The Prime Minister Knows How to Handle Her Wife (ABO, GL) - Chapter 40

Chapter 40

“Upside down?” The person kneeling on the ground repeated in confusion.

The wind lifted the carriage curtain, and at that moment, a ray of sunlight fell on her cheek, stirring the loose strands of hair by her face.

Sheng Shiyue seemed carefree, but her clothing and accessories were always exquisite. Take her current crimson riding outfit: others found regular clothes too cumbersome, so they simplified them for martial practice and archery.

But she went further—narrow sleeves with gold-threaded wrist guards, her clothes embroidered with colorful cloud patterns, a white jade qilin necklace around her neck, and black brocade boots on her feet. Luckily, her hair was only tied into a high ponytail with a red cloth band, reducing some extravagance and adding a touch of youthful boldness. With her striking face, she drew attention wherever she went. Even after entering the carriage, eyes lingered on her.

A shadow flickered in Ning Qingge’s eyes, but she leaned back into the carriage’s soft cushions, putting distance between them.

The already confused person grew even more puzzled. She didn’t yet understand the game of playing hard to get, only knowing that after Ning Qingge’s vague words, she pulled away.

Was she angry or dissatisfied?

Sheng Shiyue couldn’t help but shuffle forward on her knees, grabbing the hem of Ning Qingge’s skirt and saying, “Ning Wangshu.”

Her deliberately drawn-out tone was sticky and sweet, her gentle eyes full of flattery. She added, “What’s upside down? What’s useful or not?”

Ning Qingge didn’t speak. She slightly reached out, and Sheng Shiyue leaned her face into her palm, truly like a cat. No matter how proud or distant she was before, when it came to coaxing, she was impossibly obedient, practically ready to lie at someone’s feet, expose her soft belly, and paw playfully again and again.

Her calloused fingertips rubbed back and forth. Even without much force, Sheng Shiyue’s delicate skin reddened from the friction.

Her eyelids fluttered, and Ning Qingge softly called, “Sheng Jiu…”

Sheng Shiyue only said “Hmm” in response, showing she heard. She lifted her knees slightly from the abacus, then huffed, “Ning Qingge, what do I need to do for you to forgive me?”

Ning Qingge didn’t answer. Her hand slid along Sheng Shiyue’s jawline, her fingers hooking under her chin.

She was truly teasing a cat.

Sheng Shiyue called out, “Ning Wangshu.”

“Lord Ning.”

“Prime Minister.”

Each time Sheng Shiyue called, Ning Qingge scratched lightly.

It was already late afternoon, and the carriages on the street formed a long line, inching through the crowd. Even the Prime Minister’s carriage was no exception.

Through the wooden walls, they could hear the chatter and laughter around them. To the left, a child complained about their teacher. To the right, a clear female voice spoke to a friend about her Qianyuan.

Ning Qingge and Sheng Shiyue were caught in this noise, tucked away in the dim, narrow space.

No one would imagine the bold and reckless noble kneeling before the universally praised moonlight, like a tamed fox, cautiously trying to please.

Ning Qingge’s fingers paused, and she suddenly laughed, “Didn’t I say? Upside down will do.”

“One plea, two coaxings, three…” Sheng Shiyue didn’t finish, looking at her with a mix of shame and embarrassment, as if confirming Ning Qingge hadn’t misspoken.

Ning Qingge smiled at her, her silence a confirmation.

“B-But, we’re still in the Western District…” Sheng Shiyue stammered, unable to even finish her sentence.

Ning Qingge leaned forward, her hand sliding from the chin to lightly grip Sheng Shiyue’s neck, pulling her closer.

As their lips met, a scolding voice rang out, “Stop dawdling.”

She even complained about Sheng Shiyue.

Sheng Shiyue’s eyes widened for a moment, but before she could argue, all her words were silenced.

Perhaps from tea drunk in the palace, Ning Qingge’s tongue carried a faint bitterness, with an indescribable astringency, hooking onto the other’s tongue.

Sheng Shiyue frowned slightly. Used to the sweetness of lychees, she resisted this unpleasant bitterness, pushing back against Ning Qingge, unwilling to let her go further.

Ning Qingge wasn’t annoyed. Though she held the dominant position, she retreated bit by bit. The one who thought she’d won grew bold, pressing forward, forcefully entering Ning Qingge’s lips, as if seizing control.

But the one with closed eyes didn’t know the older woman was watching her with a smile, her eyes rippling like waves.

The hand on Sheng Shiyue’s neck loosened, no longer pulling her forward. But the one who tasted victory grew eager, her crimson-clad back tensing straight as a line. If someone measured her posture now, they’d marvel at how perfectly she knelt.

Her knees, moving unconsciously, tapped the abacus.

A faint lychee fragrance spread.

Ning Qingge casually lifted a strand of fallen hair, tucking it behind her ear with a pale fingertip, revealing her refined face. The coolness in her eyes had faded, leaving only unending tenderness.

There was indeed some jealousy, but how could she bear to punish her? She just found Sheng Shiyue’s anxious, troubled look amusing, so she couldn’t help teasing her with a few words, making Sheng Shiyue spin in circles, constantly thinking of her and how to appease her.

But no matter how amusing, it was time to stop, or once Sheng Shiyue realized, who knew how angry she’d get.

Ning Qingge smiled silently. Before that, she could indulge just a little more—such chances were rare, after all.

The hand on Sheng Shiyue’s neck released fully, cool fingertips brushing the back of her neck. The weather was warm, and with no ice in Ning Qingge’s carriage, the delicate Sheng Shiyue soon broke into a light sweat.

Her fingertips slid down and up again, grazing the neck, bringing a touch of coolness.

Sheng Shiyue squinted comfortably, refusing to let go. Her tongue stirred, fiercely claiming every space, stealing all of Ning Qingge’s air.

She was no longer the clueless girl from before. Her natural talent for learning let her quickly master these skills, applying them even better.

Sheng Shiyue hooked one hand around Ning Qingge’s neck, pulling her to bend closer, while the other pinched her waist, urging Ning Qingge forward.

Their breaths, light and heavy, intertwined, staining soft lips with vivid color.

The carriage moved forward a bit, then stopped again, blocked by the crowd.

Sheng Shiyue’s knees left the abacus, drawing closer, as if wanting to press her whole body against Ning Qingge. The other indulged her, almost as if holding the kneeling girl in her arms.

The sound of fabric rubbing rang out as the skirt was pulled up. A lifted leg rested on a shoulder, revealing a slender calf.

This time, Ning Qingge didn’t need to guide her. Sheng Shiyue was far more skilled than the first time.

The curtain pressed against the wood, muffling their breaths. Outside, the noise continued, with occasional glances sparking hushed discussions about the current Liang Kingdom Prime Minister’s past.

The voices drifted in, but Ning Qingge paid no mind. Even in the past, such talk barely stirred her, let alone now, when her thoughts were consumed by indescribable sensations.

The emerald palace skirt slipped further, its bamboo-patterned hem folding.

Her bent leg twitched back, hooking the spine beneath the crimson clothes, pulling closer.

Having knelt too long, Sheng Shiyue lost strength and fell forward, sinking deeper.

“Mmph…” A muffled sound escaped her lips, warm breath surging unintentionally.

Ning Qingge let out a low hum, her strained tone woven with intricate notes, like bamboo swaying in the rain, passively enduring the other’s touch.

The hand on the back of Sheng Shiyue’s neck climbed to her head, slender fingers slipping through her hair, veins faintly visible on the back of her hand.

Soon, the distant red sun was pulled down, orange light flooding in, painting the world in a dreamlike hue.

Cooking smoke rose slowly, mixed with children’s laughter and chatter, as the city settled into peace.

Copper bells under eaves clinked in the breeze. Drunken people, not yet night, leaned on railings, teased by friends.

The carriage wheels rolled over stones, jolting the compartment. Its occupants swayed with the bump.

Sheng Shiyue quickly braced a hand to steady herself but still fell forward, pressing into a damp spot, her cheeks and nose wet with traces.

Tears fell from her fluttering eyelids, pitiful and disheveled.

The other trembled, sinking deeper into the cushions, pressing against the carriage wall, her hairpin tilting, hair loosening.

“Sheng Jiu,” she murmured unconsciously.

The sunset’s glow slipped through a gap, landing on her slightly raised brow and narrowed eyes. Her cool face seemed to shimmer with peach-blossom mist.

“Ning Qingge…”

“Don’t squeeze—I can’t breathe…” Sheng Shiyue mumbled, water slipping from her lips. Before she finished, her words were silenced.

Without waiting for a reply, she lowered her head again, eagerly diving in.

The sweet lychee scent spread, then was restrained, confined in the narrow carriage.

As time passed, the sun sank, darkening the compartment.

By the roadside, someone set up a wok over a blazing fire. The chef tossed in spices, and with a whoosh, flames roared. Undeterred, the chef flipped the pan, stirring quickly.

The savory aroma filled the street.

People on low stools laughed and chatted. Servants by the road shouted loudly.

Sheng Shiyue coughed from the smell, her throat bobbing with a faint Adam’s apple, visible as she let out a muffled whimper.

She patted Ning Qingge’s leg, making an unreasonable demand, “Ning, Qingge, too much, slow down.”

Water spilled from her lips, dripping along her chin, wetting the fabric below.

Sheng Shiyue paused, only then realizing Ning Qingge hadn’t responded in a while, her sounds growing faint.

Annoyed, Sheng Shiyue looked up.

The woman leaned back, her eyes clouded with desire, her breaths uneven. The white jade pendant she bit to stifle her sounds was wet, gleaming like it had just been pulled from water.

Sheng Shiyue froze. The leg on her shoulder nudged, as if urging her.

Perhaps from lack of air, her head felt dizzy, like she’d drunk too much wine. Her heart raced. Sheng Shiyue opened her mouth but forgot what to do next.

Her knees screamed in pain, but the delicate girl ignored it.

She swallowed, her tongue and mouth filled with lychee’s taste.

Her gaze never wavered, her clear eyes reflecting the other’s figure.

The curtain fluttered in the breeze, light flickering on the stunning silhouette, like a goddess fallen to earth, tempting all.

And Sheng Shiyue knelt before her, a fervent, captivated devotee.

Noticing her daze, the other lifted her eyes, whether in annoyance or shyness, and pressed Sheng Shiyue’s head back down between her legs.

Sheng Shiyue let out a muffled “Mmph,” falling back into the intoxicating mortal world.

The red sun vanished, the evening breeze bringing coolness, easing the day’s heat. The crowd grew, but as carriages moved on, the road cleared.

The driver cracked the whip, the sound cutting the air.

The horses kicked their hooves, trotting faster.

The wheels rolled over stones, jolting the carriage. One bump was so strong the whole carriage lifted.

A low, hoarse sound came from inside.

The driver scratched her head, shouting apologetically, “Don’t know what’s with the road these days—stones everywhere, can’t avoid them. I’ll go slower.”

No response came. She grew uneasy, having heard the Ninth Princess inside was bad-tempered. Offending her might bring scolding or even cost her this rare job.

So she focused harder, staring ahead, wishing she could push the carriage herself to avoid every stone.

The carriages behind suffered, their horses barely daring to step, moving timidly.

Some, impatient, sped past them, vanishing quickly.

The faint sound of water in the carriage grew urgent. The hand on Sheng Shiyue’s head pressed harder, knuckles whitening. The leg on her shoulder shook violently, the jade pendant falling into the clothes. Heavy breaths mixed.

Sheng Shiyue turned her head, mischievously wiping her wet face on Ning Qingge’s skirt.

Ning Qingge didn’t stop her, instead pulling her up to collapse onto her.

Her knees, stiff from kneeling, screamed with pain, like ants biting her flesh.

Falling into Ning Qingge’s arms, Sheng Shiyue couldn’t even say sweet words before crying out, “It hurts.”

Her voice carried a sob, full of grievance. Having tasted sweetness, she now threw a tantrum.

“Ning Qingge, my legs hurt,” she stressed again, as if afraid she wasn’t heard.

Ning Qingge, still dazed, hadn’t fully recovered. But she instinctively reached out, placing her hand on Sheng Shiyue’s knee, saying hoarsely, “Here?”

Sheng Shiyue nodded, confirming, then complained, “You actually made me kneel that long.”

Ning Qingge lifted her eyes, glancing at her but saying nothing, diligently rubbing her knee.

Her technique was skilled, learned from a doctor and Qu Li, neither too heavy nor too light, easing the bruises.

She had indeed knelt too long. Small dents from the abacus beads marked her delicate skin. How the pain-averse girl endured was a mystery.

Perhaps sensing Ning Qingge’s concern, Sheng Shiyue started humming, acting weak and fussy.

Moments later, a clear voice rang from the carriage, “Turn back, go to Fan Tower.”

The driver, seeing the mansion so close, scratched her head and said, “Alright.”