The Prime Minister Knows How to Handle His Wife (ABO, GL) - Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Sheng Shiyue did not know her new wife was on her way. She leaned against the wooden railing, making the abacus in her hand clack loudly.

She was calculating the price of the pair of pipas and crickets.

She disliked Xu Zhengming and, by extension, everything he touched. She did not care about their value, tossed them on the table, and let others bid freely. The highest bidder would take them.

Bianjing’s young nobles split into factions. One side consisted of wastrels like Sheng Shiyue, while the other included “upright” scholars like Xu Zhengming, who aimed for official posts through exams. The two groups never got along, constantly clashing. Usually, the “upright” scholars had the upper hand.

Now, Xu Zhengming had taken a big fall at Sheng Shiyue’s hands. Her group naturally enjoyed the spectacle, eagerly bidding for the crickets and pipa, hoping to mock Xu Zhengming later with sarcastic remarks.

The price kept rising, far exceeding the actual value.

Sheng Shiyue fiddled with the abacus carelessly, unable to calculate a result for a long time. It seemed more like idle mischief.

Meng Xiaosi, beside her, could not stand it and said, “The total now is eight hundred seventy-one taels of silver.”

“Oh?”

Sheng Shiyue stopped her hand, not doubting Meng Xiaosi’s calculation skills. She only said disdainfully, “Why so little?”

Meng Xiaosi’s eyes lit up. She said immediately, “Your Highness is rich and grand, now married to the current Prime Minister. Naturally, you look down on such small change. Why not give it all to me to earn some merit?”

Meng Xiaosi’s real name was Meng Qingxin, meaning a clear heart, derived from a phrase about wealth scattering like clouds and a clear heart resting with the evening glow. It hoped she would not be troubled by worldly things. Yet, she turned out the opposite, a money-obsessed miser. She often hung a golden abacus, as big as two palms, on her waist, weighing down her robe.

But the abacus was now in Sheng Shiyue’s hands, leaving only a loose belt.

Hearing her words, Sheng Shiyue’s lips curled without any trace of a smile. She said, “Who married the Prime Minister?”

Meng Qingxin was not afraid of her and said gleefully, “Who was it that, in front of everyone, dragged the Prime Minister to the third floor? Now that the wedding is over, you’re suddenly unwilling?”

“I thought you’d soon be like that Xu fellow, becoming a henpecked husband who gets punished with kneeling!”

“I was…” Sheng Shiyue blurted out but stopped abruptly.

Meng Qingxin continued quickly, “You’re not saying you were just drunk, and this wedding doesn’t count, are you?”

Her tone shifted as she said, “Now all of Bianjing is talking about it.”

She glanced downward, signaling Sheng Shiyue to look below, and continued in an exaggerated tone, “Right now, they’re saying the useless, lecherous wastrel tried to take liberties with the Prime Minister on the wedding night. The Prime Minister resisted desperately, and the wastrel, failing to get his way, lost out and smashed his head on the wall.”

As her words fell, the crowd below, as if on cue, clapped and cheered. They lamented that heaven lacked eyes, not letting this useless wastrel die from the crash.

Sheng Shiyue tugged at her lips. Meng Qingxin returned a smile and said, “From yesterday till now, whenever they mention you hitting the wall, someone claps.”

Sheng Shiyue’s face darkened slightly, a hint of anger appearing in her eyes. But moments later, she suppressed it and gave the abacus a hard flick.

—Clack!

The rolling beads broke a small piece.

At that moment, the bidder opposite finally settled on a price, handing a stack of silver notes to Sheng Shiyue.

But after taking them, Sheng Shiyue did not pause for a second. She turned and threw them forcefully downstairs.

Her wide sleeves lifted, revealing a slender wrist, as the silver notes rained down like confetti.

Before the crowd below could react, a haughty voice rang out, “Someone tell me, how exactly is this Sheng Shiyue such a wastrel?”

She said word by word, “Those who tell it well will get a reward.”

The crowd erupted in noise. People rushed to speak, climbing onto tables and chairs, standing on tiptoes, shouting street rumors as if afraid those above could not hear.

Ning Qingge arrived at the most exciting part.

One person said Sheng Shiyue visited the pleasure quarters at twelve.

Another said Sheng Shiyue squandered recklessly, losing a thousand taels of silver in three days at the gambling table at sixteen.

Someone else said she made Huanyan the top courtesan at Yicui Tower at nineteen.

The excited voices mixed with barely concealed jealousy.

All of Bianjing cursed Sheng Shiyue, calling her a bully who relied on power, acted recklessly, and disregarded propriety and hierarchy. Yet who did not envy her, wishing to be her—a royal descendant, protected by Lord Wu’an, with vast wealth to squander?

Ning Qingge waved away a servant and stepped up the stairs.

The second and third floors were even noisier than below, like firecrackers suddenly ignited, bursting upward. A group of second-generation nobles drank and reveled. Even the music played nearby changed its tune, making it seem like a place of earthly bliss.

But the person Ning Qingge sought was isolated by this revelry. She still sat in place, head resting on her hand, hands folded on the railing, looking down in a very childish posture.

It was as if the crowd below spoke not of her true or false escapades but of a dramatic opera.

For some reason, Ning Qingge paused, quietly looking in that direction.

Sheng Shiyue wore a cyan robe today, a golden kylin collar weighing down her lapel. She deliberately wore a plain forehead band to cover the bandage, but it could not hide her overly pale complexion from weakness, like a lion cat that lost a fight, listlessly looking down.

Ning Qingge inexplicably recalled a past moment. There was once a time when she stood in the shadows, watching the little Highness leaning on a railing, looking out.

It was a distant memory, yet clear as if it happened yesterday. She even remembered why Sheng Shiyue was punished: she had delayed a banquet by mistake and was sent to the second floor to reflect by the Empress. Meanwhile, the other princes and princesses were led by the Empress to set off fireworks, bursting brilliantly in the dark night sky.

The young Sheng Shiyue and the current Sheng Shiyue overlapped, her eyes reflecting light, listless and silent as she watched.

A tender, puzzled voice echoed in her ears again—the young Sheng Shiyue asking, “Sister, am I really that disliked?”

Her hand, hanging by her side, tightened inexplicably.

Perhaps someone finally noticed something was off. A person with a wine cup came to find Sheng Shiyue, trying to pull her into their revelry.

But she only waved her hand, showing some obedience. Even with a bandaged head, she remembered the doctor’s orders not to drink during this time.

Yet her current sobriety was not a good thing. It only added to her melancholy.

Ning Qingge lingered no longer and walked straight inside.

Noticing the newcomer, the once-lively third floor fell silent instantly. A group of second-generation nobles turned to look at Ning Qingge, their faces filled with shock and fear.

Ning Qingge paid no attention and walked directly to Sheng Shian.

She said, “Your Highness, it’s getting late. It’s time to go home.”

Sheng Shiyue turned abruptly, staring blankly at her.