The rules for serving tea were strictly observed throughout the Great Qing, from the imperial palace to noble residences. When a concubine served tea to the primary wife, she had to kneel properly, holding the teacup above her brows. If the primary wife refused to accept it, the concubine had to keep holding it there. This was also one of the most common ways for the mistress of the house to assert her authority.
Wanyan Shi understood this well. She had already planned her move in three steps: first, the water had to be scalding hot; second, while offering the tea, she would deliberately press her wrist downward, spilling the boiling tea onto either herself or Dong’e Shi’s skirt; third, she would fall with the motion, squeeze out a few tears, and complain to Ninth Master that the primary wife was intolerant.
This trick was considered basic in household power struggles, but it was effective every time. As long as Ninth Master favored her, even wrong would become right.
She raised her slender fingers gracefully and steadily lifted the steaming famille-rose lidded teacup. The moment her fingertips touched the porcelain, the heat stung her skin. She gritted her teeth inwardly and endured it, then walked slowly to Ning Nuannuan. Bending her knees, she knelt down.
“With the primary wife entering the household, it is a great joy for our residence. This concubine wishes the Master and the Lady harmony and happiness, and may you soon be blessed with a son.” Wanyan Shi’s voice was soft enough to melt, her eyes shimmering like water. Taking advantage of lowering her head, she cast a flirtatious glance toward Yinzhen.
Yinzhen was staring blankly at the floor tiles, completely missing the signal.
Wanyan Shi withdrew her gaze and raised the teacup high with both hands, offering it to Ning Nuannuan. “Please have some tea, Madam.”
Ning Nuannuan didn’t move. Leaning back in her chair, she looked down at Wanyan Shi from above. Years spent in combat arenas had given her an exceptionally sharp instinct for the trajectories of human movement.
In her view, the woman kneeling before her wasn’t offering tea at all.
Wanyan Shi’s elbow angle was off, and the muscles in her wrist showed no sign of lifting upward—instead, they were subtly pressing downward. More obviously, the lid of the cup wasn’t fully closed, leaving a small gap. At that tilt, combined with gravity, the moment her hand left the base of the cup, the boiling water inside would spill forward in a parabolic arc within half a second.
Right toward Ning Nuannuan’s knees.
“Crude technique. Too much buildup.” Ning Nuannuan gave an objective evaluation in her mind.
Seconds passed. Ning Nuannuan still didn’t take the tea.
Wanyan Shi felt her fingers nearly being cooked through, and her irritation surged along with the heat. She decided to act ahead of schedule.
“Could it be that Madam dislikes this concubine…” Her voice broke into a sob halfway through the sentence. At the same time, the little finger of her right hand supporting the base quietly loosened, and her wrist subtly tilted downward.
The delicate famille-rose lidded cup lost its balance, about to crash toward Ning Nuannuan’s skirt, as the scalding tea surged out through the gap.
Wanyan Shi had already prepared to fall along with it.
However, the scream she expected, the ensuing chaos, and the man’s sympathy—none of it happened.
At the very instant the cup tilted—
Ning Nuannuan moved.
She didn’t reach out to catch the falling cup, nor did she panic and dodge like an ordinary woman. She simply remained seated and raised her right hand.
Her shoulder sank, her upper arm drove the forearm, and the force transmitted directly from her waist to her palm. It was a textbook-level horizontal strike.
Ning Nuannuan deliberately controlled the strength of her strike to a very low level. After all, this was human society, not an unrestricted fighting arena—snapping someone’s cervical spine with a single slap would cause trouble.
Smack!
A crisp, resounding slap exploded through the spacious side hall.
The movement was too fast—so fast that no one present saw what had happened.
Wanyan only felt her vision blur. The next instant, an overwhelming force struck her right cheek. Not only did it interrupt all her following actions, it also snapped her head violently to the left. Dragged by the sheer momentum, her entire body lifted off the ground.
She was like a rag doll thrown through the air, flying half a meter sideways before crashing heavily onto the tiled floor.
Clang!
Only then did the pastel porcelain lidded teacup fall from her grasp, shattering into pieces. The scalding tea mixed with leaves splashed across the spot where she had just been kneeling, steaming hot.
Not a single drop touched Ning Nuannuan’s clothes.
The side hall fell into a deathly silence. Not only did no one speak—even the sound of breathing seemed to vanish.
Zhaojia’s handkerchief slipped from her fingers. The maids and matrons stared wide-eyed, mouths slightly open, as if they had seen a ghost. Caiyue remained frozen mid-motion, her hand still stretched out to support her mistress, like a statue.
In the inner courtyards of the Great Qing, it was common for the main wife to discipline concubines—kneeling punishments, slaps, copying scriptures, even beatings with boards, all done according to rules. Usually, servants or eunuchs carried it out, while the mistress only needed to give orders from above.
But who had ever seen the mistress act personally—and send someone flying with a single slap?
This wasn’t discipline. This was outright assault.
Ning Nuannuan slowly withdrew her hand, took out a plain handkerchief from her sleeve, and leisurely wiped her palm. That brief contact with Wanyan’s cheek had felt unpleasant—the powder was applied too thickly.
“Hold a teacup steady. That’s the most basic form of control,” Ning Nuannuan said flatly, tossing the used handkerchief onto the nearby table. “If you can’t hold it properly, then don’t hold it. If you want to splash water on someone, be prepared to get hit.”
Yin Jiu, sitting nearby, was staring blankly at the spilled tea on the floor.
He replayed the scene in his mind. When that slap was thrown, he could even feel the wind it generated. He touched his own face, cold sweat breaking out across his back. If she had used that move on him last night, the Ninth Prince’s residence would probably already be draped in funeral white.
“Why are you still standing there? Help her up. Don’t let her lie on the ground pretending to be dead,” Ning Nuannuan tapped the armrest, glancing at the stunned Caiyue.
Caiyue’s legs went weak as she scrambled toward Wanyan.
Wanyan finally regained some awareness. Her head rang as if hundreds of gongs were clanging at once. The right side of her face was completely numb, swollen high, with five bright red finger marks clearly visible. Two of her carefully maintained nails had snapped, her hair was in disarray, and her gold and silver ornaments were scattered across the floor.
“Madam! Madam, how are you?!” Caiyue cried as she tried to pull her up.