“Sister, I’m hurt this badly, and you still want me to go to the polo field with you?”
On the carriage of the Jinyang Prince’s Residence, Zhao Ruxiu was in so much pain that tears and snot streamed down her face, her expression both aggrieved and indignant.
In all her years, she had never suffered such pain.
“Little sister, you know it’s not easy for me to get out with Xiao Wangye.” Zhao Yuehua coaxed her in a low voice. “Zhao E is insufferably arrogant these days, and neither of us is a match for her.
Once I become Xiao Wangye’s consort, won’t it be effortless to deal with her?”
“That little wretch Zhao E.” Zhao Ruxiu clenched her two bloody hands, grinding her teeth. “I’ll tear her limb from limb.”
“Once I’m the consort, she’ll be yours to do with as you please.” As Zhao Yuehua spoke, she began to scold her sister. “Little sister, how many times have Mother and I told you? Don’t be so impulsive when things happen—why can’t you ever learn to change?
That Zhao E managed to snatch all those things from Mother’s hands, which proves she’s no simple character these days. We need to avoid her sharp edge.
Mother said we can’t clash head-on with someone so reckless and shameless. For now, don’t provoke her. Besides, our eldest aunt will deal with her.”
Her mother, named Jiang Qingrou, was the legitimate younger sister of the Fuguo Duke’s Residence, and Jiang Huaifu was her cousin.
“What abilities could she possibly have?” Zhao Ruxiu was both pained and furious. “Aside from putting on airs and acting like a dissolute wastrel, she’s only arrogant because she has a few silver taels.”
“In any case, we must not underestimate the enemy.” Zhao Yuehua’s expression was quite grave.
Zhao E’s carriage left the eastern city gate and suddenly came to a halt.
“Miss, Xiao Wangye has blocked the road ahead.” Xiyu spoke softly by the carriage window.
Zhao E raised her hand and lifted the carriage curtain to look, and Zhou Yu ducked his head and climbed inside.
“Not keeping your fiancée company—what are you blocking me for?” Zhao E leaned askew against the carriage wall, a hint of amusement in her apricot-colored eyes as she regarded him.
Zhou Yu said nothing, but sat down and pulled over her left hand, which she had casually wrapped in a handkerchief.
“It’s just a flesh wound; it’ll heal in a few days.” Zhao E watched indifferently as he unwrapped the handkerchief.
A faint scent of blood spread through the carriage.
Zhou Yu held her hand up to the daylight outside the window, carefully checking the wound for any remaining debris.
Zhao E just lounged there watching him, as if the injured hand weren’t hers at all.
“Doesn’t it hurt?” He gently blew on the wound.
“What’s this?” Zhao E curved her eyes and let out a soft laugh.
She had endured things ten or a hundred times more painful than this; this little wound was nothing.
Zhou Yu cleaned the wound for her, sprinkled medicinal powder over it, and wrapped it carefully with fine gauze.
“Don’t get it wet.” Zhou Yu gave the instruction, then made to rise and leave the carriage.
Zhao E suddenly grabbed hold of his collar.
Zhou Yu paused mid-motion and looked down at her.
Their eyes met, and the atmosphere in the carriage seemed to grow warmer.
Zhao E leaned in and pressed a kiss to his slightly pursed lips, then teased with a grin: “Thank you, brother-in-law.”
The corners of Zhou Yu’s slightly upturned eyes flushed red, and he lowered his head to kiss her.
Zhao E’s soft, tender fingers pressed against his lips, her apricot eyes glistening as she looked up at him: “Do you still have any of that little pill?”
She wanted to stock up on more—when her monthly cycle came, taking it would ease the pain and make things much more convenient.
“No.” Zhou Yu’s voice carried a faint hoarseness, his gaze lingering on her parted lips.
“Having it made fresh works too.” Zhao E’s fingertips traced the outline of his lips lightly, her voice sweet and soft.
Zhou Yu’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his gaze deepening slightly: “There’s none to be made either.”
“You do,” Zhao E said, her fingertip lightly tracing downward until it landed on his Adam’s apple. A faint smile rippled in her apricot eyes, her tone certain: “Jinyang Wang holds power over the entire court, and you, Xiao Wangye, have surpassed your predecessor. There is nothing in this world you cannot find—you simply don’t wish to give it to me.”
Zhou Yu pulled her hand away with one hand, his large palm coming to rest on the back of her neck. He lowered his head and covered her lips with his, pressing straight forward, conquering territory, lingering without thought of retreat.
Zhao E could not breathe. She pushed him lightly, and only then did he release her.
He drew her slender waist tightly against him, his lips brushing her ear. When he spoke in a low murmur, his breath was slightly rough: “That medicine was used too much. It will not be suitable for you to conceive in the future.”
“A person like me.” Zhao E let out a soft laugh, twisting her body like a fish to slip free of his embrace: “What future is there left for me?”
“Xiao Wangye, Miss.” Ling Feng’s voice drifted in: “The Jinyang Prince’s Residence carriage has arrived.”
Zhao E smiled and gave Zhou Yu a push, leaning sidelong against the carriage wall: “Go accompany your sister, dear brother-in-law.”
Zhou Yu gazed at her deeply, then rose and descended from the carriage.
“Go,” Zhao E instructed casually.
The carriage slowly drove into Shengjia Zhuang.
This was a small estate left behind by Zhao E’s own mother, Sheng Xue. There were only a few households, all old retainers from back then.
“The young miss has come.”
The estate head and his wife spotted the carriage on the road from afar and came out to greet her.
“Uncle Fa, Auntie.” Zhao E descended from the carriage, tucking her injured hand into her sleeve, and greeted them with a smile.
The estate head was named Sheng Fa, dark-skinned and sturdy.
His wife, of the Zhang family, was simple and kind-hearted.
The way both of them looked at Zhao E carried genuine affection.
“The young miss has entered the Fuguo Duke’s Residence—are you well?” Sheng Zhang-shi stepped forward to ask.
“Everything is fine. Thank you for your concern.” Zhao E let her lead the way toward the farmhouse.
“Xiaohua!” Sheng Fa called out loudly from outside the fence courtyard: “The young miss is here.”
Xiaohua was his daughter, fourteen this year. Because Zhao E’s younger brother, Zhao Peiyuan, permitted no one near him except the maid A-Ning, Xiaohua helped with miscellaneous tasks in the outer rooms.
A-Ning and Xiaohua came forward to pay their respects.
“Young miss.” A-Ning glanced toward the room and reported in a low voice: “The second young master has not eaten or drunk anything for two days. This servant has tried to persuade him in every way, but to no avail.”
She was a pretty, clever girl, gentle and obedient by nature, and had attended Zhao Peiyuan since childhood.
“Thank you for your trouble.” Zhao E lifted her skirt and stepped over the low wooden threshold.
The room was simply and old-furnished, but clean and refreshing.
Zhao E went straight into the inner chamber, sat down on the canopy bed, and called out: “Fuxuan.”
Fuxuan was Zhao Peiyuan’s courtesy name.
Zhao Peiyuan opened his dim eyes on the bed. His complexion was the pallor of one who had not seen sunlight for years, which made his brows and lashes seem all the more jet-black, and his lips were the pale cherry color of poor health.
“Get up and eat something.” Zhao E took the food A-Ning brought over and set it aside: “My hand is injured. You’ll have to do it yourself.”
Zhao Peiyuan did not move, as if he had not heard.
“Fuxuan, I miss Mother too.” Zhao E’s dark brows furrowed slightly, a touch of coldness in her expression: “You are not a child anymore. Do not throw tantrums like this.”
Zhao Peiyuan remained unmoved.
Zhao E looked at him and said slowly: “More than half a month ago, I married into the Fuguo Duke’s Residence.”
Zhao Peiyuan’s eyes flew wide open. He tried to prop himself up on both arms but slipped back down. It took him two attempts before he could sit up, his breathing rapid: “Are you insane?”
“I want to avenge Mother, avenge you, and also seek justice for myself.” Zhao E looked at him steadily. “If you won’t help me, at least don’t hold me back.”
“I’m a cripple—how could I possibly help you!” Zhao Peiyuan slammed his fist against his own leg, his pale face flushing red with shame and indignation.
Once, he had excelled in his studies. His tutors had regarded him with special favor, and his father had seen him as the pride of the family.
It was precisely because he was a good student, valued by his father, that he had been able to shield his sister somewhat during those years when the two of them had depended on each other.
But that venomous woman, Jiang Qingrou—in order to win more of his father’s attention for her own son—had devised a vicious scheme that crippled one of his legs, leaving him disabled!
From that day on, his father no longer wanted to lay eyes on him.
He had once mustered the courage to return to the academy, but those people only mocked him, calling him “versed in the heavens above, paralyzed from the waist below.”
A man like him—what help could he possibly be?