After Marrying the Villainous Prime Minister in My Brother’s Stead - Chapter 12

12: Sleeping in Separate Rooms – “Prime Minister, your health isn’t good. How about… we sleep in separate rooms?”

“This isn’t just a drop of bl00d. People with poor health can’t afford to lose bl00d. Your bl00d system is closely tied to your physical condition. The bl00d you’ve lost needs nourishment to replenish it—you should take more supplements.” By the end of her speech, Gu Que felt she sounded overly fussy and awkwardly shut her mouth.

Yan Luo listened intently and instead asked, “What is the human bl00d system?”

Gu Que froze. How was she supposed to explain that?

There was no way to explain!

After a moment of hesitation, she stammered, “It’s one of the systems that make up the human body, responsible for the production, regulation, and destruction of bl00d cells…”

“Do you understand medicine?” Yan Luo asked with keen interest.

“No, I don’t.” Gu Que shook her head. She was just a small Taobao shop owner, good for nothing—not even capable of reciting ancient poetry.

Yan Luo nodded. “Have you read medical texts before?”

“No, do you want to?” Gu Que instinctively asked.

Yan Luo smiled faintly. “If you have any, lend them to me.”

Gu Que couldn’t smile anymore. Taobao probably had them, but would Yan Luo even understand such books?

“I… I’ll look for them when I get back,” she forced herself to agree.

Yan Luo seemed satisfied. As she embroidered, she chatted with Gu Que: “I enjoy studying medicine. Everyone’s bones are different, and they feel different too. Women’s, men’s, children’s—all are distinct, varying in weight and texture.”

“Bones…” Gu Que paused, lifting her eyes in stunned silence. Since when did noble young ladies enjoy studying bones?

Yan Luo didn’t look up or continue discussing bones. She simply said, “It’s just reading medical texts.”

“The Prime Minister is well-read,” Gu Que said stiffly, then pointed to Yan Luo’s hand. “I have hemostatic ointment. Would you like to apply some?”

Yan Luo’s fingertip was red, the puncture wound clearly visible, but it didn’t hinder her movements. Though she heard Gu Que’s concern, she declined the offer—the first time she had ever refused Gu Que.

Gu Que didn’t dwell on it. Instead, she quietly sat down and watched Yan Luo embroider. In her past life, she had once killed time by doing cross-stitch.

Cross-stitch involved diagonal crosses, with colors pre-marked—no thinking required, just patience. Yan Luo’s embroidery, however, was different. Though the stitches seemed chaotic at first, a pattern quickly emerged.

One embroidered, the other watched. The room was silent.

Yan Luo worked swiftly, the needle darting through the fabric. She remembered her mother saying that embroidery didn’t need to be masterful—just passable, enough to occasionally make clothes for one’s husband. In noble families, there was little need to do it oneself, let alone for a princess.

She had learned for a few years under her mother’s guidance, observing embroiderers of various styles. Among them, she favored the “random stitch” technique—seemingly disordered, yet governed by hidden rules.

She glanced at the little tiger taking shape on the fabric, then at the tiger on her nail. So, tigers could be cute too.

Not all tigers were ferocious.

Once the tiger was finished, Gu Que’s eyes sparkled with admiration. “It’s so lifelike!”

Yan Luo smiled. “I’ll make you a pouch. It’ll be done tomorrow.”

She said “tomorrow.” Gu Que’s heart leaped. “Is it… for me?” She had to confirm—was it really for her, and not for Gu Yan?

If it was for Gu Yan, she’d have to give it to her brother.

Yan Luo lowered her gaze, not looking at her, but nodded firmly. “Of course, it’s for you.”

She emphasized the word “you.”

Gu Que grinned, her eyes curving like crescents. “Then… thank you, Prime Minister.”

“No need for thanks between husband and wife.” Yan Luo said lightly.

At the words “husband and wife,” Gu Que’s smile instantly faded, her expression wilting. For the first time, she disliked hearing “between husband and wife.”

She sighed inwardly. Outside, Tinglan’s voice sounded: “Young Master, Prime Minister, the Marquis has summoned everyone for dinner.”

Yan Luo set aside her needlework, placing the embroidery in a bamboo basket. She instructed the maids to take it with them when they left—this wasn’t their home, after all.

The two walked out together. The setting sun painted the sky in brilliant hues, their shadows stretching behind them.

Gu Que stared at Yan Luo’s shadow and suddenly reached out, grasping the shadow’s hand. She smiled to herself—this was as close as she’d get to holding Yan Luo’s hand.

At the main hall, the younger sisters had already gathered. The second branch of the family had left, and the once-noisy room fell silent. The girls, seeing Yan Luo, didn’t dare speak, standing properly in accordance with etiquette.

Yan Luo wasn’t constrained. A maid guided her to her seat, and soon, the Marquis and his wife arrived. Dinner began.

Yan Luo raised her hand, revealing the little tiger on her nail. The girls’ eyes widened, momentarily forgetting that their sister-in-law was the feared Prime Minister.

Gu Ling, the boldest, spoke up: “Sister-in-law, is that nail art on your fingers?”

Everyone looked. The tiny yellow tiger was adorable, almost silly—completely mismatched with Yan Luo’s aura, yet exquisitely crafted.

Yan Luo set down her chopsticks and glanced at Gu Que. “The Young Master applied it for me. Called it… nail art.”

Gu Que explained: “Just a trinket, a gift for the Prime Minister. Worthless.”

“Brother, if it’s worthless, give me some too!” Gu Ling blurted eagerly.

Gu Que shook her head. “There’s no more.”

Gu Ling’s face fell. Too afraid of her father and Yan Luo to argue, she sulkily returned to her meal.

No one spoke during dinner—”no talking while eating”—leaving the hall utterly silent.

After dinner, the young couple prepared to leave. Gu Ling couldn’t resist another glance at Yan Luo’s nails, her eyes darting thoughtfully as she sighed.

Noticing her gaze, Yan Luo looked at the Young Master beside her and boarded the carriage without comment.

The Marchioness reminded Gu Que to “mind your identity, keep your distance from the Prime Minister, and sleep separately if possible—just maintain the marital relationship.”

Gu Que agreed as usual. She lifted the carriage curtain, and with a crack of the whip, the carriage rolled away.

Once the Marquis’s estate was out of sight, Yan Luo suddenly spoke: “Why didn’t you give some to Gu Ling?”

“That box was for the Prime Minister.” Gu Que said firmly. Novelty loses its charm when overused. Though the items were cheap, their exclusivity made them precious. If everyone had them—like the soap—what would be the point?

Yan Luo chuckled but said nothing.

Back at the Gu residence, Gu Que alighted first. This time, she’d learned—after steadying herself, she turned and offered Yan Luo a hand down.

Leng Mian watched disdainfully.

At the gate stood unfamiliar figures holding petitions—likely seeking favors from the Prime Minister. Gu Que instinctively moved to avoid them, but Yan Luo declared: “No audiences for three days.”

Leng Mian promptly shooed them away.

Dusk had fallen. Scarlet lanterns hung at the gate, lighting the path home.

They crossed the threshold one after another, the estate doors creaking shut behind them. Tinglan carried a lantern to light their way.

As they neared the bedchamber, Gu Que suddenly said: “The residence has physicians. Does the Prime Minister wish to see one?”

“No need. I’m fine now,” Yan Luo refused. “I know my body—it’s nothing serious. A bath will suffice.”

Gu Que didn’t overthink it. A hot bath might indeed help.

Yan Luo went to bathe, leaving Gu Que alone in the bedroom. She glanced at the bathroom door, then hurried to shut the bedroom door, using the brief respite to search for medical texts on skeletal systems.

Yan Luo’s interests were… unusual.

But before she could find anything, Tinglan knocked. “Young Master, should you sleep separately tonight?” she whispered, stealing a glance at the bathroom. “The Madam said to take advantage of the Prime Minister’s poor health—this is a rare opportunity.”

Gu Que rubbed her temples, at a loss. “I’ll try.”

Sleep separately?

Was that even possible?

Tinglan eyed her foolish young master with concern. For some reason, the Young Master’s head was always filled with strange ideas—flashlights, nylon ropes, powdered milk, soy milk powder.

She feared her naive Young Master would be sold off by the Prime Minister and still happily count the money for her.

Their discussion was cut short when the bathroom door opened. Tinglan fled, lifting her skirts. Gu Que hastily shut the door and turned—Yan Luo stood in the doorway, wreathed in steam.

Her face, carved like jade, was breathtaking. Her clear eyes shimmered like the purest water, her grace indescribable—moonlight on water.

Gu Que swallowed, clutching her sleeves, rooted in place. Yan Luo, unfazed, sat before the mirror, sweeping her hair aside to reveal a slender, pale neck.

Her movements were effortless, exuding nobility.

“Young Master, aren’t you bathing?” Yan Luo turned to Gu Que.

The glance sent Gu Que’s heart racing. Her lashes fluttered as she stared at Yan Luo’s rosy lips—small, soft, perfectly shaped.

“I—I will.” Gu Que managed a smile.

Yan Luo’s expression remained neutral, her tone casual as she repeated last night’s words: “Good. I’ll wait for you.”

“I’ll wait for you.” A simple phrase, yet to Gu Que, it sounded like a death sentence.

She fled to the bathroom. Yan Luo stayed at the mirror, waiting so long she grew weary.

Leng Mian entered, carrying a box.

Yan Luo opened it. Inside lay a gray-white teacup—flawless. She closed the box. “Lovely.”

The Prime Minister’s estate had many such boxes, all gifts from various regions, all delivered by Leng Mian.

The teacups varied. Some were perfect, unblemished. Others bore cracks. Yan Luo preferred the flawless ones. The flawed? A single glance sufficed—she’d never touch them again.

Leng Mian withdrew silently.

Soon, the bathroom door opened. Gu Que emerged in sleepwear, her hair damp, her face pink as peach blossoms.

Steeling herself, she said: “Prime Minister, your health isn’t good. How about… we sleep in separate rooms?”