Chapter 5: Bringing the Consort Back

“Look at how scared you are, so spineless.”

A moment later, Gan Qiongying spoke softly, “Who said I want to torment the Consort?”

“I intend to cherish him.”

If Gan Qiongying didn’t deliberately lower her voice, her tone would sound exceptionally elegant and clear, like the lingering notes of a zither echoing in an empty room.

In modern terms, it would be described as a mature, commanding voice.

“Get up.”

Gan Qiongying sat back at the table, her slender jade-like fingers lightly tapping on the silver notes with a rhythmic motion. When she smiled, the dignified air built up by her makeup and status faded by nine-tenths, replaced by an alluring charm.

She was naturally a stunning beauty, with slightly upturned eyes. If it weren’t for this world’s preference for demure beauties, she wouldn’t have to pile on such thick powder every day, covering up her rosy, peach-blossom-like complexion.

“Don’t you think the way the Consort spat blood just now had a unique charm?”

Leaning back in her chair, Gan Qiongying adopted the wanton demeanor she had practiced in front of the mirror these past few days. “As for that little monk Dingzhen, I’ve already forgotten what he looks like. But the Consort… tsk.”

Gan Qiongying smiled meaningfully, though it was pitiful that she hadn’t even gotten a clear look at the Consort’s face.

To make her reason for bringing back her “wealth god” sound plausible, Gan Qiongying forced herself to say, “The delicate and frail type—I don’t have anyone like that in my courtyard. His background may be lowly, but he does have a fine appearance.”

“It makes one want to toy with him and break him.”

Gan Qiongying deliberately added a hint of cruelty, looking down with a smile at Manyue. “Go on, bring him back. I suddenly think it would be rather dull if he died too soon.”

Go!

Hurry!

Bring my dear husband back!

“Huh?” Manyue looked up, utterly astonished, her mouth agape enough to fit an entire egg.

This was truly a reason she had never anticipated.

But seeing Gan Qiongying’s expression full of interest, it seemed entirely reasonable.

After all, Gan Qiongying could be called Nánzhào’s most wanton person. The over one hundred and seventy male consorts in her residence had long since cemented her reputation.

Considering that her lustful thoughts toward a temple monk weren’t even surprising, why would it be strange for her to feel the same about her own Consort?

“Oh…” Manyue hesitated as she stood up.

Gan Qiongying smiled to reassure her, “Don’t worry, I won’t play him to death.”

Manyue’s face flushed instantly, but she said nothing further, nodding with a strange expression. “Yes, this servant will have the Consort brought back immediately!”

“Don’t forget to summon the Imperial Physician,” Gan Qiongying reminded her. “Bring several of them to examine the Consort thoroughly. His health must not be compromised.”

The wealth god must be enshrined and protected!

“Oh, right, fetch the marriage horoscopes exchanged between the Consort and me during the wedding. In a few days, I’ll take them to the temple and have a little monk calculate them.”

Gan Qiongying tried her best to sound ambiguous. With the incident involving the little monk Dingzhen, her words were meant to lead others to misunderstand.

Sure enough, Manyue immediately understood, guessing that the Princess intended to kill two birds with one stone—enjoying the Consort while also making the little monk Dingzhen anxious.

“Yes…” Manyue responded repeatedly, inwardly impressed.

Little did she know that poor Gan Qiongying simply wanted to find out what the Consort’s name was. She couldn’t remain completely ignorant about him, after all—he was her wealth god!

Manyue quickly left the room and gave instructions outside.

Only after reading the marriage horoscopes did Gan Qiongying learn that the Consort’s name was Lì Huá.

The surname indeed seemed quite uncommon, and Hua: a fiery steed? Tall, brave, fierce as fire.

The timid, cowardly person Gan Qiongying had seen this morning bore no resemblance to such a name at all.

He was nothing like a great steed; he was more like a little lamb.

At best, he was a lucky cat.

Gan Qiongying couldn’t help but laugh as she looked at his horoscope card, because she saw Lihua’s courtesy name: Qianli. Hahahaha, a thousand-mile steed after all!

But just as Gan Qiongying was hugging the horoscope card and laughing, the manor guards, following her orders, rode out on real thousand-mile steeds to chase after the Consort.

The Princess Manor guards never knew the meaning of slowing down once they mounted their horses. Galloping through busy markets was nothing unusual. When passersby saw the crimson bells tied to the horses’ heads, they knew it was the Princess Manor’s people on the streets and quickly cleared the way.

Those with children held them tight, while those without even snatched wandering dogs from the roadside to avoid them being trampled by hooves.

In no time, the group intercepted the Consort’s carriage, which had just stopped in front of a large estate at the end of the street.

Several guards didn’t even dismount. The leader tapped the carriage wall twice with his whip, making a “thump-thump” sound.

“Prince Consort, the Princess requests your presence.”

Inside the carriage, Lihua was still holding a blood-stained handkerchief. But unlike his cowering, timid demeanor after being beaten at the Princess Manor earlier, he now sat with a back as straight as pine or bamboo.

His face was deathly pale, his brows and eyes gentle and calm, his aura somber. Yet his eyes were clear and bright, deep and serene.

He gave off a very strange feeling, as if… as if his eyes didn’t match his face, his soul didn’t match his body.

If one looked even closer, the complexion of his face didn’t quite match the rest of his body either.

Sitting across from him was a plainly dressed subordinate named San Jiu.

San Jiu, with his broad brows and fierce eyes, lifted the carriage curtain to take a look. Seeing that the visitors were indeed from the Princess Manor, his entire body tensed up, the muscles in his back swelling as if about to burst through his clothes. Frowning, he pressed a hand to the narrow blade at his waist.

“That witch is pushing too far!” San Jiu cursed in a low, gruff voice, keeping his tone suppressed.

But Lihua himself raised a hand, his slender, jade-like fingers lifting slightly to restrain the man across from him.

Then he quickly bent over, transforming in the blink of an eye from a graceful, upright figure into a timid, cowering “crooked-neck tree.”

He pressed the blood-stained handkerchief to his mouth, coughing softly as he pushed the window open a crack.

“What… is it?” His voice was also very low, like the buzzing of a mosquito, hesitant and halting, unpleasant to the ear.

The guard, holding the reins outside the carriage, glanced through the crack at the Consort inside.

He said gravely, “This humble officer greets the Prince Consort. The Princess requests your return.”

Though the word “request” was used, there was not a hint of respect in his tone, and he hadn’t even dismounted.

If Gan Qiongying were here now and heard her own guard speaking to her wealth god in such a tone and attitude, she’d surely want to bang her head against the ground again.

Alas, servants reflect their masters. There wasn’t a single person around Princess Duanrong who knew their place or was modest and steady. Each one, if pulled out, was like a firecracker ready to go off at any moment—arrogant to the extreme, arrogant with style.

“But… what is the matter?” Lihua lowered his gaze, covering his mouth with the handkerchief as another fit of coughing began. “Cough, cough, cough…”

The guard captain outside frowned, “I do not know. The Princess’s order is for me to bring the Consort back to the Princess Manor!”

“Prince Consort, please turn the carriage around.”

And so, the “please” in Gan Qiongying’s mouth became a forced escort.