In most households, the tea ceremony would be nothing more than a formality.
But in the side hall of the Ninth Prince’s residence, it had turned into a full-blown incident scene.
Lady Wanyan, supported by Caiyue, retreated back to her seat. Half of her face was swollen beyond recognition, while the other half was deathly pale. The two remaining hairpins on her head hung crookedly, strands of hair falling loose.
She neither spoke nor cried.
That slap hadn’t just knocked the powder off her face—it had shattered half the confidence she had built over the years.
She was waiting.
Waiting for the Ninth Prince to speak. Waiting for him to stand up for her. As long as he opened his mouth, there was still room to turn things around.
But Yintang sat there, having finished studying the patterns on the beam, now examining the markings on the bottom of his teacup. He flipped it over and over, staring intently at the six characters “Made in the Kangxi Era of the Great Qing,” as if they were endlessly fascinating.
Ning Nuannuan didn’t bother with any of that.
She returned to the main seat, lifted her chin toward the matron in the corner, and said, “Continue.”
The matron trembled as she presented a fresh teacup on a tray. This time, she held the tray with both hands, afraid that even the slightest unnecessary movement might bring disaster.
Lady Zhaojia was the first to step forward and kneel.
“This concubine, Zhaojia, greets the Consort.”
Her voice trembled. When her knees hit the floor, the sound was two or three times louder than usual. She raised the teacup high, her arms stiff.
Ning Nuannuan accepted the tea, took a sip, and set it down.
“You may rise.”
Zhaojia stood up faster than she had knelt, nearly stepping on her own skirt as she retreated.
The remaining concubines followed suit, each faster and more respectful than the last. Their movements were uniform; once they finished presenting tea, they immediately shrank back into the corner, none daring to linger for even a moment longer.
After the last concubine withdrew, the side hall fell silent for a while.
Ning Nuannuan swept her gaze around. The formalities were complete.
She stood. “Dismissed.”
No one moved.
Because Lady Wanyan was still sitting there.
Or rather, she was no longer truly “sitting.” She slumped in the chair, her body leaning to the right, one hand covering her swollen cheek, her reddened eyes fixed on Ning Nuannuan’s back.
Caiyue crouched beside her, whispering softly, “My lady, let’s return to the courtyard first. I’ll call a doctor to look at your face…”
“I’m not leaving.” Lady Wanyan suddenly spoke.
Her voice was hoarse, but her tone was unusually firm.
Ning Nuannuan stopped.
Lady Wanyan straightened herself in the chair. Half her face was swollen, but the other half clearly showed unwillingness to yield.
“Consort, I have something to say. I wonder if I may.”
Ning Nuannuan didn’t turn around. “You’re already saying it.”
Lady Wanyan tightened her grip on the handkerchief.
“Consort, your martial skills are impressive—I’ve experienced them myself. But matters in this household are not decided by fists. I know very well where the Prince’s heart lies. You may have struck me once, but can you strike me for a lifetime?”
The temperature in the hall seemed to drop.
Zhaojia wished she could erase her own presence entirely, while the other concubines turned pale, pressing themselves against the walls.
The teacup in Yintang’s hand shook, spilling a few drops.
How could this woman still dare to challenge her? He raised his head, anxiety filling his eyes. He knew Lady Wanyan too well—she yielded to softness but resisted force. The more she was suppressed, the more stubborn she became. He used to find that trait somewhat endearing; now he only wanted to go over and cover her mouth.
At last, Ning Nuannuan turned around.
She walked up to Lady Wanyan and looked down at her.
“You’re right. I may not be able to strike you for a lifetime.”
Lady Wanyan thought she had found an opening and straightened her back slightly.
“But—” Ning Nuannuan bent down, her left hand resting on the armrest of the chair, “I can make sure you remember this one time.”
Before Lady Wanyan could react—
Ning Nuannuan gripped the armrest with her left hand and hooked the bottom of the chair with her right. Power surged from her waist and hips as both arms lifted at once.
Wanyan Shi, along with the redwood chair, was lifted entirely into the air.
“Ah—!”
Her scream pierced through the entire side hall, bursting through doors and windows and echoing across half of the Ninth Prince’s residence.
Ning Nuannuan carried the chair out of the side hall.
One chair and one person—together weighing at least over a hundred pounds—yet on her shoulder, it felt no different than carrying a wooden post. Wanyan Shi sat rigidly on the chair, not daring to move, her hands gripping the armrests tightly while her legs dangled in the air, trembling uncontrollably.
The eunuchs and maids on duty in the courtyard froze collectively at the sight.
Ning Nuannuan glanced around the yard, her gaze landing on the roof of the side room beside the hall. The roof wasn’t too high, with gray tiles sloping upward and curved eaves—just right.
She adjusted her stance slightly, bending her knees to gather strength.
Yin Jiu rushed out of the side hall just in time to see this scene.
“You—”
Too late.
Ning Nuannuan exerted force, pushing upward with both arms.
The redwood chair, carrying Wanyan Shi, flew steadily onto the roof of the side room. The chair legs landed on the gray tiles with a dull thud, perfectly wedged between the ridge and the grooves of the tiles.
Stable and upright.
Wanyan Shi sat on the chair, more than ten feet above the ground. Wind rushed in from all directions, blowing her disheveled hair wildly.
She glanced down at the ground.
Then tightly shut her eyes.
“My heavens—!” Caiyue rushed out of the side hall, looking up at her mistress on the roof. Her legs gave out, and she dropped straight to her knees on the stone floor.
The courtyard instantly descended into chaos. The eunuchs shoved one another, none daring to step forward; several rough servant girls stood by the wall clutching their brooms, their mouths wide enough to fit a bun.
Ning Nuannuan dusted off her hands and turned to look at the stunned Yin Jiu by the doorway.
“You said her skin was thick. I found her a cool place to get some air. She can come down whenever she figures things out.”
“How is she supposed to come down?! There’s no ladder up there!” Yin Jiu’s voice cracked.
“That’s her problem.” Ning Nuannuan tossed out four words and strolled away leisurely. “Oh, and without my permission, no ladders. I hate it when people change my rules.”
Yin Jiu stood frozen.
Behind him was a courtyard full of terrified servants; above him was Wanyan Shi, the one he cherished most. She was already crying on the roof, but the strong wind broke her sobs into fragments.
Yin Jiu clenched his fists.
He wanted to rush forward and argue with Ning Nuannuan. He wanted to order someone to bring a ladder. He wanted to—
A sharp crack sounded by his ear.
Not far away, Ning Nuannuan passed by an old locust tree as thick as a man’s embrace near the courtyard wall. Casually, she yanked off a branch as thick as an arm—not snapping it, but tearing it off along with bark and fibers.
She dragged the branch along as she walked, its scraping against the stone ground producing a harsh noise.
Yin Jiu’s fists loosened.
He glanced back at Wanyan Shi on the roof and silently said in his heart: Sorry… let me think of a way first.
Inside the side hall, Zhao Jia Shi steadied herself against the table. A young concubine beside her tugged at her sleeve, her voice barely louder than a mosquito’s hum.
“Sister… is Madam… even human?”
Zhao Jia Shi swallowed. “Quiet. Don’t let her hear you.”
“But Sister Wanyan is still up there…”
“She can stay up there as long as she likes.” Zhao Jia Shi grabbed the concubine’s hand and pulled her toward her own courtyard. “From today on, you don’t know Wanyan Shi, you don’t know Caiyue. Walk with your head down, speak softly. Whatever Madam says, you agree. Do you understand?”
The concubine nodded frantically.
The news spread quickly.
In less than half an hour, everyone in the Ninth Prince’s residence knew one thing: the newly married Ninth Madam had thrown Concubine Wanyan—chair and all—onto the roof of the side room.
When the chief steward Zhang Dequan heard the news, the account book in his hand dropped to the ground.
In the kitchen, Madam Liu, who was chopping vegetables, missed her cut and nearly chopped her finger.
At the stables, the old groom Wang Liu listened to the young eunuch’s description and, after a long pause, said, “In my sixty years of life, this is the first time I’ve heard of someone throwing a living person onto a roof.”
A young eunuch leaned in and whispered, “Master Wang Liu, do you think Madam practices some kind of dark technique?”
Wang Liu rolled his eyes. “Mind your horses, not Madam’s business. Anyone with a head on their shoulders knows what to do.”
The story spread fast.