile land is, it can’t grow crops on its own.
Oh, and speaking of which, Mother, since we’re on the subject, might I ask—does my husband suffer from some hidden ailment?”
Spreading the branches of the Fuguo Duke’s family? Impossible. Bringing their line to extinction—that was the real goal!
“In broad daylight, what nonsense are you spouting?” Princess Jiang’s face was full of disbelief—a young woman actually voicing such matters before a crowd.
Zhao E covered her lips with a light laugh: “What? Mother doesn’t understand?”
“Impossible!” Princess Jiang frowned, speaking with finality: “Before you came, Zhanwen already had several chambermaids and concubines. Don’t you dare spout nonsense!”
There had even been a maidservant who conceived Zhanwen’s child—she had handled that matter with her own hands.
“Possible or not, Mother can go ask him herself. If there’s truly an ailment, then seek treatment—don’t hide from the doctor out of shame.” Zhao E smiled sweetly, released the gauze from her hand, and yawned: “Move on.”
Jiang Huaifu was certainly a convenient one—he’d already failed without her even needing to lift a finger. Heaven truly worked in her favor.
The Fuguo Duke’s family still wished to continue their line—had they ever asked her mother’s spirit in the afterlife?!
A blood debt as deep as the sea—how could it go unavenged!
Jiang Huaibin sought her hand only for her dowry, but what she coveted was the entire Fuguo Duke’s Residence.
This was merely the beginning…
If she could, she would even destroy Emperor Qianyuan himself.
Princess Jiang stood frozen, her face ashen, watching helplessly as the soft palanquin receded into the distance. She nearly ground her teeth to dust: “Go. Summon the eldest young master to my courtyard.”
Zhao E had barely watched half a scene at the Western Garden when Xiyu interrupted her.
“Miss.” Xiyu bent low, lowering her voice: “Princess Jiang and Jiang Huaifu are plotting to drug you, Miss, and have that concubine-born son of the Jiang family share your chamber.
They say that once you bear a child, they can rightfully take all your shops and money.”
“Is Zhou Yu still at the Jinyang Prince’s Residence?” Zhao E did not stir, asking lazily.
The Jinyang Prince’s Residence was her maternal home.
Her good-for-nothing father had soared to prominence after abandoning her mother and climbing into the Fuguo Duke’s family, and was now the esteemed Jinyang Prince.
Zhou Yu, meanwhile, was her current pillar of support.
“Yes.” Xiyu nodded.
“Let’s go.” Zhao E rose, casually discarding the half-eaten pastry in her hand.
The soft palanquin was carried straight through the main gates of the Jinyang Prince’s Residence.
Xiyu helped Zhao E down, just as Zhou Yu approached from the opposite direction.
He wore a robe of clear azure silk patterned with hidden clouds, his crow-black hair coiled into a topknot. His brows and eyes were cold and clear, and merely standing there, he exuded an ineffable air of noble restraint.
The young prince of the Jinyang Prince’s Residence indeed possessed a bearing that ordinary men lacked.
Zhou Yu’s long, narrow phoenix eyes lifted slightly, gazing at Zhao E with indifference.
Their gazes collided in midair, lingering, giving rise to an entanglement that defied words.
Zhao E’s shimmering, watery eyes narrowed slightly.
Tsk. Zhou Yu, with his clothes on, was still so pleasing to the eye—proper and presentable, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
“Zhao E, what are you doing here?” Zhao Ruxiu glared, shielding herself in front of Zhou Yu as if afraid Zhao E might devour him whole.
Zhao Ruxiu was Zhao E’s younger half-sister from a different mother. There was also an older sister, Zhao Yuehua, and a youngest brother, all born to Zhao E’s stepmother, Jiang Qingrou.
“This is my maternal home.” Zhao E turned her gaze lightly, letting out a languid laugh: “I am your eldest sister.”
Her beauty was striking, and this smile was like a peony in full bloom—dazzling with an almost aggressive radiance.
Zhao Ruxiu had always considered herself fair of face, but at this moment she felt like an unremarkable wildflower, an inexpressible sense of shame welling up uncontrollably from the depths of her heart.
“I have only Yuehua as my sister! Zhao E, I warn you—don’t you dare set your sights on the young prince!” She raised her voice.
Zhao E smiled, unhurried: “He’s not your husband, so why are you in such a fluster?”
Zhao Ruxiu was both humiliated and furious, nearly losing all restraint: “Zhao E, shut up!
The young prince just dined with us, and our parents have already agreed—he will be betrothed to my sister in a few days. You should call him ‘brother-in-law’!”
“Is that so?” Zhao E stepped forward slowly, her misty, almond-shaped eyes fixed on Zhou Yu, one dark brow arching slightly: “Brother-in-law?”
She drew out the word, dragging the final syllable, and though they were merely two ordinary words, she somehow imbued them with a hint of lingering tenderness.
Zhou Yu lowered his gaze to her, his eyes darkening slightly, lips pressed together in silence.
“Zhao E! You shameless thing! How dare you openly flirt with the young prince!” Zhao Ruxiu fumed: “Let me tell you, the young prince has always been pure and upright, restrained and proper—the most chaste and honorable man in all of Dijing Cheng. Don’t you dare defile him!”
“And what if I insist on defiling him?” Zhao E nearly laughed out loud at her words.
Restoring propriety?
A man who keeps himself pure and unsullied?
If she hadn’t known Zhou Yu’s true nature, she might have almost believed it.
“How dare you!” Zhao Ruxiu wished she could lunge forward and tear a piece of flesh from her.
“May I have a word in private?”
Zhao E paid her no further heed. Her slender, fair finger poked at a spot on Zhou Yu’s side, her tone soft and languid.
Zhou Yu’s body stiffened slightly, the tips of his ears quietly turning red.