The Prime Minister Knows How to Handle Her Wife (ABO, GL) - Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Sheng Shiyue sat on a wooden couch. She trembled slightly when she heard a voice say, “Your Highness, the Ninth, please enter.” She supported herself stiffly then stood up with her legs.

The Emperor summoned her in the morning, but the journey from the palace to the mansion took time. Delays occurred along the way, so she arrived slightly late. Before she reached the hall, someone delivered a message. The Emperor still had unfinished official duties and asked Sheng Shiyue to wait a moment. This wait stretched until noon.

A servant led the way in front. Sheng Shiyue followed behind. Her gaze fell on her surroundings, and she felt dazed. She left the palace to establish her own mansion a few years ago, yet this place, where she lived for over ten years, now felt unfamiliar, as if from another lifetime.

Perhaps she rarely returned after leaving, but the estrangement seemed excessive. It felt more like she deliberately forgot, unwilling to recall even a fragment, sealing everything here in the deepest corner of her mind.

Sheng Shiyue pursed her lips. She accidentally pressed on a wound, and pain jolted her instantly.

She blamed Ning Qingge, that coal-eating old turtle, for biting her like this. If the Emperor noticed, it would cause more trouble. She could only apply some lip balm temporarily to conceal it.

She walked around a black wooden corridor and stepped over white jade stairs. The shadow of the grand palace enveloped her. A copper bell under the glazed tiles rang once, and birds fluttered away.

Sheng Shiyue entered the hall. She immediately knelt on both knees, her forehead touching the bricks. She shouted loudly, “Sheng Jiu offers greetings to Mother Emperor. May Mother Emperor enjoy boundless blessings.”

No response came from ahead. She could only peer through the agate bead curtain. A woman, nearly seventy, sat on a rosewood arhat bed. The bed’s three-sided railing was level, edged with a loop pattern, and adorned with tortoise-shell brocade inside. The base had wish-fulfilling tortoise feet supporting it. Behind her stood a glazed nanmu screen.

The woman wore a relatively simple dragon-patterned palace skirt. A white jade pendant hung at her waist. She held a book, her head lowered, eyes focused on its contents.

She read attentively, as if she did not hear Sheng Shiyue’s voice. Without permission, Sheng Shiyue could not rise and maintained her posture.

The servants around dared not remind her. They lowered their heads silently, letting the quiet spread.

A shadow nearby shifted with the sunlight. Pages turned, and a speck of light fell onto the paper.

A servant moved to pull a gauze curtain to block it, but the woman already raised her head.

Her temples were gray, yet her well-maintained face resembled that of a woman in her forties. Only when she lifted her eyelids did the wrinkles at her eyes reveal her age. Her slender brows and phoenix eyes gave her a commanding presence. Her gaze chilled those it swept over.

“Little Nine arrived?” she said, as if only now noticing Sheng Shiyue. Her flat tone hid her emotions.

Sheng Shiyue shouted again, “Yes, your child, Sheng Jiu, offers greetings to Mother Emperor. May Mother Emperor enjoy boundless blessings.”

The woman opposite did not speak. Her gaze rested on Sheng Shiyue. Her cloudy eyes seemed deep, as if pondering something.

Sheng Shiyue’s knees ached, but she forced herself to stay upright, not collapsing sideways.

She felt no surprise. Mother Emperor never liked her. After Mother Consort passed away, they rarely met, sometimes not seeing each other for ten days or half a month. After leaving the palace, this became even rarer. Unless necessary, Sheng Shiyue never entered the palace.

She knew why she was summoned this time. Her recent actions went too far and displeased Mother Emperor.

Today would likely be hard to escape.

The bricks her forehead touched felt icy. Sheng Shiyue knelt in a daze, recalling Mother Emperor’s life.

This ruler of the Liang Kingdom, Sheng Lishu, led a legendary life.

Her mother consort came from humble origins, merely the daughter of a fifth-rank official. By sheer luck, she was selected for the palace. For three years, she received no favor. Only during a summer retreat outside the capital did she unexpectedly gain the Emperor’s attention and conceive a royal heir.

This was unremarkable. The previous Emperor had many heirs, many clever and talented. One daughter, at eight, earned a great scholar’s praise and became his disciple. The Crown Prince, skilled in both literature and martial arts, virtuous and wise, governed the state at sixteen, deeply favored by the previous Emperor.

Yet, success and failure stemmed from this. Such talented people refused to remain subordinate.

Several heirs conspired, using a Yanzhou corruption case to topple the Crown Prince. At that time, Sheng Lishu had no chance to vie for the throne and could only watch coldly.

The previous Emperor, old and weak, lacked the strength to intervene. The heirs fought, kin turned on kin, and the court descended into chaos. The nation fractured, nearly collapsing.

No one expected Sheng Lishu to act then. She secured the Ye family, a military clan, and the Ning family, an aristocratic lineage, under her command. With formidable strength, she forced her way into the court, claiming the crumbling Liang Kingdom.

After ascending, Sheng Lishu governed diligently. She appointed the Ning family as prime ministers to aid governance and named the Ye family as grand generals. They repelled northern Xiongnu and southern barbarians, transforming the fractured Liang into the Yuanfeng Golden Age, earning a page in history.

Perhaps due to age, the Emperor’s temperament grew erratic in recent years. Her moods swung unpredictably, and she was less diligent and sharp in governance. She resisted advice, clinging stubbornly to her views.

Sheng Shiyue’s thoughts drifted. She recalled glimpsing a book page earlier, possibly about alchemy.

Did the Emperor believe in such things now?

In her youth, did she not ban them, denouncing occult arts as fraud and forbidding alchemists from selling elixirs or divining in markets?

Now she read such books. What would happen next?

The previous Emperor, in his later years, obsessed over alchemy, giving the heirs their chance. Would history repeat?

The palace’s bricks, quarried from somewhere unknown, felt like ice despite midsummer. Cold seeped from where they touched, burrowing into her bones, as if ants crawled and gnawed repeatedly.

Sheng Shiyue’s face paled gradually. Kneeling long, bl00d rushed to her head. Stars danced before her eyes, and she could think no more.

A sound came from ahead. A servant, noting the late hour, asked if the Emperor wished to dine.

Sheng Lishu agreed casually but did not mention Sheng Shiyue, as if forgetting her again. Others seemed to ignore Sheng Shiyue truly. People moved around, stepping carefully, avoiding even her hem, bypassing her completely.

Since ascending, Sheng Lishu curbed extravagance and practiced frugality. In old age, she avoided rich foods, fearing indigestion at night. Her lunch was simple: a bowl of green rice porridge and a few small dishes, placed on a low table by the arhat bed.

Chopsticks clinked lightly. The rice’s fragrance filled the space.

Sheng Shiyue anticipated this. The Emperor’s punishments for her were always the same. Mindful of her aunt, the Emperor dared not go too far, only doing this.

Before dressing, Sheng Shiyue ate half a bowl of porridge and some pastries. Qu Li stuffed a biscuit in her pocket, so she could endure now.

Sweat from her forehead dripped into the brick seams. Sunlight slanted, illuminating vibrant flower branches in a porcelain vase. Their faint shadow fell on the lattice window, swaying in the breeze.

Time passed不知how long. Sheng Shiyue’s consciousness blurred. She only knew the dishes were cleared long ago. Then she heard Sheng Lishu speak.

“You’ve been quite bold these days.”

Her tone was ambiguous, emotion unclear, yet it chilled the heart.

Sheng Shiyue pursed her lips. Pain sharpened her mind briefly. Her hoarse voice squeezed out, “Mother Emperor…”

Sheng Lishu cared not what she said, nor listened to explanations. She stated, “The Xu family’s youngest son broke his leg. The Qu family’s third child remains unconscious.”

She sneered coldly and continued, “If I didn’t summon you, what else would you do?”

By this account, Sheng Shiyue was impressive. She provoked all three excellencies—Prime Minister, Imperial Censor, and Grand Marshal—in days. No one before or after could match her audacity, the epitome of a historical wastrel.

Sheng Shiyue opened her mouth but only managed, “Little Nine dares not.”

In her heart, she muttered. If pressed, her greatest fault recently was the Yicui Tower incident. Yet the Emperor mentioned nothing of it, only other matters.

“I see nothing you wouldn’t dare,” Sheng Lishu’s voice mocked.

Sheng Shiyue, still not lifting her head, said practicedly, “Little Nine knows her fault.”

She avoided arguing. Always, if the Emperor deemed her wrong, she was wrong. Explaining was sophistry, defying imperial orders.

Sheng Lishu raised her eyes slightly and ordered flatly, “Then go receive your punishment.”

Sheng Shiyue tugged her lips and said, “Yes.”

“Thirty strokes.”

Sheng Shiyue’s pupils shrank, slightly shocked, but she could only say reluctantly, “Yes.”

This was indeed much harsher.

Sheng Lishu picked up the book beside her, saying casually, as if unthinkingly, “It’s late today. Rest in Jingyang Palace tonight. Leave the palace tomorrow.”

This was the only mildly warm sentence since the start, yet it drained Sheng Shiyue’s face of color. In panic, she raised her head, blurting, “It’s not late. My mansion’s carriage waits outside. I’ll return after the punishment.”

Fear lingered in her eyes, unmasked. Her forehead, red from pressing the floor, bore messy marks from stray hair. She desperately sought an answer.

“Mother Emperor…”

Sheng Lishu merely waved her hand and resumed reading.

Servants on both sides seized the moment, grabbing Sheng Shiyue’s arms. They dragged her limp body backward.

Soon, the sound of punishment sticks whistled through the air. Sheng Shiyue cried out a few times at first but later could only grunt with each strike. She fainted once. The imperial physician used needles to revive her, eased her slightly, then resumed the beating. After all thirty strokes, servants carried her on a stretcher back to Jingyang Palace.

That night.

Darkness swept in, blurring distant mountains, only their peaks faintly visible. Oddly, a strange wind howled since evening, blowing without rain, making hearts stuffy with heat.

A lamp-carrying servant stepped lightly and hurriedly, rounding a red wall. Her gaze caught distant lights, startling her, as if seeing something terrifying.

Another servant grabbed her sleeve, urging her to hurry.

Since the Imperial Consort’s death and the Ninth Highness’s establishment of her mansion, the Emperor sealed Jingyang Palace, forbidding entry.

She hissed, “What are you standing there for? If guards see you, they’ll drag you for questioning!”

This was no malicious threat. The Emperor rarely visited the harem now, occasionally pausing only at Jingyang Palace’s gate, gazing distantly inside.

Some concubines harbored improper thoughts, mimicking the Imperial Consort’s attire and makeup, bribing guards to slip inside, hoping for the Emperor’s glance.

One did see the Emperor but was found drowned in Qinxin Lake the next day, her face twisted, as if enduring something horrific. All guards at Jingyang Palace were punished and replaced, making security strict. Even a servant lingering briefly would be interrogated.

“Thanks, Sister,” the lamp-carrying servant said gratefully, hurrying forward. She whispered, shocked and afraid, “Sister, I just saw lights there…”

The other scolded, “Daydreaming again? Didn’t I tell you the Ninth Highness stays in the palace tonight?”

“But… that’s Jingyang Palace…”

Since that concubine drowned, Jingyang Palace grew uneasy. Ghostly rumors spread every few days. Some saw the late Imperial Consort, others the vengeful concubine who impersonated her. Some even claimed to see the deposed Crown Princess’s spirit.

The lamp-carrying servant shrank her neck.

The other cursed, “Jingyang Palace is the Ninth Highness’s mother’s residence. Where else would she go? I warned you to avoid Jingyang Palace duties, but you didn’t listen. Lucky Buddha protected you.”

She spat, “You deserve the scare.”

Farther from Jingyang Palace, the lamp-carrying servant relaxed, clinging to the other’s wrist, whining, “Why scold me, Sister? I only said a few words.”

Curious, she asked, “Is the Ninth Highness really as rumored…”

Before finishing, the other snapped, “Shut up!”

Her demeanor changed, warning, “Little Sister, to survive in this palace, shed improper curiosity, especially about Jingyang Palace’s people and affairs. Best know nothing.”

Her tone was resolute, no jest.

The lamp-carrying servant, startled by this unfamiliar side, said, “I understand, Sister.”

In the palace two years, she relied on this sister. If someone served over a decade safely, she had skill. Since she warned so, curiosity must be suppressed.

The servant’s face softened, exhaling, muttering, “In this palace, never mention her.”

Night wind blew through palace walls. An old osmanthus tree stood in the courtyard, its rough bark speckled by rare lamplight.

Inside the lattice window, candles flickered. The hastily prepared residence seemed cluttered, hinting it was temporary, perhaps returning to its desolate state by morning.

“Mother Consort… don’t go…”

“Crown Princess, Crown Princess…”

A hoarse, faint voice squeezed from behind bed curtains. The person sprawled on the bed slept deeply. Her overly pale face flushed unnaturally. Cold sweat dripped, soaking the fabric.

The once brash, unrestrained girl now resembled an abandoned cat, curled in a corner, pleading.

“Crown Princess left… Little Nine’s scared…”

The dream’s scenes jumbled. If that palace maid saw, she’d recognize old Jingyang Palace.

A child in a splendid palace skirt hopped forward, chubby hand clutching a golden qilin collar. Her smiling round face faintly showed her grown beauty, chasing a distant butterfly. The next moment, someone in silver armor scooped her up.

“Crown Princess!”

The child, confused, didn’t grasp why her usually gentle, smiling elder sister looked this way but trusted her, reaching to hug her neck, nuzzling her.

She pouted, complaining, “Crown Princess, you haven’t visited me in days.”

Seeing the child act spoiled as always, the stern-faced person softened her voice, saying gently, “Something happened outside. Crown Princess will take Little Nine to a safe place to hide, okay?”

Spoiled, the child sensed no danger. Her clear eyes brimmed with affection. She wiped the other’s cheek with a chubby finger, saying in a milky voice, “Did Crown Princess fall? Why’s there bl00d on your face?”

The other followed her lead, “Yes, Crown Princess was clumsy and fell.”

The child giggled, clapping, calling her clumsy.

The other, unangered, laughed along, likely used to such moments.

Before more warmth, shouts of battle came from beyond the palace walls. Time pressed. The Crown Princess dared not delay. Holding Sheng Shiyue in one arm, sword in the other, she rushed elsewhere, steps hurried.

The scene shifted to another place. The osmanthus tree here looked greener, its blossoms clustered, exuding rich fragrance.

Imperial guards in armor surrounded them, forming an impenetrable wall. Arrows littered the ground. Distant fires flared, and battle cries echoed, like a hell on earth.

“Crown Princess! Crown Princess!”

A child’s shrill cries stood out.

The earlier child, held by a regal woman, wailed loudly. Her chubby hands reached forward, crying, “Crown Princess!”

The Crown Princess lay pierced by an arrow through her left heart, eyes wide, lifeless, beyond saving.

“Crown Princess! Mother Consort, I want Crown Princess!” The child struggled, but the woman held her tightly, unable to move closer.

“Mother Consort, Crown Princess!”

She pleaded, tears streaming, “Mother Consort, let me go to her…”

Such a thing was too cruel for a child.

The imperial guards stirred, turning to kneel, shouting, “Your Majesty.”

A woman in black robes strode forward. Her left hand, holding a bow, trembled slightly. Her right hand reached for the mother and daughter, saying softly, “I arrived late, frightening you both.”

She looked at the child, coaxing gently, “Little Nine, come to Mother Emperor. Don’t be afraid.”

In reality, Sheng Shiyue shuddered. Sweat soaked her thin shirt, clinging to her gaunt back. Her festering waist wound bled again.

“Mother Consort… Crown Princess…”

“Run fast… don’t mind me.”

—Creak!

A wooden hinge screeched. A nearby door opened cautiously.

A figure, slender as bamboo, hurried toward her.

A restrained, pained voice called softly, “Little Nine.”