After Marrying the Villainous Prime Minister in My Brother’s Stead - Chapter 25

25: Mischief, This Is the Behavior of Mischief!

The little pig is adorably silly, looking somewhat soft and cute. Doesn’t it resemble Gu Que?

Lengmian can see it but can’t eat it. Her mind floods with images of Young Master Gu’s silly, grinning face.

Like Yan Luo, Lengmian has seen too many young masters from noble families—most are dashing and romantic, elegant yet aloof, but none show much respect toward women.

Yes, respect. The world is unfair to women but lenient toward men. They can not only marry wives but also take concubines. If it were Gu Yan standing before her, would he lower himself to coax the Prime Minister like this?

Perhaps, considering the Prime Minister’s high position and his own career, Gu Yan might treat Yan Luo well.

But would he be this attentive and thoughtful, delivering surprises every day?

Which man could achieve that?

At this moment, Lengmian gradually loses herself in thought. After recognizing Gu Que’s goodness, she remembers the Prime Minister’s health—already ruined. To ordinary men, she’s nothing more than a decorative vase. A woman who can’t bear children would face endless scorn.

But after learning this, Gu Que treated her even better.

“Prime Minister, I think Young Master Gu is very good.” Lengmian says, avoiding a direct answer to the earlier question.

Yan Luo takes a bite of the ice cream, her teeth chilled to trembling. A smile lingers on her lips. “She’s just a naive do-gooder who’ll eventually be devoured, bones and all.”

She’s met too many people, some as beautiful as Gu Que—men gentle as jade, women stunningly beautiful, their eyes equally captivating.

What truly sets them apart is interaction. Only through interaction can one discern another’s virtues or flaws.

After just a few days of simple interactions, Yan Luo recognized Gu Que’s kindness. Every time she sees her, she’s reminded of the phrase: “Emerging unstained from the mud, cleansed without losing its purity.”

A figure as pristine as spring snow, elegant yet unpretentious, warm yet adorable.

Yan Luo devours the little pig in one bite, savoring it slowly. Once finished, she’s no longer hungry and says to Lengmian, “Do you like her?”

“It’s admiration. She’s a very interesting person.” Lengmian replies politely. “Also, the Empress has her eye on her. If she finds out she’s a woman, she might just snatch her into the palace.”

The Empress loves young girls. She has excellent taste, favoring the soft and cute ones. She’s been fixated on those eyes ever since, insisting that Young Master Gu’s eyes bear some resemblance.

“The way the Empress stares at her is truly infuriating.” Yan Luo sighs, eyeing the empty ice cream box. She asks Lengmian, “How can we coax some more treats out of Young Master Gu?”

“Once Gu Yan returns, you won’t even get to see her face, let alone receive daily surprises. Even if she doesn’t marry Zhao Mingwu, she’ll marry some other man. That’s the best outcome. If Gu Yan returns late, she’ll become an old maid, her life ruined.” Lengmian says.

Yan Luo strokes the box and sighs. “Who told her to be such a naive do-gooder?”

Lengmian says, “If you don’t marry, won’t that solve it?”

“This is Yan Luo’s fate. Since I am Yan Luo, I must marry. But it’s not so bad—compared to others, Gu Que is a decent choice.” Yan Luo straightens up, her smile fading. “Do you want some?”

Lengmian nods.

Yan Luo says, “Tell her you stole all the ice cream from the box. I still want some, so go ask for more.”

Lengmian: “…”

“Why should I take the blame?”

“Because my health is poor, and I shouldn’t eat too much. You’re healthy—you can eat a whole box.”

Lengmian touches her own face. “My skin is too thin. Besides, Tinglan already dislikes me.”

“You know you’re annoying too? Last night, you scared Tinglan so much she didn’t even get to eat. Hurry up and ask for some, then send her a piece.” Yan Luo urges.

“No need to rush. Tinglan is here.” Lengmian says, sensing someone approaching from outside. She opens the door to see Tinglan hurrying over.

Tinglan smiles and says to Lengmian, “The Young Master heard the Prime Minister didn’t eat well at dinner and wants to know if she’d like hot pot.”

“Hot pot?” Lengmian frowns and looks back at Yan Luo. “The good food has arrived.”

“But I’m already full. Tell Young Master Gu we’ll have it tomorrow. Also, tonight I’ll sleep in the study.” Yan Luo rests her chin on her hand, her demeanor elegant. She glances at the ice cream box and asks Tinglan, “Is there any sweet milk?”

“Yes, I’ll fetch it for you.” Tinglan replies cheerfully.

When the message reaches Gu Que, she’s so thrilled she could spin on the spot—like passing a test in school by sheer luck, her heart brimming with joy.

She’s overjoyed. Tinglan goes to deliver the sweet milk, and Gu Que instructs her, “Bring it warm.”

“I understand. Will you still be reading?” Tinglan asks.

Gu Que stands and stretches. “I’m going to sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Sleeping alone is wonderful—free and comfortable. She’s going to get a good night’s rest after a day of anxiety and exhaustion.

Gu Que goes to bed, while Yan Luo drinks a bowl of sweet milk.

Dawn arrives quietly, the Gu residence utterly still. Meanwhile, chaos erupts at the Ministry of Justice’s gates—a coffin is placed at the entrance, drawing crowds of early risers.

The coffin is covered in dirt, clearly freshly dug up. Some find it ominous and quickly leave.

As the sun rises, more onlookers gather. The Ministry’s officials, fearing a scene, have several men carry the coffin inside. The crowd lingers, peering inside.

By noon, a man arrives on horseback—dressed in a jade-blue robe, a crown on his head, poised like a plum blossom braving the cold. He dismounts and charges inside like an arrow.

The crowd gasps. Someone shouts, “That’s the young master of the Huo family!”

“Why is he here?”

“The girl in the coffin is the one he loved.”

“Who is she?”

“Miss Li, the daughter of Centurion Li. Rumor has it she was pushed off a cliff by Princess Qing’an.”

“So that’s it. Why is the coffin here now?”

“Has her spirit returned?”

Speculations fly, and the crowd grows noisier. The Gu family carriage passes by, its curtain lifted slightly as Gu Que peers out. “What’s happening?”

Is this a protest?

Tinglan doesn’t know either. “Should we stop and ask?”

“No need. It’s none of our business. Let’s go.” Gu Que isn’t curious and doesn’t want to get involved. Staying out of trouble is best. Besides, the Ministry of Justice is like the Supreme Court—nothing good happens there. Wasting time asking around won’t benefit her.

Tinglan relents, instructing the coachman to go slowly to avoid bumping into anyone.

Gu Que has obtained the deed from Yan Luo and plans to inspect it today. She’s even brought her camera.

The camera is an instant one, but she doesn’t dare take it out. She’s heard the superstition that photos steal souls—like the black and white Wuchang, underworld envoys.

So after buying it, she’s kept it hidden, afraid of being seen as a monster. Plus, the camera was expensive—she saved for months before splurging.

The noise fades behind them, and Gu Que’s heart settles. The streets are lively, filled with shops and pedestrians.

Yan Luo’s shop was part of the Yan family’s third madam’s dowry, later given to Yan Luo as her own.

The capital has many markets, divided into east and west, with set opening and closing times. Once time’s up, doors must shut—no overnight business.

Yan Luo’s shop is in a prime location, three storefronts side by side. Renting them out would fetch a high price.

Gu Que has done her homework, checking market rates. She plans to pay rent first, and if business thrives, she’ll buy the shops. With money, nothing is difficult.

All three shops are operating. Not far away is Gu Que’s soap shop, about a dozen storefronts down. She hasn’t visited in a while, but stock is ample—she can drop by every half month.

The third madam has mental health issues, so the shops are leased out, with Yan Luo collecting rent. Gu Que assumed they’d be empty and brought her camera to photograph the layout for renovations.

But the carriage stops, and she abandons the idea, glancing from outside without entering. The three shops: the left sells cosmetics, the middle sells clothing, and the right sells jade.

All cater to women. Converting them into a tavern might not suit.

Not all prime locations fit a tavern. Gu Que isn’t impulsive—she has plans, and these three shops clearly don’t fit.

Disappointed, Gu Que heads back, strolling the streets with Tinglan. Tinglan, still a young girl, is drawn to the soap shop’s scent and tugs at Gu Que to take a look.

“We rarely leave the manor. Can we take a look?” Tinglan pleads. “Maybe you’ll find something nice for the Prime Minister. I think she likes soap too—the one in the bathhouse is almost gone.”

“The manor has milk soap, much better than here.” Gu Que frowns but relents when Tinglan insists.

The soap shop still has a long line—the busiest on the street. Gu Que’s heart swells with pride. Tinglan pouts. “Too many people. How long will this take?”

Gu Que stands in the crowd, grinning. Tinglan doesn’t understand. “Young Master, why are you so happy?”

Gu Que is thrilled about her business’s success. In a year, the soap shop’s reputation has spread. Next, she’ll create high-end soaps—like facial cleansers or silk-and-milk soaps—to attract noblewomen.

She’s lost in thought when Tinglan suddenly tugs her sleeve. “Young Master, Young Master—Official Zhao is here!”

“Which Official Zhao?” Gu Que mentally checks the date. After the imperial exams, she’ll proceed. Startled, she looks up to see a young man approaching.

It’s Zhao Mingwu, dressed casually, broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted. Beside him stands a girl Gu Que doesn’t recognize—though perhaps the original owner did.

She straightens and faces Zhao Mingwu.

Zhao Mingwu is half a head taller, athletic and upright. Standing together, Gu Que looks frail in comparison.

But Gu Que’s skin is pale as jade, strikingly handsome.

When she first arrived, Gu Que wondered how no one noticed the original owner’s femininity with such a face. From initial confusion to later discreet inquiries, she learned that here, women rarely go out, so cross-dressing is unheard of.

No one would suspect it. Like in The Ballad of Mulan, Mulan served for eleven years undetected—because no one imagined a woman could disguise as a man.

It’s not that ancient people are foolish—they’ve just never encountered it.

Zhao Mingwu stops before Gu Que, eyeing the soap shop. “Young Master, here to buy soap for the Prime Minister?”

Gu Que isn’t familiar with him, but his tone is friendly. She shakes her head. “No, my maid wanted to look. And you, Official Zhao?”

“Accompanying Miss Yan for a visit.” Zhao Mingwu gestures to the girl beside him.

Gu Que glances at the girl—pink robes, vibrant and pretty—then quickly looks away. Here, men shouldn’t stare at women—it’s improper.

“Ah, Miss Yan.” Gu Que smiles.

Yan Ruxi curtsies. “Brother-in-law Gu.”

Yan Luo is Yan Ruxi’s cousin, making Gu Que her brother-in-law. Gu Que accepts the title gracefully. “You two go ahead.”

She assumes the couple is enjoying marital bliss—otherwise, with the Zhao family’s status, a maid could’ve fetched the soap.

Gu Que tactfully steps aside, ready to leave with Tinglan, when Zhao Mingwu stops her. “Young Master.”

Yan Ruxi walks away, and Tinglan follows, leaving the two alone.

Zhao Mingwu is handsome and upright. Gu Que feels no attraction, but the original owner’s lingering emotions stir slightly.

She avoids his gaze, turning slightly. “Official Zhao.”

The bustling street offers privacy—two men talking draws no attention.

Zhao Mingwu studies Gu Que’s face and whispers, “A year ago, Second Miss wrote me a letter, hoping I wouldn’t break the engagement. But then the Marquis came to cancel it, adamant. I had no choice. Second Miss must be very disappointed.”

The original owner wrote to Zhao Mingwu? Gu Que is stunned but hides it. “My younger sister was foolish. Official Zhao, please forget it.”

“I tried, but every time I see you, I’m overwhelmed with guilt.” Zhao Mingwu sighs. “Second Miss resembles you, especially the eyes. That day in the carriage, seeing you was like seeing her.”

Zhao Mingwu looks genuinely remorseful, his gaze lingering on Gu Que’s boots. He remembers—last time, Second Miss wore exquisite embroidered shoes with fluffy pom-poms, utterly charming.

The siblings give different impressions: Gu Que is adorable, Young Master Gu dignified and composed.

“Young Master Gu, if possible, please convey my apologies to her.”

Gu Que frowns. “Official Zhao is about to marry. Some things should be forgotten. Miss Yan would be upset.”

Zhao Mingwu’s lingering feelings are his own, but here, a broken engagement should be forgotten—especially for the woman’s reputation.

She turns to leave. Tinglan hurries after her. “Young Master, what did he say?”

Tinglan watches Gu Que closely, searching for signs of rekindled affection—after all, Young Master Gu once loved Zhao Mingwu.

She fears the Young Master’s old feelings might resurface.

Gu Que’s frown soon smooths out. “Him? I can’t shake the feeling he’s being insincere.”

Perhaps it’s differing values. If he truly regretted it, he wouldn’t have broken the engagement. Now, after marrying another, why apologize?

A strange thought occurs—he’s selling sentimentality. Maybe she’s overthinking, and Zhao Mingwu is genuinely remorseful.

But one thing puzzles her: why would Zhao Mingwu sell sentimentality?

Without an answer, she can’t confirm his motives. Alternatively, their eras differ—maybe he genuinely can’t let go.

Gu Que’s thoughts spiral, tangling herself up. On reflection, it still feels off.

Sigh, men are so troublesome!

Gu Que ponders all the way home, then stops. Life is complicated enough—why dwell on an irrelevant man?

How boring! Besides, she’s not the original owner and doesn’t like Zhao Mingwu. No reason to let him unsettle her.

Back home, Yan Luo sends word: she’ll return late after visiting the Yan family for dinner.

No hot pot tonight. Gu Que is disappointed but won’t eat alone. She has a light meal and retreats to her study to tinker with soap recipes.

As for reviewing books—let them rot.

Gu Que tinkers all evening. At 9 PM, Yan Luo returns.

Yan Luo heads straight to the bathhouse. Inside, a new bar of soap awaits. She uses it without much thought but notices something different—it’s sweet, almost edible.

Of course, she won’t actually bite it—but she sniffs it repeatedly, suddenly craving sweet milk.

After her bath, she sends Tinglan to fetch some. Once Tinglan leaves, Yan Luo searches for Gu Que but can’t find her.

Huh, hasn’t she returned?

Just as she wonders, Gu Que walks in holding a box, smiling at her. “You’re back.”

“What’s that?” Yan Luo leans on a pillow, pointing at the box. Gu Que’s boxes are like treasure chests—always full of novel little things. She’s curious: what’s tonight’s surprise?

“A batch of silk-and-milk soap I ordered a few days ago. Picked it up today—perfect for you. It’s very gentle on the skin.” Gu Que hands her the box. “There are ten bars. They don’t last long, so if you have friends, you can share.”

“New product?” Yan Luo examines the soap. Regular soap is one color, but this is different—the top resembles a tree in pale green.

Beneath the tree is snow-white soap. Placing a bar on the table, it looks like snow covering a tree trunk, leaving only the branches.

Yan Luo has used soap before. She sniffs the milk soap—no milky scent.

Gu Que’s eyes sparkle with genuine delight.

“I’ll try it.” Yan Luo accepts. “Who do you want me to give these to?”

The soap must be from the soap shop, and it’s new. Gu Que’s generosity hints at ulterior motives.

Yan Luo doesn’t expose her but asks, “If I give some to men, will you be upset?”

Her official friends are mostly men. Gifting them means their wives will receive the soap—the perfect conduit.

Gu Que isn’t stupid. In fact, she’s not only well-read but also a natural at business.

Gu Que pauses. “Up to you. I won’t be upset.”

Far from it. She asks Yan Luo, “If you give these to officials, and they gift them to mistresses or concubines, it might set their households ablaze. There are only ten bars in the entire Great Wei. Your call.”

Scarcity breeds value. Plus, the soap won’t last—once used, it’s gone.

Yan Luo laughs. “A household fire would be quite the spectacle. I’ll have them packaged separately. The outcome you want—you’ll see it.”

Gu Que is stunned. Yan Luo adds plainly, “The soap shop is yours, right?”

“Y-Yes. How did you know?” Gu Que can’t hide it anymore.

Yan Luo explains, “Because you have too many novel things. Soap is novel. At first, I didn’t connect them, but today you brought back ten new bars. I suspected you’re the real owner. I have no proof—just a guess.”

Pure intuition. An offhand question, but Gu Que didn’t deny it. If she had, Yan Luo would’ve believed her.

But this naive do-gooder admitted it.

Yan Luo wants to laugh. “Why did you confess?”

She should’ve lied, kept the game going. That would’ve been fun.

When you’re used to deceit, suddenly encountering someone honest—heart and soul laid bare—is it still fun?

Yan Luo was enjoying the guessing game.

But Gu Que took the opposite approach.

Yan Luo sighs, a smirk playing on her lips as she returns the soap to the box. Gu Que says, “It’s not a big deal. Why not admit it?”

This is her private income, separate from the Marquis’s estate. She hasn’t even told Tinglan. Once Gu Yan returns, she’ll move out and live as a merchant—better than relying on a man.

Here, most women depend on men. She can’t do that—a life at someone else’s mercy is torture.

In her first year here, she relied on her parents, a puppet on strings, powerless.

“It’s not a big deal, but I must tell you—you should raise the price. Otherwise, you won’t profit.” Yan Luo says. “Many have tried to copy you but failed. The recipe is key. Since you’re the only one, why not charge more?”

“Higher prices mean ordinary people can’t afford it. You’ve seen the new product—these are expensive, ten taels per bar, while the regular ones cost just a few dozen coins—a hundredfold difference. But now I need noblewomen to promote them. I need your help.” Gu Que admits.

To profit, target the nobility—their money is plentiful and easily spent.

Yan Luo understands. “I’ll try tomorrow. Success depends on fate. Ten bars might be too few. Any more?”

“No, just ten. More would devalue them.” Gu Que shakes her head. “These things thrive on exclusivity. If everyone has them, they’re like cheap cabbage—who’d care?”

Especially if gifted by the Prime Minister. Who wouldn’t take notice?

At banquets, when noblewomen gather, word will spread instantly through the capital’s elite circles.

Turning a profit would be effortless.

“Good. I’ll handle it tomorrow.” Yan Luo nods. “Any preferences?”

“No. I rarely go out and don’t know the capital’s elite.” Gu Que admits her limitation. Since the Marquis retired, their household has been deserted—no visitors.

Yan Luo studies her, chin propped on her hand, fingers tapping her lips. Suddenly, she asks, “Does your younger sister like Zhao Mingwu?”

Your younger sister ≈ you.

Gu Que freezes, instinctively looking up. Their eyes meet—Yan Luo is relaxed, her gaze reflecting candlelight.

The light in her eyes isn’t what matters. What matters is the slight curl of her lips…

This is the behavior of mischief!