From her childhood exposure, Yao Huang’s ideal of a loving married couple was modeled after her parents—a relationship where everything could be discussed together, not one where one person made all the decisions while the other could only comply.

So when she felt she could no longer hold back her voice, she twisted her restrained wrist and tried to negotiate: “Your Highness, could you please release me?”

Zhao Sui paused: “Uncomfortable?”

Yao Huang was dying of embarrassment—it was precisely the opposite that made her unable to resist.

The rouge on her face dispersed like mist toward the surrounding skin. No matter how one looked at it, this was not the appearance of resistance, so Zhao Sui continued.

Like a fierce beast shaking a tree, the tender branches at the crown trembled together, and the oriole perched there let out panicked cries.

Unable to move her hands, Yao Huang could only bury her face in the pillow: “Don’t do this—they can hear outside.”

Only then did Zhao Sui understand her concern.

But as a noble prince, having exhausted his patience over the past six months restraining his temper and not venting on his servants, did he really need to act furtively at night with his properly wedded princess, worrying about what the maids might think?

Yao Huang’s mention only made things worse. Instead, Zhao Sui felt a surge of inexplicable anger, and in this moment, all of it was directed at Yao Huang.

Poor Yao Huang—when whispering with A’Ji that morning, she had thought about being more careful in the future, yet now she found herself unable to help it.

When the storm finally ceased, Prince Hui’s chin rested atop Yao Huang’s head. She was completely imprisoned in his embrace—behind her was his solid left arm, before her was his large hand that had finally relaxed its strength. With the rise and fall of their breathing, Yao Huang could even feel the thick, hard calluses on his palm.

Her upper body was hot as a furnace, while her lower body felt cool as dew.

Yao Huang’s heart pounded violently. She felt a vague dread about the six long nights that would come each month. Prince Hui at night was too fierce—Yao Huang worried she couldn’t endure it.

This man must be confined to his wheelchair during the day, so he used all the strength he’d saved up throughout the day on her!

Suddenly, his hand touched her face.

Yao Huang tensed, very afraid he would repeat last night’s performance. Why else would he still not separate from her?

Zhao Sui felt a wet, burning face—her lingering tears.

Thinking of her tearful appearance, Zhao Sui reminded her: “You brought this upon yourself.”

He had been trying to sleep when she came to provoke him, so she couldn’t blame him for losing control.

If she didn’t want to cry again, she should behave herself in the future. When it came time for conjugal relations, he would naturally show consideration for her young age and restrain himself.

Yao Huang bit her lip. Indeed, she had brought this on herself—rushing to entice him to choose her so she wouldn’t have to become another prince’s concubine.

“I know, I don’t blame Your Highness. The crying doesn’t mean I dislike it—please don’t misunderstand.”

A meaningful “mm” came from above her head, and then the man moved to the side.

Yao Huang continued stuffing her undergarments, secretly deciding to have the embroidery room make several soft cloths specifically for nighttime use. She couldn’t keep ruining her intimate clothing.

After calling for water and each cleaning themselves separately, they returned to bed. Yao Huang, still remembering the prince’s earlier misunderstanding, embraced him again.

She had to admit, the prince’s broad shoulders and solid arms were quite comfortable to hold.

Now that they had truly consummated the marriage, she was truly the princess. She could rightfully assume the authority of the household’s mistress in the prince’s manor.

Zhao Sui: “…Still not sleeping?”

In the deep quiet of night, Yao Huang’s voice was soft: “I will sleep, I just wanted to hold you. During the day I don’t dare speak to you, so only at this moment do I feel you’re truly my husband.”

Zhao Sui: “…I’m simply not accustomed to idle chat. If you have something you want to say to me, you can speak up anytime. I won’t ignore you.”

Yao Huang smiled: “I can tell—Your Highness looks cold but actually has quite a good temper.”

Zhao Sui silently stared at the bed canopy.

A good temper?

He’d had moments of throwing medicine bowls and smashing dishes—she just hadn’t seen them. Otherwise, she too would become like Qing Ai and the others, never daring to voluntarily say another word to him.

Prince Hui fell silent again. Yao Huang had an important matter on her mind that absolutely had to be settled tonight so she’d have time to prepare tomorrow.

Taking advantage of this moment of intimacy, Yao Huang nuzzled Prince Hui’s firm shoulder: “Your Highness, common folk who marry have the custom of returning to the bride’s home on the third day. When princes marry, do you still observe this customary rite?”

None of the neighbors had ever produced a princess, nor had any Ministry of Rites officials explained these things to her. Yao Huang truly had no idea, and with Prince Hui’s mobility difficulties, she was even more worried.

Zhao Sui thought to himself that it could be observed or not, entirely depending on the princes’ willingness, or whether the wife’s family was worthy of such courtesy from the princes.

After his legs were crippled, Zhao Sui could refuse nine out of ten of Father Emperor’s routine summons. What wife’s family could make him go against his will to visit their door?

Seeing him remain silent, Yao Huang’s heart sank, yet she couldn’t resent him. Within Prince Hui’s manor, every path was smooth and level, but once they went out, moving the wheelchair around would indeed be troublesome.

Leaning against his shoulder, Yao Huang forced a casual tone: “So we don’t observe it? That’s actually fine—my father and mother are both unsophisticated folk. I was afraid they’d commit some breach of etiquette and offend Your Highness.”

Zhao Sui remained silent.

Yao Huang knew she’d said something that dampened Prince Hui’s mood. She feigned a yawn: “Mm, it’s getting late. Let’s sleep.”

She released her hold, turned to face inward, and lay on her side. Her open eyes were full of worry. Without the return visit, her parents wouldn’t see her in person and would surely worry endlessly about whether she was truly doing well at the prince’s manor.

Zhao Sui indeed didn’t want to go out, but he hadn’t even exempted himself from personally fetching the bride—something he could have avoided—precisely to give the princess full dignity to compensate for his coldness toward her most of the time after marriage. So he didn’t mind accompanying her through this final rite one more time, thoroughly completing all the elaborate ceremonies before and after the wedding.

“I will accompany you on the return visit. Discuss the return visit gifts with Steward Guo. From now on, all social exchanges between the manor and various parties will also be managed by you—no need to ask me.”

Yao Huang turned around in delighted surprise: “Really? I mean about the return visit…”

Zhao Sui: “Mm.”

Yao Huang was overjoyed. She threw herself directly at him, lying on his chest and hugging him tightly: “Your Highness is so good! I thought you didn’t want to go.”

Zhao Sui knew it—her earlier indifference had all been an act.

“Alright, sleep now.”

Yao Huang was too excited, not sleepy at all. She moved back to Prince Hui’s side and hugged him: “But it hasn’t even been dark that long. Are you really tired already?”

In the past, when she and A’Ji shared a room, they could sometimes chat until the middle of the night.

Zhao Sui: “…If we don’t sleep, then what?”

Yao Huang: “Let me tell you about my family. You saw our courtyard—it’s not even as big as Ming’an Hall, naturally can’t compare with the prince’s manor. But among sixth-rank officials in the capital, it’s already quite good, especially for those sixth-rank capital officials who came from other places. The young ones mostly live in official housing and can’t afford to buy residences at all.”

“The centurions from other places in the military camp have it worse. Many live directly in the barracks and send their salaries back to their parents and wives in their hometowns. Or they buy residences in small towns and counties near the capital.”

“My father was lucky—he was born into a local family in the capital, otherwise he couldn’t have afforded a residence either. My mother was also lucky. Other small-town girls could only marry people nearby, but she met my father at a market fair when he went to town to buy wine. Hehe, they both fell for each other at the same time, and before long my mother became the envy of everyone in town—a capital official’s wife.”

So you see, while Yao Zhenhu was utterly unremarkable among capital officials, within the centurion colleagues he usually associated with, the Yao family’s circumstances were outstanding. Yao Huang had grown up surrounded by others’ envy, living quite contentedly. Only when Centurion Li, Yao Zhenhu’s direct superior, came to visit would he put on airs.

Yao Huang talked on and on, finishing with her parents and brother before starting on her maternal grandfather’s family.

She didn’t say anything requiring Zhao Sui to respond, so he simply listened until Yao Huang said she was tired and fell asleep nestled against him.

They slept together in the same bed at night, but come daylight, one sat in a wheelchair and the other stood—naturally the distance between them widened.

Prince Hui went to the front courtyard to dress and wash. The senior maids came in to attend the princess.

Last night Bai Ling had been on night duty. The moment Yao Huang glanced her way, Bai Ling’s ears turned red.

After getting ready, Yao Huang dismissed the others and kept Bai Ling alone to question her: “When you were by Consort Du’s side, did you ever stand night duty?”

Bai Ling shook her head. Night duty was always the senior palace maids’ responsibility.

Yao Huang: “Then when the Emperor visited the consort, would the consort arrange for senior palace maids to stand night duty?”

Bai Ling nodded. Of course they must—otherwise the service would be inadequate.

Yao Huang understood. In the palace or great households, people were thick-skinned and didn’t fear maids overhearing such matters.

Since it was customary, Yao Huang didn’t want to be different. She continued questioning Bai Ling: “Are there established rules in the palace for senior maids standing night duty?”

Bai Ling understood the princess’s meaning and knelt down: “Princess, rest assured. Whether in the palace or the prince’s manor, whether on night duty or ordinarily, servants must never gossip privately about the masters’ affairs. Any violators will be dealt with according to their offense.”

Yao Huang: “I understand. Rise.”

Bai Ling was much more likable than Hua Mei. Yao Huang secretly assigned her a small task—if she heard anyone secretly gossiping about matters between her and the prince in their chambers, she must immediately report it.

When Yao Huang took A’Ji to the front courtyard, Hua Mei immediately pulled Bai Ling aside and interrogated her: “What did the princess say to you again?”

Bai Ling was honest. At Yikun Palace she belonged to the lowest tier among second-rank palace maids. Besides serving Consort Du, when Hua Mei and others ordered her to do things, Bai Ling would simply bow her head and do them.

She habitually feared Hua Mei and lowered her head: “There was a loose strand of hair that wasn’t combed properly. The princess had me redo it.”

Hua Mei didn’t believe her at all and warned: “Don’t forget who your true master is. If you don’t behave, Her Ladyship has plenty of ways to replace you.”

Bai Ling only kept her head lowered.

Having no proof, Hua Mei snorted coldly and left.

In the front courtyard, perhaps noticing that the princess really enjoyed honey mangoes, the kitchen had cut another plate of mango slices this morning. Yao Huang ate with relish, and after finishing asked Prince Hui with lingering desire: “If you really don’t like them, then I’ll eat freely?”

Zhao Sui: “Eat them, but eating too many mangoes easily causes internal heat. At most two or three per day.”

Yao Huang: “How many does it take to make this one plate?”

Zhao Sui: “…”

Yao Huang understood. Even the noble Prince Hui ate the fruit slices sent by the kitchen and didn’t know how many slices could be cut from one fruit.

“I’ll ask the kitchen in a bit.”

After the meal, Zhao Sui returned to his secluded bamboo courtyard. Yao Huang sat in the main hall and ordered someone to summon Gao Niangzi from the kitchen.

Gao Niangzi arrived quickly, carrying in her hand a delicate small fruit basket containing four mangoes with skins half-green, half-red, each about the size of an adult’s palm.

Yao Huang took one out, examined it all around, and tried pressing it—the skin immediately dimpled slightly.

If a peach or apricot were this soft, it would either be perfectly ripe or rotten.

Gao Niangzi explained: “When mangoes are this soft, they’re just right. If kept longer they’ll spoil.”

Yao Huang: “How many are left in the manor?”

Gao Niangzi: “These four are prepared for Your Highness and the princess to eat today. There are seventeen more in the ice house.”

The Emperor had bestowed two baskets. Because there weren’t many guests at the wedding banquet, only about half a basket had been used.

Yao Huang: “How much longer can those in the ice house keep?”

Gao Niangzi: “Although they could last another five or six days, this fruit tastes best when freshest.”

Yao Huang: “Mm, tomorrow when I return home, prepare two baskets like the one you’re holding—five fruits per basket.”

The prince didn’t like eating them, and eating them continuously herself would become tiresome. She might as well send them to her parents and maternal grandfather’s family to taste.

Gao Niangzi accepted the instruction, then reminded her: “This fruit is rather difficult to cut. Princess, you might send a maid to learn. That way she can serve you properly after the return visit tomorrow.”

The five senior maids stood right beside Yao Huang. Upon hearing this, A’Ji’s eyes brightened—she wanted to master this skill.

But Yao Huang looked at Hua Mei and smiled: “You often served Her Ladyship. Can you cut mangoes?”

Hua Mei immediately replied: “These are all kitchen tasks. This servant has never learned.”

Yao Huang: “Perfect timing then. Go follow Gao Niangzi and learn. I’ll take you out tomorrow.”

Hua Mei neither wanted to cut any fruit, nor did she want to feel relieved that the princess was willing to give her important tasks.

A’Ji looked longingly at the princess. She wanted to learn too! The princess had said to let her learn and observe more—these were all skills she’d never had before.

Yao Huang smiled: “You few go watch the excitement too. Split what’s cut between yourselves and Gao Niangzi.”

A’Ji, Chun Yan, and Qiu Chan, who had never tasted such tribute items, immediately began salivating.

Hua Mei slightly raised her chin. Mangoes, hmph! When she was by the consort’s side, she got to eat a few pieces every year!

Unfortunately, eating and cutting were two different things. Mangoes were such that once the skin was removed, the inside was slippery. Too much force would make the flesh look ugly, too little and the fruit would slip from your grasp. It required considerable skill.

Despite Gao Niangzi’s repeated reminders for Hua Mei to be careful, Hua Mei still accidentally cut her hand. With just a light touch, a line of blood beads welled up on her left index finger.

Chun Yan and Qiu Chan nervously stepped back two paces. Bai Ling kindly went to help.

A’Ji stared at that piece of mango flesh stained with blood, thinking to herself she definitely didn’t want to eat that piece.

Hua Mei saw everything clearly and said irritably: “I’m injured. A’Ji, you cut.”

A’Ji’s heart did itch, but wanting to cut herself versus being ordered around were two different things. At least Hua Mei didn’t have that authority.

She replied stiffly: “The princess wanted you to learn. If you want to switch with someone, go tell the princess first.”

In the Yao household, A’Ji had her mother and sister looking after her. The master, mistress, young master, and young miss all treated her like half a child—never hitting or scolding her. But there were also servants in other neighborhood households, and A’Ji had seen with her own eyes some little maids beaten until their skin split open. She knew real maids had to fear their masters. Someone like Hua Mei who looked down on the princess didn’t deserve sympathy even if her hand were cut off, let alone just a shallow cut!

Hua Mei really was about to go. She had just taken one step when she heard A’Ji “mutter”: “I don’t believe a palace maid from the consort’s side would be this clumsy. You’re probably trying to shirk work and deliberately hurt yourself.”

Hua Mei: “…”

She wasn’t clumsy, and she absolutely wouldn’t embarrass Consort Du!

Turning on her heel, Hua Mei gritted her teeth, grabbed the slippery fruit, and continued cutting.

With the senior maids at the kitchen, Yao Huang sent for Chief Steward Guo to discuss matters about replanting the vegetable garden.

In the Yao family’s vegetable garden, Yao Zhenhu and Yao Lin did the soil turning and furrow digging. As they worked up front, Luo Jinhua would casually scatter the seeds. A few small vegetable plots didn’t require Yao Huang’s help at all. The family chatting while working was purely for fun.

Once the seedlings grew, when Yao Huang’s hands got itchy she’d go pull a few weeds, treating it like play. What she truly enjoyed was the lush greenery in the vegetable beds and the pleasure of personally picking vegetables and fruits when they ripened. If you really made her do everything from plowing to weeding alone, she’d be too lazy to suffer that effort.

Therefore, for Prince Hui’s manor’s half-acre plot, Yao Huang would only use her brain and mouth. Most of the physical labor would be assigned to the manor’s household servants.

Learning that the prince had already agreed, Steward Guo immediately undertook the task. Turning soil, plowing, and planting were all simple. Only the grape trellis required sending people to hire workers and buy seedlings from large households that specialized in growing grapes.

With money and manpower, the prince’s manor moved quickly. In the morning they first turned over the entire half-acre, plowed the furrows and built the beds. After the hottest hour past noon, the grape seedlings were also delivered to the manor.

Yao Huang brought A’Ji to supervise the work at the vegetable garden, mainly to see how the grape trellis was built. Yao Huang loved eating grapes, but the Yao family’s small courtyard had no place to plant them. Every year they bought them from outside.

Because the vegetable garden was too close to Prince Hui’s secluded bamboo courtyard, all the household servants who received Steward Guo’s instructions worked silently. If they had questions, they ran to the steward’s side and conversed in low voices.

After all the bustle finished, Steward Guo personally led these people away, leaving behind a neat and orderly vegetable garden.

Yao Huang glanced at the bamboo courtyard, then took A’Ji back by a roundabout route.

As the red sun tilted west, Qing Ai pushed Prince Hui out of the bamboo courtyard. Upon reaching the main path, Qing Ai glanced toward the vegetable garden, then looked at the prince’s completely motionless head. In the end he didn’t dare say much and went directly south.

The senior maids took turns. Tonight Yao Huang designated Hua Mei for night duty.

After extinguishing the lamps, Yao Huang glanced at the empty wheelchair and, after getting into bed, continued nestling close to Prince Hui, chatting casually: “The vegetable garden is planted. When Your Highness passed by, did you go look?”

Zhao Sui: “I did not.”

Yao Huang: “Then shall I accompany you to see it tomorrow morning? The grape vines have almost climbed to the top of the trellis—so lush and green, very pleasant to look at.”

Zhao Sui maintained his same take-it-or-leave-it attitude.

With tomorrow’s return visit ahead, Yao Huang needed to rest well. She didn’t pester Prince Hui with more talk. After a hug, they each went to sleep.

In the side room, Hua Mei, sleeping on a floor pallet, kept her ears pricked for a long time. Confirming that the prince and princess didn’t need her service, Hua Mei thought of Prince Hui’s legs and remembered Prince Hui’s tall, straight figure when he used to pay respects at Yikun Palace—a dream many palace maids dared to have but not mention.

With crippled legs, some matters would be beyond his capability now, wouldn’t they?

If Prince Hui were still well, she would definitely envy Yao Huang’s good fortune. But now that Prince Hui was like a half-rotten mango, Hua Mei felt calm and balanced.