As the steam gradually dispersed, Qiao Shuyi finally rose from the bathing pool.
Zong Zhengheng stood with his back to her.
Behind him came the sound of splashing water, followed by the rustle of clothing.
By the time he turned around, she had already draped herself in her nightgown.
Barefoot, Qiao Shuyi stepped across the polished bluestone floor and walked toward the Beauty couch by the window, which was covered with soft cushions.
She tilted her body and reclined sideways upon it.
Zong Zhengheng remained standing, uncertain whether to advance or retreat.
“Why are you standing there? Come here.”
He paused for a moment before stepping forward, stopping beside the couch.
Qiao Shuyi lifted one foot, her toes stretched taut, revealing rounded digits and vividly painted crimson nails.
“Look, they’ve soaked until the skin is peeling.”
Zong Zhengheng lowered his gaze to look at her foot but said nothing.
“Fuzhi—” she called out loudly toward the outer chamber.
Fuzhi’s voice responded from outside: “Yes, Miss?”
“Bring me the newly made box of nail polish—the pomegranate-colored one.”
Before long, Fuzhi entered carrying a celadon box, respectfully placed it on the small table beside the couch, and quietly withdrew.
Qiao Shuyi picked up the celadon box, toyed with it in her hands for a moment, then handed it to Zong Zhengheng.
“Paint them for me.”
Zong Zhengheng did not take it.
“Miss,” his voice was low and heavy, “I don’t know how to do this.”
“Don’t know? You can learn.”
She thrust the celadon box into his hand, then lifted her foot even higher, almost touching his chest.
“Zhi Gui, look at these nails—they were originally painted so beautifully. It’s all because of that bathwater of yours; they’ve lost their luster.”
“You ruined them, so you must make it up to me.”
How could there be such a willfully troublesome woman?
Whenever she wanted to cause trouble for someone, she could come up with any excuse.
Utterly shameless.
But these thoughts Zong Zhengheng could only keep to himself.
He looked down at the celadon box in his hand, then at the foot she had extended before him.
Her toes were rounded, her nails neatly trimmed. The original polish had indeed become somewhat mottled, with the edges slightly peeling to reveal the natural pink beneath.
He took a deep breath and opened the box lid.
Dipping his fingertip into the polish, he hesitated before her, seemingly unsure how to proceed.
When had he ever used such feminine items?
Moreover, for toenails!
“How utterly clumsy.”
Qiao Shuyi laughed and scolded, withdrawing her foot and demonstrating with her own finger.
“Like this—first paint the center, then the sides. It must be even and careful, not smeared onto the skin.”
After painting one toe, she examined it with satisfaction for a moment, then extended her foot toward him again, the tip of her toes nearly brushing against his lapel.
“Here, follow my example. The rest are yours.”
Zong Zhengheng’s gaze darkened.
Fine—it was just painting nails.
Immediately, he lifted the hem of his robe and sat at the foot of the Beauty couch, cradling her ankle on his knee with one hand while preparing to apply the polish with the other.
But the next moment—
“How dare you!”
The smile on Qiao Shuyi’s face froze abruptly.
She yanked her foot back, nearly knocking the celadon box from his hand.
In the next instant, that same foot kicked fiercely against his shoulder—not with great force, but brimming with arrogance:
“Did I permit you to sit?!”
Zong Zhengheng swayed slightly.
“Kneel beside me.”
She lifted her chin, pointing toward the bluestone floor next to the couch.
Zong Zhengheng slowly rose to his feet.
But the light in his eyes darkened inch by inch, like storm clouds gathering before a tempest.
“I told you to kneel beside me, didn’t you hear?!”
Zong Zhengheng still did not move.
Beneath his lowered eyes, something was churning.
Killing intent.
A killing intent so thick it could not be dissolved.
It almost burst through his thin eyelids, ready to spill out.
“An Yi.”
As soon as the words fell, a dark figure had already landed silently before the couch.
“Young Miss,” the person bowed their head.
“Make him kneel.”
Zong Zhengheng, now without his inner strength, had no power to resist in front of An Yi and could only kneel down.
Seeing him kneel, Qiao Shuyi’s gaze grew profound:
“Zhi Gui, I’ve already conceded so much, why are you still so disobedient?”
“You didn’t want to consummate the marriage, and I went along with it.”
“You said men and women should not touch, so I only had you massage my shoulders and paint my toenails. I thought… we could take it slow, and eventually grow closer.”
“But you? I just wanted to get close to you, yet you insisted on sitting so far away from me. What, kneeling beside me is that unbearable to you?”
“You’ve truly hurt me.”
In Zong Zhengheng’s eyes, shock and resentment were barely concealed.
It was clearly her who was humiliating him!
Yet she portrayed herself as so pitiful—what a venomous woman who twisted right and wrong!
And Qiao Shuyi didn’t care at all what he thought.
She simply continued her performance.
“I’ve treated you so well. From the day you entered the mansion, I’ve thought about giving you all the best things in the world. Fine clothes, exquisite food, silks and satins—my heart, my person, my status—whatever you wanted, I would give it. I’ve never liked someone this much.”
“But you? You’d rather go to the woodshed, you’d rather be punished.”
Zong Zhengheng: …
Qiao Shuyi shook her head, as if utterly disappointed.
“Enough.”
She turned her face away, a look of heartache on her face.
“An Yi, take him to the Water Dungeon. Make him… more obedient.”
Zong Zhengheng clenched his fists.
Was this woman truly insane, or just pretending to be foolish?
Clearly, it was her who was capricious. Clearly, it was her who wanted to punish him, yet she made it sound so righteous.
Hah.
But before he could think further, An Yi’s hand had already clamped onto his arm.
At that moment, Zong Zhengheng truly wanted to kill her.
He wanted to strike with all his might before An Yi could act.
Even if the Power-Dissipating Powder had sealed eighty percent of his strength, even if she was surrounded by hidden guards, even if it meant mutual destruction—
His inner strength surged wildly, attempting to break through that restraint.
Then, a sharp pain exploded from his dantian, as if someone were twisting a knife in his abdomen.
A surge of blood rushed upward, straight to his throat.
He gritted his teeth tightly, swallowing back that metallic sweetness.
Pain was the best sobering agent.
Qiao Nanyu, the Prince of Jinzhou, had held the northern border for decades, commanding three hundred thousand elite troops, watching with covetous eyes, relying on his military strength to act independently.
And he—the Emperor of Great Zhang, had only been on the throne for a year.
The dragon throne was not yet warm, his foundation in the court was unstable.
The mess left by the previous emperor piled up like mountains: the state treasury was empty, factional strife was constant, and the regional princes were restless.
If he were to mobilize troops against Jinzhou at this time, not to mention whether the three hundred thousand elite troops could be defeated in one battle, even if he won, it would be a pyrrhic victory, only benefiting others.
He could not gamble.
Therefore, finding evidence of Qiao Nanyu’s rebellion and dealing with it justly in the name of the court—this was the safest method, and also the simplest.
With just one written indictment, he could rightfully strip the prince of his power, reclaim authority, confiscate property, and exterminate the clan.
Without spending a single soldier.
And within the prince’s mansion, the only person who could allow him to come and go freely, to approach without restrictions—
Only the legitimate daughter of the Prince of Jin’an, Qiao Shuyi.
He must gain her trust.
He was not the Emperor now, merely Qiao Shuyi’s male favorite; he should not continue to defy her.
Otherwise, when would he ever obtain the evidence?
With these thoughts, Zong Zhengheng lowered his eyes, allowing An Yi to step forward and seize his arm.
His face showed only calm.
Yet beneath that calm, the name Qiao Shuyi was being carved inch by inch into his very bones.
When the day came that he would crush Jinzhou and bathe the prince’s mansion in blood, he would surely make her suffer death by a thousand cuts.
The next moment, Zong Zhengheng was already being led away by An Yi, leaving the bathing chamber.