After Marrying the Villainous Prime Minister in My Brother’s Stead - Chapter 68

68: Consummation, I Only Like Your Face.

The confidence that Yan Luo exuded often made Gu Que feel as though she were the modern one, while Gu Que herself was the rigid, old-fashioned one.

Pushing Yan Luo’s hand away, Gu Que stared into her eyes: “Prime Minister Yan, if you lose your chastity, how will you marry in the future?”

“Lose my chastity?” Yan Luo burst into laughter, abandoning all decorum, unable to speak for a long while.

Skin pressed against skin, the room was utterly silent. They gazed at each other, seeing nothing but one another.

Yan Luo countered the young Master Gu: “What exactly constitutes ‘losing chastity’?”

Gu Que couldn’t quite explain. Yan Luo clarified: “Not being married, not having a husband, yet engaging in illicit relations—that is losing chastity. Young Master Gu, have you ever studied?”

Gu Que blushed, touching her own face. “I’m just thinking of you. After all, I’m the one who’s going to devour you.”

Yan Luo scoffed: “You?”

Gu Que chuckled softly: “Yeah—wait, no. I’ll go ask Granny for some medicine. Stop touching me!”

She swatted Yan Luo’s hand away, quickly got up to put on her shoes, and said as she left: “Granny has medicine. I don’t want you suddenly passing out.”

Yan Luo: “…” How considerate of you.

Gu Que, thick-skinned, went to find Granny Sun.

Granny Sun lived in the side room, chatting and snacking with Tinglan and Zhizhi. Gu Que knocked and poked her head in: “Granny.”

“Looking for me? Here for medicine, aren’t you?” Granny Sun saw right through her. She shooed the two girls out: “Out, out, out! I have important business to attend to.”

Zhizhi was curious, but Tinglan suddenly understood, covering Zhizhi’s mouth and dragging her out.

Granny Sun glanced at Gu Que: “In a hurry?”

Gu Que’s face burned so hot she could barely meet Granny Sun’s eyes. She pointed outside at the sky: “You can’t just hand me a packet of herbs to brew, can you?”

“True enough. Such things can’t be rushed. Let me look for it.” Granny Sun rummaged through her medicine chest, pulling out bottles and jars until she finally selected one.

Gu Que asked: “How do I use it?”

“She takes it. You don’t need to. My medicine is all prepared for her.” Granny Sun grinned.

Gu Que was already nervous enough. She had inexplicably “bent,” without even understanding how it happened. In any case, as Prime Minister Yan wished—they were going to consummate their relationship.

Gu Que asked: “How much should she take?”

“It’s a potent tonic. One pill is enough.” Granny Sun waved her off, eager to shoo her out, then called Tinglan over: “Go boil water. Prepare hot water.”

Tinglan didn’t quite grasp the implication and blinked, unmoving. Granny Sun stomped her foot in frustration, nearly grabbing her ear: “Prepare hot water! How can you be so dense?”

“Oh—oh, I get it now!” Tinglan finally understood, her face flushing. But then she hesitated, realizing something was off. She asked helplessly: “But… what about when our real young master returns?”

Granny Sun shot her a look: “Let him stay wherever it’s cool and comfortable.”

Tinglan didn’t dare say more. Granny Sun told her: “Even if he were alive and kicking, our Prime Minister wouldn’t want him. Hurry up and prepare the hot water! Let me tell you, the first time is always…”

Tinglan was puzzled again: “How do you know so much about it?”

“Well…” Granny Sun grew awkward. In the palace, there had been maids who were lovers. The first time, they didn’t know what they were doing and ended up hurting themselves, coming to her for medicine.

Once was happenstance, twice was a pattern. After the maids came for medicine enough times, she picked up a thing or two about the basics.

But she couldn’t explain this to a young girl. She waved her off: “I know, but I can’t tell you.”

Granny Sun was in high spirits. Tinglan seized the moment to ask: “Granny, do you think it’s… good for the two of them to be together?”

Granny Sun looked up: “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Prime Minister Yan couldn’t bear children. Her temperament was aloof—outwardly cheerful, but icy at heart. It was rare for her to want something. Shouldn’t they encourage it?

Besides, wasn’t it natural for young girls to find solace in each other?

Tinglan frowned, her face scrunching up like a little bun: “But the union of man and woman is the natural order of things.”

“The union of man and woman is the way of heaven, but is it against morality for two girls to be together?” Granny Sun retorted. “I think love is what matters. It’s rare to find someone genuine. Tinglan, you’ve never faced life-and-death trials. Once you’ve weathered hardship, you’ll realize that simply living is enough.”

Tinglan didn’t understand. What did “living is enough” mean?

Granny Sun pitied her: “Tinglan, you’re truly fortunate.”

Tinglan shuddered at her words: “This servant is just a maid.”

Granny Sun smiled bitterly. Between a princess and a maid, sometimes the maid lived the better life.

Inside the room, Gu Que returned with the medicine, but Yan Luo refused to take it: “I’m perfectly healthy. I don’t need it.”

Gu Que pressed the pill into her hand: “Just take one. What if you faint? That wouldn’t be good.”

Yan Luo reclined on the bed, squinting: “No. You’re underestimating me.”

“Then I’ll leave. Look, I’m already moved. Why are you holding us back?” Gu Que muttered, “Prime Minister Yan, you’re the patient. You should listen. Just a few days ago, you fainted.”

Yan Luo’s face flushed with indignation: “You’re looking down on me.”

Gu Que pursed her lips and smiled: “I like you.”

Yan Luo didn’t believe her: “As if. You little schemer.”

Gu Que frowned: “If I weren’t bad, you wouldn’t love me.”

Yan Luo glared: “Your heart is truly wicked.”

Gu Que laughed: “I’m wicked. Do you like it?”

“I only like your face. I want to bite your neck, bite your chest, just kiss you a little.” Yan Luo took the medicine, grumbling as she unscrewed the bottle cap. The medicinal smell hit her, and she pinched her nose: “You’re so annoying.”

“Tomorrow, I’ll uproot all of Granny’s herbs.”

“Every last one.”

Yan Luo swallowed a pill and handed the bottle back to Gu Que, her mouth unbearably bitter: “What’s this medicine even for?”

“A strong tonic?” Gu Que guessed.

Yan Luo blinked from the bitterness: “A tonic for what? The heart? The lungs? The liver?”

Gu Que was stumped: “The kidneys?”

Yan Luo glared: “Are you just going to stand there?”

Gu Que climbed onto the bed. Yan Luo commanded: “Put out the lights.”

Gu Que got back down to extinguish the lamps.

Yan Luo remembered something: “I’m thirsty. I need water.”

Gu Que went to fetch water. The water on the small stove was still hot. She poured a cup and blew on it, but it remained scalding.

Yan Luo lay sprawled on the bed, watching Gu Que’s slender silhouette under the dim lamplight. For some reason, her heart felt warm. She asked Gu Que: “Young Master Gu, my heart feels warm. Does yours?”

“Prime Minister Yan, you’re such a love novice. Haven’t you read romance novels?” Gu Que blew on the hot water while teasing her.

A warm heart? That was love.

Yan Luo refused to admit it: “It’s definitely the medicine. It’s a strong tonic—it’s making my body heat up.”

Gu Que handed her the now-cooled water: “One cup enough?”

After drinking, Yan Luo lay back down. Gu Que poured another cup and placed it on the small table by the bed before leisurely climbing back in.

The two lay there, staring at each other.

Yan Luo spoke first: “Those videos weren’t good. Too mechanical.”

Gu Que had never seen them and didn’t know what “mechanical” meant. She blinked: “Then what do you want?”

Yan Luo pondered seriously: “Something more… poetic.”

Gu Que: “…”

“I don’t know how.” Gu Que was at a loss. “What counts as ‘poetic’?”

Yan Luo mocked her: “What’s your idea of romance?”

Gu Que thought of poetry—empty valleys, misty landscapes, the beauty of nature seeping into the soul. Suddenly, she understood: “Something with natural beauty?”

“Is ‘poetic romance’ just natural beauty?” Yan Luo wasn’t sure either. Something felt missing. She rolled onto her stomach and poked Gu Que with her elbow: “Those videos felt too deliberate. It wasn’t passion—just robotic movements.”

Gu Que scooted closer: “It’s like they weren’t lovers, just… actors?”

Yan Luo knew what actors were and grasped her meaning: “They probably were actors. Should we… try it ourselves?”

Gu Que: “Have you lost your mind?”

Yan Luo protested: “Are you mocking me?”

Gu Que: “Do you want to film yourself?”

Yan Luo was sheepish: “I was just suggesting.”

Gu Que couldn’t take her bizarre ideas anymore. She flipped over, pinning Yan Luo down, and grabbed her hand to touch her own cheek: “Your thoughts are too strange. Too advanced.”

She really wanted to drag Yan Luo back to her own era. There, Yan Luo would undoubtedly become an outstanding woman.

Gu Que sighed—this era was restraining Yan Luo too much.

“Gu Que, you’re pressing down too hard… it’s uncomfortable.” Yan Luo protested.

Flustered, Gu Que tried to steady her breathing. Closing her eyes, she kissed Yan Luo’s eyelids, murmuring against her lips: “Yan Luo…”

Yan Luo smiled slightly. “Why are you so nervous? Look, I haven’t even started teasing you yet, and you’re already panicking. Open your eyes—am I really that ugly? I want to see every inch of you.”

Gu Que froze. Yan Luo continued, “For consummation, we should wear red robes.”

Gu Que stroked Yan Luo’s hair, cascading like a waterfall over the pillow. The dim moonlight blurred the edges of the night, shifting the mood entirely.

The atmosphere grew intoxicating. Gu Que swallowed hard and admitted bluntly, “Why are you so troublesome?”

Every day, Yan Luo chanted about consummation, but at the critical moment, it was either drinking water or changing clothes. Amused and exasperated, Gu Que released her, tilting Yan Luo’s chin up. “Are you procrastinating?”

Face to face, Yan Luo met her gaze unapologetically. “This is called tradition. You don’t understand, but I do. Think about it—red robes against snow-white skin, how beautiful would that be?”

Even as she spoke, her eyes wandered downward, past the collar of Gu Que’s robes.

Gu Que covered Yan Luo’s eyes, stammering, “Your… your eyes are getting indecent.”

Yan Luo played along. “Then take off your robes. Let me look properly.”

Yan Luo had a habit—she judged people by their faces. If someone was beautiful, she’d spare them a few more words. Gu Que, for instance, was worth talking to.

Gu Que smiled, warmth softening her features. She reached for the sash at her waist and untied it.

Yan Luo’s gaze locked onto her, unblinking. Without thinking, her hand pressed against Gu Que’s back, trembling slightly.

Her breath hitched. The skin under her palm was warm, smooth as fine jade.

Gu Que shivered, but Yan Luo didn’t move, her eyes fixed on her.

Embarrassed, Gu Que let her fingers drift to Yan Luo’s waist, loosening the sash there. She smiled faintly. “Let me see yours…”

Gu Que was breathtakingly beautiful, her skin like untouched snow. Yan Luo’s obsession with aesthetics flared up violently—she couldn’t look away.

Gu Que poked her between the brows, teasing, “Why so quiet now?”

Yan Luo sighed. “You’re too beautiful. After seeing you every day, everyone else looks like monsters.”

“You really need to fix that habit.” Gu Que laughed, though she was secretly pleased. Yan Luo’s compliments were intoxicating.

But Yan Luo’s fixation ran too deep to change overnight. Even in the dim light, she could map every detail of Gu Que’s body with her eyes.

“Am I really that good-looking?” Gu Que was amused. They were supposed to be consummating their relationship, yet Yan Luo just lay there, motionless, staring like she was watching a scandalous film—dazed and dumbstruck.

Yan Luo nodded, drowning in her. At this moment, it was as if the world had narrowed to just the two of them.

Time melted away under their shared gaze. Gu Que’s smile deepened, sweet as honey. Yan Luo leaned in, kissing her eyelids with feather-light touches.

In this moment, she tasted a strange, exhilarating pleasure.

Humans were solitary creatures by nature. But here, one body embraced another, merging into one.

Their breaths intertwined, becoming indistinguishable.

Both were young, their vitality fusing together. Gu Que clasped Yan Luo’s hand, kissing her as she whispered, “Consummation… is actually quite wonderful.”

The room brimmed with heady warmth.

Granny Sun yawned in her room. Tinglan urged her to sleep, but the old woman refused, staring anxiously at the faint lamplight from the main house.

“It’s their first time for both…”

Tinglan covered her burning cheeks. “You—you—ah, you should really go to bed!”

Granny Sun eyed her. “You can sleep?”

Tinglan sighed. “…No.”

“Me neither. Do you think… people will curse us for this blasphemy?” Granny Sun fretted, glancing back at the dimly lit house. No sounds escaped.

She stood and walked to the door. Tinglan murmured, “I used to think this was unthinkable. The Marquess and Madam will be furious.”

Before, she had vehemently opposed it—believing the Second Young Miss should leave and live her own life. But now, seeing how willingly the girl had given herself, how radiant the Prime Minister looked… perhaps it wasn’t so wrong after all.

Granny Sun stepped outside. Tinglan followed. The old woman raised a finger to her lips: “Hush.”

Faint noises drifted from inside.

Tinglan turned and fled, her entire body burning. After a few steps, she circled back to drag Granny Sun away. “You—go!”

Granny Sun muffled her laughter.

Hot water waited in the bathing chamber. After washing, Gu Que returned to find Yan Luo sprawled on the bed, commanding, “Change the blankets.”

Gu Que: “…” So troublesome.

As she dressed, Gu Que glanced back. “Are you going to bathe?”

Yan Luo sat up, feeling unexpectedly comfortable—and inexplicably joyful. Her robe hung open, revealing red marks along her collarbone.

She traced them with her fingers and chided, “Be gentler next time.”

Gu Que touched her own earlobe, suddenly shy. “Was it… poetic enough?”

Yan Luo huffed. “Almost. But it was still much better.”

Half-dressed, she stretched her arms toward Gu Que. “Carry me.”

“The floor in the bathing chamber is slippery. You might fall.” Gu Que hesitated, but Yan Luo’s pout melted her resolve. “Let me carry you on my back?”

Yan Luo refused, pointing at the love bites on her neck. “I want to be held properly.”

Gu Que relented, scooping her up bridal-style. With one arm under her knees and the other around her waist, she lifted effortlessly—then frowned. “You’ve lost weight.”

Kissing her earlier, Gu Que had realized just how frail she felt.

Yan Luo ignored this, looping her arms around Gu Que’s neck. “La-la-la, I can’t hear you~”

She was light. Gu Que carried her easily, summoning maids to change the bedding.

Tinglan, on night duty, arrived promptly. At the sight of the disheveled bed, she covered her eyes, heart pounding wildly.

She hastily stripped the sheets, avoiding all eye contact.

Gu Que moved to remake the bed, but Tinglan intercepted her. “This servant will handle it. Shouldn’t you… assist the Prime Minister?”

“She kicked me out. I’ll check on her later.” Gu Que mumbled, too embarrassed to meet Tinglan’s gaze.

Tinglan scurried off with the soiled linens, returning shortly with two cups of warm floral infusion—soothing and subtly sweet.

By the time Yan Luo returned, dawn was approaching. Instead of sleeping, she tugged Gu Que down beside her, nestling close without a word. But her eyes lingered on Gu Que’s neck.

After a long pause, slender fingers finally drifted toward that spot—clearly tempted.

Gu Que chuckled. Now that they’d crossed this threshold, her inhibitions had faded. “Do you want to kiss it?”

Yan Luo didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

When Gu Que didn’t move, she leaned in herself.

Yan Luo left for court slightly later than usual, but her energy was undiminished. Her colleagues noticed nothing amiss.

Feeling unusually spirited, Yan Luo guessed it was due to Granny Sun’s potent medicine and decided to ask for more bottles later.

Prince Liang had rebelled, blockading the Jiangnan region and severing communication between the north and south. This meant Jiangnan—the empire’s richest territory—was now beyond the emperor’s control, dealing a heavy blow to Great Wei.

For now, Prince Liang stood alone in his revolt. Compared to Great Wei’s elite troops and seasoned generals, his forces seemed laughably weak—especially in terms of artillery. The disparity in equipment was vast.

Confident in her advantage, the Empress appointed a veteran marshal as commander-in-chief, pairing him with young generals as deputies and vanguard officers, determined to crush Prince Liang.

The strategy was sound: experienced leadership balanced with youthful vigor.

Yan Luo, as a civil official and a woman who had never set foot on a battlefield, offered no opinion on military matters.

Prince Liang commanded only thirty to fifty thousand troops. The Empress mobilized a hundred thousand for the suppression.

Gu Que went online to ask the Great Scholar: Do you know about the Prince Liang campaign?

Great Scholar: Prince Liang won. Decisively.

Gu Que: …What?

Great Scholar: On paper, the odds were lopsided. But his equipment was superior—advanced artillery, devastatingly effective.

Gu Que: The imperial court couldn’t fight back?

Great Scholar: Historically, “Jiangnan” broadly refers to the regions south of the Yangtze: Shanghai, Jiangsu, Zhejiang, Anhui, Jiangxi—the wealthiest heartland. Prince Liang’s fief bordered this area. When war broke out, he blockaded the Yangtze. Think about it—with the river sealed, communication cut off, Prince Liang essentially declared himself king. Superior equipment wins wars, not numbers. More troops just mean more corpses. Ever played Honor of Kings?

Gu Que: I see. Where did his equipment come from?

Great Scholar: Rumor says it was provided by that “mad prime minister.” She orchestrated the conflict between Prince Liang and the court to reap the spoils. In the end, when Prince Liang marched on the capital, she seized the nine gates and bathed the imperial city in bl00d. Not a single official survived.

Gu Que: …

Great Scholar: I kind of admire her, though.

Gu Que: What’s to admire?

Great Scholar: The book describes her as: “The beauty of moonlit clouds, the cunning of Zhuge Liang.” Who wouldn’t love a brilliant, beautiful woman?

Gu Que: Fair point. But your admiration is pointless.

Great Scholar: I took that medical report to a doctor. They refused to diagnose without tests. I begged—no dice.

Gu Que: Then let it be.

She logged off. She hadn’t held much hope—Western medicine relied on instruments. No doctor would diagnose based on a piece of paper alone.

Dejected, Gu Que sighed.

With war looming, business plummeted. Merchants in Jiangnan wailed in despair, trapped in their guilds with no way out.

Gu Que attended a guild meeting to gather information about Jiangnan. The fragments she overheard were filled with resentment toward Prince Liang for instigating the conflict. None dared criticize the Empress, let alone mention Elder Huo’s death.

Gu Que formed her own conclusions: these merchants cared only for their profits, indifferent to others’ suffering.

Disappointed, she stopped attending guild meetings altogether.

Meanwhile, Yan Luo adopted a leisurely routine—leaving late, returning early. She even boasted to Gu Que: “Half the workload, twice the happiness.”

With reports from south of the Yangtze cut off, her duties halved. Counting the days, she visited the greenhouse to pick strawberries, lounging on a recliner with a contented smile.

But Gu Que was preoccupied. She wasn’t here to preach morality—the late emperor’s crimes, the Empress’s illegitimate throne. By any measure, Yan Luo’s actions were justified.

Yet the future remained unwritten. There was still time.

“Prime Minister Yan, let’s make a deal.”

Yan Luo opened her eyes, gaze inscrutable. “What do you want?”

“Spare the common people. Consider it karma. Kill only those who deserve it.” Gu Que approached nervously, sitting on the edge of the recliner. “I have something better to offer you.”

Yan Luo sat up, lips curving in her trademark smirk. “You’ve been holding out on me. And how do you propose I show mercy?”

“The imperial family owes you—do as you please with them. But the people are innocent.” Gu Que laid out her terms with a faint smile. “You’re the most intelligent, strategic woman I’ve ever met.”

Silence fell between them, so profound a needle drop would echo.

Yan Luo pinched Gu Que’s chin and kissed her without hesitation, then asked:

“Every strand of your hair belongs to me. Your possessions are mine. So what exactly are you offering in this ‘deal’?”

Somehow, Gu Que had become her destined calamity.

Releasing her, Yan Luo reaffirmed her stance: “Gu Que, you know what I’m doing. I want the world to pay for my mother and brother’s deaths.”

Gu Que’s heart clenched. “Then what about you? What about me? I told you—I don’t care if you’re human or ghost. I want to grow old with you, to see Qiongju marry, to watch Qingzhi succeed.”

“I’m selfish. I’ll help you achieve your goals. I won’t chastise you for the greater good—I’m no saint. I don’t understand morality. I just want forever with you. That’s all.”

“Prime Minister Yan, they deserve punishment. But why waste your life on vengeance? Have you considered—after the world burns, what then? What will you do when you succeed?”

For the first time, Yan Luo hesitated. Gu Que met her gaze steadily:

“I just want to know—what becomes of you?”

“If you die, I’ll remarry. I’ll find an uglier woman, raise Qiongju together, and visit your grave every Qingming Festival to flaunt my happiness.”

“I’ll tell you how wonderful my life is—that Gu Que thrives without you.”

“All my treasures will belong to someone else. She’ll be overjoyed, living the life you threw away. Will you regret it, lying cold underground?”

Yan Luo scowled. “I never said I’d abandon you.”