The morning light was just beginning to break.
The rear courtyard of the Ninth Prince’s residence was silent.
According to Manchu customs, on the second morning after marriage, the bride had to rise early, wash and dress, wait for the matrons to collect the ceremonial cloth, and then pay respects to the elders. Although the Ninth Prince had no direct elders living in the residence, the rules of the household still had to be upheld.
He Yuzhu, the chief eunuch who served Yin Jiu closely, stood outside the door with two old matrons, holding a copper basin and towels.
“Master, Consort, it is time to rise,” He Yuzhu called out in a high-pitched voice.
There was no response from inside.
He Yuzhu exchanged glances with the matrons. The matrons wore knowing smiles. The Ninth Prince was in his prime, newly married—it was only natural for him to wake late.
“Master?” He Yuzhu raised his voice and knocked on the door.
Inside the room.
Yin Jiu remained in the same position as last night, curled up on a chair opposite the couch. He had not slept at all. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Ning Nuannuan smashing the bed with a single punch.
Hearing He Yuzhu’s voice outside felt like heavenly music.
He stood up and was just about to shout “Help,” when he met Ning Nuannuan’s open eyes.
Ning Nuannuan sat up from the couch and rubbed her sore shoulders.
“Who is outside?” she asked.
“I-it’s He Yuzhu, my personal eunuch,” Yin Jiu replied hoarsely. He shuffled a few steps toward the door, trying to open it.
“Stop.” Ning Nuannuan called out.
Yin Jiu’s legs froze instinctively. He turned his head and forced a smile uglier than crying. “Consort, it’s already morning. The servants should come in to attend us.”
Ning Nuannuan glanced at the floor, which was covered in broken wood. Her punch last night had been too powerful—there wasn’t even a place to step. The bedding, curtains, and pillows were all mixed with splinters.
How was this supposed to be explained?
She didn’t care. At worst, she would just beat someone again. But causing a scene on her first day here would be troublesome.
“Open the door,” Ning Nuannuan pointed at the crack, “just leave a gap.”
Yin Jiu didn’t dare disobey. He obediently pulled the door open slightly.
Outside, He Yuzhu was about to knock again when the door opened. A pale face with heavy dark circles appeared in the gap.
“Master, what happened to you…” He Yuzhu was startled.
“Get lost!” Yin Jiu cursed in a low voice. “Who told you to come disturb me?”
He Yuzhu was baffled. The Ninth Prince always cared about his appearance—why did he look like he had seen a ghost today?
“Master, it’s getting late. Lady Wanyan and the others are waiting in the side hall to serve tea to the Consort.”
At the mention of Wanyan, Yin Jiu’s heart ached. His delicate Wanyan—he had spent the entire night freezing on the floor and couldn’t even go hold her.
Ning Nuannuan’s voice came from behind him. “Tell them to wait. If I don’t come out, no one leaves.”
He Yuzhu leaned forward, trying to peek inside. “Consort, that’s against the rules—”
“I make the rules,” Ning Nuannuan said as she walked to the door and placed a hand on Yin Jiu’s shoulder.
Yin Jiu shuddered, a chill seeping into his bones. He shouted at He Yuzhu, “Are you deaf? Whatever the Consort says goes! Make them wait! All of you, get out! Leave the courtyard!”
He Yuzhu had never seen the Ninth Prince this furious. Terrified, he scrambled away with the matrons, stumbling out of the courtyard.
The courtyard fell silent again.
Ning Nuannuan released her hand and turned to sit at the dressing table.
In the bronze mirror was a young and spirited face. The original body had a good foundation—well-defined features and a natural bold charm even without makeup. Ning Nuannuan ran her fingers through her hair as she looked at her reflection.
“Little Ninth, come here,” she beckoned.
Yin Jiu didn’t move, full of resistance. “My name is Aisin Gioro Yin Jiu, the Ninth Prince of the Great Qing—not ‘Little Ninth’!”
Ning Nuannuan turned to look at him without saying a word.
Five seconds later.
Yintang resigned himself and moved to the dressing table. “What do you want to do?”
“Comb my hair.” Ning Nuannuan picked up a wooden comb and handed it to him. She didn’t know how to style ancient hairstyles, nor could she manage those complicated ornaments.
Yintang stared at the wooden comb in his hand. A prince combing a woman’s hair? If this got to his Eighth Brother’s ears, he might as well smash his head and die.
“I don’t know how,” he refused stiffly.
Ning Nuannuan casually picked up a pure gold kingfisher-feather hairpin from the table. Holding both ends between two fingers, she gently bent it.
The thick gold hairpin snapped in half.
She tossed the bent hairpin onto the table with a crisp clink.
“I’ll give you one more chance to reconsider your wording.”
Yintang’s eyelids twitched wildly. A solid gold hairpin—bent like it was a noodle?
Without another word, he grabbed the wooden comb, stood behind Ning Nuannuan, and awkwardly gathered her long hair.
As he combed, he silently wept inside. This life was unbearable. This wasn’t marrying a consort—this was installing a living King of Hell in his house.
Ning Nuannuan enjoyed the free head massage, her mood fairly good.
“Little Ninth, I know you’re not convinced,” she said, looking at Yintang through the mirror. “You’re thinking that once you step out that door, you’ll go complain to Kangxi, right?”
Yintang’s hand trembled, pulling out two strands of hair.
Ignoring the slight pain, Ning Nuannuan continued, “Go ahead. But before you do, you’d better think carefully about how to spin your story. The dignified Ninth Prince, beaten to the ground by his own consort on his wedding night, even smashing the bed. Tell me—will the Emperor pity you, or think you’re a useless man who can’t even control a woman?”
Yintang’s hand froze completely.
She had hit his weak spot.
The Emperor valued martial prowess above all and despised weak sons the most. If he found out that Yintang had been beaten one-sidedly by Dong’e, not only would he not help him—he’d probably kick him out and strip his title.
Humiliating. Too humiliating.
“Y-you… what exactly do you want?” Yintang’s voice turned hoarse. He recognized reality now. In the face of absolute violence and shamelessness, his status as a prince meant nothing.
Ning Nuannuan smiled.
“Cooperation.”
“Cooperation?”
“That’s right. From now on, in this residence, you handle external affairs. Making money—you’re good at that. Keeping up appearances—you take care of it. But I have three conditions.” She raised three fingers.
“First, don’t provoke me. Don’t come near me. Sleep wherever you want, just don’t bother me.”
“Second, those women in your harem—don’t let them stir trouble in front of me. Whoever dares to annoy me, I’ll deal with them. When that time comes, don’t try to stop me—you won’t be able to anyway.”
“Third, give me half the keys to the treasury. I spend money, you reimburse.”
Yintang’s eyes widened. “You want a share of my money? Impossible! My businesses are—”
Before he could finish, Ning Nuannuan raised her hand and slammed it down on the edge of the dressing table. A chunk of the solid pearwood table broke off instantly.
The wooden piece fell to the ground and rolled to Yintang’s feet.
“I didn’t hear you clearly just now. What did you say was impossible?” Ning Nuannuan tilted her head.
Yintang stared at the wooden block and swallowed.
“I said… there couldn’t be a fairer arrangement than this. Consort, you are wise.”
Those who understand the times are the real heroes. Money could be earned again—life, he only had one.
Ning Nuannuan nodded. “Done combing? If so, change clothes. Let’s go meet your delicate Lady Wanyan.”
Yintang hurriedly tied her hair into a simple bun and randomly stuck in two hairpins.
He looked at the red marks on his wrist, then at Ning Nuannuan swaggering out the door.
How did the sky over this prince’s residence change so suddenly?