The Vicious Supporting Villainess’s Chronicle of Serving Pleasure (Historical 1v1, H) - Chapter 19

Marquis of Wuxing’s residence.

“Aaah—” A shrill scream split the silent night sky.

After thirty slaps, the once handsome, jade-like face of Shen Yilin was unrecognizable—spattered with bl00d and swollen like a steamed bun.

“Don’t move, Lin’er…” The Marquis of Wuxing’s hands trembled as he applied medicine to his beloved son, gentle as if wiping some fragile treasure.

Even so, Shen Yilin sucked in cold breaths, shaking from the pain.

Seeing his cherished son so humiliated, the marquis’s heart twisted like a knife; he wished he could suffer in his place.

“That bastard whelp birthed by that slut Shen Chiying’s mother!” he ground out, the bottle in his hand creaking under his grip. “How dare she disgrace the heir of my Marquisate of Wuxing like this!”

“If she hadn’t clung to the Shen family’s good name, what is she, that she could be empress?!”

“Exactly…” Shen Yilin forced out agreement through the pain—only to bare his teeth at the stab of it the moment he spoke.

“My son, don’t speak.” The marquis’s eyes were bloodshot; his voice caught.

Shen Yilin was his only son, pampered in his palms since birth—his very lifeblood.

And Shen Chiying? A jinx who had cost him his office, as unlucky as her low-born mother!

If the Princess Royal hadn’t insisted on recognizing that concubine-born girl back then, he would never have let Meng Ji and her daughter set foot in the marquisate.

“Don’t worry, Lin’er—your father will see you righted!”

“So she thinks becoming empress lets her run wild? Watch how I deal with her,” the marquis said, murder flashing in his eyes.

Face puffy, Shen Yilin mumbled, “Father… what will… you do?”

“I have a plan—you only need to heal.” The marquis dipped the salve again and carefully spread it.

He was certain how to handle Shen Chiying—no doubt that stinking girl still had no idea of her birth mother’s true background.

A little well-placed threat and that b1tch would be scared out of her wits—she wouldn’t dare lay a finger on his Lin’er again.

As the thought crossed him, his hand slipped; Shen Yilin howled and flailed, knocking over the tea cup on the table.

“My fault—my fault!” The marquis apologized in a panic, fingers trembling with distress.

Luckily, the imperial wound salve begged from the Princess Royal truly worked wonders. Though Shen Yilin’s face was still a patchwork of blue and purple, he could barely manage to speak.

“That b1tch Shen Chiying… even had the nerve today… to say she and I are true brother and sister…” Shen Yilin hissed through his teeth. “How shameless!”

At that, the marquis’s expression changed; cold sweat broke over him at once, and he nearly dropped the bottle.

He studied his son’s face without a flicker; seeing nothing suspicious in his expression, he let out a secret breath.

After a moment, he put on a righteous fury: “Absurd! You are the legitimate son of the marquisate, born of the Princess Royal of Fuyang, royal bl00d in your veins. How could you be compared to the daughter of a low dancing woman?”

He pressed hard on the words “dancing woman,” as if to brand them deep into his son’s mind.

“Lin’er, if that b1tch Shen Chiying ever says such things again, you mustn’t heed her!” The marquis leaned in, voice dropped to a whisper.

“She knows her base birth and wants to rope you in—turn our marquisate into her backing!”

Ten days later, at first light.

A carriage with plain blue curtains slipped out of the palace’s Xuanwu Gate; wheels thudded over bluestone, rolling north along the official road.

Because this was a discreet outing, Shen Chiying brought only her two closest maids, Coral and Feicui.

The three of mistress and maids squeezed into the cramped compartment, yet, because they could finally get some air outside the palace, their excitement could not be hidden.

When they reached the bustling market, Shen Chiying finally couldn’t hold back; she lifted the curtain a crack to peek out.

The long street was a river of people; carriages and horses flowed like dragons; hawkers’ cries rose and fell along the way.

She was looking around with interest when a stallion—coal-black, four hooves white—suddenly cut across the carriage’s path, neatly blocking her view.

Startled, Shen Chiying followed the line of the horse’s back upward—

The rider wore a stone-blue fitted uniform, a gilt xiuchun sabre at his waist; he looked down at her from on high, cold-eyed.

Those eagle eyes were razor-sharp, icy light flashing—she held her breath without meaning to.

“The market is a muddle of fish and dragons. I ask the ‘madam’ to watch her tongue.” His voice was deep, a warning threaded through it.

Shen Chiying’s eyelid twitched—Commander of the Jinyiwei, Qi Yan, had personally come along?

Flustered, she drew back her gaze, fingers trembling as she hastily sealed the curtain tight.

Qi Yan gave a faint, derisive breath.

With the northwest campaign making everyone jumpy at court and beyond, this Empress Shen just had to leave the palace and make trouble at such a time.

Yet scorn aside, he still did his duty: he checked his horse’s pace and escorted the carriage himself.

Mount Jingfa lay in the northern suburbs of the capital, a little over forty li from the palace; the journey by carriage took about an hour and a half.

When the carriage finally slowed to a halt, Shen Chiying lifted the curtain and suddenly felt her nose go sour.

At the foot of Mount Jingfa Temple, the walls of the shabby little courtyard slumped in ruin—yet it had been her shelter before age ten.

Before she could sink into memory, Qi Yan’s cold voice cut across her thoughts. “The weather shifts quickly of late. Your Majesty should make your offerings swiftly. We mustn’t tarry.”

Stung again by his disrespect, anger surged in Shen Chiying’s chest.

She was about to flare up—but recalled that in the chapbook this man would one day hold power over the realm. She swallowed the fire.

She curved her lips in a faint smile. “The Commander is right. I shall be quick with the rites—thank you for your trouble today.”

Her voice was sweet as honey to begin with; now, softened on purpose, it turned even more delicate.

Qi Yan hadn’t expected that response. He paused a beat, and color crept, unbidden, over the rims of his ears.

He turned his back in a hurry, his straight figure a shade stiff.