Very well. He would propose something she could never accept.
“Zhen wants you to serve as a palace maid for a full day and night, attending to Us personally.”
Yirong hadn’t expected such an easy condition!
She had served her elders with medicine and daily needs before; attending the emperor shouldn’t be much harder. Besides, he had said before that it was his first time—he clearly didn’t sleep with maids.
“Not a single stitch of clothing on your body,” the emperor added, enunciating each word.
Yirong jerked her head up, her face draining of all color.
The two stared at each other in silence, the hall so quiet that the drop of a pin would have been audible.
After a long moment, Yirong nodded.
In silence, she cast off her shawl and shrugged out of her outer robe. The thin veil of smoky pink gauze drifted to the floor at her feet.
Now her upper body was clad only in a single layer of lining and her breast binding, leaving her two slender, snow-white arms bare.
Her trembling fingers worked at her garments as she hurried toward the hall doors.
What the emperor saw was the fleeting glimpse of her pale back. His face turned ashen. In the next instant, she reached the doors and lifted a hand to push them open—to let all the palace servants and eunuchs outside see her in this disheveled state!
He squeezed his eyes shut, then strode forward and scooped her up horizontally in his arms. His powerful grip pinned Yirong securely against him.
She turned her face away.
She had won her gamble.
The emperor pinched her chin and snapped, “Have you gone mad!”
He was shocked and furious.
Yirong spat bitterly, “You’re the one who forced me to it!”
The humiliation of being made to strip fueled her rage, flushing her face crimson.
With her face held captive in his grasp, she suddenly lunged to bite his hand—right on that old, longstanding scar.
Caught off guard by the move, the emperor flinched in pain. Instead of anger, he let out a low chuckle. He withdrew his hand, now bearing deep teeth marks, and carried the thrashing, kicking Yirong steadily from the bedchamber. Rounding the sixteen-panel landscape screen, he flung her onto the vast bed.
The bedding was smooth silk, soft as clouds, and carried a faint, pleasing incense fragrance.
Yirong scrambled upright at once, shrieking, “Shameless cur!”
She finally understood completely. She had lost her chance to leave.
Or rather, the emperor had never intended to give her one in the first place!
The emperor’s brooding gaze roved over her face. It was the first time he had heard her curse him outright—and it felt like the most sincere words she had ever spoken in his presence. A strange emotion flickered in his chest.
But he had no desire to hear more.
He seized her wrist with one hand and pressed the back of her head with the other, claiming her mouth to silence her completely.
This kiss was rougher than the previous two.
Wet, swallowing sounds filled the hall—an angry kiss, fraught with both their furies. Yirong’s hands were pinned, her legs trapped by the emperor’s. She bit down hard on his tongue.
The metallic tang of blood flooded his mouth.
He let out a muffled grunt.
But instead of releasing her as she hoped, the emperor kissed her even more fiercely, more ardently. He passed the bead of blood into her mouth and stole her very breath.
Only when he sensed she was gasping for air did he pull back slightly—but still so close that he could clearly see her tear-streaked face twisted in rage.
Beside the Fragrant Cold Golden Lion Incense Burner, the bed curtains had fallen half-drawn from their struggles, enclosing a narrow space where the faint scent of blood lingered on their lips and breaths.
Yirong’s hands were free now, but reason had fled her entirely. She was driven only by the urge to flee.
She tried to leap from the bed and run, but the emperor caught her by the waist, pinning her down onto the pillows.
Then he covered her body with his.
Her hair had come completely undone in her earlier frantic struggles, her hairpins askew and side locks disheveled. Her two snow-white arms dangled limply, making her look utterly pitiable.
Yirong squeezed her eyes shut and spat hatefully, “You might as well kill me outright.”
“Apart from seeking death at every turn, what else can you say in Zhen’s presence? If Zhen truly didn’t care whether you lived or died, would you still be breathing right now?” The emperor spat out a fleck of blood and said coolly.
At those words, she slowly opened her eyes and looked at him.
His expression was stern, his handsome brows holding a trace of earnestness.
Their gazes met. Suddenly, the emperor’s voice turned icy. “Yesterday, you agreed to enter the palace. And overnight, you changed your mind completely. It seems Zhen has been too lenient with you—letting you think you can defy Us again and again, even toy with Zhen at will.”
“You call Zhen shameless? Very well.”
The emperor’s cold voice continued. “If you truly dare to seek death, Zhen will find others to bury with you.”
His fingers, roughened with calluses, brushed over Yirong’s tender cheek. Staring into her eyes, he yanked down the bed canopy.
The summer weather was fickle. Early that morning, the sun had blazed high in a clear sky. In the blink of an eye, a torrential downpour erupted, as if the heavens had split open. The palace servants waiting outside the hall all hurried under the covered walkways.
The only sounds were the roar of the rain and the tinkling chimes of the jade bells on the eaves, spinning wildly in the gale.
All the various noises within the hall were drowned out by the raging storm, leaving not a single sound audible.
Strands of hair at Yirong’s temples clung to her cheeks, matted with fine beads of sweat. In great pain, she opened her eyes and saw the Emperor’s face taut with tension, veins bulging at his temples. A bead of sweat trickled down along the sharp angles of his features.
Her mind seemed to detach from her body. Calming herself, she pondered for a moment: the Emperor was surely not deliberately tormenting her to cause such agony.
Yirong gave a wry smile and did her best to relax. Her arm, which had been rigid at her side, wrapped around the Emperor’s waist, and at last she felt somewhat better.
Yet amid the patter of rain, the urge to flee on her own grew ever sharper in her heart.
—
Exhausted to the point where she could not even lift a finger, Yirong’s eyelids were glued shut, refusing to open no matter what.
In her drowsy haze, she felt a palace maid carefully wiping down her body, changing the bedsheets, and then feeding her a bowl of fragrant, sweet lotus seed bird’s nest porridge.
For some reason, despite her bone-deep fatigue, she clearly heard the voices of two palace maids chatting idly by her bedside.
With the bed curtains drawn low, the two maids saw her eyes closed and assumed the Noble Lady on the bed was fast asleep, so they spoke softly.
Yirong heard them complaining about the weather. By afternoon, the rain had stopped once more. She wondered whether the woman sharing her quarters had helped gather the clothes; otherwise, after being soaked for nearly an hour, they would be ruined beyond wearing.
They also whispered that the Emperor had instructed them to serve her well and that there was no need to send her back.
After listening to their chatter for a while, with her mind in a chaotic fog and on the verge of sinking into sweet slumber, one final spark of awareness flashed through her.
What about Cui Cheng?
She knew nothing of the situation outside, but she hoped those people she despised could keep him in check. With that thought flickering through her mind, she finally drifted off to sleep completely.
…
Meanwhile, the night before at the Cui Family’s separate estate, the Eldest Young Madam had been pestered beyond endurance by her pair of young children. Helplessly, she led the two little imps—who refused to go to sleep—wandering around the garden.
The moon hung high in the midnight sky when the Eldest Young Madam looked up and nearly cried out in fright.
Atop a tall tree sat the shadowy figure of someone drinking.
Upon closer inspection, it was her sixth brother, clutching a jug of wine.
She had been married into the Cui family for over a decade; back then, Sixth Brother had been just a five- or six-year-old child. She knew full well his habit of climbing trees whenever he was upset.
The only thing that could drive him to drown his sorrows in wine atop a tree late at night was, of course, a divorce.
The matter struck her as utterly bizarre. Leaving aside everything else, Lady Lu’s dowry chests were still at Duke Qiao’s mansion. The thought made the Eldest Young Madam—who oversaw the household affairs—feel deeply uncomfortable; she wanted to settle the arrangements quickly and send them back.
Even though she could not abide Lady Lu, the Eldest Young Madam had to admit that the young couple had been as sweet as honey to one another. How could their temperaments have clashed so severely as to demand a divorce?
Her son tugged at her hand, and she suddenly recalled that not long before, Lady Lu had asked her whether she had received any letters from Sixth Brother.
Thinking back on it now, Lady Lu’s expression had been distinctly unnatural at the time. Something must have happened between the two of them that she knew nothing about!
Her heart felt as if it were being gnawed by worms, and curiosity suddenly overwhelmed her. Her father-in-law and the Empress Dowager might know the truth, but she did not dare inquire of them.
Tomorrow, then. Under the pretext of paying morning respects to the Empress Dowager, she would visit the Imperial Retreat Palace, see Lady Lu, find out why they were divorcing, and discuss what to do with all that dowry.
Having made up her mind, the Eldest Young Madam entered the Imperial Retreat Palace early the next morning to pay her respects to the Empress Dowager. When she encountered her second sister, she simply asked where Lady Lu was staying.
She had never resided in the Imperial Retreat Palace herself and knew only a handful of its grand halls; she had no idea where the Landscape Serenity Mirror was located and had her maid inquire for directions. Even before drawing near, she was already astonished. The area was a verdant expanse of blooming trees and shrubs, threaded with clear-running streams and patrolled by armed guards.
How could Lady Lu merit such lavish treatment? She had already heard from the Empress Dowager herself that it was not the Empress Dowager’s doing. And if it were due to Old Marquis Pingyang, even his own granddaughter had not been housed within the palace grounds.
She was distantly related to the Madam of Marquis Pingyang. At the time of Cui Cheng’s marriage arrangements, she had mentioned to Madam Chen her distant cousin, Eldest Miss Qiao.
Who could have foreseen that Cui Cheng would fix his affections on Lady Lu—the niece who was with the Qiao family—insisting on no other? Because of that, she had concluded Lady Lu must have behaved improperly and had never warmed to her.
The Eldest Young Madam was no fool. She sent her maid to question the guards and learned that Lady Lu was not there. A bold suspicion gradually took shape in her mind.
Yet it also seemed to be the only plausible explanation.
Her temples throbbed as incredulity washed over her. She turned the idea over and over in her mind when suddenly a torrential downpour descended. Even after finding shelter, her skirt hem was drenched by the time she made it back, leaving her in the foulest of moods.
No sooner had she returned to the estate than she ran into Cui Cheng at the gate, on the verge of heading out.
With a smile that did not reach her eyes, she said, “If Sixth Brother is going into the palace to seek your former wife, there’s no need. She’s not there.”
Cui Cheng asked anxiously, “Where did she go?”
He could not enter the women’s quarters himself, but his eldest sister-in-law could—and she might know where Rongrong was! His greatest regret from the day before was that, in his haste, he had forgotten to discuss with Rongrong how they would stay in touch or meet in the future.
The Eldest Young Madam’s words carried a light, mocking edge. “Surely Sixth Brother can guess where she went?”
Cui Cheng’s gaze slowly shifted to her face.
It was a face tinged with faint mockery and pity.
He suddenly pursed his lips and strode forward. Snatching the whip from the groom, he vaulted onto his horse and cracked it down, stirring up a cloud of dust.
In moments, Cui Cheng’s figure vanished along the fork in the road—the vital path from the Cui Family’s separate estate toward the Imperial Retreat Palace.