Before the fifth watch, even before the break of dawn, the air outside had already grown bustling and chaotic.
When Weimo awoke, her head still felt heavy with dizziness. After the nightmares Su Wanzhao had suffered the previous night, she had only managed to sleep for a single hour.
Before heading out, she pulled aside Nanny Qian, who was walking with her. "Tomorrow, Nanny, please do not go to collect the wedding night blood-stained cloth from the mistress's chamber."
Nanny Qian shot her a sideways glance. "What kind of nonsense are you stirring up now?"
Weimo clutched the woman’s weathered, grey-streaked hand. "Nanny, trust me."
"Fine, fine." Nanny Qian took the opportunity to tuck two eggs into her waistband. "It will be a busy day; eat one if you get hungry." As her hand brushed against Weimo's protruding ribs, her touch suddenly softened. "You're thin as a ghost."
Nanny Qian was the laundry matron of the estate. In her past life, when she had gone to collect that cloth and found it as pristine as if it were new, Su Wanzhao had been so overcome with shame and rage that she accused Nanny Qian of stealing and replacing her blood-stained cloth, having the poor woman beaten to death on the spot.
It was only later that Weimo learned Zhao Yan had never shared a bed with Su Wanzhao—how could the cloth have ever been stained?
That was the first time Su Wanzhao had bared her fangs, and Weimo had lost the only person in the Prince’s residence who had ever been kind to her.
Weimo offered a smile, as sweet and innocent as a child cooing in its mother’s arms.
***
That night, Weimo stood by with the wedding scales as Su Wanzhao sat perched on the quilt embroidered with symbols of a thousand descendants. From beneath the veil, a sweet, shallow breath reached her. "Weimo, has the Prince arrived?"
"He will be here shortly." Weimo stood with lowered head, a wave of drowsiness washing over her.
"I’m so nervous..." Su Wanzhao rubbed her sweat-dampened hands. "Do you think the Prince will like me?"
"He will," Weimo replied softly. "True feelings are precious. The Princess Consort need only be sincere and honest with the Prince, and he will surely cherish you all the more."
"Yes," Su Wanzhao nodded, her red veil undulating with the movement.
No sooner had she spoken than the door pushed open. Zhao Yan entered and took the wedding scales from her hand. As the veil was lifted, the warm glow of the red candles illuminated Su Wanzhao’s bashful, blushing face.
"Why is the Prince so late? You kept Wanzhao waiting."
Zhao Yan sat beside her. "The guests were persistent; it was hard to decline them."
Weimo stepped forward with the tray holding the nuptial wine. As Su Wanzhao spoke, the pearl curtains on her phoenix crown chimed softly. "How could those people be so inconsiderate!"
Zhao Yan’s grip on the rim of his cup tightened. Su Wanzhao, completely oblivious, leaned in to lift her cup. "Knowing the Prince has been exhausted all day, why must they keep tangling you up? It’s all those uncouth, vulgar folk customs!"
"Then, according to the Princess Consort," Zhao Yan’s eyes flickered in the light of the wine, "how should one have handled it?"
Su Wanzhao raised her nuptial wine, taking the initiative to entwine her arm with Zhao Yan’s. "Tomorrow, when we go to thank the Empress, we must lodge a complaint against them, just to vent the Prince’s anger."
Zhao Yan raised his cup but did not drink, his gaze sweeping over the gold phoenix with its hanging pearls on her crown. In his past life, during the Empress’s enthronement ceremony, Wanzhao had worn a similar crown. Back then, she had been poised and decorous, praised by both the court and the common people, never once showing a hint of pettiness or greed.
"The Princess Consort seems to be on very good terms with the Empress."
"It is all thanks to the Empress’s blessing." As the wine went down, Su Wanzhao’s gaze grew hazy. "Wanzhao is fortunate to have married the Prince. Such great kindness... Wanzhao shall remember it for the rest of her life..."
Zhao Yan’s thumb traced the gilded rim of his cup; the candlelight shattered into golden specks within the liquid. "What the Princess Consort says... is quite right."
"The Prince agrees?" Su Wanzhao asked. "The Empress often says Wanzhao is pure and artless. I thought... the Prince might not like that."
Outside the window, a pair of orioles chirped, startling the candle flames into a nervous flicker.
Su Wanzhao was indeed artless.
The First Prince, born of the Empress, possessed both the legitimacy of the line and the seniority of birth; he was the Crown Prince from the moment of his birth. If Zhao Yan wished to ascend the throne, he would inevitably be locked in a life-or-death struggle with that mother and son.
Yet Su Wanzhao spoke of gratitude for the marriage bestowed upon her, weeping with appreciation for her husband’s mortal enemy.
Zhao Yan tilted his head and drained the nuptial wine, the liquid tracking down his throat and into his scarlet collar. "You may all withdraw."
It was early summer in the fifth month; a beautiful crescent moon hung in the sky. Weimo slumped to the floor. In her past life, at this very moment, she had been covered in wounds from resisting the physical examiners and was hiding alone under the veranda, licking her own injuries.
Overwhelmed by sleep, having not closed her eyes in a day and a night, Weimo leaned against the corner of the wall and slowly drifted off.
In the middle of the night, the sound of Su Wanzhao’s weeping drifted from the bridal chamber. "Why is the Prince unwilling to share the bed? Is it because you find Wanzhao coarse?"
Weimo jolted awake, curling her numb fingertips. Zhao Yan was refusing to sleep with Su Wanzhao?
It stood to reason. Su Wanzhao had touched upon both Noble Consort Chen and the Empress in quick succession, thoroughly irritating Zhao Yan.
There was no need to speak of the Empress—as a sheltered young lady, Su Wanzhao’s ignorance of the treacherous undercurrents of the succession struggle was, perhaps, forgivable.
But having been prompted by Mammy Liu at that exact moment to bring up Noble Consort Chen—that was a genuine stab into Zhao Yan’s deepest wound.
She covered her eyes and smiled faintly, shrinking further into the shadow of the pillar.
Zhao Yan had been raised at the knees of his aunt since childhood; his affection for her was even deeper than that for his own mother, Imperial Noble Consort De.
Noble Consort Chen had claimed the "family law" was necessary to deal with her, but in truth, young Zhao Yan had stumbled upon an affair between Noble Consort Chen and a palace guard. When his aunt came looking for him, she had been discovered by that very guard.
Noble Consort Chen had intended to silence them, and his aunt had died protecting him. From that day on, he had harbored a vicious hatred for the words "family law."
After he was granted the title of Prince, the first person Zhao Yan had settled scores with was Noble Consort Chen.
The doors swung open and Zhao Yan swept out. Weimo didn't stand in time and was caught in the act.
Boots with golden python embroidery stopped right before her eyes. "Are you cold?"
Only then did she realize she was draped in a coarse hemp outer garment. There was only one person in the entire residence who would give her such a garment: Nanny Qian.
She pulled the garment tighter. "This servant is not cold."
The voice above her commanded, "Wear it properly."
Her hand paused, and suddenly the man grabbed her wrist, his fingers pressing against the oversized cuffs. "Anyone who didn't know better would think I mistreat my servants."
The young girl’s delicate brows furrowed slightly. He abruptly let go, cursing himself silently for taking his frustration out on a mere servant.
He stood before the steps with his hands behind his back. Having lived a second life, his temper was unexpectedly difficult to control. Whenever he faced Wanzhao, he felt a strange sensation—something he couldn't name or define, leaving him feeling lost and directionless.
Wanzhao was as if... someone had swapped her soul.
He caught a glimpse of a faint red mark on the girl’s wrist, and his ears burned—thankfully, there was no one around in the dead of night to see. But the thumb-sized burn scar made his breath hitch.
The night he had chosen the concubine Weimo’s tablet, this scar had been strikingly visible. He had assumed it was something she had incurred in the palace, never imagining it had been there for years before.
"Where did this injury come from?" In his past life, he had asked the same question.
But he could no longer remember what the girl had answered back then.
Weimo hurriedly tried to pull her sleeves over her wrist, but failing, she had to use her right hand to cover it. "This servant is useless. Half a month ago, I accidentally pulled out a strand of the mistress's hair."
Her voice was as faint as a mosquito's hum, yet it reached Zhao Yan clearly.
Zhao Yan’s heart was in turmoil. Just because she pulled out a strand of hair?
"Go to the storehouse tomorrow and collect some Yuji Ointment," he paused. "And take a bolt of Water-Cloud Silk as well."
The man finished his sentence and turned to walk away.
"Your Highness!" Su Wanzhao, still in her wedding gown, chased after him into the courtyard. "Wanzhao knows she was wrong. Please, don't leave..."
Zhao Yan did not stop. "The Princess Consort should rest early. I still have official documents to review."
Su Wanzhao stumbled in pursuit. Weimo stepped forward to steady her, the pearl tassels on the wedding dress digging painfully into her palm. "Your Highness, stay your steps!"
"What is it?"
The man moved his fingers to the dragon-patterned jade pendant at his waist; Weimo knew this was his signal that his patience had run dry.
"The Princess Consort spoke out of turn during her reprimand. Tomorrow, when we enter the palace, the Empress will surely make things difficult," she said, stealing a glance at Zhao Yan as she spoke rapidly. "This servant heard that in the past, when the Empress was overseeing disaster relief, she was most fond of the grain-filled pouches offered by the common people."
Zhao Yan’s brows arched. He had forgotten about that matter.
"Continue."
Weimo breathed a sigh of relief. "This servant is dull-witted, but perhaps if the Princess Consort presents a pouch she has embroidered herself to the Empress, the crisis might be resolved."