My Scumbag Husband, the Prince Consort - Chapter 17

Feng Zhao, even with death looming, remained defiant. Chin raised high, his face was full of disdain.

“My father is the Grand Preceptor, a first-rank official of this empire. What can a mere woman like you do to me?”

I clicked my tongue twice, gently set down my teacup, and spoke slowly.

“Feng Zhao, had you simply been a brainless fool, I might have let you go—for the sake of Sister Hua Ling. But again and again, you belittle women. I’ve had enough.”

Feng Zhao sneered and raised his brows.

“And I do look down on women—what about it?”

“Which law of Great Wei states that looking down on women warrants death or dismemberment?”

He slanted his eyes toward me in contempt.

“You may be a princess, but you’re still just a woman. And all women should bow beneath the feet of men.”

“This world has always favored men over women since ancient times—”

He didn’t get to finish. I landed a solid kick to his chest.

With his arms bound behind him, he flailed like a wingless chicken, rolling helplessly on the floor.

“Oops, sorry,” I said cheerfully, grinding my boot against his chest, “looks like you’ve now been properly trampled under a woman’s foot.”

Seeing his face contorted in pain, I was quite satisfied.

“That kick was for Sister Hua Ling. You scorn women, treat them like playthings—abusing your wife at home while cavorting with mistresses outside. Honestly, one kick is letting you off easy.”

Just as he tried to struggle upright, I gave him another kick to the shoulder and sent him sprawling again.

“And this one’s for your mother. She carried you for nine months, raised you through hardship—and this is how you repay her? Might as well have given birth to a club.”

Feng Zhao screamed and howled beneath my heel, his insults growing filthier by the second. I ignored them all, completely unfazed, and returned to my seat with a calm air.

“Guards,” I ordered, “Prince Consort Feng Zhao attempted to assassinate me. His crime is beyond forgiveness. Give him twenty lashes and sentence him to five years in prison.”

I was being lenient for the sake of his father, the Grand Preceptor Feng Si—a man who had served the country with diligence, if not merit, then at least effort.

But Feng Zhao had betrayed Hua Ling, and the attempt on my life was no rumor. I couldn’t let it slide. Five years in prison was already a show of mercy.

The moment the sentence was pronounced, Feng Zhao burst into sobs, snot and tears streaming down his face. As the two prison officers came forward to seize him, he thrashed violently and cried out toward the painted screen behind which a shadow lingered.

“Xia’er! I don’t want to go to prison! Xia’er!”

“Have you forgotten the vows we made? We swore to grow old together, to raise a dozen children side by side! We promised we’d never part! If I’m taken away now, how will you go on alone? Xia’er!”

The shadow behind the screen trembled. Hua Ling stepped out, her eyes brimming with tears as she looked at him.

“Feng Zhao, it was you who broke our vows first. You’re the one who betrayed me.”

“Yes, it’s all my fault, Xia’er!”

“I’m an ungrateful wretch, worse than a beast. I hurt you. I see that now, I do! I want to grow old with you. I don’t want to go to prison!”

Feng Zhao writhed like a drunk serpent, and even three or four strong guards struggled to pin him down.

From staunch arrogance to this pitiful display—pretending to be a heartbroken lover now that prison was at his door. I despised men like him the most.

I waved a hand.

“What are you all standing around for? Drag him out and whip him already.”

“Wait!”

Just as Feng Zhao’s feet left the ground, Hua Ling cried out.

I turned to her.

“What is it, Sister? Have you softened your heart?”

Dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, Hua Ling lowered her head.

“I’m sorry, Sister… but can’t you spare him, just this once?”

“You must think carefully, Sister. Feng Zhao has humiliated you—if you plead for him now and he returns home unpunished, do you really believe he’ll change?”

“Yuling, I know you mean well.” She sniffled. “Feng Zhao is rash and unreasonable, yes—but I don’t believe he ever meant true harm. We… we did once share tender moments beneath flowers and moonlight. He may have betrayed me, but he never struck me. Seeing him sent to prison, I can’t help but feel conflicted.”

I sighed and took her hand, giving it a gentle pat.

“Sister, you’re too kind-hearted. That’s your only flaw. But men like Feng Zhao—if they don’t suffer, they’ll never learn.”

Hua Ling nodded.

“You’re right. He should be punished.”

With her consent, however, I was suddenly at a loss. My knowledge of Great Wei’s criminal codes wasn’t exactly deep. The two punishments I’d just issued were ones I’d gone to ask Liu Qi about beforehand.

Now that we weren’t sending him to prison, what should I sentence him to instead?

“How about public flogging and head-shaving? Would that satisfy Your Highness?”

I looked toward the voice. Liu Qi stepped down the corridor, hands clasped behind his back. He entered the hall, bowed, and said,

“The body and hair are gifts from one’s parents—not to be harmed lightly. To shave the head is, by ancient belief, a severe punishment.”

Indeed, in ancient times, shaving one’s head was seen as symbolic of draining one’s vitality, a profound disgrace.

From my modern perspective, though, it was just a haircut. What’s the big deal? Honestly, who came up with this ridiculous idea that shaving your head counted as ‘torture’? This needs to be fixed.

Note to self: suggest a reform of Great Wei’s penal system to my imperial brother. This so-called “cruel punishment” of hair-shaving? Not cruel at all.

And so, amid his endless wailing, Feng Zhao was dragged away.

Sure, it may not inflict physical pain, but it’ll leave him with a hefty dose of psychological trauma. At the very least, for the next year or two, he’ll be bald and stuck in the princess’s residence—nowhere to hide.

I could only hope he’d learn his lesson and treat Hua Ling properly from now on.

I turned to her.

“Sister, what if Feng Zhao never changes? What will you do then?”

She clutched her handkerchief and whispered,

“I don’t know.”

“Have you considered divorce?” I asked gently.

Hua Ling gave a soft, bitter laugh.

“Divorce… That’s easier said than done.”

“Men are all the same, no matter where they’re from. Even if I divorce and remarry, the next husband is likely no better.”

I was left speechless and could only look to Liu Qi for help.

Liu Qi, as if deliberately avoiding my gaze, glanced away—then silently mouthed back, “This subject is not like that.”

But I thought to myself, And yet, is he really that much better than Feng Zhao? If so, how does he explain the presence of that woman Shu Wan in his chamber?

Seeing Liu Qi and me exchanging glances, Hua Ling suddenly seemed to realize something. She pulled me behind the decorative screen, craning her neck to ensure Liu Qi wasn’t following.

“What’s this about, Sister?”

She covered my mouth and whispered, “Tell me honestly—have you and your husband shared a bed yet?”

My cheeks flushed crimson, the tips of my ears burning.

“Why would you ask that?”

She flicked my forehead. “That’s a no, then.”

“Does it matter that much?”

“How could it not?” Hua Ling shot a glance toward the screen as if trying to catch a glimpse of Liu Qi. “The way he looked at you earlier—it wasn’t ordinary. What do you make of it?”

“Isn’t Sister reading too much into things?” I joked. “Liu Qi has long eyes. He looks at everyone like that.”

“Nonsense,” Hua Ling said. “Back in the hall, I noticed—he didn’t take his eyes off you once.”

I lowered my head and murmured, “You must have misunderstood. He… he already has someone he loves.”

“Oh? And who would that be?”

“Shu Wan.”

“Who’s Shu Wan?”

“His personal maid.”

Hua Ling scoffed. “Just a maid. If she makes you uncomfortable, have someone send her away. Problem solved.”

I shook my head. “She’s different. She’s been by his side since his days in Jiankang.”

Hua Ling shook her head even more firmly. “That can’t be it. I’ve heard that southern men value family above all and can’t bear to see their loved ones mistreated. The day Feng Zhao almost stabbed you—if your husband hadn’t stepped in, would you still be unharmed?”

“Afterward, he personally ordered Feng Zhao tied up and gave him a beating—before you even regained consciousness.”

My eyes widened. “He did that?”

Thinking back now—when I humiliated Shu Wan in front of him, though his displeasure showed plainly, he never retaliated. Later, when Chi Ju went berserk and nearly threw me off, it was also him who saved me without hesitation.

Hua Ling leaned in and hushed her voice again. “Tell me honestly—have you been avoiding sharing a bed with him because you still think of that Grand Preceptor Hu?”

I straightened my brows and whispered in alarm, “Sister, don’t say such things. I am already Liu Qi’s wife—how could I possibly still harbor thoughts for another man?”

Hua Ling let out a soft sigh of relief. “Good. That’s for the best. You and that Hu fellow were never meant to be. If you ever were, it’s time to let go.”

I nodded earnestly. “You’re right. That so-called fate between us was nothing but a cursed entanglement. From now on, we’ll go our separate ways.”

“In my view, your husband is talented and capable, and more importantly, he’s willing to risk himself for you. You’d best hold on to him.”

I grinned cheekily. “Sister, your taste in men has always been questionable—I’m not sure I can trust it.”

She playfully smacked my forehead. “You! Always teasing me.”

Later that evening, Hua Ling left, dragging a sobbing and wailing Feng Zhao with her. Liu Qi and I stood side by side at the gates to see them off. As the carriage faded into the distance, I looked up at the glowing sunset and let out a sigh.

“Is Your Highness troubled by something?”

I sighed again. “Hua Ling is like that evening glow—radiant and beautiful from afar, but empty within.”

“She’s too gentle by nature. If Feng Zhao fails to change, she’ll have a hard life ahead.”

“I don’t see it that way,” Liu Qi replied calmly.

“Oh?” I turned to him. “What makes you say that?”

“Feng Zhao has learned his lesson this time. Now that he’s tasted Your Highness’s wrath, I doubt he’ll dare mistreat Her Highness the Princess again—if only out of fear of you.”

I turned his words over in my mind before realizing something was off. Narrowing my eyes, I asked sternly, “Are you implying that I’m harsh and unreasonable?”

Liu Qi couldn’t hold back a laugh. “This subject would never dare criticize Your Highness.”

“Then what exactly do you mean?”

“In Your Highness’s eyes, the Princess may be like heavenly clouds at sunset—but in this subject’s eyes, Your Highness is the frost of midwinter.”

I had little patience for riddles. My tone sharpened. “Liu Qi, you’d better explain that metaphor clearly, or I won’t let this slide.”

“Has Your Highness never seen frost on a winter morning?”

He raised a hand and traced a line across the air, his gaze distant, as if seeing the faint white glint of frost in the spring sunshine.

“Winter frost seems cold and unyielding, but the moment it meets warmth—it melts. Just like Your Highness.”

He turned and looked at me. His long, narrow eyes held a subtle shimmer, as though starlight had just fallen into them.