When Wanyan was pulled up by Caiyue, half her face had already swollen like a bun.
She covered her face as tears streamed down. Her carefully applied makeup was ruined—on the left, a delicate peach-blossom look; on the right, the imprint of five fingers.
“Y-you hit me?” Wanyan’s voice warped, the last note rising sharply.
Ning Nuannuan picked up the teapot from the side table, poured herself a cup of warm water, and took a sip.
“You were pretty quick when you tried to splash me. What, now that you missed, you feel wronged?”
Wanyan choked on her words, her chest heaving. She had ruled over the Ninth Prince’s residence for more than half a year— even the managing matrons treated her with smiles. When had she ever been slapped in the face like this?
She pressed a handkerchief to her cheek, tears falling in strings, but her gaze skipped past Ning Nuannuan and landed directly on Yin Jiu.
“Master!”
The call was soft and sweet, trembling at the end.
Yin Jiu was lowering his head, counting the cracks between the floor tiles. Hearing her voice, the muscles in his back tensed instinctively.
He did not look up.
Wanyan’s tears flowed even more fiercely. She let go of Caiyue’s hand and staggered a couple of steps toward Yin Jiu. Her knees gave way, and she dropped to the ground right in front of him.
“Master, I was offering tea to the Consort. The cup was too hot, and I didn’t hold it steady—that was my fault. But the Consort… she actually slapped me! Master… look at my face!”
Wanyan lifted her head, presenting her swollen right cheek to Yin Jiu.
To be honest, it was indeed pitiful. Her entire right cheekbone was raised, the blood vessels beneath the skin shaken to the surface, bruised in a mix of blue, purple, and red.
Before yesterday, Yin Jiu would have already leapt up to fight anyone who hurt Wanyan like this.
But today was different.
Because the one who struck her had smashed his priceless rosewood bed into firewood with a single punch last night.
Yin Jiu looked at Wanyan’s face, then secretly glanced at Ning Nuannuan, who was sitting in the main seat, calmly drinking water.
He chose silence.
Wanyan froze.
“Master?”
She called again, her voice softer now, eyes brimming with tears, her chin trembling slightly. This was her ultimate weapon—pitiful, delicate crying. Every time she used it, Yin Jiu would be heartbroken, wishing he could pluck the stars from the sky for her.
Yin Jiu pressed his lips together and lifted his teacup, hiding half his face.
“If… if you’re fine, then get up,” he muttered vaguely.
“Master!” Wanyan’s voice suddenly rose an octave. “I’ve been beaten into this state, and all you say is ‘get up’? Have you… stopped caring about me?”
Yin Jiu’s scalp tingled from her shout. Of course he cared about her—but he cared more about his own life.
He opened his mouth, intending to offer some comfort, but the corner of his eye caught sight of Ning Nuannuan’s hand resting on the armrest—that hand which had snapped a hairpin, broken the edge of a table, and shattered a bedpost—his mouth shut again.
The side hall fell silent for a few breaths.
Ning Nuannuan set down her teacup and pointed at where Wanyan was kneeling.
“You’re kneeling in the wrong place.”
Wanyan froze.
“The rules of this household—if a concubine has something to report, she speaks to the head mistress first,” Ning Nuannuan tilted her head. “You kneel in front of him and cry—are you pretending I don’t exist?”
Wanyan’s lips trembled, unsure how to respond.
She had lived in this residence for over half a year, always going directly to the Ninth Prince for decisions. She had never once thought of going through the primary consort—especially not one who had just entered the household yesterday and hadn’t even warmed her seat yet!
“Consort…” Wanyan corrected herself, her tone softening slightly, though the stubbornness in her eyes could not be hidden. “I merely failed to hold the teacup steady, yet the Consort immediately resorted to violence. Isn’t that against the rules? The matrons of the residence are all watching.”
She emphasized the words “against the rules” with particular weight.
The implication was clear—you’re a newly married bride who hasn’t even familiarized herself with the household yet. What right do you have to hit someone?
The matrons standing nearby all lowered their heads, not daring to breathe loudly.
Ning Nuannuan rested her chin on one hand and sized up Lady Wanyan for a few seconds.
“So you mean I wronged you?”
Lady Wanyan immediately picked up the thread, her voice soft and gentle. “I wouldn’t dare say I was wronged. It’s just that Your Consortship saw clearly from above just now—the tea was truly too hot. My strength is weak, and I couldn’t hold it steady. If you don’t believe me, you may ask the other sisters present.”
She turned to look at Lady Zhaojia and the other concubines.
Lady Zhaojia lowered her head, staring at the tips of her shoes, not saying a word. The other concubines shrank back even further, wishing they could melt into the wall.
No one spoke up for her.
Lady Wanyan’s expression changed slightly, but she quickly returned to her fragile demeanor and looked toward Yintang again.
“My lord, please speak a fair word for me.”
Ning Nuannuan didn’t give Yintang a chance to respond. She placed the teacup on the table and stood up.
“I don’t care whether your hand slipped or you did it on purpose.” She walked up to Lady Wanyan and stopped. “In this courtyard, there are only two paths. First, behave yourself and follow the rules. I’m not someone who likes to stir trouble.”
“And the second?” Lady Wanyan lifted her chin.
Ning Nuannuan looked down at her.
“The second—you can keep complaining, keep crying, keep asking the Ninth Prince to stand up for you. But you’d better think about one question first.”
“What question?”
Ning Nuannuan crouched down, bringing her face close to Lady Wanyan’s. The distance between them was less than a foot.
“Can he protect you?”
Lady Wanyan’s pupils shrank as she instinctively turned to look at Yintang.
Yintang’s hand, holding the teacup, trembled slightly. A few drops of tea spilled onto the back of his hand, scalding him. He hissed, quickly set the cup down, and rubbed the burned spot with his other hand. His eyes drifted to the ceiling as he muttered to himself,
“The carvings on this beam are quite exquisite…”
Lady Wanyan: “……”
Her heart sank halfway. The Ninth Prince was avoiding this? Not only avoiding it—he was pretending, acting as if he hadn’t heard anything.
This wasn’t right.
Before yesterday, Lady Wanyan had absolute confidence in Yintang. This man loved her, doted on her, and supported her. Yet now she was kneeling on the ground, half her face swollen, and Yintang was studying ceiling carvings.
Something must have happened that she didn’t know about.
Lady Wanyan quickly ran through everything in her mind. Last night in the bridal chamber, the Ninth Prince went in and never came out again. This morning, the two of them appeared together—his face pale, his spirit drained.
She had originally thought he was just saving face, reluctantly spending the night in the main courtyard. But now it seemed things were far from that simple.
“Your Consortship… I was wrong.” Lady Wanyan lowered her head.
This bow wasn’t out of submission, but because she had keenly sensed the shift in the situation. Until she figured things out, backing down was the safest choice.
Ning Nuannuan straightened up. “If admitting fault were useful, what would fists be for?”
The corner of Lady Wanyan’s mouth twitched.
Ning Nuannuan turned and walked back to the main seat, sitting down again. She glanced at the matrons standing in the corners.
“Continue the tea ceremony.”