The Vicious Woman and the White Moonlight are both me - Chapter 2

As soon as Jiang Xiaoyu spoke these words, the pain in her body vanished instantly.

Outside the screen, all the princes and princesses kneeling there froze in shock. Among them, Pei Shen—who had been kneeling quietly on the edge, waiting for the outcome so he could leave once it had nothing to do with him—was the most stunned of all.

His eyes had been lowered the whole time, but the moment he heard someone accuse him, he immediately looked up in shock, staring toward the source of the voice.

Unfortunately, Jiang Xiaoyu, who was inside the chamber, could see Pei Shen clearly—but Pei Shen couldn’t see her.

The moment her words fell, before the Emperor even spoke, Pei Shen’s mind flashed to the fate of that imperial sister who had once offended Song Zhaoyan and was sent off for a political marriage as punishment.

That princess had her mother’s protection, yet just for quarreling with Song Zhaoyan, she had ended up like that. As for Pei Shen, though he was a prince, he had never been favored. His own mother consort was someone the emperor despised.

If today’s blame were to fall on him, there would be no escaping disaster.

So, Pei Shen immediately raised his voice to defend himself. “Father Emperor, please investigate clearly! This son did not push her!”

“Presumptuous!”

The Emperor didn’t believe his explanation. Instead, it only fueled his anger. “Man’er personally accused you, and you still dare deny it?”

In an instant, everyone kneeling in the hall turned their eyes toward the thin, frail figure of Pei Shen.

Some wore expressions of gloating amusement; others looked shocked, and a few were simply puzzled.

Naturally, they couldn’t understand—when had the ever-inconspicuous Ninth Prince managed to offend the now-dominant Princess Zhaohua?

But even with their confusion, no one dared to speak up for Pei Shen. They all kept their heads bowed in silence, secretly relieved it wasn’t their turn to suffer.

Pei Shen, ever perceptive, immediately noticed the sidelong glances from every direction—eyes filled with mockery, waiting to see him fall.

No one spoke up to defend him.

He was used to this kind of treatment after all these years, but at that moment, his heart still felt as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over it.

In the past, his brothers and sisters had bullied him too—sometimes with words, sometimes with actions—but it had mostly been through indifference and ridicule.

This time was different.

This time, the person he had supposedly “offended” could very well cost him his life.

Even though, in truth, he had never offended her at all.

“But Father Emperor,” Pei Shen said, his voice steady but strained, “this son has never had any dealings with Princess Zhaohua. Why would I push her?”

In this palace, only the Empress Dowager and the Emperor himself were permitted to call Song Zhaoyan by name.

For everyone else, she was—and could only be—addressed as Princess Zhaohua.

That was a privilege personally decreed by His Majesty.

Pei Shen’s explanation sounded perfectly reasonable, and the other princes and princesses couldn’t help feeling curious as well. But before anyone could react, the Emperor let out a cold, derisive laugh.

“Indeed,” he said, his tone laced with sarcasm. “You and Man’er have never interacted, nor do you have any grudges between you. If you didn’t push her, then why would she name you?”

That single question left Pei Shen speechless, cornered with nowhere to turn. His expression froze, a flicker of helpless confusion passing through his eyes.

He didn’t know how to defend himself anymore—or perhaps he did, but knowing full well how openly his father favored Song Zhaoyan, he realized that no matter what he said, it would all be in vain.

In the next instant, his expression visibly dimmed. His back remained straight, but his face had gone pale as ash, and his trembling lips betrayed the fear roiling inside him.

He wanted to cry—wanted to scream his frustration at being falsely accused.

But he had no one to rely on, no one who would comfort him. If he broke down now, it would only make him an even bigger laughingstock among his siblings.

All he could do was clench his fists tightly, grind his teeth, and remain silent.

“What’s wrong? Run out of lies already? You ungrateful wretch—how dare you treat your sister like this! I’ll make sure you learn your lesson!”

The Emperor’s furious words sent a chill through the hall. The other princes and princesses who had been enjoying the spectacle quickly dropped their mocking gazes and lowered their heads in fear, kneeling properly and waiting quietly for Pei Shen’s punishment to be delivered.

“Since you refuse to speak,” the Emperor said, his voice calm but glacial, “then you don’t need to open your mouth ever again.”

His tone had returned to its usual controlled volume, but the coldness in it was cutting. The punishment that followed didn’t sound like words from a father to his son—it was the impersonal decree of a ruler toward a stranger.

“Guards,” he commanded, “rip out his tongue and drag him outside. Beat him to death.”

The verdict sent a wave of terror through the hall. Every prince and princess present felt their hearts seize in fear.

That princess who had once been sent away for a political marriage—she had at least been allowed to live.

But Pei Shen, for offending Song Zhaoyan, was not even to be spare his life.

This realization left everyone trembling, terrified that one day they might accidentally displease Song Zhaoyan and, with just one word from her, meet the same gruesome fate.

Jiang Xiaoyu’s bl00d ran cold when she heard the sentence.

She had completed the system’s assigned task—falsely accusing Pei Shen—and she had done so without breaking character. As a result, she had earned a certain number of points.

But Jiang Xiaoyu didn’t even care to check what her points could be exchanged for. Her eyes were fixed anxiously on Pei Shen, still kneeling outside.

He might be the male lead of the novel, and she knew he wouldn’t actually die here—but that didn’t mean she could just sit back and watch this happen.

So, when the eunuchs were about to step forward to drag Pei Shen away, Jiang Xiaoyu immediately spoke up.

“Wait!”

All eyes turned again toward the screen—and so did the Emperor’s.

“What is it, Man’er? Are you dissatisfied with this punishment?”

Jiang Xiaoyu swallowed nervously, then forced herself to nod with feigned viciousness. “That’s right. This child of yours doesn’t want him to die that easily.”

As soon as these words came out, the people kneeling outside immediately gasped.

To have one’s tongue cut out and then be beaten to death with clubs—such a punishment was already unimaginably cruel. Yet Princess Zhaohua still thought it was too lenient?

How vicious must her heart be? What kind of torment did she plan to inflict on Pei Shen next?

Instantly, the mocking, gloating looks from before vanished, replaced by glances of pity, helplessness, and even faint sighs.

“Then what does Man’er wish to do?” the Emperor asked. “Since he pushed you into the water, why not punish him with a water torture?”

It was understandable that Pei Shen, being born to a low-ranking consort, had never been favored. The other princes and princesses had long accepted that.

But what baffled them was how their father, the Emperor himself, could be so utterly biased toward Song Zhaoyan—so unjustly protective of her.

At times, they truly wondered: were they his real children… or was Song Zhaoyan the only one who actually was?

Their father announced Pei Shen’s punishment with cold, emotionless detachment, which only deepened the others’ sense of bleak sympathy.

Pei Shen, now being hauled roughly by two eunuchs, bit his lip hard; his downcast eyes were full of anger and hatred.

Thinking he would likely die today, he felt helpless—but vowed inwardly that even as a ghost he would never forgive Song Zhaoyan.

Everyone waited for the sentence, and Jiang Xiaoyu finally spoke.

Her tone was vicious, as if she were about to order Pei Shen torn limb from limb the next moment.

“I want him to be severely whipped., but no one is allowed to treat his wounds. I want him to remember this lesson properly.”

At those words, everyone froze for a moment—including Pei Shen himself.

A severe… whipping?

Although that was a punishment, to be honest, compared to what the Emperor had ordered earlier, it was trivial.

After all, the Emperor’s sentence had been a death penalty; one whipping would only injure him.

For a moment, even Pei Shen couldn’t make sense of it: what exactly did Song Zhaoyan plan to do?

Seemingly thinking the punishment too light, the Emperor fell silent for a moment before speaking up, “Man’er, you don’t need to be so soft. You were bullied—those who caused it should be punished. Your father will support you.”

Jiang Xiaoyu pretended not to hear the Emperor’s implication and snarled, “I insist on punishing him this way, and I will personally give him a whipping!”

Seeing his favored daughter so adamant, the Emperor didn’t press the point and simply indulged her. “Fine. Then, you can whip him hard—vent your anger!”

And just like that, the matter was blown up and then smoothed over, leaving all the princes and princesses gaping in stunned silence, still unable to process what had happened.

Had Song Zhaoyan gone mad after falling into the water? She actually spared someone who’d offended her so easily.

They remembered that aside from that princess who had been sent away in marriage, there had been other incidents: a princess’s dress had the same color as hers, making her unhappy, or some prince answered the Grand Tutor’s question ahead of her, and it put her in a bad mood.

Back then the punishments had been concrete—those princesses were made to kneel for a month straight and lectured about how sisters must show modesty; the princes were struck with the ruler until their hands were swollen for half a month, saying that they loved to show off.

Though not fatal, those baseless displays of favoritism enraged them all the same—and taught them an unambiguous lesson: avoid interacting with Song Zhaoyan as much as possible, and whatever you do, don’t draw her attention.

And now, Pei Shen had pushed Song Zhaoyan—yet his punishment was only a single whip?

No wonder everyone suspected that Song Zhaoyan must have lost her mind after falling into the water.

“Then, Man’er,” the Emperor asked, “would you like to carry out the punishment now?”

Jiang Xiaoyu suddenly lowered her head and covered her mouth, coughing lightly. “Not right now, Father Emperor. This child just fell into the water—I fear I’ve caught a chill. Once I recover my strength, I’ll give him the whipping myself!”

She had it all planned out. By the time she “recovered,” she simply wouldn’t bring up the matter again. The issue would quietly fade away, and she could naturally act as though it had never happened.

As long as Pei Shen wasn’t foolish, he would never remind her that he still owed her a lash.

And with the Emperor’s countless duties, he certainly wouldn’t remember such a trivial incident.

If any of the bystanders tried to bring it up, Jiang Xiaoyu could easily turn it around—feigning anger and asking if they were mocking her for being pushed into the water.

That way, she could skillfully defuse the situation and shift the focus elsewhere.

But this time, the Emperor didn’t give her the chance.

“Since you’ve caught a chill, you should indeed rest well,” he said. Then, lifting his hand, he gently pulled the blanket higher over her shoulders—before turning his cold gaze back toward Pei Shen.

“But a single whip is far too light a punishment,” the Emperor continued coldly. “If I let this go, others might grow bold enough to behave the same way! You will kneel outside Chaoyang Palace. You may not leave until your imperial sister delivers your punishment herself!”

This instantly put Jiang Xiaoyu in a difficult spot.

She had planned to “forget” about the whole matter, but now, if she didn’t punish Pei Shen, he would be forced to kneel outside her palace indefinitely.

That would be troublesome. It meant she’d actually have to hit him.

After issuing the order, the Emperor spoke a few more comforting words to Jiang Xiaoyu, then said he had other affairs to attend to and told her to rest well.

Seeing him prepare to leave, Jiang Xiaoyu finally breathed a sigh of relief.

Once the Emperor departed, the other princes and princesses naturally followed suit.

Lying in bed, Jiang Xiaoyu immediately put on an angry expression and barked, her tone sharp and imperious, “All of you, get out! I don’t need anyone attending to me here!”

No one dared disobey—and truthfully, her command was a relief to them all.

Within moments, every maid and servant in the hall hurriedly withdrew.

Only then did Jiang Xiaoyu carefully lift the blanket and slip out of bed, crouching low as she crept toward the window.

The Emperor’s figure was already gone, and though there were still a few people standing outside the hall, they all looked ready to leave.

Jiang Xiaoyu didn’t know who those people were, but when she saw the princes and princesses who had been kneeling in the hall now rushing toward the women waiting outside, she immediately understood—those women were their mothers, the Emperor’s concubines.

Their children had been punished to kneel inside, and as mothers, they had stood anxiously outside, waiting, afraid that at any moment a messenger might arrive with an imperial decree declaring their sons or daughters to be further punished.

Fortunately, their children were safe and unharmed. Relief and joy washed over their faces as tears welled in their eyes. One by one, they led their children away.

And there, beneath the scorching sun at the foot of the palace steps—where not even a shadow could offer shelter—when the crowd had dispersed, a lonely and frail figure remained kneeling.

It was Pei Shen.