Half of the red candle had burned away, wax dripping down along the dragon-and-phoenix carved candlestick.
Yinzhen clutched tightly at the leg of the huanghuali wooden table. The chill rising from the floor tiles crept up along his trousers.
He—the Ninth Prince of the current Emperor, born to Consort Yi—had been pampered with luxury since childhood, getting whatever he wanted. Let alone sleeping on cold floor tiles; even if the bedding on his bed was one layer thinner, he would throw a tantrum and curse people out.
And now, he was wearing only thin inner garments, curled up in the corner of the wedding chamber.
His newly married primary wife, Dong’e Shi, had occupied the bed and didn’t even leave him a blanket.
The more Yinzhen thought about it, the angrier he became.
What kind of situation was this? The imperial marriage had been granted by the Emperor, something he never wanted in the first place. He already had someone in his heart—Wanyan Shi—delicate and lovely, soft-spoken and gentle. How could she compare to this Dong’e Shi, who was practically an uncivilized savage!
A gust of wind swept through the hall, and Yinzhen sneezed.
“Ah-choo!”
The sound echoed in front of the spacious canopy bed.
He rubbed his sore nose and glanced toward the bed. The curtains hung down, obscuring the inside. Dong’e Shi didn’t make a single sound.
Asleep?
Yinzhen grew bolder. He released the table leg and stood up against the wall. His legs were numb, so he stamped his feet a few times.
Why should he freeze on the ground while a woman slept comfortably on the bed? There was no such rule in the Great Qing!
Limping, he walked to the bed and yanked open the bright red curtains.
“Dong’e Shi, get up!” Yinzhen raised his voice, putting on the authority of a prince. “You assaulted a prince and disobeyed your husband—violating the seven grounds for divorce! I’ll write you a letter of repudiation right now and send you back to the Dong’e family!”
The person on the bed didn’t move.
Ning Nuannuan turned over, her back facing him.
After fighting drug lords in a tropical rainforest for three days and nights, she had finally closed her eyes—only to transmigrate. Fine, she thought. But this body originally belonged to a delicate young lady raised in seclusion, with extremely poor physical strength. That shoulder throw and breaking wood earlier had already consumed much of her energy; her muscles were now aching in protest.
She only wanted to sleep.
Yet the buzzing fly by her ear wouldn’t stop.
Seeing her ignore him, Yinzhen assumed she was afraid. The Dong’e family was, after all, a scholarly household—how would they dare contend with the imperial family when it came to discipline?
“Stop pretending to be dead! Get up, go lay out the bedding on the floor, and warm the blanket for me. I’ll make do here for the night. Tomorrow morning, you’ll kneel in the Buddha hall. You won’t come out until you’ve learned proper manners from Wanyan Shi!”
The more Yinzhen spoke, the smoother his words flowed. He reached out to grab the brocade quilt covering Ning Nuannuan.
The moment his hand touched the edge—
A hand shot out and precisely seized his wrist.
Yinzhen froze.
The hand looked fair and slender, with traces of nail dye still on the fingers, yet the grip on his pulse point was astonishingly strong. He tried to pull away, but his wrist wouldn’t budge. It felt as though it were clamped by iron tongs, a dull pain creeping into his bones.
Ning Nuannuan opened her eyes and sat up.
Her gaze hadn’t changed—still as calm as if she were looking at something lifeless.
Yinzhen felt uneasy under her stare, but forced himself to shout, “Let go! Are you trying to rebel?”
Ning Nuannuan didn’t release him. Her fingers tightened.
“Ow! It hurts, hurts!” Yinzhen cried out. His knees bent involuntarily as he tried to ease the pain in his wrist.
“I already said,” Ning Nuannuan spoke, her voice slightly hoarse with the irritation of being woken up, “be quiet.”
She let go.
Yinzhen collapsed onto the footboard, clutching his wrist and sucking in cold air. On his fair wrist, five swollen red finger marks were clearly visible.
What on earth did this woman grow up eating?!
Ning Nuannuan lifted the quilt and got out of bed.
She stood around 1.7 meters tall—considered tall for a woman in this era—but still shorter than Yinzhen, who was over 1.8 meters.
Yet now, as Yinzhen sat on the ground and looked up at Ning Nuannuan standing before him, he felt as though a mountain was pressing down on him.
“I have a bad temper,” Ning Nuannuan said, looking down at him from above. “Especially when I’m woken up in the middle of sleep.”
Yin Jiu swallowed and scooted backward. “Don’t mess around. All my people are outside the door…”
“Go ahead and call them in.” Ning Nuannuan pointed at the tightly shut door. “Let’s see whether they run faster, or my fists strike faster.”
Yin Jiu fell silent. He had seen the broken zitan bedpost. Even if all the eunuchs and maids outside came together, they wouldn’t be enough for her to crush with one hand.
Ning Nuannuan turned around, her gaze landing on the canopy bed behind her.
Beds in the Great Qing were elaborately crafted, with intricate carvings and hollowed designs. They looked luxurious, but had a fatal flaw when it came to sleeping: they were hard. Even with three layers of bedding, Ning Nuannuan—accustomed to modern mattresses—felt like all her bones were being jabbed.
On top of that, this was Yin Jiu’s bed, still carrying a pungent scent of incense. She had long since had enough of it.
“You usually sleep on this piece of junk?” Ning Nuannuan kicked the footrest under the bed.
Yin Jiu was furious. “This is a thousand-work bed crafted by the Imperial Household Department! What do you mean junk? Do you even understand propriety?”
“Nope,” Ning Nuannuan replied crisply.
She walked to the other side of the bed, where no bedding was laid, exposing the zitan wooden planks.
The wood grain was fine, the lacquer polished enough to reflect a person clearly.
Ning Nuannuan rolled her right shoulder and twisted her neck from side to side, her joints cracking.
“This bed is an eyesore—and in the way.”
She took a breath, feet apart at shoulder width. Lowering her center of gravity, power rose from the soles of her feet, traveling through her calves, thighs, waist, and hips, all the way into her right arm.
She threw a punch.
No flourish. No extra movement. Just the most standard straight punch.
Though this body was weak, Ning Nuannuan retained the peak force-generation technique of a modern combat champion. Concentrating the strength of her entire body into a single explosive point, its destructive power far exceeded ordinary imagination.
Boom!
A loud crash echoed through the room, so intense that even the window paper trembled.
Yin Jiu didn’t even see how she struck. All he saw was the supposedly indestructible zitan thousand-work bed collapsing inward from the middle.
The solid wooden planks—two inches thick—were punched clean through. The sounds of splintering wood rang out one after another.
The entire bed lost its structural balance. The carved railings above, the wooden canopy, and the heavy bed curtains all collapsed together with a teeth-gritting creak.
Wood chips flew everywhere. Dust rose into the air.
A perfectly fine canopy bed was reduced to a pile of broken debris.
Ning Nuannuan withdrew her fist and blew off the wood dust from her knuckles. Aside from slight redness, her skin wasn’t even broken.
Perfect force application. The body’s coordination was acceptable. Ning Nuannuan gave this body a passing score in her mind.
Yin Jiu sat on the floor, completely dumbfounded.
His mouth hung open as he stared at the wreckage. A half-foot-long wooden fragment lay by his feet, still bearing an exquisite bat-pattern carving.
One punch… shattered the Imperial Household’s thousand-work bed?
Is she even human? Even Xiang Yu reincarnated wouldn’t be this outrageous!
Ning Nuannuan stepped over the broken wood and walked to the other side of the room, stopping in front of a daybed. It was cushioned—far more comfortable than that rigid wooden bed.
She lay down and pulled a blanket over herself.
“From now until dawn,” Ning Nuannuan said calmly, her back to Yin Jiu, “I don’t want to hear any sound in this room other than breathing. One extra noise, and I’ll fold you into the shape of that bed. Understood?”
Yin Jiu clamped his mouth shut, covering his face tightly with both hands, even softening his breathing.
Understood. Completely understood.
At this moment, only one thought filled his mind: stay alive.
Stay alive until dawn.
Tomorrow morning, he would enter the palace, rush to Qianqing Palace, and cling to his imperial father while crying his grievances! He didn’t want this wife anymore—whoever wanted her could take her!