My Scumbag Husband, the Prince Consort - Chapter 3

That sudden call startled me into a coughing fit. Shi Chun rushed over with a robe and draped it around my shoulders before helping me out of bed and toward the main hall.

Seated to the left of the hall’s upper dais was a tall figure wearing a Tongtian crown set with golden boshan motifs, a dark robe embroidered with the sun and moon on each shoulder, and golden constellations embroidered beneath the collar. His lower garments were crimson with flame patterns, and at his waist hung a black ribbon adorned with white jade.

Aside from on television, this was the first time I’d seen a living emperor. I lowered my head and dared not look at him directly as I walked forward.

Following what I’d seen in dramas, I knelt and bowed deeply, wiping a cold sweat from my brow before shrinking back with Shi Chun, both of us holding our breath as we waited for the emperor to speak.

Time passed. There was no sound but the clear, crisp clink of porcelain tea bowls striking each other.

I peeked up and saw the young emperor sitting tall and poised, exuding confidence and authority.

He’s the Emperor of Great Wei?

A youthful man, refined in appearance?

He looked to be no more than in his twenties. Though his expression was calm, every movement was imbued with unmistakable dignity.

Having just arrived in this world, I wasn’t used to the endless formalities. After kneeling a while, my legs began to go numb and my body trembled from the strain.

I glanced sideways at Shi Chun—she was still kneeling like a rock, utterly steady.

Only when the tea in his cup was nearly gone did the emperor speak at last, slowly and evenly: “Has your health improved?”

“Thank you for your concern, Royal Brother. After resting a few days, I feel much better.”

“Imperial Physician Zhang reported that you collapsed from extreme fright, resulting in a severe qi-bl00d imbalance. Because your breath was so faint, you were mistakenly declared dead. Had you not awakened in time, it might’ve led to disaster.”

I nodded obediently, keeping silent. I couldn’t exactly tell him I’d come back from the dead.

“I’ve already severely punished those in the Imperial Medical Bureau. You’ve endured much.”

I shook my head and bowed low. “I do not feel wronged, Your Majesty. I only wish to ask—what do you intend to do with the Prince Consort?”

The hand holding the white porcelain teacup froze mid-air. If there had been any tea left, it would’ve spilled everywhere.

I couldn’t make out his expression behind the cup. He didn’t even furrow his brows, just swept his dark eyes around the room. Everyone—his attendants and even Shi Chun—silently and respectfully withdrew.

The hall fell into an oppressive stillness.

I held my breath, heart pounding like wildfire. The old saying came to mind: “To serve an emperor is like walking beside a tiger.” Now I finally understood its meaning.

The emperor set down his cup, brushed his sleeves, and stepped toward me, lifting me from the ground.

“I know you can’t let this go. I also know Liu Qi was in the wrong. But you are the Eldest Imperial Princess of Great Wei. Emotionally, you should remember the bond of marriage; rationally, you must understand the value Liu Qi brings to our empire.”

His words confused me. The first part was clear—he was urging me to consider past feelings. But the second? I’d only met Liu Qi once.

I slapped him. He threw me to the ground. That’s hardly what I’d call affection.

As for his supposed usefulness… I hadn’t the faintest clue. I was still figuring out where Great Wei even was on the map. Could a single prince consort really be that vital to the empire?

I had brought up Liu Qi merely to test the emperor’s intentions—and maybe, just maybe, plead for leniency. He had to live, after all, at least until I turned twenty-six.

But the emperor’s answer piqued my curiosity even more. So I decided to play along, to test the waters.

I gave a low bow, then thought it might not be enough. Mimicking Shi Chun, I knelt and kowtowed twice, the sound echoing crisply through the hall. A modern girl like me, kowtowing like it’s ancient times—what kind of twisted joke is this? I cursed internally while keeping up the act of humility.

“If Your Majesty does not grant justice for me, then all the pain I’ve endured was in vain.”

I dabbed at the corners of my eyes with my sleeve, feigning the poise of a grieving empress, sniffling pitifully. “As a woman confined to the palace, I know little of court affairs. But I know this—Liu Qi humiliated and abused me. I cannot forgive him so easily.”

The emperor let out a long sigh. He reached out to help me again but hesitated, then pulled his hand back.

“I remember… the night before your wedding, you knelt outside the Hall of Supreme Harmony the entire night. I did not come to see you—not because I’m heartless, but because I had no choice.”

“Yuling, you are my bl00d sister. We share the same mother. How could I not side with you?”

“I know why you knelt—to beg me to call off the marriage. But you also know this match was arranged by the late emperor himself.”

“Though Liu Qi is merely the heir of the Danyang Prince, he was well-regarded by the late emperor, who handpicked him for you.”

“I’ve ruled for only three years. How could I disregard my predecessor’s final wishes? What would the court think of me? What explanation could I give to the Prince of Danyang?”

I raised my head and squeezed a few tears from my dry eyes, pinching my fingers until they hurt just enough. When I looked up at him again, my eyes shimmered with tears.

“Then I suppose I must swallow my grievances and carry on. I’ve married him—what more is there to say?”

“But this marriage has barely begun, and already he’s treated me like this. How am I supposed to go on?”

The emperor helped me up once more and declared solemnly, “I promise, Liu Qi will not escape punishment. He must learn his lesson.”

“You are his wife, yes—but you are first and foremost the Eldest Imperial Princess of Great Wei. To mistreat you is to insult our empire. Liu Qi has already spent seven days in prison. I believe he now understands the gravity of his actions.”

“Just prison?” I snorted. “A spoiled noble like him—he nearly killed me with one shove. How could a week in jail possibly teach him a lesson?”

“What more do you want?”

“His life, of course.”

“Absolutely not!”

“Why not?”

“Yuling, this is nonsense.”

The emperor stared down at me from above, his serious face and furrowed brows filling me with unbearable pressure.

But to uncover the truth behind this marriage and to properly define my future relationship with Liu Qi, I had to push forward. Fortune favors the bold, as they say.

“Why is it nonsense?” I balled my fists and pressed on. “He hurt me—he should pay with his life.”

“Liu Qi is the heir of the Danyang Prince. If you kill him, you’re killing the prince’s entire legacy!”

“So what? If the prince raised a son so poorly, then he deserves the consequences.”

“Absurd!”

Crack—

A white porcelain teacup shattered against the corner of the redwood table, splintering into pieces.

The emperor glared at me, his face red with anger. I stumbled, my knees buckling.

“Yuling, what has become of you?” he thundered. “You used to be gentle, virtuous—so kind you wouldn’t harm an ant. Now all you speak of is life and death, like it’s some game!”

I sighed inwardly, recalling the history I had studied.

All great rulers—the ones who truly built lasting empires—were ruthless and decisive, cold and calculating.

Not my brother. His heart was soft, and his compassion was written all over his face.

He lacked the makings of a true emperor.

It would not be long before some ambitious minister took advantage of that weakness and seized power.

Looking at him, flushed and fuming but unable to act against me, I knew—he wouldn’t kill Liu Qi. And he certainly wouldn’t harm his own sister.

Still, I had to give him an out.

I lowered my head and said meekly, “I was wrong, Your Majesty. Please don’t be angry. If you fall ill from this, I’ll be forever guilty.”

Only then did the emperor return to his seat, facing southward, gazing out at the magnolia tree in the courtyard.

It was mid-spring, and the tree was covered in crystal-clear flower buds.

After a long silence, he finally said, “What’s done is done. From now on, live peacefully with the prince consort.”

“He pushed me into a pond. Is that to be brushed aside?”

“I’ll summon the Danyang Prince myself and order him to discipline Liu Qi. There will be no more trouble in the future.”

“A couple must live in harmony.”

“You still need rest. When I have time, I’ll visit you again.”

He stood, adjusted his robes, and left. Halfway down the steps, he turned back.

“Trust the late emperor’s judgment. He never misjudged anyone.”

Once his figure disappeared from the courtyard, I called for Shi Chun.

“What’s the story with this prince consort of mine?”

Shi Chun stared at me, eyes wide like saucers.

“You don’t remember?”

“Tell me! Quickly!” I tugged her sleeve.

“Your Highness, I’ve only heard rumors. I can’t say for sure.”

“Just tell me everything.”

She nodded hesitantly, turning in place like she didn’t know where to begin. “I heard that Liu Qi is the legitimate son of the Danyang Prince, and his mother was the daughter of a former Southern Song prime minister—very prestigious.”

“I know that part. Tell me what I don’t know.”

She opened her mouth, but I cut her off.

“Wait. Did you say his mother is the daughter of a Southern Song prime minister?”

“Yes.”

“Then… Liu Qi is…”

“A Southerner.”

Southern Song?

A Southerner?!

He’s not even from Great Wei?

Under Shi Chun’s patient explanations, I finally pieced together the geopolitical situation.

This world was divided into north and south, each with its own ruling power.

In the north, Great Wei reigned supreme, surrounded by countless nomadic tribes locked in endless conflict. Only Great Wei held the balance of power.

In the south, the Southern Song was the dominant state—richer and stronger in both economy and military. Especially the Jiangnan region, famed for its silks, delicacies, and prosperity—paradise on earth.

North and South eyed each other with suspicion and engaged in constant conflict for over a century.

Liu Qi was three years older than me and had just reached adulthood. His father, Liu Lu, came from the Southern royal clan. He once held the title of Prince Yiyang and served as Grand General of the Northern

Campaign under the Southern Song.

But after his wife’s family was falsely accused and purged, and facing suspicion from the Song emperor, he defected to Great Wei with his family.

The late emperor of Wei saw great promise in Liu Lu and appointed him Grand General of the Cavalry and granted him the title of Danyang Prince—a mark of high regard.

So regardless of where he came from, Liu Qi had powerful lineage and political clout, making him a suitable match for a princess.

Though he hadn’t yet entered public service, with such a background, his future was bound to be bright.

Which led to one lingering question—

If this was such a match made in heaven, why did Yuan Shuang—the previous me—choose death over marriage?