Jun Beiyue seemed to have no intention of taking a palanquin, leading Ziqing by the hand and walking at a leisurely pace toward Prince Yao’s residence.
As they walked further and further, the surroundings grew quieter and quieter. By now it was deep into the night, and the two of them were the only ones left on the street.
Ziqing kept her eyes lowered, saying nothing, her hand somewhat stiff. She had tried several times to test his grip, but this man showed no sign of intending to let go.
His hand, much like his temperament, was startlingly cold, yet large enough to completely engulf her small hand, giving her an inexplicable sense of security, as though from this moment on she had been drawn into his protection.
Never in her life had someone as strong-willed as Ziqing imagined she would allow herself to be led along so obediently by a man for so long. The road stretched on and on, seemingly without end.
“Can’t write poetry, can’t fight—so what exactly can you do?” Jun Beiyue suddenly asked coldly.
“Ziqing possesses no particular talents. I’m truly unworthy of Your Highness,” Ziqing answered flatly, suddenly growing curious about what her days at Prince Yao’s residence would be like from now on. How long could this man possibly tolerate her presence?
“This prince happens to need exactly someone like you.”
A rare, wide smile curved at the corner of Jun Beiyue’s lips, revealing deep dimples, mysterious and captivating, like fine wine, or perhaps like poison—one could sense clearly that indulging in it would only lead to ruin, and yet find oneself unable to resist sinking into it all the same.
He smiled, an unreadable smile, though unfortunately Ziqing, head still lowered, never saw it.
Silence followed. He had expected her to ask why he had chosen her so, but she didn’t. She, in turn, had expected him to ask about the Nation’s Beauty incident, but he didn’t either…
The moment the two of them arrived at Prince Yao’s residence, they found a palace eunuch already waiting at the gate, a palanquin prepared and ready.
The eunuch looked Ziqing over, his gaze somewhat peculiar. “Your Highness Prince Yao, His Majesty has urgently summoned you—please come with this old servant at once!”
An urgent summons in the middle of the night—word of the consort selection had certainly traveled fast!
“Hongyi, help the Princess Consort familiarize herself with the residence. Without this prince’s explicit order, she is not to leave through this gate.”
Jun Beiyue was truly domineering—calling her “Princess Consort” in front of the servants, even though no wedding ceremony had yet taken place, and formal recognition would only come once the Emperor issued an edict entering her name into the imperial family register.
Hearing this, the eunuch’s brow furrowed further and further, though he didn’t dare say anything more.
“Yes!” Hongyi, the maidservant waiting at the gate dressed in red, immediately accepted the order with respect.
Jun Beiyue, still seemingly uneasy, spoke to Ziqing in a tone that sounded almost like a warning. “Wait for this prince to return. Understood?”
“Yes,” Ziqing obediently acknowledged.
Once he had left, Hongyi did not immediately lead Ziqing inside, instead coolly sizing her up, eyes narrowed, looking down at her from head to toe with utter disdain.
Ziqing kept her head lowered, her expression perfectly demure and submissive, allowing herself to be scrutinized. At a single glance, she had already recognized that this maid, Hongyi, was clearly trained in combat, roughly the same age as herself—fifteen or sixteen—with delicate, striking features. Dressed head to toe in vivid red, she appeared lively and spirited, yet what truly set her apart from an ordinary maid of Prince Yao’s residence wasn’t her red attire, but the arrogance written across her face.
After a long, thorough once-over, Hongyi finally spoke, impatience evident in her voice. “Miss Han, please, this way inside.”
Miss Han?
Jun Beiyue had clearly said “Princess Consort,” yet this girl had taken it upon herself to demote Ziqing back down to mere “Miss Han.”
Ziqing still said nothing, silently following her through the gate. Hongyi, however, muttered to herself, breaking into a cold laugh.
“I’ve been at the prince’s side since I was seven years old—eight years now. Wherever the prince goes, I follow closely to attend him. No one knows his temperament better than I do. Anything another person has used—even something as small as a teacup—he won’t touch it again, let alone a woman.”
These words were unmistakably meant as an insult, a provocation. The palace eunuch had already been waiting outside for so long—she knew full well what had happened during the consort selection at the Han residence. This woman was no longer a virgin, known throughout the realm as damaged goods, and yet the master had actually brought her back here—she truly couldn’t fathom what he was thinking!
Could there be some other purpose behind it? But this woman could neither write poetry nor fight—she was nothing more than a pretty face, an empty vase. As for that incident where she’d taken Madam Han hostage, while it did demonstrate some capability, even the most timid person, pushed to the brink, might display unusual resistance—and besides, Madam Han was merely a weak woman; anyone with even a modicum of strength could have overpowered her!
At this thought, Hongyi gave Ziqing another once-over, and seeing her appear so meek, almost servile, only scoffed with even greater disdain.
Ziqing took it all in, her cold eyes composed, her patience seemingly limitless. Just as Hongyi was about to speak again, a young servant boy came rushing over urgently.
Not even sparing Ziqing a glance, treating her as though she weren’t even the Princess Consort, he reported to Hongyi, “Guard Hongyi, Consort Yi has sent someone to invite Miss Han into the palace for tea!”
Into the palace for tea?
Ziqing was mildly startled—at this hour? Could it be that Consort Yi was suffering from insomnia?