Three days after Advisor Shen left, there was no response at all from the Eighth Prince’s residence.
No urging, no scolding, no messenger—just as if the letter requesting fifty thousand taels had never existed.
Yin Jiu felt uneasy, but he didn’t show it. Over the past few days, he had been unusually well-behaved—inspecting shops during the day and staying in his study at night to go over accounts—clearly influenced by Ning Nuannuan.
Ning Nuannuan wasn’t idle either. The handover at the silk shop was nearly complete under Manager Zhou, and Li Maocai had already shaped the storefront outside Chongwen Gate into something presentable. The new signboard wasn’t up yet, but the first batch of dried seafood from Guangdong and Guangxi had already arrived in the capital via canal transport.
Everything was proceeding steadily.
Until an imperial decree shattered the calm.
Someone arrived from the palace. The eunuch delivering the order was from Yikun Palace, serving Consort Yi. In a sharp voice, he finished reading the verbal decree, the core message simple—since the Ninth Prince’s primary consort had entered the household days ago, it was time for her to enter the palace and pay respects to her mother-in-law.
Yin Jiu was born to Consort Yi of the Guo Luoluo clan. Her status in Emperor Kangxi’s harem was not low; she had been favored for many years and was not known for a gentle temperament. It had already been nearly ten days since the new daughter-in-law entered the household—if she still hadn’t gone to pay respects, it would be improper.
Ning Nuannuan searched through the original host’s memories for information about Consort Yi. It was fragmented, but a few keywords stood out: strong-willed, fiercely protective, and disdainful of the Dong’e family’s status.
“When do we go?” Ning Nuannuan asked the eunuch.
“Her Ladyship’s intention is tomorrow morning.”
“Alright.”
After the eunuch left, Yin Jiu wandered over from the study, lingering at the doorway before stepping inside.
“About entering the palace—”
“I heard.”
“My mother has a bad temper.”
“You mean I should just endure it?”
Yin Jiu’s lips twitched. He thought carefully before speaking.
“What I mean is, the palace is not like the residence. If you… behave the same way you do here…”
“You’re afraid I’ll tear down your mother’s palace?”
“I didn’t say that!”
Ning Nuannuan glanced at him. “Don’t worry. I know how to read the situation.”
Yin Jiu let out a breath of relief—but only halfway. Whenever she said she “knew how to read the situation,” there was always a nerve-wracking gap between her words and her actions.
“You’re coming with me?” Ning Nuannuan asked.
“I have to. If my mother summons her daughter-in-law and I don’t show up, I’ll get scolded later.”
“Then help cover for me.”
Yin Jiu blinked. This was the first time Ning Nuannuan had asked him for help.
“Cover what?”
“I don’t know what your mother will throw at me, but visits like this rarely go smoothly. Just don’t stand by and watch the show.”
Yin Jiu was silent for a moment, then nodded.
At dawn the next day, while it was still dark,
Ning Nuannuan was pulled out of bed by the maids to be dressed. Her attire for entering the palace had to be carefully chosen—not too plain, not too ostentatious. After looking through her dowry clothes, she chose a moon-white robe, paired with a full set of gold filigree hair ornaments and pearl drop earrings.
After dressing, she examined herself in the bronze mirror.
This body had a good foundation—regular features and a balanced frame—but compared to the carefully selected beauties of the imperial harem, it wasn’t particularly outstanding.
“Let’s go,” she said, nodding to Yin Jiu waiting in the courtyard.
Yin Jiu was dressed in formal princely court attire today. A red gemstone adorned his winter hat, and his belt gleamed. He looked far more presentable—at least like a proper prince.
Two grand sedan chairs departed from the Ninth Prince’s residence, accompanied by six mounted guards. The scale was more imposing than when they returned to her family home.
Turning from West Chang’an Street into the imperial city, they passed through several gates. The palace walls grew taller, blocking out the sunlight, leaving the passageways dim and damp with a lingering chill.
The sedan chairs stopped at the gate of Yikun Palace.
Yin Jiu stepped down first, adjusted his robe, and turned back to wait for Ning Nuannuan. When she lifted the curtain and stepped out, her foot landed on the white marble steps as she glanced into the palace.
The structure was grand—Yikun Palace, one of the Western Six Palaces, had a main hall of five bays, with three rooms on each side wing. Consort Yi had lived here for over twenty years, and every plant in the courtyard was meticulously maintained.
The one who came out to receive them was Liu Xi, the chief eunuch by Consort Yi’s side. In his forties, pale-faced and beardless, he bent slightly, smiling like a Buddha.
“Ninth Prince, Ninth Consort, Her Ladyship is waiting in the main hall. Please, this way.”
Entering the hall, warmth rushed to meet them. The floor heating burned steadily, and a sweet, heavy incense filled the air.
Consort Yi sat on a heated couch in the main hall.
A woman around fifty, well-maintained and appearing ten years younger than her age. She wore an autumn-yellow robe, with red-gold kingfisher hair ornaments on her head and a pair of jade bracelets on her wrists, so translucent they seemed to reflect light.
Her eyes resembled Yin Jiu’s—small, but quick—though hers carried decades of composure honed in the palace.
Besides Consort Yi, two young women sat in the hall—one in a rose-red robe, the other in a pale lavender one. Their jewelry was far more luxurious than Ning Nuannuan’s.
Ning Nuannuan ran through her memory.
The one in rose-red on the left was the primary consort of the Fifth Prince, Yintai of the Tatara clan. Yintai, also Consort Yi’s son, was Yin Jiu’s full-blooded elder brother. Having been married into the family for years, Lady Tatara had firmly established her position before Consort Yi—she was not someone to be trifled with.
The one in lotus-purple on the right—Ning Nuannuan didn’t recognize her at first.
Not important. Bow first.
“Your daughter-in-law greets Mother.” Ning Nuannuan knelt and knocked her head three times, her movements proper and precise.
Consort Yi did not tell her to rise.
The hall fell silent for a few breaths. In the palace, this kind of silence was a signal—the one in power was assessing you, and you’d better stay still.
Kneeling on the golden bricks, Ning Nuannuan didn’t feel pain, but it was uncomfortable.
Consort Yi’s gaze moved from the gold filigree ornaments on her head to her face, then down to her body, examining her carefully.
“Rise.”
Ning Nuannuan stood.
“Come closer.”
She stepped forward twice.
Consort Yi looked her up and down for quite a while. “Stronger than I expected.”
The words were blunt. In the harem, “strong” was not praise. Beside her, Lady Tatara covered her mouth with a handkerchief, the corners of her lips curling slightly, saying nothing.
Ning Nuannuan did not respond.
Standing nearby, Yintang felt his heart rise to his throat. He knew his mother well—on the surface she said “strong,” but underneath it meant “coarse” and “unrefined.”
“I heard that on your first day after entering the household, you broke the rosewood bed in Yintang’s room?”
Consort Yi lifted her teacup and blew on it. Her tone was light, but the content was precise—the news had spread quickly.
Yintang’s face turned green. Who had reported this to the palace?
“I accidentally bumped into it,” Ning Nuannuan replied.
“A rosewood bed, broken by accident?” Consort Yi set down her cup. “That bed was custom-made by the Imperial Household Department at my request. It cost four hundred taels of silver.”
Lady Tatara finally spoke, her voice soft. “Younger sister has just entered the household, so it’s understandable she’s unfamiliar with things. Mother, please don’t be angry. We can have Ninth Brother order another one from the Imperial Household Department.”
Her words sounded pleasant, but the implication was cutting—you don’t even cherish your own household’s belongings and ruin them carelessly.
Yintang wanted to explain, but didn’t know how. He couldn’t exactly tell his mother, “She broke it while beating me.”
Ning Nuannuan stuck to the attitude she had prepared before entering the palace—no arguing, no defending; admit what could be admitted.
“It was my fault. I’ll have Ninth Prince compensate Mother with an even better one.”
Consort Yi glanced at her, then at Yintang.
Yintang paying meant four hundred taels from his own pocket.
His lips twitched as he lowered his gaze to his boots.
Consort Yi didn’t dwell on the matter and changed the topic.
“These days since you entered the household, has everything been smooth?”
“Smooth.”
“And how is Lady Wanyan?”
There it was—the question Ning Nuannuan had been waiting for.
Consort Yi didn’t mention Lady Wanyan casually. Her name appearing here meant she already knew something.
“Lady Wanyan is doing well, keeping to her place,” Ning Nuannuan answered flawlessly.
Consort Yi stared at her for two breaths, the corner of her lips moving slightly. “I heard that two days ago, Lady Wanyan spent two hours on the rooftop.”
The air in the hall instantly froze.
The young woman in lotus-purple nearly dropped her teacup and quickly lowered her head to steady it.
Lady Tatara’s eyes flickered, then settled on Ning Nuannuan.
Yintang cursed internally. Which loose tongue had reported this to the palace?
Ning Nuannuan remained expressionless. “Lady Wanyan has a weak constitution. That day, the courtyard was stuffy, so I let her go up somewhere higher to get some air.”
The excuse was outrageously stretched.
Consort Yi paused mid-motion with her teacup, her gaze lingering on Ning Nuannuan’s face for several seconds, as if judging whether this daughter-in-law was bold or simply foolish.
“Get some air?” Her tone dragged slightly.
“Yes.”
Consort Yi set down the cup. She didn’t press further, but her expression was clear—I don’t believe you, but I’ll let it pass for now.
“Yintang.” She turned to him.
“Mother.”
“Your wife is quite… straightforward.”
Yintang couldn’t tell if that was praise or criticism. From experience, his mother’s “praise” was the most dangerous.
“That’s enough. Take her to the rear hall to sit for a while. Let her get acquainted with your Fifth Sister-in-law and the others. I have a few words to speak with you alone.”