The Prince Consort's Secret (GL) - Chapter 9

This book covered everyone from the divine Shennong of the Yellow Emperor’s era to the renowned physicians of the current dynasty. It was written in a witty, engaging style—though the author clearly had no sense of modesty, including himself among the greats.

Still, what truly piqued my interest was the mention of a medical practice I had never encountered in my previous life: Gu.

Gu techniques had always carried a sinister reputation. Though technically a branch of medicine, its true essence had long been lost to time. In modern textbooks, it was never even mentioned.

To be fair, I always thought all traditional Chinese medicine seemed rather mystical—concepts like meridians, Sanjiao, and mysterious acupuncture points had no scientific basis, yet they somehow worked.

I read carefully, but unfortunately, most of the content was limited to case studies—what symptoms were treated with which kind of Gu, without any explanation of the underlying principles.

But perhaps explanations would have been wrong anyway. After all, Chinese medicine often deduces causes from outcomes. For example, if the result is four, it might conclude the cause is two times two—even if the real reason is two plus two. Yet the beauty lies in the fact that two times two will always yield four, and so the treatment still works.

Rising from my seat, I searched the shelves for a dedicated book on Gu techniques. But after rummaging for quite a while, I came up empty-handed.

Not surprising. Gu leaned more toward sorcery, and it would be unseemly for nobles to own such texts.

Then again, even physicians in ancient times held low social standing. The fact that I even had medical books in my library showed that medicine might not be so scorned in this era.

Though I was a princess and unlikely to ever practice medicine freely, I still felt genuine happiness for my fellow healers.

I returned to my seat empty-handed and continued reading the Collected Biographies of Healers Through the Ages. The stories were fascinating, not at all dry. I found myself intrigued by the author and turned to the section where he wrote about himself.

His name was Qin Huaiyu, a native of Jinzhou in Xichuan. He began traveling the country at the age of thirteen. Judging by his self-written exploits, he was indeed a formidable healer—if his stories were true. But even if they weren’t, anyone with such masterful prose was impressive in their own right.

What I envied most, though, was that he could travel the world, while I was confined to the capital for life—and soon, for the next twenty days, to this courtyard alone.

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In the nearly month-long stretch of boredom that followed, the Crown Prince barely visited me, and when he did, he came in plain clothes, without the usual entourage.

As for the enchanting consort-to-be—I hadn’t seen him again.

Once, I asked the Crown Prince why he hadn’t brought the consort along. He grinned mischievously and told me not to be impatient, saying he was saving the reveal for the wedding night.

Please, I scoffed inwardly. Do I look impatient?

If I am curious, it’s only because I suspect the consort is a woman!

Strangely, no one else seems to share my suspicions. I suppose people in ancient times really were more gullible—can’t even recognize a woman in disguise?

Eventually, once I’d properly met everyone I needed to and fully adjusted to the pampered life of a princess—where clothes were handed to me and meals brought to my lips—the twentieth of the third month finally arrived.

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I wasn’t sure what it was like outside, but inside the princess’s manor, festivities began five days before the wedding.

The entire household buzzed with activity—decorations were procured, the bridal chamber was arranged, and court ladies came from the palace to teach me etiquette.

This was, without a doubt, the liveliest time since I transmigrated.

Watching everyone—familiar and unfamiliar alike—dart about, I couldn’t help but laugh. Ironically, I, the bride, was the most relaxed one here.

I wandered through the estate, and when I reached the bridal chamber, I found it far larger than my bedroom—and notably, there was no small daybed in sight.

Good. I’d be mortified if there were still people lingering during the wedding night.

Of course, nothing was going to happen tomorrow night. But still, I needed to clarify arrangements to avoid surprises.

Dismissing the others, I asked Yinger,

“How many attendants will be serving me tomorrow night?”

Yinger replied,

“As many as Your Highness wishes.”

“None,” I answered immediately.

Yinger looked slightly speechless. Oh, trust me, I’m even more speechless, I thought.

I pressed again,

“What is there to ‘serve’ anyway?”

She paused, then answered awkwardly,

“Well… after the deed… someone needs to bring water.”

I stared at her in shock, then sighed in resignation.

“Fine. Just you. Wait outside. If I call, bring water to the outer room. Do not come in.”

She nodded obediently.

Some things, it seemed, couldn’t be hidden from Yinger.

Maybe it was time to take her in as a true confidante.

Still, I wasn’t sure I could trust her fully. I’d observe her for a bit longer.

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On the night of March 19th, I stared solemnly at the pitiful platter of snacks in front of me.

“This is dinner?” I asked.

Yinger beamed. “Yes, Princess.”

Hah.

I had assumed that since the ceremony would be held here at the manor, I wouldn’t have to ride a sedan chair through the whole city.

But as a favored imperial princess, of course I still had to tour Bianjing in a sedan with the groom.

So, to avoid any urgent bodily needs, I was only allowed to eat lightly.

I finished the tiny meal in moments and only felt hungrier.

I turned my gaze, full of grievance, on the room. The maids all winced subtly—but Yinger held firm:

“Princess, it’s best not to eat too much. Otherwise, tomorrow might be… inconvenient.”

I let out a helpless sigh and went to sleep. At least if I was asleep, I wouldn’t feel so hungry.

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The next morning, I rose early.

I ate only a few bites of snack, drank not a drop of water, then changed into the bright red wedding robe.

They placed the nine-phoenix crown on my head and began applying layers of makeup.

After an hour of tweaking eyebrows, nails, hair, and face, I finally looked in the mirror and felt satisfied.

Ancient cosmetics were surprisingly impressive. At least now I wouldn’t look too plain beside that enchantress consort.

Then came the long wait.

The consort was probably still getting dressed too, followed by their palace visit to greet the Emperor, then the congratulatory procession… I figured they wouldn’t be back until at least eight o’clock.

Finally, the wedding matron cried out, “The auspicious hour has arrived!”

The veil was placed over my head, and I was helped forward amid the lively noise.

Just before stepping into the sedan chair, I heard the Crown Prince laugh heartily,

“Congratulations, Royal Sister!”

I felt a jolt of excitement in my chest.

Capturing a woman in disguise as my groom—what could be more thrilling?

Why was I the only one smart enough to see through it?

Don’t worry, my dear consort—I’ll keep your secret.

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Three bumpy hours in the sedan chair later, we finally returned to the manor.

After the ceremony, I was sent into the bridal chamber while the consort stayed outside entertaining guests.

The door creaked shut behind me, cutting off the noise.

Delighted, I lifted the veil and immediately locked eyes on the tea and pastries on the table.

Food! Finally, I could eat and drink!

But… why were there only pastries?

I wanted a real meal.

Just as I was about to lament this indignity, Yinger arrived with a tray of proper food.

Ah, my loyal maid! She knew me too well.

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Fed and watered, I finally felt human again.

I sat beneath the lantern, reading, while the sky slowly darkened.

Once the clamor outside faded and I’d finished washing up, I resumed waiting.

At last—a knock on the door.

Time to play detective.

“Come in,” I called, keeping my excitement carefully hidden beneath a calm exterior.

The door opened.

I stood involuntarily.

There stood my “consort,” robed in red brocade, twin-flowered red hat atop his head, a massive red ribbon across his chest.

His complexion was porcelain fair, and his eyes slightly hazy with wine.

His cheeks glowed with a drunken blush, more alluring than any blossom.

I froze.

This had to be a woman.

But no matter. I would soon confirm it myself.

My lips curled into a smile I suspected looked rather sinister.

The consort’s eyes suddenly cleared a little, and they bowed.

“Greetings, Princess.”

Still so formal? I thought.

As he straightened, I took a step closer.

I must have looked at him like a hunter sizing up prey.