The Vicious Woman and the White Moonlight are both me - Chapter 10

To the Empress, Pei Shen had always been beneath notice. Yes, he was a prince by birth—but in her eyes, he was no more than a palace ant, insignificant and disposable.

 

Yet today, his behavior had truly crossed a line.

 

The Empress’s expression turned cold and venomous as she hissed, “His mother was a woman of low breeding and poor conduct, and the son she bore is no better—short-sighted and pitiful. Does he really think siding with Song Zhaoyan will lead him anywhere? She’s nothing but a foster daughter, and an unbearably arrogant one at that. Once His Majesty’s patience wears thin, let’s see how long she can keep her airs.”

 

At her side, the senior attendant, Aunt Qiusui, quickly echoed her mistress’s fury. “Your Majesty is right. Princess Zhaohua is an uneducated fool herself, yet she has the gall to claim she’s concerned about the Ninth Prince’s studies? Playing the teacher—how laughable! Your Majesty shouldn’t waste anger on such people. Just wait; soon enough, they’ll trip over their own pride.”

 

Those words did ease the Empress’s temper somewhat. Her face softened again, the cruel glint in her eyes fading.

 

“Enough,” she murmured after a moment. “Why bother being angry over two foolish children?”

 

But just as she was about to let the matter drop, her expression froze mid-sentence. A frown furrowed her brow.

 

“By the way,” she said slowly, “why hasn’t the Crown Prince come to pay his respects today? Don’t tell me he’s neglecting his studies again.”

 

At that, Qiusui’s head dipped even lower, her silence a telltale sign of guilt.

 

The Empress’s expression darkened instantly.

 

“Someone!” she barked. “Go to the Eastern Palace and bring that worthless brat here—now!”

 

__________

 

 

Pei Shen followed behind Song Zhaoyan’s palanquin with his head bowed. By the time they reached Chaoyang Palace, his clothes were drenched through, clinging uncomfortably to his skin.

 

As he stepped into the main hall, a cool current of air washed over him.

 

The contrast was striking—outside had been sweltering, but inside, the temperature was perfectly balanced: neither biting cold nor suffocatingly hot, but precisely comfortable.

 

Indeed, as expected of the pampered and noble Princess Zhaohua—everything about her life, from what she ate to where she slept, was the finest of the fine.

 

As soon as Song Zhaoyan took her seat, a maid stepped forward to offer tea that had clearly been prepared long in advance. She drank it in one graceful motion, then lifted her hand slightly. A young eunuch immediately came forward carrying a tray, upon which lay a neatly folded set of men’s clothing.

 

The garments weren’t particularly fine—certainly not new—but that was deliberate. If Song Zhaoyan suddenly showed undue kindness, it would break character. These were, in fact, Pei Shen’s own clothes, fetched from Duwei Hall at her command before she left Chaoyang Palace.

 

“Go on, change, or do you expect me to help you?”

 

Pei Shen’s gaze lingered on the teacup she had just set down. After the long walk in the heat, his throat was dry, and he couldn’t help swallowing hard before forcing himself to look at her.

 

Here, there was no doting emperor to shield her, no empress to spar with, and no favored prince she needed to flatter.

 

Whatever Song Zhaoyan wanted to do, she could simply say it. There was no need for pretense.

 

So, Pei Shen finally met her eyes and asked bluntly, “What exactly does the Princess intend to do? Why not just say it outright?”

 

Seeing his solemn, almost old-fashioned expression, Song Zhaoyan let out a soft, mocking laugh. Her lips curved in that familiar, arrogant way as she looked him over.

 

“Why so many questions from someone so lowly?” she said lazily. “All you need to understand is this—from now on, you are mine. A servant of this palace. Whatever I command, you obey. That’s all you need to know.”

 

Pei Shen’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “So, the Princess merely wishes to keep a well-trained dog at her side? To humiliate me that way?”

 

Song Zhaoyan’s laughter was light and guileless, the kind that could make anyone who didn’t know her believe she was a pure and kind young lady.

 

But Pei Shen knew better. Beneath that angelic face was a heart as cold and ruthless as they came—a perfect shell gilded with rot beneath the gold.

 

“Before, I never bullied you,” she said sweetly, her tone almost playful. “But everyone else did. From now on, only I am allowed to bully you. You won’t have to suffer at anyone else’s hands. So really, you should be grateful to me, shouldn’t you?”

 

Pei Shen’s chest tightened. His past days hadn’t been easy, but at least the cruelty had come in bursts—now it promised to be unending.

 

Still, he had no choice. He had already offended the Empress, and Song Zhaoyan had publicly declared him hers. Everyone in the palace knew what that meant.

 

They knew life in Chaoyang Palace would be no better than purgatory for him—but not a soul would stand up for him. On the contrary, they would celebrate in secret, relieved that someone else would now bear the brunt of the princess’s temper.

 

Pei Shen said nothing. Silence was his only armor.

 

Song Zhaoyan gave a lazy flick of her sleeve, her arrogance softened by a trace of careless indifference.

 

“Most in the palace know,” she went on, “that your mother resembled mine by three parts. That’s why she caught Father’s eye and gave birth to you. Pity, isn’t it? I’m not His Majesty’s real daughter, yet he dotes on me endlessly. You, his true-born son, live in misery. Such is fate.”

 

Each word dripped with mockery, smooth as silk and just as cutting.

 

Pei Shen’s chest felt crushed beneath an invisible weight, every breath searing his lungs as if he were swallowing hot coals. His throat burned, but he forced himself to stay quiet—to swallow the fury clawing its way up from within.

 

There was no outburst. No defense.

 

Only silence that tasted of bl00d.

 

Those without power or protection could only scrape by, surviving one humiliating day at a time.

 

With his head bowed low, Pei Shen couldn’t see the flicker of guilt that flashed across Song Zhaoyan’s eyes. But bound by the system’s mission, she had no choice but to keep speaking.

 

“Since you’re now my servant,” she said, her voice cool and measured, “you’ll come whenever I summon you. From today onward, you won’t return to that rundown little place of yours. You’ll live here, in Chaoyang Palace.”

 

Pei Shen’s fists tightened, his knuckles whitening.

 

A rundown place…

 

That “rundown” place was where he and his mother shared their last happy memories. It wasn’t just a crumbling building—it was the only fragment of warmth left in his world.

 

But compared to the grand and glittering Chaoyang Palace, yes, Duwei Hall must have seemed pitifully shabby.

 

Song Zhaoyan glanced at him through her lashes, noting his silence. When he made no protest, she continued.

 

The system demanded that she maintain her role as the cruel, vicious supporting character. Yet she wasn’t truly Song Zhaoyan—she couldn’t bring herself to torment someone beyond reason. Even if the system promised her endless rewards, she still felt her conscience twist.

 

So, she did what she could: commit “evil” in the smallest, gentlest way possible.

 

Like earlier that morning—when the system had ordered her to strike Pei Shen with a book. She’d thrown it, yes, but only let the fluttering pages graze his cheek. That counted, didn’t it?

 

And when told to hit him with an inkstone, she’d let the heavy thing drop harmlessly into his lap instead. Technically, it had “hit” him.

 

Making him wear a eunuch’s robes and forcing him to eat her leftovers—all of it was humiliation, yes… but compared to what the real Song Zhaoyan would have done, these were the mildest torments she could manage.

 

The reason she wanted Pei Shen to live in Chaoyang Palace was simple—she didn’t want to waste time or points traveling back and forth every night for the system’s tasks.

 

If he lived on her turf, she could see him whenever she pleased.

 

“From now on, you’ll stay in the side hall,” she said leisurely, as if she were granting him a favor. “There’s a small room there. I even renamed it for you—Qiu Qian Ju. How about it?”

 

Qiu Qian Ju?

 

Hearing the unfamiliar name, Pei Shen didn’t immediately react. He didn’t recognize the characters she used, so he couldn’t tell what she meant by them.

 

Just then, Xuezhi entered the hall. “Your Highness, the plaque you ordered has arrived.”

 

Song Zhaoyan nodded, her tone imperious. “Bring it in. Let me take a look.”

 

Two eunuchs soon entered, carrying a long plaque draped with a red silk cloth.

 

Song Zhaoyan frowned slightly, her voice sharp as a whip. “Well? Are you waiting for me to unveil it? Do your job properly—servants should know their place.”

 

Her words made Pei Shen’s chest tighten with anger. He couldn’t show it, of course—not when defiance meant disaster.

 

The fury coiled inside him like a snake. His fists, already clenched, tightened until his knuckles turned white, as if he could crush his rage to dust in his palm.

 

His eyes were cold as winter frost, though his face remained eerily calm.

 

He turned his head toward the plaque, still covered in red silk. Then, moving stiffly like a puppet pulled by invisible strings, he walked forward.

 

Lifting a hand, he gave the silk a gentle tug.

 

The red cloth slipped away, floating down like a dying ember—revealing the words carved into the wood beneath.

 

Qiu Qian Ju.

 

Qiu Qian Ju… Qiu Qian Ju… Qiu Qian Ju…

 

Pei Shen repeated the name silently in his mind, each syllable sinking heavier than the last.

 

For a long time, he was speechless. Slowly, he turned his head toward Song Zhaoyan. She was calmly sipping her tea; her expression untroubled, as if his opinion—or his reaction—was no concern to her whatsoever.

 

For the first time that day, Pei Shen’s composed mask cracked. It wasn’t joy that stirred beneath the surface, but something closer to shock. His heartbeat quickened, his breath grew shallow.

 

He glanced at Song Zhaoyan again, half expecting to see a hint of mockery or provocation in her eyes. But she never looked his way. Her every movement—measured, graceful, aloof—carried not a trace of awareness of the weight that name bore.

 

Could it be… she didn’t know? That she’d chosen it in ignorance, simply because it sounded poetic?

 

Or was she playing some deeper games? Surely the person who wrote the characters for her must have understood their meaning.

 

Qiu Qian Ju.

 

Qiu—the horned dragon of legend, the young dragon yet to ascend.

 

In other words: The Dwelling of the Hidden Dragon.

 

Across the entire palace, who but the Son of Heaven himself could bear such a name without inviting suspicion?

 

Yes, he was of imperial bl00d. Technically, the name could be explained away. But for someone like him—an unloved, disregarded prince—the name wasn’t an honor.

 

It was a risk. A quiet, glinting danger wrapped in silk and carved into wood.

 

For Song Zhaoyan to name his residence Qiu Qian Ju—The Dwelling of the Hidden Dragon—was nothing short of treacherous.

 

“Now that you’ve seen it, take it away,” she said lazily, setting her teacup down. “Replace the old plaque. As for you, stay here and attend to me. Later, someone will take you to your new quarters.”

 

For a long while, Pei Shen stood motionless, his silence heavy enough to fill the hall. Then, at last, his voice came—low, steady, but edged with defiance.

 

“Even if you wish to treat me as a servant to humiliate me, I am still a prince. I am required to attend classes at the Wenxue Zhai.”

 

Song Zhaoyan blinked, caught off guard for only a heartbeat before she let out a derisive laugh.

 

“You actually think that burying yourself in books will win you Father’s favor? That with your diligence and your ink-stained sleeves, you’ll somehow rise to glory and bring your mother back from exile at the imperial tombs? How delusional can you be?”

 

She adjusted her posture with leisurely grace, eyes gleaming with disdain.

 

“Stop entertaining those pitiful little fantasies. As long as I’m here, you’ll never earn Father’s affection. And as for your mother—she will never return to the palace.”

 

When the system’s task counter quietly ticked upward in her mind, Song Zhaoyan finally exhaled in relief.

 

But Pei Shen—who had endured her mockery and cruelty in silence until now—finally broke.

 

She could insult him. She could torment him. He would bear it.

 

He had studied not for favor, not for anyone’s approval, but for himself.

 

But to drag his mother into it again and again—to taint her memory with her venomous words, to paint her as some scheming, ambitious woman—

 

That, Pei Shen could no longer endure.

 

“Ah—!”

 

Pei Shen’s roar ripped through the hall, raw and hoarse, like a wounded beast finally breaking free of its cage.

 

His fists clenched, veins bulging, and in the next instant —

 

Bang!

 

He slammed them down hard against the table beside him. The sound exploded through the hall, sending teacups and porcelain dishes jumping into the air before they shattered to pieces on the ground.

 

For a moment, the entire Chaoyang Palace seemed to freeze.

 

Pei Shen’s chest heaved violently. His eyes, usually calm and restrained, were bloodshot now, burning with fury that seemed ready to devour everything in its path. The veins at his temples stood out sharply as his expression twisted into something dark and unrecognizable.

 

Those eyes—cold, sharp, and filled with murderous rage—locked onto Song Zhaoyan. His voice came out low and raw, scraping through his throat like steel against stone.

 

“I’ve had enough!”

 

The words weren’t just for her—they were for the palace, for fate itself, for every humiliation he had swallowed over the years.

 

He had endured for so long. Step by step, he’d backed down, tolerated, compromised—only to be trampled on again and again.

 

What was the point of enduring anymore?

 

Life meant nothing if it was lived on one’s knees.

 

Pei Shen suddenly surged forward, his footsteps heavy but unyielding.

 

Everyone in the hall froze, eyes wide with terror, as they watched him charge—

 

Like a beast that had finally torn free of its chains, a force of pure, explosive fury barreling straight toward Song Zhaoyan.

 

The air trembled with it—violent, unstoppable, and terrifying.