The Top Scholar's Wife in an Emperor-Minister Story 34

The carriage wheels rumbled over the bluestone road, rolling out of the palace.

Inside the carriage, Yuan Wangshu frowned deeply, mulling things over, yet still couldn't shake her unease.

She looked up at Qu Zhujun, who sat directly across from her, and couldn't help but lower her voice to warn, "Zhujun, what happened in the palace today must remain buried in our hearts. We cannot breathe a word of it to anyone outside. Otherwise, we'd be throwing Chen Yao straight into the fire."

A ruler taking a subject's wife... who would care whether the weak woman forcibly taken by the emperor was willing? The world's spittle and reproach always targeted the weak. In the end, all the infamy would be pinned on Xie Chenyao alone.

With that thought, Yuan Wangshu lowered her eyes again, gazing at the silk handkerchief she had crumpled in her hand, and sighed inwardly.

"I understand," Qu Zhujun said, her usual bright smile fading as she rubbed her forehead vigorously. "I may be impulsive, but I know where to draw the line. How could I go around talking about something that could cost someone their life? You can rest assured."

Hearing this, Yuan Wangshu's tense shoulders relaxed a bit, and she nodded, though her face still carried a worry that wouldn't dissolve.

They returned to the Yuan residence.

Even after stepping into her own courtyard, the stifled feeling in her chest wouldn't recede.

In her room, Yuan Wangshu dismissed all the serving maids, then sat quietly on the daybed by the window.

Through the latticed window, her gaze drifted, almost unconsciously, to the cluster of lilies blooming beautifully in the corner of the courtyard.

Her thoughts scattered in all directions, replaying the scenes she'd witnessed in the palace today. The more she thought, the tighter her heart clenched.

She sat there in a daze for a long while.

Finally, Yuan Wangshu rose and walked to the writing desk. She reached out and slowly spread a sheet of white rice paper.

Taking a deep breath, she decided she needed to send a letter to Shen Yunxiu, who was already on the road south.

Naturally, to avoid suspicion, she could only do so under the pretense of sending a letter to her brother, Yuan Fuju, so she couldn't be too explicit in her words.

After deliberating for a long time, the brush finally touched the paper, and she wrote only a simple line—"Since Lord Shen's departure, Chen Yao has missed him day and night, often weeping, and only hopes for his swift return."

Yuan Wangshu looked at the still-wet ink and couldn't help but let out a soft sigh.

She remembered that before leaving, Yuan Fuju had said the trip would take at least two to three months. She only hoped that when Shen Yunxiu received the letter, he would at least hasten his return.

But in the meantime, she had no idea how she could help Xie Chenyao.

*

The moon hung high in the sky.

When Xiao Mingting arrived, he'd assumed that, given Xie Chenyao's usual schedule, she would already be asleep at this hour.

But when he stepped into the hall, he saw the young woman seated before the zither, dressed only in plain white undergarments, her ink-black hair cascading down her waist, her slender fingers plucking gently at the strings.

Yet unlike her usual clear, flowing notes, the melody now carried a lingering, mournful tone—like the rustle of autumn wind, or the vast loneliness of a moonlit river.

Xiao Mingting sensed something was wrong.

He strode forward quickly and indeed saw Chen Yao with lowered eyes, her beautiful face streaked with tears like rain on pear blossoms. Her eyes and nose were red, and teardrops still clung to her lashes.

The young woman seemed like a delicate flower soaked by a drizzle—fragile and pitifully endearing.

"What's the matter?" He leaned down, his warm palm gently resting on her shoulder, and softly drew her into his embrace from behind.

Chen Yao's music came to an abrupt halt.

She cried silently, offering no resistance, but meekly let the man hold her, leaning against his chest.

Xiao Mingting turned with the young woman in his arms. Seeing that she wouldn't speak, he moved to the couch and sat down, then settled her facing him on his lap.

"Why are you crying out of the blue?" He asked patiently, his voice gentle.

His warm fingertips brushed lightly over the reddened corners of her eyes, his tone so tender it seemed to drip with water.

That only made Chen Yao feel even more aggrieved. She bit her lip hard, her eyes growing redder, and large teardrops rolled down from the corners of her eyes.

Then she raised her hands, wrapped them around Xiao Mingting's neck, and buried her face deep into the crook of his neck. Choked sobs fell in fragments against his ear. "Your Majesty..."

Feeling the wetness on his neck, Xiao Mingting's gaze darkened. His palm on her waist tightened slightly.

Then he lowered his voice and asked, "Was it those two who came looking for you during the day? Did they say something they shouldn't have?"

As he spoke, the man frowned, his jawline taut, a chill seeping into his tone.

As if sensing the dangerous aura radiating from the man, Chen Yao hurriedly shook her head, her little head unconsciously brushing against his neck.

Finally, she lifted her tear-streaked face, looked at him with blurry, tear-filled eyes, and sobbed softly, "It's not their fault. It's... it's my own problem."

"Your problem?" Xiao Mingting's brows remained furrowed, but his hand gently caressed her cheek. "What problem could my Yao Yao have?"

"...I'm just so afraid." Chen Yao lowered her damp eyelids, speaking in a fragile voice.

"Afraid of what?" Xiao Mingting cupped her face, his thumb wiping away her tears, and soothed her softly, "I'm here for everything. You don't need to fear anything."

"I'm afraid others will say... that I'm a seductress who bewitches the ruler, a scourge who brings chaos..."

Chen Yao's small body trembled slightly. She bit her lip and spoke in fits and starts, her voice so choked it was barely audible.

Xiao Mingting's fingertip slid down, landing on her lips—now red from her biting—and gently pressed against them, stopping her from biting further.

"Didn't I tell you long ago? You don't need to worry about these things. You just need to wait quietly to become my empress. I promise no one will dare speak nonsense in front of you."

His eyes were deep and dark. His calloused thumb rubbed her lips, then moved down to gently pinch her chin.

Then he leaned in, pressing his thin lips warmly against her tear-streaked face, kissing from the corners of her eyes to the tip of her nose, and finally to her soft lips, kissing away her tears bit by bit.

"But..." Feeling the warmth of his lips and the words falling at her ear, Chen Yao's eyes drooped at the corners, seemingly still uneasy.

"No buts." Xiao Mingting lifted his head and gently interrupted her.

His faint ambergris scent enveloped the young woman in his arms. His voice was low and firm. "Be good, don't overthink. My empress is not for others to judge."

If anyone dared let the young woman hear a single word of gossip, he would naturally find a way to ensure they never spoke again.

Murderous intent flickered in Xiao Mingting's eyes, but he was afraid of scaring her, so he didn't voice the bloodthirsty second half of that thought.

Still, the night was long, and the young woman's tears shouldn't be wasted at such a time.

With that thought, Xiao Mingting leaned in again without hesitation and pressed his lips directly onto her rosy mouth.

His thin lips pressed against hers, and his tongue soon pried open her pearly teeth, twisting and teasing inside her sweet, fragrant mouth, deepening the kiss with every moment.