The candlelight flickered, and Chang Yuncheng reached out to adjust it, watching Qi Yue leaning against a bolster, reading a book while reaching for dried fruits on the side.
The plate of shelled melon seeds was nearly empty, so Chang Yuncheng quickly sat down and resumed shelling them.
"Yue Niang," he called out cautiously again.
"What?" Qi Yue frowned, then suddenly burst out laughing at something she saw.
Chang Yuncheng quickly leaned closer.
"What's so funny?" he asked.
Qi Yue slapped her book shut onto her lap.
"Nothing," she said.
Chang Yuncheng looked at her.
"Yue Niang," he called out, then paused in silence, "If you have something you want to say, just say it."
"If I say your mother is deliberately finding fault with me just to make you dislike me, would you believe it?" Qi Yue asked.
Chang Yuncheng thought of Fan Yilin's letter, and he nodded.
Qi Yue was actually surprised.
"You really believe that?" she asked. "In your eyes, isn't your mother as good as a Bodhisattva?"
Discussing one's elders behind their back was truly improper...
Chang Yuncheng fell silent for a moment.
"Mother dislikes this household, dislikes everyone in this household," he finally said.
"So it's normal for her to dislike me too," Qi Yue sighed. "Since you understand, why did you get angry with me?"
Chang Yuncheng looked up at her and opened his mouth.
"Yue Niang, if you were in my position, under those circumstances, would you not get angry?" he asked.
In the end, he could not force himself to speak those sweet words...
Qi Yue looked at him and sighed.
"It's my fault this time too," she admitted. "I shouldn't have agreed to something I couldn't do, and since I agreed, I should have followed through. I gave others leverage over me."
This woman was straightforward to such a degree.
Chang Yuncheng looked at her and reached out his hand.
Qi Yue looked at him and placed her hand in his.
"It's also my fault for being so impatient, rushing to push you toward Mother," Chang Yuncheng confessed. "It was counterproductive."
Qi Yue smiled.
"Actually, it's not entirely your fault," she said. "If anyone is to blame, it's your grandmother for insisting on pairing you and me together in the first place."
Chang Yuncheng held her hand.
"Back then, I would have regretted and resented it," he admitted. "But not now."
"Why not now? What's so good about me?" Qi Yue laughed. "A temper as bad as mine is rare, isn't it?"
"I don't know," Chang Yuncheng replied. "Perhaps because you are simply you."
Qi Yue laughed heartily and said something.
"What?" Chang Yuncheng didn't quite understand; what she said didn't sound like words? It was like bird chirping.
"I said, why do I love you, lightning... never asking the eye, why does it close when it flashes..." Qi Yue chuckled, leaning back on the bolster, propping her head with her hand, gazing at Chang Yuncheng.
What? Chang Yuncheng stared at her.
Qi Yue smiled back at him.
"Because it knows, it cannot speak any reason, because I saw it, so, then, I love you..." she laughed.
Chang Yuncheng was utterly bewildered by what she said.
"It's a poem," Qi Yue explained with a laugh.
Was this woman expressing her love for him through poetry? Chang Yuncheng's face instantly flushed red.
"What kind of poem is this, it's absolute nonsense..." he stammered awkwardly.
Qi Yue burst into laughter and grabbed a handful of melon seeds, tossing them at him.
"You conceited fool!" she teased.
Chang Yuncheng slapped at his clothes, embarrassed that she had seen through his thoughts, and glared at her.
"You wicked woman, what are you doing!" he exclaimed.
Qi Yue smiled and stuck out her foot.
"Knead my legs," she commanded. "I'm exhausted these past few days."
Chang Yuncheng pulled a long face—this woman...
He took hold of Qi Yue's leg and began to knead it.
"Is the pressure alright?" he asked.
Qi Yue picked up her book again and murmured a lazy assent.
"How about this?"
"And this?"
The cautious questions from the man occasionally drifted through the room.
The maids standing guard outside the door exchanged glances, both noticing the shared amusement in their eyes.
As the night deepened, Qi Yue put down her book.
"I'm done talking to you," she yawned. "I'm sleepy."
Chang Yuncheng, who had been waiting for these words all evening, felt his heart leap wildly as he watched her move toward the door.
"Where are you going?" He quickly reached out, grabbing her arm, and asked urgently.
Seeing the man's visible tension, Qi Yue turned back and couldn't help but smile.
"Relax, I'm not running away," she laughed. "I'm going to wash up."
Chang Yuncheng held onto her arm tightly.
"You can't always go to the maids' quarters to wash..." he protested.
He held her arm, and through the fabric of her clothes, he could feel the heat of her skin, causing Qi Yue to blush involuntarily.
As she blushed, Chang Yuncheng's eyes darkened, his heart pounding like a drum, his breathing growing ragged.
He wondered, he wondered if what she had mentioned last time was still valid...
Thinking this, Chang Yuncheng finally asked.
"What is it?" Qi Yue asked.
Chang Yuncheng couldn't help but squeeze her hand tighter, feeling the soft, small bones, a feeling like a hundred claws scratching his heart.
"N-nothing," he finally mumbled incoherently.
In the past, when she was happy, she wouldn't have refused, but now that her mood was poor...
Qi Yue smiled, looking at him.
"Then I'll wash up in your room," she conceded. "But you are strictly forbidden from peeking."
Chang Yuncheng snorted.
"Who cares!" he retorted, releasing her hand.
Qi Yue laughed and indeed walked into the washing cubicle.
Chang Yuncheng watched her enter. First, he went in and smoothed the bedding, then extinguished all the lamps on this side, leaving only the nightlight, listening to the rush of water from the cubicle.
Peeking! Who cared!
He sat down on the **, then immediately stood up again.
"She is my wife, I can look openly, there is no need to sneak!" he muttered to himself, taking a deep breath, and walked in.
The sound of a woman's laughter and scolding drifted from the room, along with the man's self-righteously booming reply about letting the water run.
At this very moment, when the capital city, the seat of wealth and power, was enveloped in deep night, a young palace maid hurried along a path.
The maid entered a palace hall where, behind layers of beaded screens, an opulent and noble beauty was attending to her hair before a mirror.
"Consort Gui, His Majesty has left the Empress's quarters and is approaching this way," the maid said with a bow.
Consort Dong, upon hearing this, hummed softly and raised her hand. Immediately, another maid stepped forward and handed the young palace maid a clutch of gold ingots.
"Thank you for Your Highness's reward," the maid knelt and kowtowed before retreating.
It seemed a long time passed. Consort Dong leaned back on the couch beside the bed, her eyes half-closed as she dozed. The palace remained utterly silent, lacking the imposing presence of the Emperor's arrival.
A tall figure turned past the beaded screens and slowly approached. He paused, seemingly admiring the scene of the languid beauty.
The Consort Dong, whose hand rested on her chest, suddenly let out a soft sigh, her eyes remaining closed.
"Why such a heavy sigh?" the man's voice broke the quiet.
Consort Dong started in shock and rose to kneel.
"Your Majesty!" she exclaimed.
The man beside the beaded screen finally drew the curtain aside and strode in, using one hand to help the kneeling Consort Dong rise.
This was a man around thirty years old, with pale skin, classically regular features, long, narrow eyes, and thin lips; his demeanor was balanced and peaceful, yet held an inscrutable sharpness.
This was Taizong Qing, the third Emperor of Great Xia.
He took Consort Dong's hand and sat her down, lingering to caress and embrace her.
"Your Majesty, you haven't visited this humble consort recently," Consort Dong said coquettishly, leaning against his chest.
"State affairs are complicated these days; is not entirely in control of my own time," Emperor Qing replied.
Consort Dong rose and obediently began to massage his head.
Emperor Qing narrowed his eyes, enjoying the service, chatting intermittently about the day's trivialities—what he had done, what he had eaten.
"Your Majesty, I recently had a bowl of taro pudding at the Empress's, and it was exceptionally good. The Empress mentioned it was a tribute from the Marquis of Dingxi," Consort Dong said, pressing on the Emperor's shoulders. "Your Majesty, this consort is terribly fond of delicacies, and it would be too embarrassing to ask the Empress directly. Could you perhaps ask for some for me?"
The Emperor laughed heartily, reaching out to pinch his beloved consort's small hand.
"In this palace, only you are so greedy for food, never letting any delicacy pass by. I knew you didn't ask me here for my sake, but to get food for yourself," he teased.
Consort Dong shook the Emperor's hand and laughed, then lowered her head to whisper something in his ear. The Emperor's eyes narrowed, and he pulled her close into his embrace.
"Then I shall let you eat your fill," he murmured with a low laugh.
For a time, the room was filled with soft, intimate light, and as the passion subsided, the night grew deep again.
On the vast **, Consort Dong leaned softly against the Emperor's chest, the dim external light illuminating her face full of lingering affection.
"...Why did the Marquis of Dingxi suddenly think of sending something to the Empress? He never shows his face around here before," Consort Dong said languidly, picking at the Emperor's sash.
"He naturally has a request," the Emperor laughed, resting his arm behind his head. "Guess what he's asking for?"
Consort Dong tilted her head in thought.
"What could he possibly request? He lacks nothing to eat or wear. The Heir of Dingxi is also a man of merit, and Your Majesty has granted him an official post. Does he perhaps want Your Majesty to grant him a grandson?" she covered her mouth and laughed.
The Emperor laughed loudly.
"You actually guessed correctly," he chuckled.
Consort Dong was stunned, her cherry-small mouth agape.
"Surely not?" she said in disbelief.
"He seeks to have his Second Wife elevated to equal rank with the primary wife," the Emperor said, then proceeded to explain the matter to her.
Consort Dong listened for a long time in silence.
"Truly..." she seemed unsure how to respond, looking at the Emperor with darting eyes. "Your Majesty, how do you plan to reply?"
The Emperor smiled at her.
"Wasn't I waiting for my beloved consort's opinion?" he asked.
His smile made his narrow eyes seem even more enigmatic.
Consort Dong pursed her lips and smiled.
"How would this consort dare to speak?" she replied demurely.
The Emperor smiled, then suddenly reached out and grasped half of one of her breasts.
Consort Dong let out a sharp cry of pain; the force was clearly not gentle. However, she dared not show pain, forcing out a smile through her grimace.
"Your Majesty..." she cried out tremulously.
The smile on the Emperor's face remained, but his eyes narrowed further.
"Your Majesty, this consort was asked a question regarding the affairs of the Marquis of Dingxi's household, but what I am pleading for is not this..." Consort Dong could no longer fully hide the pain, speaking with a tremor.
"Speak," the Emperor commanded, a slight smile on his face. The fullness in his hand, even through the layers of clothing, was distorted; one could imagine the dark bruises that would form beneath the fabric.
Consort Dong suppressed her pain, leaned forward slightly, and dared not conceal anything as she began to explain in detail.
The heavy beaded screens shielded all sounds from this place of opulent prosperity.
Recommended Reading: The Excellent Son-in-Law by Ye Huimei.
The body of a soft-natured cousin hides the soul of a stubborn and resolute historical figure. See how she breaks free from her maternal grandfather's machinations, kicks aside her deeply affectionate male cousin, resists the aggressively advancing female cousin, manages the selection of a husband and the teaching of a spouse with equal skill, ultimately capturing a wealthy and excellent son-in-law upon his arrival.