Chapter 54: Wen Xueling Is Truly Destined to Have Many Men

Wumei had been by the Grand Princess’s side for a long time and had long since mastered the art of concealing her emotions. However, when Gan Qiongying adopted this shameless and brazen attitude, even she couldn’t help but feel inwardly startled, her expression faltering slightly.

Wumei had an excellent memory. With a faint, almost imperceptible frown, she recalled how Gan Qiongying had once begged her for sour plum juice many years ago.

Possessing a keen and perceptive mind, Wumei quickly understood that Princess Duanrong had come today to seek reconciliation.

She slowly performed a curtsy, said nothing, and retreated a few steps back into the hall.

Inside the bedchamber, sandalwood incense wafted faintly, with wisps of bluish-gray smoke rising from the auspicious beast-shaped incense burner.

Princess Hui’an appeared calm and composed, savoring her newly brewed tea. Even as she leaned casually against the back of her chair, her every movement exuded an innate grace and nobility.

Her face was as round and fair as a silver platter, her brows and eyes relaxed and natural. Her slender eyes were exceptionally bright, and she was exceptionally well-preserved. Even though she was now past fifty, one could still tell she must have been a stunning beauty in her youth.

“Grand Princess,” Aunt Wumei approached and spoke only when she was close to Princess Hui’an. “This servant has conveyed your meaning, but Princess Duanrong still wishes to see you.”

Upon hearing this, Princess Hui’an paused. After setting down her cup, she said nothing but merely raised her hand slightly—a clear indication that she did not wish to see Duanrong.

“She is still standing outside. The sun is very strong today,” Aunt Wumei said softly, treading carefully to avoid angering the Grand Princess.

Princess Hui’an sighed imperceptibly but still did not consent.

Wumei understood her mistress’s meaning and went out once more to send the visitor away.

Only then did Princess Hui’an lift her gaze toward the door. How could she not miss that child? Yet the past remained vivid in her mind.

The number of outrageous things Duanrong had done was countless, each time causing major trouble. Over the years, she had always protected her, but Duanrong persisted in her willful ways, utterly ruining her reputation. Her actions were domineering, arrogant, and utterly absurd. To what extent must she, as an elder, continue to indulge her?

When Aunt Wumei came out again, she repeated expressionlessly to Gan Qiongying, “The Grand Princess has been in poor health in recent years and lacks energy. She has just managed to fall asleep, and this servant dares not disturb her lightly. Please return, Princess.”

Standing in the courtyard, Gan Qiongying had long anticipated this outcome.

She smiled at Aunt Wumei and said, “Let Aunt sleep. I have no urgent matters anyway. Waiting a while won’t hurt.”

She was neither surprised nor discouraged that Princess Hui’an refused to see her. From time to time, she even stood on tiptoe to peer toward the entrance of the bedchamber, putting on an expectant posture.

But an hour passed, and the doorway seemed like a ghost gate that allowed entry but no exit—not a single shadow appeared.

Gan Qiongying lowered her head to look at her own shadow on the ground. There were many large trees in the courtyard, offering plenty of shade, but since she intended to play the “bitter flesh” tactic, she naturally couldn’t seek comfort in the cool shade.

Seeing her determined to wait, Wumei said nothing more. She didn’t even suggest that Gan Qiongying wait under a tree to escape the heat before turning and returning to the hall.

She didn’t know how much time had passed before Gan Qiongying felt her head swelling from the intense sun.

She had no habit of self-torture. Under such blazing sunlight, her delicate skin, meticulously cared for, certainly couldn’t withstand it.

However, while the plot involving the male and female leads could be tampered with at will, the storyline concerning Princess Hui’an absolutely could not.

Because Princess Hui’an was, aside from the Emperor Gan Lin, the only relative Princess Duanrong might still be able to win back.

When Gan Qiongying burned paper offerings on the fifteenth day of the seventh month, she had promised Duanrong to take care of her loved ones. Her commitment was to Gan Lin, but through fragments of Duanrong’s memories, Gan Qiongying knew that every year, long before Princess Hui’an’s birthday banquet, Duanrong would search far and wide for suitable gifts, going to great lengths and exhausting her ingenuity.

She never personally visited the Grand Princess to offer birthday congratulations, but it was certainly not because she still held any grudges against her. She simply did not dare.

Princess Duanrong was burdened with a notorious reputation. She couldn’t even protect herself or those she loved—how could she dare to have more relatives?

Her actions could not cease. Once she stopped, if Jinchuan and Jingxi united, the Nanzhao Kingdom would fall, and Gan Lin would surely die.

Even if Jingxi and Jinchuan did not join forces, if the Regent and Jingxi Wang were to collude, then Gan Lin, the puppet emperor, would quickly lose his usefulness.

When Gan Qiongying read this book, she only felt that Princess Duanrong was utterly deranged, relentlessly fixated on the female lead Wen Xueling, unable to bear seeing her enjoy even a hint of happiness, wishing to shatter all her romantic prospects.

Yet Duanrong did not know that this world was a book, and she was the hateful and laughable villainess within it.

And the female lead happened to be Wen Xueling.

Wen Xueling was destined to have so many men—so many that even a meat grinder couldn’t handle them all in one batch.

Duanrong’s reckless actions became like the cilantro, scallions, oil, salt, soy sauce, and vinegar mixed into that pot of meat filling. In the end, Wen Xueling and her men happily wrapped dumplings together, a harmonious and complete family.

But Duanrong couldn’t even protect the life of her most beloved person.

And now, having truly become Duanrong, Gan Qiongying understood: Wen Xueling represented Jingxi Wang.

From the novel’s perspective, this world seemed so absurd, but after immersing herself in it, she found everything made perfect sense.

Wen Xueling’s arrival in the Imperial City was not to choose a suitable husband to entrust her life to, but to represent Jingxi Wang’s wolfish ambitions—seeking alliances through marriage to stir the imperial clans of Nanzhao into muddy waters.

And once the waters grew murky, everyone would want to catch the biggest fish in the Golden Luan Hall.

What then of the child Duanrong loved dearly? What would become of her Gan Lin?

He didn’t even have the ability to protect himself.

So Princess Duanrong could only go mad, resorting to every possible means to sabotage Jingxi’s alliances with everyone.

Yet she dared not actually kill Wen Xueling and provoke Jingxi Wang.

Thus, she could only destroy herself in a self-harming, self-destructive, and self-degrading manner, using her own ruin to explode this pool of muddy waters.

Under such circumstances, how could she possibly seek out her aunt who once cherished her and drag her onto this desperate, doomed “ship” destined for destruction?

She could only watch from afar, longing silently.

Keeping her distance from the Grand Princess was the only way to ensure she wouldn’t be implicated and tarnish her reputation in her later years.

Gan Qiongying touched her chest under the blazing sun.

No pain.

Since the fifteenth day of the seventh month, Gan Qiongying’s chest had not ached again.

But at this moment, she felt a pang of sorrow.

It was for Duanrong.

For a soul whose body she now occupied, whose love and hatred she had intimately felt, yet whom she had never met.

Gan Qiongying pressed her hand to her chest, feeling dazed under the blazing sun as she silently reassured herself, “Princess, don’t be afraid.”

Just watch how I’ll have them all wrapped around my finger.

She had no idea how much time had passed, but by now, Gan Qiongying felt as though she had been sun-dried into a crispy salted fish.

Once again, she heard footsteps emerging from inside the house.

Aunt Wumei approached with a maid carrying a tray. Gan Qiongying lifted her gaze and managed a weak smile.

Aunt Wumei leaned forward slightly, picked up a jade bowl from the tray, and handed it to Gan Qiongying, saying, “It’s been many years since I last made this. I’m not sure if it still suits the Princess’s taste.”

Gan Qiongying’s eyes widened—not because she shared the real Duan Rong’s fondness for sour plum soup, but because the heat was unbearable, and she was on the verge of dehydration. This was nothing short of a lifesaver!

“Thank you, Aunt,” Gan Qiongying’s eyes brimmed with gratitude for the timely bowl of soup. She accepted it with both hands and said cheerfully, “You still made it for me after all.”

The Grand Princess wasn’t as cold-hearted as she seemed.

The cunning glint in those eyes was just like in the old days, and Wumei couldn’t help but be moved. There was a time when she, too, had cherished Duan Rong.

Aunt Wumei softened her tone and said, “The sun is scorching, Princess. Please return. Evening will come soon, and the Grand Princess will surely attend the banquet.”

This was the Grand Princess’s way of saying she still refused to see her and that she shouldn’t persist.

Gan Qiongying simply smiled, gulping down the sour plum soup in a few hearty swallows. A few drops clung to the corner of her mouth, and when she looked up, her eyes overflowed with the innocence of a young girl.

“I’ll wait a little longer,” Gan Qiongying straightened up slightly and said, “It’s been so long since we last met. The banquet will be noisy, and I want to apologize to Aunt… in person.”

Aunt Wumei hadn’t expected Gan Qiongying to be so direct. Her lips parted as if to say something, but in the end, she held back and said nothing more before turning and retreating into the hall once again.

The July summer sun was merciless, and not a breeze stirred in the courtyard. Gan Qiongying felt her strength waning, sweat pouring down her body until her inner robes were soaked enough to wring out water.

Her feet ached, her neck throbbed, her head spun, and her small face flushed crimson, her temples damp with sweat.

Yet, Gan Qiongying tilted her head to gaze at the blinding sun, even wishing it were harsher and the weather more unforgiving.

If only it were raining—preferably a downpour, as fierce as the day Guaerjiasi was beaten to death.

Then, drenched like a drowned rat with disheveled hair, she could put on a heart-wrenching show of a prodigal’s return.

Lost in thought, Gan Qiongying chuckled to herself, finding a sliver of amusement in her misery.

But inside the house, the Grand Princess could no longer sit still.