Chapter 16: Meaning, “Scold Me.”

Life in the deep palace was like a stagnant pool of still water, where countless dead pasts could be seen in its reflections. Zhao Rongzhang dreamed of Mother Consort again. This time, Mother Consort stood behind her as she sat before the dressing table. Mother Consort combed her long hair and asked why she didn’t move into her Princess’s Mansion, now that she had grown up and was the mistress of her own estate.

Mother Consort only combed her hair, never applying makeup. The dressing table was adorned with a dazzling array of rouge and powders, all bestowed by Emperor Father. Zhao Rongzhang hardly touched these things, yet the inner palace still sent many each month as a token gesture. Zhao Rongzhang gazed at her reflection in the mirror, at the heavily made-up woman behind her. A sudden thought struck her: “Emperor Father never saw Mother Consort without makeup, but he knows my face. I do not resemble Emperor Father.”

Mother Consort continued to comb her hair over and over, chuckling softly until she bent over with laughter, having to lean on Zhao Rongzhang’s shoulders for support. In the mirror, their two faces pressed together, looking at each other. Mother Consort stared at her reflection, her hand touching Zhao Rongzhang’s face outside the mirror, the emotion in her eyes growing increasingly intense. Zhao Rongzhang read the word “jealousy” in them. Mother Consort laughed until the veins on her forehead bulged, patting her shoulder and saying, “A princess, a wanton woman. A princess is noble; do not stay here.”

After waking from the dream, Zhao Rongzhang stared blankly into the mirror for a long time. Frequently dreaming of Mother Consort seemed to indicate that her spirit still lingered here, not yet passed on. Mother Consort did not wish to see her remain here any longer, urging her again and again to leave.

Tales of ghosts and spirits were inherently elusive, and truthfully, Zhao Rongzhang did not believe in them that much. A more reasonable explanation was that she herself no longer wished to stay here, her innermost desires taking the form of Mother Consort to constantly remind her. Although this was where she had grown up, filled with shared memories of her, Mother Consort, and Emperor Father, what was past was past. Just as a fire, once extinguished, was truly gone—the past was the past, ashes were ashes—she felt no attachment.

Zhao Rongzhang asked Ming Luo where exactly the message delivered to Prince Su had reached. Ming Luo brought her cinnamon-infused hot water, her tone calm: “I don’t know. The message was sent via three separate routes. If even one succeeded, it should have arrived long ago. If not, there’s nothing to be done. This is the imperial palace, the palm of the new emperor and the Grand Empress Dowager. We cannot know.”

“Will the Grand Empress Dowager obstruct my marriage alliance? Why is Zhao Jue delaying the wedding date?”

“Your questions today are all rhetorical,” Ming Luo replied, still urging her to drink the hot water first to calm her mind.

Zhao Rongzhang was inherently hot-tempered but more patient than most. This likely had to do with the heat toxin within her body. Previously suppressed by the Snow Essence Pill, as cold as millennia-old ice, now that she was weaning herself off the pill, her temper flared alongside the heat toxin.

Indeed, they were all rhetorical questions. The Grand Empress Dowager would certainly obstruct, and Zhao Jue’s delay in setting the wedding date was due to the constraints imposed by her and the senior court officials.

Zhao Rongzhang’s moves on the chessboard were both urgent and risky. By drawing the Grand Empress Dowager into the game to restrain Zhao Jue, she had also restrained herself.

“I don’t want to wait any longer. What’s the point of constantly maneuvering among them here? Prince Su needs to enter the capital; I need to leave. If the marriage alliance cannot proceed, I cannot leave. I must get out.”

“Perhaps…” Ming Luo’s heart ached for the Princess. She supported her shoulders and gently patted her back. “Have another Snow Essence Pill.”

Having just experienced intimacy, the effect of a man ultimately couldn’t compare to the swift relief of a pill.

Zhao Rongzhang irritably shook her off. Deep down, she knew she seemed afraid of her deceased Mother Consort. She wasn’t certain if her mother’s spirit truly remained here watching her, but she knew that madwoman would surely be disappointed to see her in such a distressed state.

She was in turmoil. Turmoil was a dangerous state. She well understood how vulnerable those ruled by emotion could be, and she herself was now in such a condition. When one’s own mind is in chaos, the best way to ensure safety is to throw the world into greater disorder. The more chaotic, the better. Moreover, the fire within her was about to ignite her from within. She couldn’t allow herself to be consumed; the fire had to be released outward.

Guan Xuan received another mission. On a sweltering afternoon, the Princess sat on her Jade Mat Cooling Couch chewing ice and ordered him to kill the Turks residing at the Huìtóng Guǎn who were engaged in negotiations between the two nations.

It was a routine mission. As he departed, the Princess had only one instruction: return within two hours.

In the bright daylight, the Princess’s complexion was unusually poor. This was a sudden decision. Guan Xuan could imagine the uproar that would erupt from a Turk dying at the Emperor’s doorstep. With this act, the Princess intended to force the marriage alliance.

Guan Xuan leaped from the roof tiles, adjusting his speed according to the wind direction within the shaded woods. Where footing was inconvenient, he plucked leaves to shoot forth, using them as stepping stones. In no time, he arrived at the Huìtóng Guǎn. The guesthouse was divided into southern and northern compounds. The southern compound housed envoys from the southeast, such as Ryukyu and Goryeo, while the northern compound was filled with envoys from the northwest. The Turks resided in the northern compound.

Guan Xuan crouched on the roof, lifting a tile to peer inside. A pot-bellied Turk snored loudly on the bed, while two thinner ones—one bent over a desk writing documents, the other leaning against the wall sleeping with his mouth agape. Having previously accompanied the Princess to banquets, Guan Xuan had seen foreigners before and always found their appearances peculiarly varied. This was his first encounter with Turks. All three had flat faces, narrow eyes, and high-bridged noses—not overly strange-looking—but they wore large gold and silver hoop earrings that appeared heavy, stretching their earlobes thick and long. He wondered if they had cried from the pain when first pierced as children.

With a flick of his fingers, silver needles flew out, piercing through their temples, the nape of their necks, and their throats before exiting and deeply embedding themselves in the trunk of a large tree outside the window. The awake Turk let out a short cry; the tree trembled slightly, scattering a handful of leaves.

On a lazy summer afternoon, even the plants seemed indolent. Sweating and frowning, the patrolling Imperial Guards passed by, replaced by another shift to continue. It would likely be dinnertime before they discovered the murders. Guan Xuan watched his own short shadow cast by the sun, seeing it continuously skim over the glazed tiles before merging into the shadows again and again.

On his return, as his feet touched down in the bedchamber of Lingxiao Hall, the Princess was chewing her fourth piece of ice. Droplets trickled between her fingers. Beneath the icy moisture, her lips remained vividly colored. She was displeased, frowning as she said, “So slow.”

Guan Xuan lowered his gaze, avoiding looking. The Princess, driven by the heat toxin, grew increasingly agitated.

Zhao Rongzhang had no patience left for playing games of “seduction” with him, but she was no longer as rough as before. When she pinned him down on the rug, her hand slipped beneath the hem of his clothing. While waiting for him to undress and present himself to her, she caressed his jade-like, slightly cool skin. The little weapon was fun but fragile—though it wasn’t his body that would break, if his spirit shattered, she wouldn’t enjoy playing either. So, despite her impatience, she maintained a touch of gentleness.

The princess’s palm was initially as cold as if she had just held ice, so chilling that Guan Xuan had to tense his waist and abdomen to suppress his trembling. But soon, that icy sensation faded, replaced by the genuine heat radiating from her palm, bringing him new tremors. The princess was very wet, and after just a few strokes, she was ready to take him. Though he had experienced this many times, Guan Xuan still feared such intense sensations, his fingers lightly clutching the princess’s sleeve.

Guan Xuan felt like the princess’s forbidden fruit—something to be used, to be consumed, wholly possessed by her alone. In truth, this feeling wasn’t bad. The princess would hold him, wipe away his tears, and praise him for doing well. When praised, he felt happy inside. So, seducing the princess didn’t have to be painful; it wasn’t wrong—it was good. For both the princess and himself.

The princess tightly gripped his shoulders and arms, striving again and again. Though he remained still, his muscles tensed from excessive restraint, his breathing growing ragged and irregular in the intensity. In a brief pause, the princess used her fingertip to trace the sweat from his chin, humming softly, “Good boy.”

Guan Xuan opened his eyes and saw the princess’s slightly unfocused gaze fixed on him. A faint joy spread through his heart. The princess no longer treated him so roughly; she was a good princess. He liked the princess; he liked being her toy.

As he basked in this joy, his body was pressed to its limit. He watched as the muscles around the princess’s eyes relaxed completely, her dark hair tousled and disheveled, two stray strands sticking to her parted lips. After her satisfaction, the princess’s mood shifted from impatience to laziness. She didn’t push him away but held him gently instead. The weather was hot, and the princess had broken into a sweat, moistening the space between their skin. Guan Xuan felt like a bed again, a comfortable place for the princess to lie upon. He really was very useful.

His heart had barely warmed for a moment when the princess suddenly pinched his waistline lightly. Guan Xuan trembled slightly, and the princess’s tone was unexpectedly displeased: “Useless thing. Aren’t you going to give it to me?”

Guan Xuan lifted his eyes to look at the princess questioningly. She was frowning.

Zhao Rongzhang pursed her lips. No matter what she did, those gem-like eyes of his were always fixed on her, filled with shyness and joy, soft and pure, utterly obedient. Even someone with a heart of stone would find it hard to stay angry under such a gaze. Zhao Rongzhang was in a foul mood, unable to get what she wanted, and now she was filled with rage—but she couldn’t direct it at him. She was angry that her heart wasn’t made of iron or stone, while his body was.

Those cat-like eyes below were still darting around at her, clearly not understanding what she was angry about. Zhao Rongzhang moved her hand down to squeeze his buttocks, urging, “Come out.”

Guan Xuan winced from the pinch, understanding what she wanted. That flicker of joy turned into grievance. If the engorgement didn’t last long enough, it wouldn’t satisfy her playfulness, yet she had scolded him for being useless precisely because it was too effective. Guan Xuan tensed his body, straining hard, but repeatedly failed to achieve the desired result. He gazed deeply into her eyes, grinding his teeth, only to see the Princess growing increasingly displeased.

He grew anxious too, recalling the only two times he had overflowed with that briny scent—once when he was standing and the Princess toyed with him, and another when she had violently stripped and used him. Could it be that the Princess’s unwillingness to treat him gently was actually for the best?

Regardless, the Princess needed it, and he had to provide. Guan Xuan’s fingers brushed against the arm she had wrapped around his chest and back, while his other hand touched his own throat. Zhao Rongzhang, startled by his sudden touch, felt a ripple stir in the pool of her heated heart. She then turned her gaze and saw fine beads of sweat forming on the little mute’s temples, like mist settling on fine jade. The eyes beneath seemed desperate to tell her something.

“Speak.”

The Princess told him to speak, but of course, he couldn’t utter a word. Yet Guan Xuan understood he had been granted permission to communicate with her. He pressed a hand to his own chest while using the other to trace characters on the Princess’s arm.

The little mute’s fingertips were always unnaturally cold. Zhao Rongzhang felt a subtle, almost imperceptible tremor spread across the skin he touched—a sensation more distinct and intense than the foreign feeling when her abdomen had taken him in. It wasn’t entirely comfortable, but she didn’t stop him. fierce”

It meant, “You’re being fierce with me.”