The Vicious Woman and the White Moonlight are both me - Chapter 3

Gradually, the courtyard outside the hall grew empty, leaving only Pei Shen still kneeling there.

Watching from the window, Jiang Xiaoyu couldn’t help feeling a pang of pity for him. But she had no choice.

Although it was better to let her fellow Taoist die than to let herself die, Jiang Xiaoyu still felt a pang of resentment when she actually followed the system’s instructions.

It was truly unbelievable! Why had she encountered such a deceptive system?

With a quiet sigh, Jiang Xiaoyu returned to the bed. Then she deliberately raised her voice and shouted, “Someone, change my clothes!”

The sooner she gave Pei Shen his punishment, the sooner he could leave. Leaving him kneeling outside under the blazing June sun would only end with him collapsing from heatstroke.

Soon enough, a line of palace maids entered and began dressing her. As expected of the Emperor’s most beloved princess, Princess Zhaohua’s wardrobe and jewelry were all of the finest quality—

The golden hair ornaments weighed heavily on her head, and the gown embroidered with gold thread shimmered dazzlingly under the light.

Once she was fully dressed, Jiang Xiaoyu spoke sharply, her tone full of authority: “Someone, bring me the whip. I will personally teach that culprit a lesson!”

The whip had already been prepared in advance—and it wasn’t an ordinary one. This one had barbed hooks woven into the leather.

When Jiang Xiaoyu saw it, she couldn’t help the tremor that ran through her body.

Seriously? Did they have to take it this far?

A normal whip would have done just fine—she could’ve just gone through the motions without hurting him too badly. She could control her strength, after all.

But this thing? With barbs? Even if she didn’t use much force, one strike would still draw bl00d.

If she swung too fast, she might even tear off a layer of skin.

If she swung too slowly, it would only make the pain worse.

Jiang Xiaoyu hesitated, whip hovering uncertainly in her hand.

Her hesitation didn’t go unnoticed—the young eunuch who had prepared the whip immediately turned pale, trembling like a leaf.

“Princess, is… is this whip not to your liking? There are others—this servant will fetch a different one right away!”

Terrified that the slightest delay might earn him punishment, the eunuch was about to dash off when Jiang Xiaoyu stopped him.

“No need.”

The eunuch nearly dropped to his knees, but then Jiang Xiaoyu’s tone shifted slightly.

“I changed my mind,” she declared coldly. “I won’t be giving him just one lash.”

After speaking, Jiang Xiaoyu cleared her throat, and a discerning palace maid immediately stepped forward, presenting a cup of freshly brewed tea that had been prepared in advance.

Jiang Xiaoyu lifted the cup with an air of arrogance, blowing lightly across the surface before taking a small, deliberate sip to test the temperature. Once satisfied, she straightened her posture and strode toward Pei Shen, every movement dripping with theatrical villainy.

Then, without warning, she tipped the cup—and poured the tea straight over Pei Shen’s head.

The warm liquid streamed down his face, tracing his sharp jawline, seeping past his lips, sliding down his neck, and soaking into his thin, worn robes.

The act itself was pure humiliation.

But for Pei Shen, that water was also a desperate mercy.

Though he had only been kneeling outside for a short while, he had already been kneeling inside the hall far longer. Under the relentless summer sun, thirst had clawed at his throat for hours.

The tea from Chaoyang Palace was of the finest quality—something Pei Shen had never been privileged to taste.

Now, with sweat beading across his forehead and dripping down his cheeks, the tea mixed with the salt of his perspiration, turning the taste on his lips unbearably bitter.

He had no time to savor anything beyond that bitterness. Instead, he lowered his head further, greedily licking at his parched lips for any trace of moisture.

Song Zhaoyan’s actions might have unintentionally saved him from dehydration—but to Pei Shen, he knew full well this was no act of kindness. It was a deliberate humiliation.

Yet he had no power to resist. He didn’t even dare lift his head to meet her gaze, afraid that the anger burning in his eyes might seal his fate.

A moment later, Song Zhaoyan’s triumphant, disdainful voice rang out from above him.

“How is it?” she taunted. “Being drenched in water—does it feel good?”

Pei Shen remained utterly silent, kneeling motionless like a lifeless puppet that had forgotten how to speak.

Jiang Xiaoyu felt a flicker of awkwardness at his lack of response. But with so many people watching, she couldn’t break her character—not when she had to maintain the fierce, arrogant persona of the former Song Zhaoyan.

Pei Shen’s silence didn’t bother her too much, but the surrounding attendants around her clearly saw it differently.

A eunuch at the front suddenly stepped forward and slapped Pei Shen hard across the face. The sharp sound echoed in the courtyard.

“You’ve got some nerve!” the eunuch barked, his tone full of malice and scorn. “The princess asked you a question—how dare you stay silent? Do you want His Majesty to hear of this and punish you even more severely?”

After his outburst, the eunuch quickly turned toward Jiang Xiaoyu, his expression switching in an instant to one of groveling flattery.

“Your Highness,” he said, bowing deeply, “this lowly servant has taught him a lesson on your behalf. Are you satisfied?”

Jiang Xiaoyu’s eyes widened slightly in shock. She hadn’t expected him to act so violently.

She didn’t approve—at all.

But she couldn’t immediately tell whether the eunuch had done it out of habit—because the real Song Zhaoyan used to lash out at her servants if they didn’t act fast enough—or because he genuinely pitied Pei Shen and wanted to make her appear appeased so that Pei Shen wouldn’t suffer worse later.

Whichever it was, Jiang Xiaoyu disapproved.

She was already forcing herself to carry out a cruel act against someone who had done nothing wrong. Her heart ached just watching this.

If there was any way to spare Pei Shen more pain, she wasn’t going to let it go any further.

Now Jiang Xiaoyu knew she had to give a new order—one that would make it very clear to everyone in Chaoyang Palace not to presume her intentions or act on their own again.

If she wanted to punish someone, she’d do it herself.

That, she thought grimly, would be enough to make everyone remember.

Otherwise, Pei Shen would end up suffering not just from her “punishment” but also from the cruelty of every frightened servant eager to please their mistress.

So Jiang Xiaoyu arched a brow, her gaze sharp and chilling as it landed on the trembling eunuch.

“You’ve certainly got some nerve,” she said slowly, her tone icy. “Did I give you permission to lay a hand on him?”

The eunuch’s face drained of color. Panic overtook his obsequious smile, and he immediately dropped to his knees, kowtowing hard against the floor.

“Your Highness, please have mercy! This servant only acted because this man refused to speak—he was disrespectful to you! I feared you’d be angered, so I lost my head and struck him without thinking!”

“Oh?” Jiang Xiaoyu’s voice turned even colder. “Then what—am I supposed to praise you for that?”

The eunuch trembled like a leaf in a storm.

He wanted to cry out. Wasn’t this what you used to want?

Before, whenever the real Song Zhaoyan punished someone, if her servants didn’t help, she’d rage at them for not understanding her temper.

They were only ever following orders.

But he didn’t dare say it aloud. Not now—not when the princess’s eyes were colder than ever.

But right now, the eunuch didn’t dare say a single word of that.

He knew that if he spoke even half a sentence wrong, it could be seen as talking back—and once that charge stuck, his punishment would only grow worse.

So he could only keep begging for mercy, praying that the kneeling Pei Shen would somehow draw the princess’s wrath again—if she turned her anger toward him, maybe she’d forget all about the terrified servant at her feet.

Watching the eunuch’s trembling form, Jiang Xiaoyu finally understood just how despised the original Song Zhaoyan must have been.

To these servants, she wasn’t just a temperamental master—she was a walking nightmare.

Every day spent serving her must have felt like tiptoeing through hell, terrified that the smallest mistake, or even her bad mood, could cost them their lives.

In an atmosphere that suffocating, even cruelty could be born out of fear.

Jiang Xiaoyu sighed inwardly but didn’t show it. Instead, she gave a cold, dismissive snort and said sharply, “Get out!.”

The eunuch almost burst into tears—he’d been bracing himself for punishment, not mercy.

For a moment he froze, unsure if he’d heard correctly.

The others in the hall looked just as stunned, their expressions a mix of confusion and disbelief. But none of them dared question her.

“What? Don’t you understand what I’m saying?” Jiang Xiaoyu’s tone became unfriendly again, scaring the young eunuch so much that he quickly kowtowed, then crawled to his feet and hid in the crowd.

The eunuch jolted as if struck by lightning. He kowtowed quickly in gratitude, then scrambled to his feet and practically crawled away, retreating into the crowd with trembling limbs.

Jiang Xiaoyu shifted her gaze back to Pei Shen and reached out to lift his chin, studying the male lead of this world up close.

No wonder he was the protagonist. Though only twelve, the delicate lines of his brows and eyes already hinted at striking good looks. It wasn’t hard to imagine that when he grew up, he would become an exceptionally handsome man.

But perhaps because he had no one in the palace to protect him, his clothes were wrinkled and slightly ill-fitting. At his age, still growing yet underfed, his frame was thin and frail.

Jiang Xiaoyu took a closer look—he wasn’t very tall either.

Pei Shen, who had been looking down, was forcefully lifted by Song Zhaoyan’s chin. He squinted painfully against the glaring noon sunlight. Song Zhaoyan, of course, had someone shading her with a parasol, and her figure cast a small patch of shadow over him. Yet the golden ornaments in her hair gleamed so brightly that the reflected light stung his eyes even more.

“If you admit your mistake and apologize to me,” Jiang Xiaoyu drawled, her tone lofty and unhurried, “I might be merciful enough to let you go—how about that?”

That condescending voice, dripping with arrogance, made Pei Shen’s heart twist with hatred.

But hatred was all he could feel—he couldn’t act on it.

Apologize? If he just apologized, admitted to something he hadn’t done… he’d be spared the whipping and could walk out of Chaoyang Palace alive?

It sounded like a tempting trade.

A small voice whispered inside him—just admit it, say you’re wrong, and you can leave.

Even as that voice screamed inside Pei Shen’s heart, he still refused to speak.

Firstly, Song Zhaoyan’s reputation in the palace was infamous—no one saw her as kind or merciful. If those who had offended her could truly gain forgiveness just by bowing their heads and admitting fault, then there wouldn’t be so many people in the palace who hated her.

Her so-called “forgiveness” was a lie.

She only said it to tempt him—to see him lower himself, to make him beg, and then mock him even more cruelly. If he really apologized, she’d use his humiliation as another story to laugh about behind closed doors.

Seeing through Song Zhaoyan’s intentions, Pei Shen would never let her have her way.

And secondly—more importantly—

Even if he was unloved and unwanted in this palace, he was still a person.

He still had his pride.

His dignity would not allow him to be trampled like this. Especially when Song Zhaoyan’s fall into the water had absolutely nothing to do with him.

He hadn’t done it. So how could he be willing to take the blame?

So Pei Shen clenched his jaw, and at last, his furious gaze met Song Zhaoyan’s head-on.

“I didn’t do it—why should I admit it? Doesn’t Princess Zhaohua know? You’ve offended countless people; there are plenty in this palace who want you dead. You can’t find the real culprit, so you pin the crime on me? Ridiculous. If you kill me today, the real killer will still be free to repeat the trick that harmed you, and you’ll die then anyway. Today I’m just leaving a bit earlier!”

After he rattled off the speech, Pei Shen felt a sudden lightness in his chest; his pale face even twisted into a wild, bitter smile.

It’s only one life—if I’m going to die, then so be it!

But he would never apologize for something he hadn’t done. Not a chance.

Jiang Xiaoyu drew a deep breath after hearing him.

Well, well—just great.

She’d been looking for any excuse to let the male lead off, and as the male lead, couldn’t he play along and take the easier way out?

Instead, Pei Shen not only refused to be grateful—he openly mocked her without a shred of fear.

The surrounding attendants around them all swallowed hard. Some had been ready to imitate the eunuch from earlier, but hearing Pei Shen’s words made them hesitate and steady their hands.

They stayed still, but their hearts raced—afraid Princess Zhaohua might change her mind and accuse them of holding back or of laughing at her humiliation.

The onlookers did their best to make themselves invisible, but Jiang Xiaoyu paid no attention to any of it.

If the original Song Zhaoyan had been here and heard Pei Shen’s words, she would have ordered his execution on the spot—killed as cruelly as possible to show everyone what happens to those who offend her.

But Jiang Xiaoyu was not Song Zhaoyan. Pei Shen’s defiance didn’t break her; still, she had to put on a show of righteous, humiliated fury. She shoved him hard.

She might have wanted to let him go, but since he insisted on provoking her, she’d play along with his stubbornness.

Fine—then she’d give him the beating he was asking for.

“How dare you! Today I was being merciful and letting you go, and you won’t be grateful? Guards, bring the whip!”

At her command, the attendant with the whip hurried forward, bowed, and handed over the barbed lash with both hands.

Given the original Song Zhaoyan’s temper, she wouldn’t have spoken to the eunuch the way Jiang Xiaoyu had just done, nor would she have hinted at sparing him if he apologized. Swapping out the barbed whip now would look suspicious.

There was no other choice. Jiang Xiaoyu took the whip, lifted it high—and then struck Pei Shen with all her force.