The Vicious Woman and the White Moonlight are both me - Chapter 32

“Princess, His Majesty did say you are confined for one month, but he never said you couldn’t leave the main hall. The flowers in the courtyard are blooming—why don’t we go out for a walk?”

With that thought in mind, the words slipped out of his mouth the very next moment.

As soon as he finished speaking, Pei Shen was startled himself—had he really said that? He immediately wished he could tear out his own tongue.

Song Zhaoyan finally reacted. There was none of her usual arrogance or disdain in her eyes. Instead, she looked at Pei Shen the way an ordinary neighbor girl might—simple, calm, as though she didn’t even recognize him.

At that moment, both of them felt that the other’s behavior was strangely out of character.

“If Princess is unwilling, then forget it,” Pei Shen quickly backtracked.

Song Zhaoyan took a deep breath, tilted her head back to look at the ceiling, then helplessly shook her head. “I really have been cooped up inside for too long. It would be good to go out for a walk.”

Her tone was still flat and emotionless, but the fact that she was willing to step outside made Pei Shen happy all the same.

Perhaps it was simply because his suggestion had been accepted by her.

As for why Song Zhaoyan had changed so abruptly, it was because the system was nearly losing its mind. From initial comfort, it had gradually grown irritable and even threatening, yet Song Zhaoyan remained completely unmoved—she didn’t even respond with a single word.

In the end, the system had no choice but to soften its stance, saying that although it couldn’t let her go home for now, her future mission points would be doubled.

Song Zhaoyan immediately seized on the key detail: for now, she couldn’t go home meaning the system did have the ability to send her back. It had simply lied to her before, claiming that after completing the mission, she could only change identities and remain in this world.

Song Zhaoyan pressed further, but the system pretended to be dead, then resumed its cold, mechanical tone, asking if she could stop wallowing in despair.

With time on her side, she didn’t need to rush. Her fighting spirit returned. That proud, haughty, utterly untouchable Princess Zhaohua was back!

Though no longer in despair, the confinement period was still dull and monotonous.

Pei Shen, perhaps still wary from the old Princess Zhaohua, seemed tense whenever he sensed her emotions returning, as if afraid she might slip back into her gloom. He appeared—intentionally or not—to be trying to cheer her up.

Song Zhaoyan observed quietly. It seemed she had tormented him enough before that he now reacted with caution, trying to keep her spirits up to avoid upsetting her again.

But that wouldn’t do—he was the male lead, after all. A hero without a backbone was no hero at all.

So that night, his “mentor” made an appearance.

“Disciple pays respects to Master!”

Song Zhaoyan responded lazily with a hum, then asked, “During my absence, have you been training diligently?”

“Disciple has not dared slacken! I train every night. May I ask, Master, when may I advance to the next stage?”

“Right now!”

With that, Song Zhaoyan pulled out a book she had prepared long ago and handed it to Pei Shen. “These martial techniques may seem simple, but once mastered, their lethality is far from low. Watch me demonstrate first, then study the book carefully. In a few days, I will test your progress!”

After speaking, Song Zhaoyan stepped into the courtyard. She stood silently for a moment, then her figure moved with agile grace, demonstrating the full set of martial techniques.

When she finished, she tilted her head slightly and asked, “Did you remember everything?”

True to his role as the male lead, Pei Shen held the book and nodded earnestly.

“Good. Practice diligently. I’ll come back to check on you next time.”

Just as Pei Shen opened his mouth to reply, her figure vanished in an instant.

He hurried after her, careful not to make a sound, whispering, “Master, when will the next lesson be?”

There was no answer. Pei Shen’s face fell slightly. He stood in the courtyard a moment longer, eyes down on the book in his hands, before finally turning back.

After opening his meridians, Song Zhaoyan simply handed him martial manuals to study on his own—a surprisingly easy “master” life.

Pei Shen, for his part, still believed that it was thanks to Zhan Xinyue that he was being helped.

He trained diligently, but as he noticed how withdrawn Song Zhaoyan had been these past few days, he realized he had neglected to check on the injured Zhan Xinyue. Guilt prickled him, and he found time to visit her.

Overall, though the confinement period was dull, at least there were tasks to occupy him.

During this time, the funeral arrangements for the Crown Princess were completed, but the Zhao family remained suspicious about her death.

Especially since the Emperor deliberately spread word that the young lady from the Zhan family had been present when the Crown Princess fell into the water and had saved her.

It seemed like a favor to the Zhan family, yet since Zhan Xinyue had saved the Crown Princess, why had she still been struck with the punishment of the bamboo rods?

They only knew what the Emperor wanted them to know—never the full truth. Meanwhile, in court, the Zhao family and the Zhan family began to clash overpower and influence.

The Emperor wanted the outside world to know certain things, so he deliberately let news of Zhan Xinyue leak.

But he wanted other matters to remain hidden—like the already executed Consort Chen.

The Crown Princess’s death could be tied to a minister’s daughter or to a consort of the Emperor. Those were two very different outcomes.

For the inner palace, the miscarriage of the Crown Princess was Chen Meiren’s doing.

But for the former court and outside observers, it could “possibly” involve Zhan Xinyue.

Even those who knew the truth dared not speak of it. Betraying the emperor in such a way would be suicidal, especially when the matter implicated both the inner palace and the court.

The Empress herself naturally would not reveal anything. She was no fool—when the Crown Princess died, only the Crown Prince was present. Could the Emperor not guess how she had truly died?

But the Emperor had his own strategy: to cut down factions in court. With newcomers rising, the Xia family and the Zhao family had been prominent—they would inevitably become targets.

So, to protect themselves, the Xia family would let the Zhao family take the brunt of the blame.

Song Zhaoyan had no influence over court affairs; all these updates were synchronized to her by the system.

During the Crown Princess’s funeral, the Crown Prince cried inconsolably. The young Princess Jinrong, who had lost her mother, wept pitifully, drawing quiet tears from many of the palace consorts as well.

But how much of that mourning was sincere and how much merely for show? No one could really tell.

After Song Zhaoyan’s period of confinement ended, Zhan Xinyue—whose injuries had long since healed—came to see her. She said she wanted to leave the palace for a short trip home. Song Zhaoyan guessed it might have something to do with the recent incident with the Crown Princess—perhaps Zhan Xinyue wanted to report to General Zhan—and she didn’t stop her.

“You haven’t gone home at all since entering the palace. Considering how wholeheartedly you helped me before, I’ll give you three days off. Return after that,” Song Zhaoyan said.

Zhan Xinyue’s face lit up with delight. “Thank you, Princess!”

When Zhan Xinyue left the palace, Song Zhaoyan noticed that Pei Shen showed no signs of wanting to stop her or lingering attachment. This piqued her curiosity—had she arranged for the two of them to spend time together in the morning sun palace, yet their feelings hadn’t deepened at all?

Could it be that only when the second male lead, Pei Chengyun, appeared, vying for Zhan Xinyue, would the main male lead, Pei Shen, finally recognize his own feelings and begin to show his true emotions?

With that thought, Song Zhaoyan, now free from confinement, went to see the Emperor and asked permission to join the autumn hunt at the end of September.

The Emperor, doting on Song Zhaoyan as he did, naturally agreed to her request.

“I’ve long heard that you’ve been diligently practicing horsemanship and archery, Aman. But I don’t know how well you’ve progressed,” he said.

Song Zhaoyan pouted and said coquettishly, “Ah, Father, please don’t tease me! I’ve only been practicing to pass the time!”

The Emperor pretended to be stern. “Is that so? If it’s only to pass the time, then what’s the point of going on the hunt? You’d just sit in the tent as in previous years!”

“No, no, no! Father, I was joking. I have been practicing seriously, but my skills are still nowhere near your own!”

Finally, the Emperor dropped his stern act and returned to his usual gentle demeanor. “So, Aman, you’ve come to me today—what is it you wish to say?”

Song Zhaoyan, having finished her playful words, began fidgeting with the hem of her clothes. The Emperor stroked his beard and watched her with quiet amusement.

“Father, although my horsemanship and archery are not yet perfect, I want to go on the hunt myself. I hope Father will allow it.”

Song Zhaoyan spoke carefully, expecting the Emperor to flatly refuse, but to her surprise, the next moment he laughed heartily.

“A father knows his daughter best! I’ve long guessed your intentions and have already had everything prepared!”

With that, Eunuch Kang raised his hand, and a small palace servant immediately bowed and stepped forward, holding a gold-threaded tray.

Song Zhaoyan frowned in confusion. “What is this?”

“The hunting attire. Take it back and try it on. You can’t ride and shoot arrows in ordinary palace clothes!”

Hearing this, Song Zhaoyan’s face lit up with the delighted expression of a little girl.

“Really?” She ran forward, gently touching the garments on the tray before turning back with a radiant smile. “Thank you, Father!”

“Then go on, try it on!”

Yet Song Zhaoyan still didn’t move.

“What is it? Aman, do you still have something to say?”

She averted her gaze, tugging at the hem of her dress. “Father, the Qixi Festival Banquet incident has already passed a long time ago, and Fifth Brother and the others have been confined for quite a while. If the full three-month confinement is enforced, they won’t make it to this year’s autumn hunt. Perhaps Father could show mercy and let them—”

“No!”

Before she could finish, the Emperor’s face turned stern, and the single word carried an unmistakable finality.

“Father…”

“They made mistakes and must be punished properly, so they’ll remember. Otherwise, in the future, if others commit mistakes, they’ll think they can just go through the motions of being punished without truly suffering. What authority would I have then?”

“But so much time has passed, surely—”

“No means no!”

Song Zhaoyan’s repeated pleas were cut off by the Emperor each time. A faint trace of anger crept into his expression, and seeing that there was no way to argue further, Song Zhaoyan bowed and withdrew.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I understand!”

Back in the Chaoyang Palace, the exquisite red hunting attire failed to lift Song Zhaoyan’s spirits.

Pei Chengyun couldn’t attend this year’s hunt. After all her hard work practicing horsemanship and archery, how could she show off her skills to the one she had in her heart?

Without the “one she loved” there to appreciate it, her enthusiasm naturally waned.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t do anything at all. Song Zhaoyan’s eyes turned to Pei Shen.

Even now, the male lead might be keeping a low profile, unrecognized and underestimated, but at times like this, a true male lead would slowly grow stronger, step by step, until he finally stood in front of everyone.

This autumn hunt could be the perfect opportunity for him to shine.

Thinking about this, Song Zhaoyan’s gaze grew bright with excitement.