Morning light filtered through the window lattice covered with Korean paper, illuminating the floor scattered with fragments of rosewood. Ning Nuannuan sat upright on the couch, raising a hand to stretch her neck. The crisp cracking of her joints echoed clearly in the quiet room.
She tilted her head and looked at Yintang, who was still curled up on the chair. The Ninth Prince of the Great Qing now had dark circles under his eyes, his hands clutching his wide sleeves, his entire posture defensive. Outside in the courtyard, sparrows chirped noisily.
“Change clothes. Go to the front hall.” Ning Nuannuan tossed out five words and stood up, walking toward the copper basin. The water had already gone cold, but she didn’t mind. She scooped it up and splashed it on her face twice, then grabbed a cloth nearby and wiped casually. This efficient habit, formed from surviving in the wild, felt rough and out of place in this prince’s residence that valued grandeur and ceremony.
Yintang swallowed and pushed himself up using the back of the chair. His legs, unmoved all night, had long gone numb. As soon as he took a step, his knees buckled uncontrollably, and he dropped to one knee.
Ning Nuannuan tossed the cloth back into the basin and turned to look at him.
“My… my legs are numb, I’m not kneeling to you!” Yintang gritted his teeth and stiffened his neck, trying to save face. His pride would never allow him to yield to a woman—let alone one who had dismantled a finely crafted palace bed the night before.
“Oh. Then get up.” Ning Nuannuan didn’t spare him an extra expression. She pulled the bright red formal consort attire from the rack. The original body was frail; this elaborate outfit weighed over ten pounds when worn, with the collar buttoned tightly. Finding it troublesome, she simply tossed aside the outer vest, put on a lighter set of clothes, and rolled up her sleeves slightly, revealing her slender wrists.
Outside, He Yuzhu stood with a group of eunuchs and maids, all waiting on tiptoe. They didn’t know exactly what had happened in the main room last night, but they had clearly heard the prince’s angry shout. At a time like this, no one dared to court trouble.
The door opened from the inside.
Ning Nuannuan strode out, her boots striking the stone floor with steady steps. Her back was straight, lacking the graceful sway expected of a Manchu noblewoman. Yintang followed half a step behind, still limping slightly.
They passed through the moon gate and walked along the covered corridor toward the side hall. The Ninth Prince’s residence was vast, with rockeries and flowing water arranged in harmony. As they passed a Taihu rock formation, Yintang seemed distracted. His foot caught, and he stumbled forward.
Ning Nuannuan reacted instantly. Her right hand shot out, grabbing the back of his collar and lifting him midair with sheer force. Yintang’s face stopped less than half a foot from the sharp Taihu rock.
“Watch where you’re going. Stop staring at me.” Ning Nuannuan released him. His feet hit the ground, his legs trembling. In that moment, he had experienced what it felt like to be lifted one-handed—just where had this woman trained such strength?
Meanwhile, inside the side hall, the charcoal brazier burned brightly. The heat mixed with the scent of expensive agarwood, making one’s head feel hazy.
The secondary consort, Lady Wanyan, sat in the first chair on the left, holding a handkerchief made of fine Suzhou tribute silk. Today she had deliberately chosen a pale moon-white embroidered banner dress, with a few spring flowers stitched along the collar, making her small face appear even more delicate. According to Manchu customs, when the primary consort entered the household, concubines were to wait in the side hall to present tea. Lady Wanyan had already made up her mind—today, she would give this newly arrived Dong’e woman a proper show of authority.
“My lady, what time is it already? The consort is still making you wait here,” her personal maid Caiyue complained softly while massaging her legs. “Last night, although the prince stayed in the main courtyard, I heard from the front that not even water was called for in the main room. It seems the prince only went to keep up appearances for the Dong’e family.”
Lady Wanyan lifted the delicate porcelain teacup beside her and brushed away the foam with the lid before taking a sip. The warm tea slid down her throat as she spoke leisurely, “She is, after all, the Ninth Prince’s official consort personally chosen by the Emperor—a proper mistress. What harm is there in waiting a little? But rules are not something one understands just by putting on a red wedding dress.”
Seated below, Lady Zhaojia and several other concubines exchanged glances, none daring to speak. Everyone in the residence knew how favored Lady Wanyan was. The Ninth Prince would give her anything she wanted—valuable items from the treasury flowed into her courtyard like water. Today’s tea ceremony… who knew what kind of trouble would arise.
As they were speaking, a sharp, high-pitched announcement from a eunuch came from outside.
“His Lordship has arrived—The Madam has arrived—”
Wanyan Shi quickly set down her teacup, leading the group of women to stand. They straightened their skirts, their gazes uniformly directed toward the entrance.
The first thing to step over the threshold was a pair of black thick-soled boots. Ning Nuannuan strode into the hall in large steps, not even sparing a glance at those standing nearby. She walked straight to the main seat in the center, flicked her hem, and sat down boldly.
Yin Jiu, who followed right behind her, instead looked like a mere backdrop. He glanced at the two chairs at the main seat and instinctively chose the one farther away from Ning Nuannuan. He sat down cautiously, hands placed on his knees, his back straight as a rod.
Wanyan Shi sized up Ning Nuannuan, calculating quickly in her mind. No elaborate hair ornaments, no carefully drawn brows, and even her clothing lacked a sense of luxury. How did she look like a bride on the second day after marriage? Then she glanced at Ninth Master beside her—his expression stiff, dark circles under his eyes, clearly the look of someone who had stayed up all night.
“This concubine, Wanyan Shi, leads the sisters of the residence in paying respects to His Lordship and to Madam,” Wanyan Shi said as she bent her knees first, performing a standard greeting—graceful, even deliberately soft and alluring. She slowed her rise intentionally, fully displaying the softness of a woman’s waist.
Ning Nuannuan leaned back against the chair, propping her chin on one hand, her gaze sweeping up and down Wanyan Shi.
From the perspective of a combat expert, this woman had a higher body fat percentage, an unstable lower stance, loose arm muscles, and her only point of strength lay in her sharp tongue. Her combat value was zero, and her resistance to blows was extremely poor.
“Rise,” Ning Nuannuan said calmly, without the usual long lecture a main wife would give to discipline a concubine, nor did she put on any airs.
This reaction, in Wanyan Shi’s eyes, became a sign of guilt and timidity. As expected, Dong’e Shi was nothing more than a weak pushover.
Wanyan Shi straightened and gave Caiyue a look. It was time for the tea-serving ceremony to begin—and for the show she had prepared to take the stage. The atmosphere in the side hall gradually tightened with the approaching footsteps of the maid carrying a lacquered wooden tray.
Yin Jiu sat to the side, lifting the teacup beside him to hide his inner panic. He knew Wanyan Shi’s temperament too well. This woman had long been spoiled by him and always liked to compete when something happened. Normally, he enjoyed watching the women in the inner courtyard fight over him—it was a matter of pride for a man.
But now…
He secretly glanced at the hand resting on Ning Nuannuan’s armrest. Last night, it was this very hand that had casually snapped a rosewood bedpost as thick as a man’s calf. He only hoped that when Wanyan Shi started causing trouble, it wouldn’t implicate him. He had no desire to experience flying through the air again.
“Madam, please have tea.” The maid beside them presented the tray to Wanyan Shi. On it sat a pink porcelain lidded bowl filled with freshly brewed pu-erh made from boiling water. Steam rose thickly from it—it was scalding hot.