The Prince Consort Is Also Pretending To Be Affectionate Today - Chapter 40
40
A quarter of an hour ago, Ye Lu didn’t voice her suspicions. Instead, she changed the subject and exchanged some light-hearted banter with her.
As dusk deepened, Ye Lu was about to leave when her peripheral vision caught a glimpse of a girl in red slowly approaching from under the bridge.
—It was Song Nan.
Ye Lu lowered her eyes, glancing at the white-robed girl before her, and said in a hushed tone, “Young Master Ji, could you do me a favor?”
“Hm?” Ji Rongjin looked up, puzzled, about to speak, when the woman in front of her suddenly hooked an arm around her neck and leaned in close.
The red lips, partially hidden by a half-mask, drew near but stopped just inches away.
They appeared close, yet maintained a careful distance. From the perspective of someone under the bridge, however, the two seemed intimately entwined.
Though the customs of Daqian were liberal, such public displays were rare, and the onlookers on the bridge erupted in excitement.
Ji Rongjin was momentarily stunned by the sudden move. The crowd’s cheers snapped her back to reality, and she instinctively moved to push Ye Lu away. But Ye Lu was quicker, releasing her first.
In her peripheral vision, the figure in red had vanished.
Ye Lu let out a breath of relief and looked at the frowning girl before her, apologizing sincerely, “I’m sorry for being so forward. I spotted someone who’s been relentlessly pursuing me and had no choice but to act this way.”
She added earnestly, “For my presumptuousness, Young Master Ji, let’s split the profits of that deal fifty-fifty from now on.”
The five thousand taels Ji Rongjin had invested seemed substantial, but it originally entitled her to only twenty percent of the profits. With this gesture, her share increased by thirty percent.
The impoverished Lord Ji’s furrowed brows gradually relaxed, and she said gently, “Very well. Has that person left?”
“They’re gone.” Ye Lu replied. “Rest assured, Young Master Ji, it won’t happen again.”
Ji Rongjin nodded, but after nodding, she seemed to recall something and guiltily scanned her surroundings.
Good—no sign of the princess.
Relieved yet slightly disappointed, she thought to herself that the princess hadn’t arrived yet.
Ye Lu observed every shift in her expression. After a moment’s hesitation, she asked, “Is Young Master Ji still waiting here?”
Ji Rongjin pressed her lips together, glancing at the dwindling crowd below the bridge. She spoke as if to Ye Lu but also to reassure herself, “The princess said she would come.”
Ye Lu gazed at her and shook her head with a soft sigh. “What if she doesn’t?”
What if she doesn’t?
She wouldn’t, would she? After all, the princess had promised her.
But what if she really didn’t come?
Ji Rongjin fell silent for a moment, pushing the thought of “not coming” out of her mind. Finally, she looked up at Ye Lu and said firmly, “She will come.”
The girl’s eyes were earnest, her tone resolute, as if she truly believed in the woman or was simply bolstering her own confidence.
Ye Lu shook her head helplessly and said softly, “Then, I wish Young Master Ji good luck.”
Ji Rongjin smiled back. “Thank you for the kind words.”
As Ye Lu’s figure gradually disappeared at the end of the bridge, the smile on Ji Rongjin’s lips slowly faded into a flat, emotionless line.
Would she come?
She wasn’t entirely sure herself, only trusting that the princess wasn’t the type to break her word.
The night grew darker, and the street lamps began to extinguish one by one. The dense cluster of floating lanterns in the river grew sparse as they drifted closer to the bridge. The bustling market fell silent in an instant.
The river water was clear, the breeze gentle. In the blink of an eye, Ji Rongjin was the only one left on the bridge.
When alone, thoughts tend to wander aimlessly. One moment, Ji Rongjin wondered how His Majesty was doing; the next, she questioned whether the princess would come.
She thought for a long time, yet her feet never moved.
What if the princess arrived later? Wouldn’t that make her the one breaking the promise?
She still had a bag full of trinkets from the market to give to the princess. She’d wait another quarter of an hour. If the princess still didn’t show, she’d march back and confront her in a huff.
Yet one quarter of an hour passed, then another. The remaining lanterns went out, and the world sank into complete silence.
Shen Zhuwan still hadn’t come.
The “young man” in white stood out starkly against the dark night. Shadow One, watching from the shadows, observed her for a long time—so long that even his usually impassive eyes flickered with a trace of pity. Only then did the young figure finally move.
She looked up at the moon for a long while before slowly descending the bridge.
Shadow One let out a silent breath of relief and, by the moonlight, wrote on a piece of paper: Returned to the residence at midnight.
Before heading back, Ji Rongjin had imagined countless scenarios of confronting Shen Zhuwan, filled with anger and disappointment. But as she walked back to the residence, clutching the bag of trinkets tightly, she suddenly felt only grievance.
She had been so excited, preparing for this night for so long. Yet the princess had stood her up without even sending word, leaving her waiting for hours.
She knew she didn’t hold the same place in Shen Zhuwan’s heart as His Majesty did. But if the princess wasn’t coming, couldn’t she at least have sent a message?
Or perhaps, in the midst of her busy schedule, she had completely forgotten their agreement?
Ji Rongjin had no way of knowing.
The path to the courtyard was lined with bright lanterns. Looking at them, Ji Rongjin could almost hear the tone and see the expression Shen Zhuwan had used when instructing the servants to hang them.
A tangle of complex emotions overwhelmed her. Ji Rongjin pushed open the door to her room, placed the bag of trinkets on the table, and threw herself onto the bed, burying her face deep in the covers.
Shen Zhuwan was just too much!
Taking a deep breath, Ji Rongjin resolved in her heart to ignore Shen Zhuwan for at least a week.
Not long after her decision, a knock came at the door.
Ji Rongjin’s heart skipped a beat. She sat up straight, then felt her posture was too deliberate and leaned back against the headboard. “Come in,” she called.
Dongmei soon entered, glancing at her before saying, “Jinxi just came by and told me that the princess is drinking in the back garden, looking a bit down. Would you like to check on her, Consort?”
Shen Zhuwan was drinking? And feeling down?
Ji Rongjin’s eyes widened in disbelief. Wasn’t she the one who’d been stood up?
She thought it over carefully and confirmed it was indeed her.
Gritting her teeth, Ji Rongjin said, “Let’s go. I want to see…”
She wanted to see what Shen Zhuwan was drowning her sorrows over.
While Ji Rongjin fumed, elsewhere, Jinxi had just returned to the waterside pavilion, acting as if nothing had happened as she looked at the woman seated inside.
The woman wasn’t drinking, nor was she downcast. Her clear, moonlit eyes showed no trace of intoxication.
Yes, those details were all fabricated by Jinxi.
When the princess had returned alone, Jinxi sensed something was off. Normally at this hour, the princess would be in her room reading after washing up. Yet tonight, she had uncharacteristically come to the pavilion, lost in thought.
Recalling that the two had made plans for the evening, Jinxi suspected a misunderstanding had occurred. Using a trip to the privy as an excuse, she slipped away to speak with Dongmei.
To her surprise, Dongmei mentioned that the consort had been acting unusually since returning.
Exchanging a glance, they both agreed the consort should take the initiative. So they concocted the story of the princess drinking away her sorrows.
At that moment, Shen Zhuwan was gazing at the distant night sky, her thoughts drifting aimlessly, untethered to reality.
What had she felt upon witnessing that scene?
In the past, her first instinct would have been to suspect whether Ye Lu had set a trap or if it was someone else’s scheme to drive a wedge between them. But this time, her immediate reaction wasn’t to find it absurd or laughable—it was a faint, indescribable mix of emotions rising in her heart.
That feeling gnawed at her more than any hidden conspiracy or clouded scheme could. It was more elusive, harder to trace.
In that moment, she realized her attitude toward the girl had subtly shifted without her noticing.
This realization unsettled her, and when she came to her senses, she chose to turn and leave.
The moon hung high, the inky night sky like spilled ink.
Shen Zhuwan glanced at Jinxi, who had just returned, and said, “Let’s go.”
Jinxi’s ears twitched, her heart racing with urgency. They couldn’t leave now—the consort was on her way!
She hesitated, then stammered, “Princess, why not stay a little longer?”
Shen Zhuwan raised an eyebrow, her sharp, clear eyes fixing on Jinxi with a faint, unreadable emotion that silenced any further protest.
Just as Jinxi’s heart pounded with nerves, Shen Zhuwan didn’t speak. Instead, she quietly stayed seated, as requested.
Soon, the soft sound of approaching footsteps broke the silence.
Shen Zhuwan looked up and saw the girl walking toward her.
She glanced at Jinxi, who shrank back like a startled quail, and said softly, “You may leave.”
The girl soon reached the seat across from her.
Jinxi and Dongmei tactfully retreated, leaving the two alone.
Under the clear moonlight, the girl’s face was expressionless, her dark eyes quietly fixed on Shen Zhuwan. Her pale cheeks were taut, her chest rising and falling slightly with each breath.
There was no angry outburst, no tearful grievance—just silent staring.
Shen Zhuwan’s eyes flickered, and she said softly, “It was my fault for breaking our appointment tonight. If you wish to blame me, Consort, then do so.”
Her words hung in the air, unanswered, as the silence stretched on. Shen Zhuwan waited, but the girl remained silent.
After a long pause, the girl’s voice finally broke the quiet night. “I wouldn’t…”
Shen Zhuwan looked up, startled.
The girl’s brows curved slightly, her dark eyes bright. She was clearly smiling, but her gaze held no warmth. “I am your subordinate, Princess. How could I blame Your Highness?”
In the past, the girl had referred to herself as “your subordinate” before Shen Zhuwan, always with a respectful tone. But now, her words felt like a barrier, drawing a clear line between them—ruler and subject, distinct and separate.
“Are you angry?” Shen Zhuwan asked, studying her for a moment. She set down her teacup, stood slowly, and met the girl’s gaze. “You have every right to be.”
Ji Rongjin said nothing, so Shen Zhuwan stepped closer and said softly, “Tell me what you want, Consort. I’ll make it up to you.”
“I need nothing,” the girl replied, stepping back and offering a formal bow. “The princess has done no wrong.”
Shen Zhuwan’s movements paused, her voice cooling slightly. “No need to be so distant, Consort. In my presence, you don’t need to call yourself ‘subject.’”
The girl kept her head bowed. “I wouldn’t dare offend Your Highness.”
Perhaps it had been too long since anyone dared speak to her this way. Perhaps it was because she had already offered the girl an olive branch, only for it to be ignored. Or perhaps it was the scene from earlier that flashed through her mind again.
At that moment, a spark of anger flared in Shen Zhuwan’s heart.
Though Ji Rongjin kept her head lowered, her peripheral vision tracked the woman’s movements.
“You wouldn’t dare offend me?” The woman raised her eyes slightly, her voice light but laced with a chill. “Yet you dare to offend others in public?”
Ji Rongjin’s breath hitched. The next moment, a hand gently lifted her chin.
Still bent at the waist, she was forced to look up, meeting the woman’s gaze.
“You say you wouldn’t dare offend me?” Under the cool moonlight, the woman stood with the light at her back, her expression unreadable. Only her red lips moved as she spoke. “What if I allowed you to offend me?”
Little Ji: Is this for real? O.o Alright, I’m coming—don’t kick me off the bed!