Even as her hair was yanked so hard her scalp went numb, Ziqing’s sharp eyes still refused to spare Han Xi’er even a single glance, fixing instead on Prime Minister Han, who had remained motionless off to the side.

“Look at me!”

Han Xi’er snarled furiously, unable to bear Ziqing’s contemptuous disregard for her. She had finally come up with such a perfect plan to subdue this wretched girl, and she meant to humiliate and avenge herself upon her thoroughly.

Yet Ziqing simply let her shout, as though she could hand over her very body without a care, but stubbornly refused to look at her.

“Han Ziqing, I command you to look at me!”

Han Xi’er roared, viciously yanking her hair to force her face around—only for Ziqing to turn her head and immediately spit right in her face!

“Ah—!” Han Xi’er cried out in shock, releasing her grip to frantically wipe her face, and was about to swing a slap when she saw that Ziqing had already turned away, treating her as though she weren’t even a threat—as though she were nothing but air!

Her hand froze mid-air. By what right was this wretched girl so composed? By what right did she not even place her in her eyes?

She was the one in control of everything now—she could let her live, or she could let her die, entirely as she pleased!

And yet, looking at the sharp, unyielding lines of Han Ziqing’s profile, she found herself inexplicably intimidated, unable to bring her hand down no matter what, feeling instead as though she were the one being overpowered!

Just then, Ziqing spoke coldly, “Father, Ziqing can guarantee this with her own life—aside from myself, even the most miraculous physician alive could not heal my sister’s face in under two months. With the consort selection so close at hand, if my sister isn’t afraid of losing her chance, then by all means, cripple me right now!”

The moment these words left her mouth, both Prime Minister Han and Han Xi’er were jolted to their senses.

The selection of a consort at the Prime Minister’s residence had been personally decreed by the Emperor, and it was something Prime Minister Han had schemed and maneuvered for years to secure.

This was a grand ceremony, hosted by the Prime Minister himself, in which ten maidens would be selected tier by tier from the bottom up for Prince Yao to choose his consort from, with the selection to take place at the Prime Minister’s residence itself.

One had to understand—marrying Prince Yao carried an honor second only to becoming Empress!

And who exactly was Prince Yao? Prince Yao was the War God of Da Zhou!

The Crown Prince of Da Zhou had unfortunately died of illness at the age of fifteen. Though the aging Emperor had no shortage of other imperial princes, the two most accomplished by far were the Second Prince and the Fourth Prince.

The Second Prince, Jun Sichen, was learned and brilliant beyond compare, already favored by the Emperor in his own right, and with his mother’s family hailing from the household of the Left General—commanding a full third of Da Zhou’s military power—he wielded immense influence throughout the court despite never having been named Crown Prince, second in power to none but the Emperor himself.

Yet however glorious the Second Prince’s standing, it still paled before that of the Fourth Prince, Jun Beiyue. This prince had been granted the title of Prince while still young—the only one among all the imperial princes to ever receive such a title. The Emperor himself had personally bestowed upon him the title “Yao,” meaning “radiance,” signifying a brilliance like that of the sun, moon, and stars shining down upon the land of Da Zhou, comparable to that of the Emperor himself!

This was for no small reason. At fifteen, he had ridden alone for a thousand miles into the seven northern prefectures of Youyun in Da Zhou’s north, single-handedly slaying the rebel generals of all seven prefectures and quelling the chaos of the northern frontier. At sixteen, he had formed an elite cavalry unit, the Eighteen Riders of the Dark Night, stationed to guard the four gates of the capital. At seventeen, he had led three hundred thousand troops to force the invading army of Western Jing into retreat without a single battle fought.

Among the common people, there was a saying: as long as Prince Yao stood, Da Zhou would flourish forever.

This Prince Yao’s birth mother had been a palace maidservant who died in a difficult childbirth, leaving him with no maternal clan power to speak of. In court, he had always walked his own path, never forming alliances or factions with anyone—his glory owed nothing to any other person; he himself was a source of light, blazing bright on his own.

Had it not been for his mother’s lowly status, he would long ago have been named Crown Prince—and as for the position of Princess Consort of Prince Yao, how many powerful and influential families constantly coveted it!

Though called a “consort selection,” the Emperor’s favoritism was already glaringly obvious. Obvious as it was, however, the final decision still rested with Prince Yao himself.

Now, with the selection imminent, Han Xi’er had gotten herself into such trouble—if this opportunity slipped away, there would be no second chance!

The Han Prime Minister’s household had only this one legitimate daughter, one whom even the Emperor himself had privately nodded his approval of. If her face were ruined, where would he ever find a second Han Xi’er?

“You’re threatening me!”

Han Xi’er exploded in fury, immediately swinging a slap. Ziqing dodged aside, collapsing weakly to one side, her body drained of strength, her long hair disheveled—yet those clear eyes of hers still burned with a cold, unyielding light, and rather than appearing pitiful or defeated, she seemed instead untouchable, impossible to look down upon.

“Yes, I am threatening you.”