The Prince Consort Is Also Pretending To Be Affectionate Today - Chapter 20

20

The golden rooster crowed, and the sun gradually rose.

In the early morning, the palace, still bathed in the glow of dawn, began to stir with activity. Palace attendants bustled about, their steps hurried, each face adorned with a joyful expression.

Shen Zhuwan was roused from her sleep by the commotion. Sitting up in bed, she frowned slightly and called out, “Jinxi.”

Jinxi quickly entered, her face beaming with delight. “Princess, you’re awake? His Majesty and Her Majesty the Empress are having breakfast together in the imperial dining hall.”

Hearing this, Shen Zhuwan glanced at the sky outside, then lifted the covers, her expression tinged with displeasure. “Why didn’t you wake me earlier today? If I’m late, Father Emperor will scold me.”

Jinxi hurried forward, smiling. “His Majesty specifically ordered us not to wake you so early today.”

Shen Zhuwan was helped to the dressing table by Jinxi. In the mirror, a delicate and refined face emerged faintly. She fell silent for a moment before asking with a hint of doubt, “Is today some special occasion?”

“Oh, Princess, have you forgotten?” Jinxi said, chuckling as she styled Shen Zhuwan’s hair. “Today is your birthday!”

Shen Zhuwan’s memory clicked into place—she had indeed forgotten it was her birthday.

Looking at her reflection, she asked, “Is Father Emperor feeling better today?”

“He seems much healthier.” Jinxi replied. “Why don’t you go see for yourself, Princess?”

Shen Zhuwan nodded silently. Soon, with the help of Jinxi and a few other maids, she was dressed and adorned radiantly before heading to the imperial dining hall.

At that moment, Shen Jun’an and Cen Lianxia had already finished their meal. They were chatting and laughing, waiting for their daughter. Upon seeing Shen Zhuwan, Cen Lianxia beckoned her with a gentle smile. “Wanwan, come here.”

Shen Zhuwan obediently sat down. “Your daughter pays respects to Father Emperor and Mother Empress.”

“You silly child,” Cen Lianxia said, taking her hand. “It’s just our family here. Who are you showing all this formality for?”

Shen Jun’an coughed twice, smiling. “Well done. As the eldest princess of a nation, you should always uphold proper etiquette.”

Cen Lianxia shot him a sidelong glance. “Coughing and still talking so much.”

Shen Zhuwan couldn’t help but laugh. “Father, are you feeling better?”

“Indeed,” Shen Jun’an said, pleased with her affectionate “Father.” “I’m much better. It’s rare for my daughter to worry about my health, tsk tsk tsk.”

Cen Lianxia’s expression softened as she touched her pregnant belly. “Our Wanwan has always been considerate. I wonder if this little one will be as sensible as his sister.”

Shen Jun’an chuckled lightly. “With you around, how could he go astray? Look at our Wanwan—she’s proof that this child will surely turn out well.”

Cen Lianxia laughed. “Oh, you.”

Shen Zhuwan, accustomed to her parents’ occasional displays of affection, simply watched with a smile.

“By the way, Wanwan.” Shen Jun’an said, looking at her with fatherly warmth. “What gift would you like for your birthday this year?”

He had asked her this long ago, but back then, his health had been poor, and Shen Zhuwan had only said she wanted the family to watch the stars together. Now that he was feeling better, he brought it up again, not wanting her to feel shortchanged.

Though Shen Zhuwan understood his intentions, she teased, “Father Emperor, I already told you, but you’ve completely forgotten.”

“Oh, my!” Shen Jun’an laughed heartily, looking at her. “What if there are no stars tonight? Wouldn’t your wish be wasted?”

Little did they know, Shen Jun’an’s words would prove prophetic.

That night, thick clouds obscured the moonlight, leaving not only no stars but even the moon veiled in a dusty haze.

Shen Zhuwan sat with her parents in the pavilion, gazing at the heavy clouds and letting out a sigh.

Father Emperor’s jinxed words had indeed come true.

Shen Jun’an, slightly embarrassed, touched his nose. “Your father might just have the makings of a royal astrologer, haha.”

Shen Zhuwan and Cen Lianxia exchanged a glance, both seeing deep resignation in each other’s eyes.

“Wanwan, why don’t you choose another birthday gift?” Cen Lianxia suggested. “Your father ruined your birthday wish, so make him compensate with another.”

Shen Jun’an feigned grievance. “Empress, how can you blame me for this?”

Cen Lianxia, amused by his expression, teased, “Then who should we blame, Your Majesty?”

Shen Jun’an looked at his daughter, whose birthday wish had been thwarted, then glanced quietly at his pregnant empress, muttering, “Fine, blame me, the sick one.”

Even as he took the blame, he didn’t forget to emphasize his illness.

Shen Zhuwan shook her head helplessly. “Father Emperor, I’ll choose another birthday gift then.”

She expected Shen Jun’an to agree, but he grinned mischievously. “No need to change it. Watching the stars is such an easy gift for your father.”

Shen Zhuwan: “…”

Cen Lianxia was about to glare at him, but Shen Jun’an suddenly stood, supporting his wife and smiling at Shen Zhuwan. “Come, let’s go outside.”

Shen Zhuwan and Cen Lianxia exchanged another helpless glance, but soon, the three stood outside the pavilion.

“Look.” Shen Jun’an said, pointing to the sky.

Shen Zhuwan looked up and saw, in the endless darkness of the night, a single sky lantern rising from somewhere. Then, more lanterns followed, ascending from all directions and scattering outward.

As they drifted farther, the lanterns grew smaller, dotting the sky densely, creating a unique starry expanse.

“Wanwan.” Shen Jun’an said with a smile. “This is the starry sky your father prepared for you. Do you like it?”

Countless sky lanterns reflected in her eyes, casting a radiant orange glow.

“Thank you, Father. I love it.”

At that moment, Shen Zhuwan thought she would have many more such starry skies in her future.

But fate is often unkind. Thunder roared, and a torrential downpour fell like a deluge. Jagged lightning illuminated half the sky, her mother’s helpless cries, and the panicked screams and fleeing of palace attendants wove a suffocating net around Shen Zhuwan.

The emperor had passed away.

On the night of her birthday, after they watched the starry sky.

The palace’s red lanterns and colorful ribbons hadn’t even been taken down before they were replaced with white mourning decorations.

She stood before her father’s imperial coffin, not shedding a single tear. Beside her were her mother, sobbing uncontrollably, and her uncle, his face etched with grief. Her calm demeanor stood out starkly.

She couldn’t hear the sounds around her or see the reactions of those nearby. She stood motionless before Shen Jun’an’s coffin, unyielding even when others tried to pull her away.

Until a voice rang in her ear, dripping with unmasked malice and mockery.

“That cold, heartless face of yours—how it resembles your father.”

Her empty consciousness finally returned, and a delayed pain spread from her heart throughout her body. She retched, trembled, and felt fear, but when tears finally spilled from her eyes, she wanted to laugh.

Her body, which had held on until now, collapsed. Shen Zhuwan fainted.

A month later, Shen Chi was born amidst thunder and heavy rain. Along with it came the news of the empress’s death.

Holding her newborn brother, Shen Zhuwan looked at her mother, who had died crashing into a pillar. She closed her eyes faintly and ordered, “The empress died in childbirth, a tragic fate. According to the laws of Daqian, she shall be buried with the emperor’s rites. In light of her love with the late emperor, they shall be interred together on a chosen day.”

Cradling Shen Chi, she turned and left the delivery room. Behind her, the screams and pleas of the midwives and maids were cut off one by one as blades pierced flesh, leaving only bloodstains on the window screens.

Her brother cried in her arms. Shen Zhuwan softly soothed him, then suddenly smiled.

How laughable that she and her brother—one’s birthday caused their father’s death, the other’s caused their mother’s.

From then on, she never celebrated her birthday again.

The memory of that orange starry sky became a nightmare trapping her. Countless stormy nights, she woke from dreams, believing everything was as it had been—her father alive, her mother not martyred, and she still the pampered princess.

But her brother’s infant cries reminded her that it had all happened.

If she hadn’t celebrated her birthday that day, would her father still be alive?

If Shen Chi hadn’t been born, would her mother still be alive?

Those memories faded in her mind, growing fainter and fainter, but the searing orange glow remained like a blazing fire, burning and piercing her.

Five years had already passed.

Only five years had passed.

Ji Rongjin stood still, watching the woman before her, who seemed lost in thought. Had she stirred up painful memories?

Should she apologize, or ask if she liked the gift?

“Thank you, Consort. I love it.”

As Ji Rongjin hesitated, Shen Zhuwan’s words sent her anxious heart soaring with excitement.

She liked the gift Ji Rongjin had prepared!

And she used “I,” not “this princess”!

Seeing the girl’s suddenly uplifted mood, Shen Zhuwan couldn’t help but curve her lips. “So, the reason the consort hasn’t been sleeping well is because you were catching fireflies?”

Ji Rongjin scratched her head. “Heh, it’s not a big deal. It’s your birthday, Princess, and I wanted to make you happy. It wasn’t that tiring.”

Shen Zhuwan glanced up, noticing the girl’s eyes practically screaming, “Praise me, praise me!”

A hint of amusement flickered in her eyes. “The consort has worked hard.”

Ji Rongjin: Hehe.

As her invisible tail seemed to wag, she heard Shen Zhuwan say, “The consort hasn’t been sleeping well lately—truly hard work. I happen to have calming incense in my room. Tonight, Consort, come to my chambers.”

Ji Rongjin’s smile froze. In her mind, she dramatically extended a hand, tears streaming: This isn’t how you repay kindness!

As if hearing her inner cry, a familiar cool fragrance drew near. Shen Zhuwan had somehow moved closer, the fireflies’ glow softly outlining her face. Ji Rongjin clearly saw the disappointment in her eyes. “Is the consort unwilling?”

Her full lips parted slightly, her words carrying a cautious probe. Meeting those moist dark eyes, Ji Rongjin’s heart felt as if it had been struck by something soft. She hesitated.

Before she could speak, Shen Zhuwan’s long lashes drooped, casting a fragile shadow beneath her eyes. She stepped back half a pace, saying softly, “If you’re unwilling, then forget it.”

Her tone carried a hint of petulance.

Ji Rongjin admitted she was swayed by beauty, but her mother’s words echoed in her mind—Jin’er, treat the princess well. She’s truly pitiful, all alone.

So she steeled herself and said, “I’m willing, Princess. I’m willing.”

Shen Zhuwan, who had turned away, curved her lips slightly, a sly glint of success in her eyes. Yet her voice remained cool. “Is the consort truly willing? If it’s just out of pity for me, then forget it.”

Ji Rongjin took a deep breath, stepped in front of her, and bowed with clasped hands. “To the Princess, this subject is willing.”

Shen Zhuwan chuckled softly, chiding her. “Stand up.”

Ji Rongjin rose with a beaming smile. “The Princess isn’t angry anymore?”

Shen Zhuwan said leisurely, “This princess was never angry.”

Ji Rongjin wasn’t entirely convinced but followed her happily back to the mansion.

In the bamboo grove, Jinxi and Dongmei covered their mouths to stifle their laughter. Only when the two figures faded into the distance did they exchange a knowing glance and hurry to catch up.

That night, heavy rain fell, accompanied by booming thunder.

Shen Zhuwan slept fitfully. Perhaps the events of the night had stirred old memories, and dreams of the past surged like seawater, nearly drowning her.

A clap of thunder jolted her awake, her chest heaving slightly, her forehead beaded with sweat.

She shifted and noticed the girl beside her still lying properly, breathing evenly, sound asleep.

The suffocating feeling in her chest slowly faded. She turned to face the girl, studying her closely—from her long lashes to her delicate nose, down to her lips.

When had things started to feel different?

Perhaps from the day she “lost her memory.” The way she looked at Shen Zhuwan was no longer indifferent or disdainful but curious, appraising, filled with exploration.

Not just toward her—she seemed curious about everything, though she hid it well. It showed in the smallest expressions.

She acted on whims, driven by interest, sometimes immersing herself fully, like someone detached from the world who occasionally remembered to pull herself back.

Was this really how someone with amnesia behaved?

Curiosity and intrigue grew in Shen Zhuwan’s eyes. Unconsciously, she reached out, her hand resting near the girl’s face, as if trying to see through her exterior to her true self.

Another thunderclap sounded, and her hand pressed a bit harder. The girl seemed to stir, opening her eyes groggily and glancing at her.

Before Shen Zhuwan could pull her hand back, the girl grasped it and tucked it into the covers. Turning to face her, eyes still closed, she mumbled, “Don’t be afraid, Xiaoyu. I’m here. Sleep…”

As she spoke, she freed her hand to pull Shen Zhuwan into her arms, her warm body radiating a faint citrus scent. Her movements were practiced, as if she’d done this before.

Shen Zhuwan didn’t catch what she said next.

Her expression remained calm as she looked at the girl, mere inches away. Her voice was cool. “Who is Xiaoyu?”

No one answered.

The girl’s lips stopped moving, her hand relaxed, and she fell back into a deep sleep.

Shen Zhuwan easily freed herself from the embrace. Looking at the peacefully sleeping girl, her eyes held a trace of scrutiny.

The only “Xiaoyu” she knew was Jiang Nanyu, the only daughter of Imperial Physician Jiang.

The next day, when Ji Rongjin woke, Shen Zhuwan was already gone. She sat up abruptly, glanced at her chest, and let out a relieved sigh.

Leaning against the headboard, she pinched her brow, recalling the rather absurd dream from last night.

After so long in this world, the first dream she had was of her three-year-old cousin, Xiaoyu. But it made sense—the stormy weather reminded her of the time Xiaoyu wet her bed during a thunderstorm, pitifully claiming it was Ji Rongjin’s fault.

To comfort her cousin, her aunt went along with it, and somehow, the story spread that Ji Rongjin, at eighteen, still wet the bed—utterly ridiculous.

But in the dream, she was just as ridiculous, not taking Xiaoyu to the bathroom right away despite having learned her lesson.

As Ji Rongjin lamented, she didn’t know that if she had actually tried to take the “Xiaoyu” from her dream to the bathroom last night, she might’ve been kicked out of bed.

After washing up, Ji Rongjin invited Jiang Nanyu out to eat.

She had been dragging Jiang Nanyu out at night to catch fireflies and had promised to treat her to a meal afterward, a promise she wouldn’t break.

Around noon, they met successfully in a private room at Chunwang Tavern.

Jiang Nanyu, sporting dark circles that nearly reached her chin, glared fiercely. “Today, I’m eating my fill!”

Ji Rongjin, shocked by her dark circles, asked, “What did you do last night?”

Jiang Nanyu said faintly, “I was thinking about you and the princess.”

Ji Rongjin: “…You have that much free time?”

“No, I was too hungry to sleep, so I thought about the fireflies you caught.” Jiang Nanyu’s eyes suddenly lit up. “By the way, did the princess like them?”

Ji Rongjin crossed her arms proudly. “Of course, she loved them!”

Jiang Nanyu beamed with shared pride. “If it were me, I’d love them too!”

Ji Rongjin: “Want me to make one for you next time?”

Jiang Nanyu: “A starry sky?”

Ji Rongjin nodded. “An underwater starry sky.”

Jiang Nanyu thought for a moment. “Nah, I prefer something more lasting than a fleeting view.”

“Like what?”

“All-you-can-eat seafood.”

Ji Rongjin gave her a deep look. “I can tell you’re a ‘lasting’ person.”

Jiang Nanyu smiled shyly. “Of course. With your personality, I’ve stuck by you all these years. It’s been tough.”

Ji Rongjin: “?”

Seeing her confusion, Jiang Nanyu sighed. “You used to never joke with me, always so stern. If it weren’t for our childhood bond, I’d have kicked you to the curb long ago.”

Ji Rongjin: “…So we’re childhood sweethearts?”

“You still haven’t remembered anything from before.” Jiang Nanyu sized her up, then nodded. “Makes sense. If you had, you wouldn’t be like this.”

Muttering to herself, she continued, “We’re not childhood sweethearts, ugh, whatever. It’s not important. We met because of Lu Ye. She…”

Jiang Nanyu paused, sighing. “Forget it. You should remember on your own.”

“No, wait.” Ji Rongjin said. “You know I still have a bald spot on the back of my head.”

Jiang Nanyu glanced at her, her expression enigmatic. “You and her… sigh…”

Ji Rongjin’s temple throbbed. “Just say it!”

“Forget it.” Jiang Nanyu said wistfully. “No need to bring up your sad past. The dead can’t come back.”

“What? She’s dead?”

Jiang Nanyu was shocked. “You remembered?”

Ji Rongjin: “…You let it slip.”

Realizing her mistake, Jiang Nanyu sighed. “Well, it’s not a big deal. You two were close back then. Then she died suddenly, and you were heartbroken. You were sent to my father for treatment, and then…”

She went on to vividly describe how she saved Ji Rongjin, pulling her from despair, giving her redemption and hope, and ultimately becoming her friend despite past grievances.

Her tale was so moving it could make heaven and earth weep, nearly bringing herself to tears.

But—

Ji Rongjin didn’t believe a word. She raised an eyebrow. “Tell the truth.”

“Fine. I used to prank people a lot, so I had a bad reputation. But you always ignored my pranks, which I found interesting, so I kept bothering you. Eventually, we got close.”

Ji Rongjin: “…”

She snorted, looking at the slightly guilty Jiang Nanyu. “How did I meet Lu Ye?”

“How would I know?” Jiang Nanyu’s eyes lit up at the sight of the food on the table, mumbling, “I think your dad brought her home…”

Ji Rongjin gasped. “…An illegitimate sister?!”

Jiang Nanyu looked up. “…Your dad’s friend’s kid.”

Ji Rongjin’s temple pulsed. “Can’t you finish a sentence before eating?”

“Nope!”

After lunch, Ji Rongjin and Jiang Nanyu strolled through the streets.

Every time they entered a shop, Jiang Nanyu, wielding her dark circles, would say, “I want this.”

Ji Rongjin, eyeing those heavy dark circles, gritted her teeth. “…Buy it.”

“And this!”

“…Buy it.”

“And that one!”

“…Buy it.”

They shopped merrily—mostly Jiang Nanyu. Ji Rongjin, clutching her wallet, felt her back molars grinding to dust. Unbeknownst to them, someone was tailing them, recording their every word and action.

From a distance, Shadow Two wrote: The consort indulges her childhood friend’s every whim, spending money she doesn’t have, shamelessly two-faced and disloyal!!

Two exclamation marks vividly expressed her indignation.

Flipping back through her notes, one would find:

Childhood friend: I missed you so much last night.
Consort: xxx (Note: I couldn’t hear clearly.)
Childhood friend: Do you like me?
Consort: Very much.
Childhood friend (shyly): I like you too.
Consort: xxx
(Note: The door closed, and I couldn’t hear more. But when they emerged, both were flushed and satisfied. I dare not speculate what happened, only record their demeanor.)

She furiously scribbled the last word and followed them, still fuming.

Meanwhile, Ji Rongjin, her reputation unknowingly tarnished, had no idea.

Jiang Nanyu, laden with goods, glowed with satisfaction, her dark circles less noticeable. Ji Rongjin, on the other hand, looked drained, as if her essence had been sucked dry.

As Jiang Nanyu reached for more, Ji Rongjin grabbed her sleeve, offering a poor but silent smile, then shook her empty purse—nothing fell out.

Jiang Nanyu sheepishly withdrew her hand. “Ahem, let’s go.”

Ji Rongjin gave her a despairing look, resignedly helping carry some of her purchases—they never brought maids when meeting.

Jiang Nanyu consoled her. “Spending is good. Keeps robbers from targeting you.”

Ji Rongjin: “…Haha.” She finally understood Shen Zhuwan’s helplessness that night.

Just then, a voice rang out. “Robbery! Hand over your valuables!”

Ji Rongjin froze, and Jiang Nanyu instantly went on alert. Their gazes locked onto the street ahead.

After a moment, they both relaxed. There was no one in front of them—the voice came from a nearby alley.

Exchanging a glance, they crept to the alley’s entrance and peered inside.

A few thuggish youths, wielding sticks, surrounded a frail boy, demanding money menacingly. The boy remained silent, handing over all his possessions without resistance, utterly compliant.

Watching from the alley’s mouth, Ji Rongjin found the boy vaguely familiar.

The youths, not satisfied with the money, eyed his clothes. The leader sneered, “Tch, that outfit looks pricey. Strip it off!”

The boy clung to his clothes, shrinking into a corner, arms shielding his head. But one against four, he couldn’t resist their pulling. After a long silence, he finally cried out, “No—”

Before he could finish, a scream louder than his erupted from the alley’s entrance. “Ah—don’t!”

A woman dashed behind the youths at lightning speed, then dramatically collapsed, clutching her intact collar and shouting, “Don’t!”

The figure at the alley’s mouth froze, then yelled with all her might, “Help! Someone’s assaulting a woman!”

The boy was stunned, as were the four youths. Before they could speak, a crowd armed with sticks, iron bars, brooms, and other makeshift weapons surged into the alley.

Amid the chaos, the youths couldn’t even explain before being overwhelmed by the mob of furious men and women.

“Wah, stop hitting us! We didn’t do it!”

Their pleas only earned harsher blows.

In Daqian, petty theft might earn a scolding or a beating, but crimes like assault were despised. Once caught, the punishment was severe—sometimes fatal.

The four youths were beaten senseless and collapsed. Someone in the crowd shouted, “Remember their faces, but don’t kill them, or there’ll be no one to beat next time.”

“Exactly, go easy, or who’ll I take my frustrations out on next time I’m mad?”

Ji Rongjin: “…You guys are brutally honest.”

The only still-conscious thug sobbed, “It really wasn’t us—”

Then Ji Rongjin knocked him out with a stick.

As the four youths lay sprawled, they wondered where that woman had come from.

The woman in question was now receiving gratitude from the crowd. Because of her, the boy in the corner went unnoticed.

Jiang Nanyu thanked them profusely, gifting suitable items from her purchases to the kindhearted crowd.

Soon, the crowd dispersed happily. Ji Rongjin crouched by the boy in the corner.

“Hey,” she said, waving a hand in front of him. “It’s okay now. You can go home.”

The boy lowered his arms but didn’t look up, not even glancing at his rescuer. He murmured, “Thank you.”

He struggled to stand, leaning against the wall.

Ji Rongjin chuckled, her voice clear. “It’s you again, Young Master He.”

He Ping’an stiffened, finally looking up at her.

It was a familiar face—he’d seen her somewhere before.

Seeing his confusion, she smiled. “The banquet, by the rockery.”

He remembered. It was her.

“Why are you always in such a sorry state every time we meet?”

Her voice was lazy, tinged with amusement—not mockery, but a near-helpless chuckle. He didn’t know how to respond, so he lowered his head, mumbling silently.

Jiang Nanyu called out, “Ji Rongjin, you done?”

He Ping’an silently repeated her name in his mind: Ji Rongjin.

She answered Jiang Nanyu, then looked back at him, tossing his stolen items back to him. “You’re the young master of the Chancellor’s household. Next time someone bullies you, fight back or use your father’s name to scare them.”

With that, she turned to catch up with Jiang Nanyu.

He Ping’an clutched his belongings, his face still wooden. Watching the two leave, he faintly heard their conversation:

“How’d you come up with that self-sacrificing move?” Ji Rongjin asked.

“Pfft, I didn’t think so. It was fun and saved someone.” Jiang Nanyu replied.

He didn’t hear the rest as they left the alley, leaving only the scorching afternoon sun on his pale skin.

Could he really fight back?

Princess’s Mansion

Ji Rongjin, who had left laden with treasures, returned empty-handed. She collapsed into a chair, asking Dongmei wearily, “Has the princess returned?”

“She has.”

In fact, not only had the princess returned, but she was in her study, reviewing Shadow Two’s report. The more she read, the fainter her expression became, until her face was utterly blank.

“Summon Shadow Two.”

A low “Yes” came from the air. Moments later, a slender woman in black robes stood before Shen Zhuwan’s desk.

Shadow Two bowed, full of respect. “What does the master command?”

Shen Zhuwan: “You heard all this about the consort yourself?”

Shadow Two recalled hiding by the door, nodding firmly. “Yes, I heard it myself.”

Shen Zhuwan placed the report in the candle flame, saying faintly, “You may go.”

“Yes.”

Watching the paper turn to ash, Shen Zhuwan picked up her brush and continued her unfinished apricot blossom painting.

She only believed a third of Shadow Two’s words.

Having known her subordinates for a long time, she understood them well.

She painted slowly, not taking it to heart, until last night’s “Xiaoyu” inexplicably echoed in her mind.

Her brush slipped, and the apricot branch, meant to stay within the wall, extended beyond it.

Shen Zhuwan paused, staring at the branch crossing the wall, her brows slightly furrowed.

Ji Rongjin: Achoo, someone’s talking bad about me.