My Scumbag Husband, the Prince Consort - Chapter 8

I didn’t quite understand why such a thing needed to be hidden, but since he had asked me personally—and considering I owed him—there was no choice but to agree.

After that day, I didn’t see Liu Qi for a long while.

Perhaps the image of me falling off the horse had been so horrifying that he now avoided me like the plague.

I sat beside the garden pond feeding koi. The fish were so plump and glossy, they made my mouth water. I nearly considered fishing a few up to try.

Clutching my rumbling stomach, I asked Shi Chun, “What time is it now?”

“Your Highness, just past the Hour of the Goat.”

In Wei, people ate two meals a day: morning at the Hour of the Snake, and evening at the Hour of the Rooster. Anything in between was merely snacking on pastries to tide one over.

Though my body was no longer that of a modern woman, my mind still adhered to the habits of my previous life: three meals a day, without exception. I hadn’t yet adapted.

Seeing that there was still an hour until the evening meal, I asked, “What pastries did the kitchen send today?”

“Crispy water chestnut cakes and glutinous rice cloud biscuits, made with fresh chestnuts and rice from the Southern Dynasty. There are both sweet and savory flavors. Which would Your Highness prefer?”

“The Southern Dynasty?” I raised an eyebrow. “Can the Prince Consort eat those?”

Shi Chun smiled. “He’s from the south, born and raised in Jiankang. I daresay he misses those flavors dearly.”

That reminded me—I had never properly thanked Liu Qi for rescuing me during the horse incident.

“Send some to his quarters. Say it’s a reward from me. Whether he eats them or not is up to him.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Shi Chun took her leave but soon returned with news: “I knocked for ages at the prince’s quarters and finally found a servant. It seems His Lordship has left the residence three days ago and has yet to return.”

“What?”

I dropped the pastry crumbs into the pond. The koi surged upward like boiling oil, fighting over the crumbs.

So Liu Qi had fled the estate to avoid me? And not just for a night—but three whole days and nights? He truly had no sense of duty as a consort.

Turning to the four maids—Shi Chun, Zhi Xia, Mu Qiu, and Lian Dong—I asked, “Tell me, what do men who rarely return home fear most from their wives?”

The four exchanged glances, thoroughly stumped.

Shi Chun shook her head. Zhi Xia stared at me blankly. Mu Qiu said nothing. Only Lian Dong lowered her head with a sly grin.

“Lian Dong, what are you laughing at?”

She curtsied and said, “My older sisters have all served in the palace since childhood, so they wouldn’t know. But I’m different. I grew up in the countryside and only entered the palace at twelve. I’ve seen many ordinary couples.”

I finally understood: maids ranked each other by the year they entered palace service, not age. Shi Chun, though youngest in years, had served the longest—thus, she was the eldest.

“Well then, what are ‘ordinary couples’ like?”

Lian Dong began, “Back in my village, there lived a traveling physician who roamed about treating the sick. He was rarely home, and after some time, his wife was left like a widow in all but name.”

“Men are different from women. A man can go out to brothels whenever he pleases, so long as he’s got silver. But a woman with a husband away must guard her lonely bed.”

Before I could ask more, Zhi Xia leaned in, eyes wide with curiosity. “And then?”

“After a year or so, I began to see the wife bringing different men home. Rumors spread like wildfire.”

“Eventually, the physician returned. At first, he didn’t believe the gossip. But one night, he caught a stranger climbing over their wall. He chased them with a cudgel.”

“I was young and didn’t dare join the crowd, but I heard people say the physician lost the fight with the lover and died from rage on the spot.”

Mu Qiu, resting her chin on her hand, concluded: “So men who are away fear most that their wives will cheat.”

I chuckled darkly. “Shi Chun, tell me—where can one find a handsome man?”

“No need for extraordinary beauty. Just someone a little better-looking than the Prince Consort.”

Shi Chun immediately knelt. “Your Highness, I do not know what you mean.”

“Liu Qi is the most beautiful man in Luojing. His looks are unparalleled, personally chosen by the late emperor for his combined grace and talent. Who in the world could rival him?”

I sighed and teased, “Didn’t realize you were his number-one fan.”

She didn’t understand the term “fangirl,” and thought I was accusing her of having feelings for him. She began banging her head on the ground, panicked.

I raised a hand to signal the others to help her up.

“Anyway,” I went on, “he needn’t be overly handsome. As long as he has something special—be it looks, skill, or artistry—I don’t mind. I’m not picky.”

Now all four maids knelt. Zhi Xia even dared to protest, “Your Highness, a woman who’s unfaithful is cursed by all. She won’t be buried with her ancestors.”

I sighed. “Why should I care about the afterlife? As long as I live and breathe, I’ll do what brings me joy.”

They looked at each other, shocked. Though the Wei people’s ancestors praised freedom, since ruling the Central Plains, customs had shifted.

Rules for women multiplied until we were birds in cages, wings clipped and nowhere to fly.

“Men have wives and concubines. That’s normal,” I said. “But women must be loyal to one man?”

“My brother and I share the same mother. He has countless concubines. I must guard one man my whole life? Where’s the fairness?”

“Mu Qiu, go post a notice outside. I’ll personally select four handsome men to enter my residence. Let me enjoy what men do.”

She obeyed. I couldn’t help but laugh.

It wasn’t that I truly craved male beauty. As Shi Chun said, few could rival Liu Qi’s looks.

But imagining his face when he returned and saw me surrounded by charming men—it would surely twist his nose out of shape. That alone was worth it.

The next day, a long line formed outside the princess’s estate. The gates were surrounded by colorfully dressed men, powdered and flower-pinned like peacocks in full display.

I used to think “blooming and swaying” was only for women. Now I knew men could outdo them.

I sat at the main seat as five men at a time passed before me in lines of five, each smiling their best. Some even dared throw flirtatious glances.

From the hour of the Dragon until midday, I sat still as a statue. After seeing hundreds—if not thousands—of faces, not a single one stirred my heart.

Then, just as I was about to call an end to this farce, a man in a black robe caught my eye.

He wasn’t especially handsome, but he was clean, elegant—reminding me a bit of Liu Qi’s aloof grace.

If I remembered right, Liu Qi had worn such a black robe the day he entered my chamber.

My interest piqued. “What is your name?”

“Your Highness, this humble one’s name is unworthy of your ears.”

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

I smiled. Excellent. Two years younger than Liu Qi.

“Do you have any talents? Music, calligraphy, poetry, archery?”

“I know a bit of swordsmanship. May I perform a sword dance for Your Highness?”

“You know sword dance?” I perked up instantly. “Yes, yes, do it now!”

I sipped my tea while watching. The man moved with grace, his long sword flashing silver light with every swing. My heart raced with excitement.

As soon as he finished, I clapped. “Good! You’re selected. Report to my estate tomorrow morning.”

He bowed. “May I ask Your Highness to bestow a name?”

Another naming? Last time I named a horse and almost died. Naming a person? That gave me pause.

I glanced at his black robe and said casually, “How about Mo Zhu—Ink Bamboo?”

“Dark robes like ink, stature upright like bamboo. It suits you.”

“Mo Zhu thanks Your Highness for the name.”

He knelt with one knee, and from the side, his face bore an uncanny resemblance to Liu Qi.

After he left, I picked a few more. Some were poets and painters, others skilled in archery, some good at telling jokes.

I named them Chi Mei, Bai Lan, and Jin Ju—Red Plum, White Orchid, and Golden Chrysanthemum.

As I looked at their portraits, I couldn’t help but laugh. Somehow, they all reminded me of Liu Qi.

After dinner at the Hour of the Rooster, Mu Qiu reported that Liu Qi had returned at the first moment of the Hour of the Dog.

I didn’t send for him. By now, word of my “beauty selection” had surely reached all of Luojing.

Liu Qi had always been adored, save for his escape north—he had never suffered hardship. With such pride and ego, he must be fuming.

I had just publicly chosen other men. I might as well have slapped him in front of the whole capital—and planted a bright green hat on his head.

Surely no man could bear such disgrace. Especially not Liu Qi, a man of Song descent, raised with deeply rooted patriarchy.

That night, I dismissed the four maids and sat alone in the garden pavilion.

Spring wind stirred shadows through the woods. The air carried solitude.

The moonlight felt eerily familiar—like the very first night I awoke in this world.

Then, too, I saw him: Liu Qi. A man who stirred countless emotions in me.

Suddenly, I glimpsed a flash of silver light—like a comet streaking across the sky.

Liu Qi stood in the courtyard, sword in hand. Petals from the magnolia tree drifted past him in the breeze.

His sword moved like wind and thunder—sharp, clean, and fluid. Each movement carried a whistle, the blade trailing silver light.

He still wore that unforgettable black robe, the embroidered cloud patterns on his tunic echoing the arc of his sword. His hem danced across the grass like ripples on water.

After finishing, he walked toward me with hands behind his back.

His voice was calm, eyes dark.

“Your Highness,” he said, “what do you think of this humble subject’s sword dance?”