The atmosphere inside the duty room of the Directorate of Ceremonial was heavy.
This was one of the power centers of the Great Qian.
Every day, countless decrees were issued from this room, countless officials waited here to be summoned, and countless official memorials were endorsed with red ink, rejected, or altered.
But at this moment, there were only two people in the room, surrounded by a deathly silence.
Wei Yang stood behind the desk, her face ashen. She wore purple eunuch robes cinched with a jade belt.
She had maintained her appearance remarkably well; though she was in her 50s, she looked barely 40.
A hint of the beauty she possessed in her youth still lingered in her features.
However, her eyes were currently filled with nothing but fury.
“Waste!”
She slammed her hand onto the desk. The inkstone jumped, and a few drops of ink splattered across the surface.
“Useless waste who can’t even handle a simple task!”
The black-clad person standing before her knelt on one knee, head bowed, not daring to utter a single word.
She was a middle-aged woman with a thin frame, dressed in deep gray martial attire.
Her right sleeve was empty, tied to her waist with a cloth strip. Her face was as pale as a ghost, her lips were parched and cracked, and a thin layer of sweat covered her forehead.
Although the stump of her wrist had been bandaged, a large bloodstain had already seeped through the white cloth, soaking the sleeve into a dark, muddled red.
She was the Second-Rank Martial Artist whose hand had been severed by Qin Junyue the previous night.
“You… you are a Second-Rank Martial Artist, after all! I went through so much trouble to keep you by my side!” Wei Yang’s voice was low, but it vibrated with suppressed rage. “Look at the state you’re in now!”
The black-clad woman bowed her head even lower.
“That night… Qin Junyue was also there,” she said, her voice raspy and tinged with shame. “I truly…”
Her weathered face flushed red. She was too embarrassed to admit that she was no match for Qin Junyue—that she had been successfully ambushed and had her arm lopped off.
For a Second-Rank Martial Artist to have their hand severed by someone of the same rank was a humiliation that would make anyone lose face.
Wei Yang’s eyes narrowed.
“On the wedding night.”
“Qin Junyue was stationed outside Qi Chuyao’s wedding chamber?”
The black-clad woman nodded, still not daring to look up.
Wei Yang fell silent.
“Forget it,” she finally spoke, her voice carrying a trace of an indiscernible emotion—perhaps envy or jealousy.
“They have already consummated their marriage. I fear it will be difficult to drive a wedge between these two families now.”
She stood up and walked to the window, staring out at the sky.
“While I still hold the reins of the Imperial Court, I have already ordered Qi Sugong to mobilize troops and hand over the person,” she said, her back to the black-clad woman as her voice drifted through the room.
“I do not know if she will be obedient. It would be best if she knows what’s good for her.”
“But since that order has already been sent, Prince Xin’s side…”
Wei Yang suddenly turned around, a flicker of ruthlessness and madness flashing in her eyes.
That light danced in the depths of her pupils like a gambler who had staked their entire life on a single roll of the dice.
She was, in fact, a gambler. Years ago, it was because she couldn’t pay off her gambling debts that she had been forced to enter the Imperial Palace.
“I will give you one more chance,” she said coldly. “I will assign a few more people to you. You must handle this matter perfectly. If word leaks out again or if you fail, I will execute you the moment I return.”
The black-clad woman trembled. She prostrated herself on the floor, her forehead striking the brick with a dull thud.
Wei Yang walked over, leaned down, and whispered a few words into her ear.
The woman’s face instantly turned deathly pale—paler than when she had lost all that blood.
Her eyes widened, her pupils shrinking to pinpricks. Her lips quivered as if she wanted to say something, but nothing came out.
Wei Yang straightened up and looked down at her with a faint, mocking smile.
“Go,” she said.
The black-clad woman stood up and stumbled out of the room.
……
The sun was shining perfectly in the courtyard of the Song Mansion.
The heat wasn’t intense; instead, the sunlight cascaded down in a warm, gentle glow.
Song Ning wasn’t “reading” today.
He reclined on a lounge chair, covered by a thin blanket, lazily soaking up the sun.
The soreness from the previous night was gradually fading. His inner thighs didn’t ache as much, and the pain in his waist had subsided, but he still felt a lingering lethargy that made him reluctant to move.
The sunlight fell across his face, warm and comforting. He squinted slightly; although it made no difference to his vision, he did it out of habit.
He reached out toward the sun, spreading his five fingers wide, then closing them, then spreading them again.
“Xiao Shuang,” he suddenly said.
Xia Shuang, who was standing behind him holding her sword, lowered her head slightly to look at his profile.
“They say a sliver of a woman’s First Night Essence Blood flows into the man’s body… is that true?” his voice carried a hint of doubt. “How come I didn’t feel anything?”
The two of them had been quite frantic that night. He had been tossed around so much his feet barely touched the ground, and with his mind in a complete muddle from the constant shifting, how could he have noticed anything flowing into him?
Afterward, he had simply felt drained. Every inch of his body had been sore and aching. As for that sliver of essence blood, he truly hadn’t felt a thing.
Clutching her sword, Xia Shuang’s beautiful eyes lingered on Song Ning’s face. She remained silent for a heartbeat before speaking in a stiff, stuttering voice.
“There… there is. A woman’s blood will… will enter on its own.”
Song Ning clenched his fist and then relaxed it.
‘To think Qi Chuyao’s blood is actually inside my body? How strange.’
Still, it could be considered a solution to a certain problem.
He sighed. Being blind truly brought many inconveniences.
Specifically, before he was married, he had been a vigorous young man. Yet, because of his blindness, even the simple act of self-gratification in the middle of the night had been impossible for him.
He couldn’t exactly do that sort of thing while Xia Ling and Xia Shuang were waiting right beside him, could he?
If it were just the inability to relieve himself, he could have endured it.
The problem was that sometimes, in the early morning, he would… overflow.
The physiological traits of men in this world were completely different from his previous life—the frequency was higher, the volume was greater, and it was entirely uncontrollable.
Sometimes it happened in his dreams, sometimes just as he woke up in the morning; it would occur silently and without warning.
He could only rely on his senses to gather the soiled clothes, bunch them into a ball, and then ask Xia Ling to take them to someone else to be washed.
This was also the reason he never allowed the Xia sisters to wash his clothes.
Items like intimate apparel were simply too embarrassing to discuss.
He would rather have a stranger wash them than have those close to him see the white stains.
As for where the clothes went?
‘They probably went to a dedicated laundry area, right? I assume.’
There were people in the mansion specifically responsible for washing and starching. Sending the clothes there was enough.
In any case, every time his undergarments were returned, they were clean, neatly folded, and smelled of the fresh scent of honey locust.
As for replacing old clothes with new ones, that was handled by his younger sister. Song Youyi managed all the affairs of the mansion, so these arrangements naturally fell under her purvey.
But things were better now.
With Qi Chuyao around, he wouldn’t have to face such awkwardness anymore.
Between husband and wife, such things were natural and proper. He didn’t have to hide anymore, and he didn’t have to secretly bundle up his dirty laundry to send it away.
As he was thinking, the sound of footsteps echoed from the courtyard entrance.
“Young Master…”
Xia Ling’s voice drifted over from a distance. She sounded unhappy, as if someone had stolen something from her.
“I brought her back,” she said as she approached, pouting as she glanced behind her. “And Lady Qi has come as well.”
Song Ning sat up slightly, pulling the thin blanket up a bit and reaching out to tidy his hair.
Two figures walked into the courtyard, one after the other.
Walking in front was Qi Chuyao.
She was chewing on something, her cheeks puffing out.
She held an empty oil-paper wrap in her hand, with a bamboo skewer from the candied haws sticking out of the paper.
She casually tossed the skewer into the flower bushes by the path.
Watching her throw the skewer, Xia Ling’s beautiful eyes widened as she took a deep breath.
‘How can she just throw trash everywhere?’
Following behind was Qin Junyue.
Her steps were somewhat stiff, though a faint smile touched her lips. She looked no different than usual—cheerful, bright, and as refreshing as a spring breeze.
Her gaze swept across the courtyard, but when it landed on Song Ning, her eyes suddenly darted away to look elsewhere.
Her heart was racing.
She could feel her heartbeat, thud by thud, crashing against her chest.
The madness of yesterday seemed to still be echoing in her mind.
Sitting on the lounge chair, Song Ning heard the footsteps drawing closer. He turned his head slightly, “looking” in their direction.
In those white eyes, no shadow could be reflected.
“Has Junyue arrived?” Song Ning asked softly.