The Prime Minister Knows How to Handle His Wife (ABO, GL) - Chapter 4

Chapter 4

“Have I seen you somewhere before?”

Perhaps this question sounded ridiculous and cliché, as one could hear it a hundred times a day in Yicui Tower.

The zither player in white clothes ignored the question, continuing to pluck the strings gently. The zither’s sound was distant and clear, just like her presence—seemingly close yet untouchably far, impossible to grasp.

Sheng Shiyue furrowed her brows tightly, unsure if it was because the other ignored her or because of this inexplicable feeling.

A drunken person couldn’t think clearly, acting only on instinct. Sheng Shiyue propped her arm on the table, her palm supporting her head. This position was not only more comfortable but also allowed her to lean closer to observe.

The zither player secured her dark hair with only a wooden hairpin. When she lowered her head and eyes, a strand fell by her cheek, swaying gently.

The alcohol-numbed girl stared in a daze. After a long moment, she slowly said, “Your hair is messy.”

One moment, she resembled a cliché, seasoned brothel patron; the next, she became a fool. If it were someone else, they would have already tucked the strand behind her ear.

But the zither player finally spoke, “I’m playing the zither.”

Her voice was clearer and purer than the zither’s sound, dispelling a third of the drunken haze.

Sheng Shiyue wanted her to say more, so she continued, “Are you from Yicui Tower?”

“No,” the zither player replied.

“Did they hire you? How much is your pay? Are you short on money?” Sheng Shiyue threw out three questions at once.

Yicui Tower often spent heavily to hire renowned musicians to perform, attracting more guests.

The zither player’s eyelids fluttered, half-concealing her ink-jade eyes. She only said, “She offered the reward I wanted.”

Sheng Shiyue automatically assumed the reward meant a large sum of silver, then praised, “Sister, your zither skills are superb. Any amount of silver is worth it.”

“What did you call me?” The zither player, praised for her skill, made her first mistake of the evening.

But no one cared. Even the flower maiden’s repeated missteps in her dance went unnoticed, let alone this slight pause.

Everyone’s gazes lingered on the two, some shocked, some amused, some puzzled, yet no one interrupted for a moment.

The two at the center of the whirlwind did something others found absurdly laughable.

There was no forceful abduction or deliberate teasing. They simply chatted lightly in this utterly inappropriate setting, like a moss flower blooming in a decadent rose bush—completely out of place, utterly bizarre. Yet the rose and moss flower swayed leisurely in the breeze, entirely unconcerned.

“Sister? Could it be you’re younger than me?” Sheng Shiyue said boldly, her drunken, slurred voice petulant.

The zither player paused briefly, then lowered her eyes again and said, “I am indeed a few years older than you.”

“You know how old I am?” Sheng Shiyue caught the key point, her eyes lighting up as she unconsciously leaned closer to the other.

She asked again, “Have you heard of me before, Sister?”

“The fame of the Ninth Princess resonates throughout Liang Kingdom. It’s hard not to know,” the other replied indirectly.

Sheng Shiyue wasn’t annoyed but laughed, her eyes curving as she said, “Then my past efforts weren’t in vain. At least Sister has heard of me.”

It was the first time someone called carousing and merrymaking “efforts.”

The zither player was speechless, finally glancing at her. Her dark eyes rippled with a hint of reproach.

Sheng Shiyue froze, feeling an inexplicable familiarity. She suddenly straightened her back and blurted, “I…”

She wanted to ask again if they had met somewhere, but her instincts already provided the answer. Only when facing this person did the lazy, frivolous girl use a proper self-address. But she didn’t notice, and the other wouldn’t remind her.

The zither’s sound finally stopped. As the last note faded, the flower maiden froze in a graceful pose. The surroundings grew quieter, everyone tacitly waiting for this farce to reach its climax.

The scarlet hem of Sheng Shiyue’s robe somehow overlapped with the white cloth, vibrant like a blazing fire, steadily encroaching on the white.

The owner of the white clothes wasn’t in a hurry, pretending to stop and leave but actually slowly tightening the trap.

Sheng Shiyue fell for it, hurriedly grabbing her hand and saying, “Where are you going, Sister?”

The zither player, pulled back, paused and looked at her helplessly, saying softly, “The performance is over, Your Highness.”

Sheng Shiyue reacted slowly, “You’re leaving?”

The other explained patiently, “They only paid me for one performance.”

The drunkard forgot her purpose, still holding the other’s hand, slurring, “How much did they pay? I’ll double it.”

Finally, she showed a bit of her former frivolous flair.

The hand pressed under the table suddenly grasped hers back, warm fingertips brushing her palm, thin calluses tracing ripples over the most sensitive spot.

Sheng Shiyue’s hand itched, wanting to pull away but held fast. A hooked fish could struggle, but it was futile.

She gazed blankly at the other, whose face, mixed with foreign bl00d, was striking and vivid. Her slightly blue-tinted eyes were misty with alcohol, a trace of red at the corners, adding a touch of pitiful charm.

She dragged her voice, calling helplessly, “Sister…”

The zither player looked at her quietly, as if she wasn’t the one causing mischief under the table. Somehow, she recalled Sheng Shiyue’s morning at the horse field, vibrant and unrestrained in fine clothes. She wasn’t the main character—those were the martial champions favored by His Majesty—but no one could tear their eyes away from her.

The white horse galloped, the long pole swung, clearly teasing others, yet no one truly blamed her. Instead, they envied her—envied her freedom, her boldness to settle scores, like an eagle on the plains with unbroken wings.

When Sheng Shiyue glanced her way at the last moment, she, standing beside His Majesty, lost herself for an instant.

“You…” The zither player opened her mouth but couldn’t ask, unconsciously tightening her grip on Sheng Shiyue’s fingertips.

“Hmm?” The girl heard her pause and urged her with a questioning look.

The zither player snapped back, her eyes reflecting only Sheng Shiyue.

She suddenly smiled and asked, “What is Your Highness doing here?”

With the reminder, the drunken girl finally recalled her plan. She blinked innocently and said, “I want to…”

“Oh,” Ning Qingge chuckled encouragingly, her fingertips sliding over Sheng Shiyue’s knuckles, back and forth, without pause.

Sheng Shiyue suddenly leaned closer, her head tilting to brush Ning Qingge’s lips, finally finishing, “I want to flirt with you.”

Yicui Tower fell completely silent, with only the sound of flowing water. The flower maiden stood quietly in place, Madam gasped, Meng Xiaosi clutched the person beside her, unable to speak. The onlookers had their own thoughts.

But Ning Qingge thought, the spark had indeed caught fire.

The scarlet robe clung tightly to the white clothes, like a wildfire, completely covering them.

The kiss, laced with the scent of alcohol, carried a scorching heat through the thin veil.

It was reckless and clumsy, without any finesse, less a kiss than a kitten’s chaotic nibbling.

Apparently, besides poetry, schemes, and strategies, there were fun things Sheng Shiyue didn’t know.

The zither player chuckled softly. Under the table, out of sight, she tightly held the other’s hand, slowly pulling it toward herself.

The person who avoided her all day now fell completely into her trap.

The prey was oblivious, only feeling the other wasn’t cooperative enough. She raised her other hand, pressing the back of Ning Qingge’s head, biting her thin lips in a huff as punishment.

The thin veil grew misty with moisture, rubbing against the skin, causing an inexplicable itch, sometimes sticking and requiring effort to pull off.

Sheng Shiyue frowned, finding the thing bothersome, and reached to remove it.

The zither player didn’t stop her. From others’ angles, her back was straight like unyielding bamboo, unable to resist or escape, forced to kneel and endure the frivolous girl’s teasing.

But when the veil fell, gasps filled the air.

Meng Xiaosi was utterly stunned, “That… isn’t that the Prime Minister? Don’t Sheng Jiu hate her the most?”

“Does Sheng Jiu even know this is Ning Qingge?”

Madam hadn’t seen Ning Qingge before, but hearing others, she realized the gravity, collapsing to the ground, staring at the flower maiden in disbelief. The maiden had only said she found a skilled zither player, new to the city, wanting to perform. Who would’ve thought it was Ning Qingge!

A prime minister performing in her brothel!

The flower maiden stepped back, avoiding questioning eyes, her clenched palms marked with crescent-shaped nail imprints.

The only unaffected person was the drunkard, finally getting her wish by biting the other’s lips, smiling smugly as if savoring a treat.

Then she stopped moving, a novice who, even after downing two jars of Lanqiao wine, couldn’t overcome her inexperience.

Ning Qingge could only ask, “And then?”

She gently coaxed, urging Sheng Shiyue to continue the plan she’d mulled over all afternoon.

Sheng Shiyue’s memory was hazy. She tilted her head, thinking, then mumbled, “Then a night of passion…”

She decided immediately, “To the third floor!”

She had a reserved room there, specially prepared today.

The drunkard stood abruptly, pulling Ning Qingge’s wrist, stumbling toward the wooden boat. The boat was tethered by a rope, usually pulled back by it.

Now, the clever servant didn’t know whether to pull, looking helplessly at Madam. But the flower maiden spoke, “Take them over.”

The situation grew murkier, the place of revelry turning tense, like a dangerous storm brewing.

The servant glanced left and right, then gritted his teeth and pulled the rope.

The most carefree person was Sheng Shiyue. Though at the storm’s center, she was unaffected. As the boat reached the shore, she dragged Ning Qingge’s wrist toward the third floor, her slightly swaying figure eager, her steps thumping loudly on the stairs.

No one dared stop her, all utterly shocked.

What was Sheng Shiyue doing? Had her audacity reached such heights?

This thought echoed in every heart in Yicui Tower.