After Zhang Dequan left, the courtyard stayed quiet for quite a while.
Taking advantage of the peace, Ning Nuannuan copied all the problematic entries from the account books into a separate record and locked it inside the iron box she had brought with her dowry. She had planned to sort through the household servant registry as well, but the muscles in her arms began to ache—this body’s endurance was simply too poor. After two consecutive days of intense mental work and occasional displays of force, her stamina had already hit its limit.
She was just about to rest her eyes when hurried footsteps came from outside.
“Consort, the Ninth Prince has arrived,” the maid at the door said nervously.
Ning Nuannuan opened her eyes.
That was fast.
When Yintang pushed the door open, his face carried an extremely complicated expression. It wasn’t quite anger—his brows weren’t furrowed deeply enough. But it wasn’t resignation either—his lips still curved downward. In his hand, he held a piece of paper, crumpled from being gripped too tightly.
“Zhang Dequan came to see you?” Ning Nuannuan asked lazily, still reclining.
“The accounts you uncovered.” Yintang slapped the paper onto the table. “More than eight thousand taels. Are you sure?”
“Do I look like I joke about money?”
Yintang’s lips moved. He flipped the paper over twice. The numbers were familiar, and the entries matched. Zhang Dequan had knelt in his courtyard, crying for a long time, spilling everything like beans from a bamboo tube.
Four years. Over eight thousand taels.
Yintang loved money. Among all the princes, his obsession with silver ranked first. Maritime trade, fur dealings, money lending—he pursued any avenue that made profit. While he was earning fortunes outside, someone had siphoned eight thousand taels from his own household accounts?
That was like carving flesh off his body.
He paced around the table twice, his chest heaving with rising anger.
“And Lady Wanyan—” he began.
“Two thousand six hundred taels,” Ning Nuannuan stated.
Yintang stopped in his tracks.
“Less than eight hundred of that had your approval. The rest was handled privately between her and Zhang Dequan.”
His jaw tightened.
He treated Lady Wanyan well—that was true. Clothes, jewelry, funds to renovate her courtyard—he acknowledged all that. But secretly taking eighteen hundred taels from the treasury behind his back?
And this was supposed to be virtue?
“How do you plan to deal with her?” Yintang asked. His tone was already different from the morning.
Ning Nuannuan sat up, leaning against the wall. “Answer me one question first.”
“Go on.”
“Do you care more about Lady Wanyan, or about your money?”
Yintang opened his mouth to respond, then swallowed his words.
Ning Nuannuan waited five seconds. When no answer came, she didn’t press further. She got down from the couch and walked to the table.
“I won’t touch Lady Wanyan for now. She spent two hours on the roof in the wind, and her face is still swollen. That’s enough to keep her in line for a few days. But as for you, I have something to make clear.”
Yintang subconsciously took half a step back.
Not out of fear—well, fine, it was fear.
“I’ve already said I won’t interfere with your businesses. But how much you earn outside, how much you spend, and who you give money to—I need to know. Not to control your money, but to ensure this household won’t end up unable to even pay the monthly stipends because of your spending.”
“How I spend my money—since when is it your place to interfere?” Yintang’s princely temper flared again.
The moment he said it, he regretted it.
Because Ning Nuannuan glanced at him.
Just one glance.
Exactly the same look she had before snapping the rosewood bed the night before.
“No, what I mean is—” Yintang hurried to correct himself.
“I understand what you mean.” Ning Nuannuan walked around the table and stopped in front of him.
This time, Yintang didn’t step back. He steeled himself: You’re the Ninth Prince. You can’t keep being scared of a woman like a turtle hiding in its shell. It’s embarrassing. Completely embarrassing.
He straightened his back. “My external businesses involve connections with Eighth Brother. You, as a woman, wouldn’t understand—”
“Eighth Brother?” Ning Nuannuan interrupted. “You mean Yinsi?”
“Yes. Eighth Brother treats me—”
“Treats you how? Wholeheartedly devoted?” Ning Nuannuan tilted her neck, her joints cracking again. “Do you even know what kind of ending your Eighth Brother will have?”
Yintang frowned. “What do you mean?”
Ning Nuannuan had no intention of revealing future history to him just yet. It was too early—he wouldn’t believe it anyway. She changed her approach.
“Among all the Emperor’s sons fighting each other, do you really think your Eighth Brother will be the one who wins?”
“Of course! Eighth Brother has the highest reputation. The entire court—”
“What use is a high reputation?” Ning Nuannuan crossed her arms. “What your Imperial Father wants isn’t a son with the highest popularity, but an obedient one. The more the officials support someone, the more he becomes a threat. Don’t you understand that?”
Yintang was at a loss for words.
It wasn’t that he didn’t understand—he just didn’t want to admit it.
Eighth Brother had always treated him well—closer than a real brother since childhood. He willingly acted as Eighth Brother’s forerunner, making money, building connections, running errands—just so that when Eighth Brother ascended the throne one day, he could enjoy a lifetime of wealth and glory alongside him.
But Ning Nuannuan’s words struck the very issue he had always avoided—his imperial father truly did not like Eighth Brother.
“I’m not arguing about this with you.” Yin Jiu waved his hand. “Stay out of Eighth Brother’s affairs.”
“I’m not interested in getting involved.” Ning Nuannuan returned to the table and sat down. “I’ll just ask you one thing—how much liquid silver can you take out right now?”
“Why are you asking that?”
“I’ve roughly gone through your business layout. Your maritime trade and fur lines earn the most, but the return cycle is long. The shops in the capital and your private lending bring in money quickly, but the risks are high. If something changes in the court, these could disappear overnight.”
Yin Jiu stared at her, silent for a long while.
This woman actually understood business?
No—not just understood. The way she talked about cash flow cycles and risk assessment was clearer than even the managers under him.
“How do you know all this?”
“I liked reading miscellaneous books at my family home,” Ning Nuannuan brushed it off. “Don’t change the subject. What I mean is—you should keep a reserve of hard currency. No matter what happens, that money must not be touched.”
“How much?”
“At least fifty thousand taels.”
“Fifty thousand taels?!” Yin Jiu’s voice cracked. “Do you think silver grows on cabbages?”
“How much do you earn from maritime trade in a year?”
Yin Jiu instinctively covered his mouth. He had never told anyone that number—not even Eighth Brother, who only knew an estimate.
Ning Nuannuan didn’t press him. “It’s fine if you don’t say it. I’m guessing it’s no less than a hundred thousand taels. Keeping fifty thousand isn’t excessive.”
Yin Jiu’s expression shifted again and again, eventually turning into something like scrutiny.
“Dong’e Ningnuan… what exactly are you?”
“Your legal wife,” Ning Nuannuan answered without hesitation.
Yin Jiu fell silent for quite a while. He paced back and forth in the room, the sound of his boots echoing against the floor tiles.
Finally, he stopped in front of her. His expression was conflicted—annoyance, reluctance, but even more of something he couldn’t quite define.
“Even if what you said makes sense,” he said through gritted teeth, “what gives you the right to decide for me? Just because you’re strong?”
Ning Nuannuan stood up.
Yin Jiu instinctively shrank back.
“I’m not relying on strength.” She walked up to him and raised her hand.
Yin Jiu shut his eyes, his entire body tensing, bracing for a beating.
A hand landed on his shoulder.
There was no pain, no sensation of being lifted off the ground. It simply rested there lightly.
Yin Jiu opened his eyes and met Ning Nuannuan’s gaze.
“You’ve lived over twenty years, surrounded by people who want your money, your power, your favors. Eighth Brother calls you brother because he wants your wealth and connections. Wanyan Shi acts sweet with you, but secretly moves things out of the storeroom. Zhang Dequan respectfully calls you Master, yet siphoned off eight thousand taels in four years.”
Ning Nuannuan’s hand left his shoulder.
“I’m different from them. I don’t want your money, your power, or your favor. I only want one thing—to stay alive. If you live, I live. We’re tied to the same rope now. If you fall, I won’t end well either.”
Yin Jiu stood frozen.
In his more than twenty years of life, no one had ever spoken to him like this. Not flattery, not threats, not manipulation. Just laying out the stakes plainly, piece by piece, right in front of him.
That kind of blunt honesty made him uncomfortable—yet strangely reassured him.
“Tonight… are you still sleeping on that couch?” Yin Jiu asked, completely off-topic.
“Mm.”
“Then what about me?”
“You can sleep on the floor or have a small bed moved in—your choice.”
Yin Jiu took a deep breath, suppressing the urge to curse.
“I’ll have someone move a bed in.”
“Fine. Not too big—the room is small.”
Yin Jiu turned to leave, but paused at the doorway.
“As for the fifty thousand taels… I’ll think about it.”
The door closed.
Ning Nuannuan lay back on the couch and closed her eyes. Taming a husband couldn’t be rushed. The stick had already been used enough—now the sweet dates had to be given one at a time.
Early the next morning, Yin Jiu had He Yuzhu deliver a spare storeroom key.
It was made of copper—small and delicate, tied with a red cord.
When He Yuzhu presented it with a bow, his expression looked as bitter as if he had swallowed gall.
“Madam, Ninth Master asked this servant to deliver it.”
Ning Nuannuan took the key and weighed it in her hand.
“Thank your Ninth Master for me.”