The Vicious Woman and the White Moonlight are both me - Chapter 7

The moment everyone heard Song Zhaoyan’s voice, their movements froze. But instead of fear, flattery flashed across their faces as they hurried forward, eager to please.

 

The Third Prince, Pei Chengxuan, spoke first in a tone thick with obsequious charm.

 

“Princess Zhaohua, what brings you here? We weren’t doing anything wrong—just helping you vent a little anger, that’s all. That wretch Pei Shen deserves every bit of it!”

 

When he finished, the Sixth Princess Pei Yarong and the Seventh Princess Pei Yayu quickly nodded in agreement, chiming in with practiced smiles.

 

Helping her vent her anger—what a noble excuse.

 

In truth, they had been humiliated by Song Zhaoyan before, yet lacked the courage to fight back. So, they turned their cruelty toward someone weaker, someone who couldn’t strike back, and called it loyalty.

 

Song Zhaoyan’s gaze swept over Pei Shen, who was curled up on the ground, filthy and trembling. She felt an instinctive urge to kneel beside him, to see how badly he was hurt. She forced it down.

 

They had no bl00d ties—no connection at all.

 

But that didn’t mean she was heartless.

 

Looking at him now, something inside her twisted painfully, and for once, she ignored the system’s endless rules and warnings.

 

“Who gave you permission to touch him?” Her voice was cold, sharp as a blade. “Did I order you to?”

 

The words had barely left her mouth when a familiar metallic voice echoed in her head.

 

[Character deviation detected. Severity: minor. One warning issued.]

 

Upon hearing the system’s cold, ruthless voice, Song Zhaoyan immediately shut her mouth. The three before her exchanged confused looks. Finally, Pei Chengxuan ventured cautiously,

 

“But… Princess Zhaohua, didn’t you just say earlier that…”

 

The “before” that Pei Chengxuan spoke of referred to two days before the original Song Zhaoyan had fallen into the water.

 

At that time, the former Song Zhaoyan had accidentally learned that Pei Shen’s mother bore a striking resemblance to her own mother—and that she had once “enticed” the Emperor. Disgusted by the rumor, Song Zhaoyan had flown into a rage, declaring that she’d find a chance to “teach Pei Shen a lesson.”

 

Trying to curry favor and avoid becoming the target of her temper, Pei Chengxuan had gathered the Sixth Princess and the Seventh Princess to act first, taking it upon themselves to punish Pei Shen on her behalf. When Song Zhaoyan found out, she hadn’t said a word to stop them.

 

She had even planned to handle it personally later—only to end up falling into the water before she could.

 

But the truth was, before learning about Pei Shen’s mother, Song Zhaoyan had never once sought him out. She hadn’t even known there was someone named Pei Shen in the palace.

 

It was the other princes who had tormented him for years.

 

Because Pei Shen had no power, no backing, no favor—he had been their easy target, the perfect outlet for their frustrations.

 

The slights and humiliations they suffered under Song Zhaoyan’s temper, they repaid in cruelty to Pei Shen.

 

And now, they had the audacity to claim they were “helping her vent her anger”? What a laughable excuse.

 

Pei Chengxuan, however, was completely at a loss. What was Princess Zhaohua thinking this time? Sure, they’d been borrowing her name to bully Pei Shen, but hadn’t they been flattering her by doing so? Why was she suddenly angry now?

 

The three of them exchanged nervous glances; no one dared to speak.

 

At last, Song Zhaoyan raised her chin, her tone sharp and imperious as ever.

 

“Listen well,” she said coldly. “From this day forward, Pei Shen is mine to discipline—and mine alone. If anyone else dares to lay a hand on him, I’ll take it as an insult not to him, but to me.”

 

Song Zhaoyan’s words only left the three of them even more confused.

 

Pei Chengxuan swallowed hard, then mustered the courage to ask,

 

“Princess Zhaohua, how could we possibly mean to insult you? What are you saying?”

 

Song Zhaoyan let out a sharp, mirthless laugh.

 

“Don’t tell me—you’ve been jealous of me for quite some time now, haven’t you?”

 

The question struck like lightning. All three of them froze, cold sweat running down their backs. Their gazes darted nervously, unable to meet hers.

 

“Not just jealous,” she pressed, her voice dropping into a low, dangerous purr, “but resentful, too… isn’t that right?”

 

With each word, Song Zhaoyan took a deliberate step forward.

 

Step by step, the three of them stumbled backward, shrinking away as if her presence alone burned.

 

For once, Song Zhaoyan had come without her maids. The garden path around them was secluded, silent save for the whisper of the wind through the trees.

 

A perfect chance to kill her—if they dared.

 

The thought flashed through their minds, startling even themselves.

 

But no one moved.

 

Just yesterday, Song Zhaoyan had been pushed into the water. If anything were to happen to her again so soon, the Emperor—who adored her beyond reason—would tear the palace apart to find the culprits.

 

They didn’t dare take that risk.

 

So, under her piercing gaze, they could only retreat, step after step, until their backs nearly hit the wall.

 

Song Zhaoyan’s tone turned colder, her words slicing through the air.

 

“His mother happens to resemble me. You can’t lay a finger on this Princess, so instead you vent your hatred on Pei Shen. Tell me—when you were tormenting him, did you imagine you were punishing me?”

 

It was as though she had ripped open the darkest corner of their hearts.

 

Their faces blanched. Panic replaced arrogance.

 

“Princess Zhaohua, you’ve got it wrong!” Pei Chengxuan blurted, his voice trembling. “We’d never think such a thing—I swear it!”

 

In his desperation, he threw up a hand as if making an oath, and the Sixth Princess Pei Yarong and the Seventh Princess Pei Yayu hastily followed suit, nodding frantically,

 

“Yes, yes! We swear it! Absolutely not!”

 

Song Zhaoyan only sneered.

 

“Oh, spare me! Empty words cost you nothing. You think I will believe a single word that comes out of your mouth?”

 

Her cold gaze swept over the three of them like a blade.

 

“Remember what I said today—and make sure the others hear it too. If anyone dares lay a hand on him again, I’ll take it as proof that you three failed to pass on my warning. And when that happens—” her tone dropped to a chilling softness. “Don’t blame me for making an example of you.”

 

 

The threat was blatant; her authority was undeniable.

 

Pei Chengxuan and his sisters nodded so fast their necks nearly snapped, their voices trembling.

 

“Y–Yes, we understand completely!”

 

Song Zhaoyan raised a brow, lips curling.

 

“Good. Then what are you waiting for? Get out!”

 

They were the Emperor’s own children—royalty by bl00d—yet they’d been reduced to cowering before a mere adopted princess. Fury burned in Pei Chengxuan’s chest, mirrored in the tight jaws of his sisters.

 

But they could only swallow it.

 

In the past, they could at least take out their anger on Pei Shen. Now, that outlet had been snatched away.

 

When the three finally retreated, Song Zhaoyan glanced around. The courtyard was still empty—most likely the Imperial Tutor was still in class with the younger royals.

 

Satisfied, she hurried forward, her steps quickening as she approached the spot where Pei Shen had fallen. She wanted to see how badly he was hurt.

 

But before she could reach him, Pei Shen stirred. With great effort, he pressed one hand to the ground and pushed himself up to a sitting position.

 

Only then did Song Zhaoyan see how wretched he looked.

 

His face was still stained with ink, smeared across his cheekbones and jaw. His clothes were soaked, clinging to his thin frame. Judging from the surrounding puddles, he’d been at the pond washing his face when Pei Chengxuan and the others crept up from behind—pressing his head into the water, torturing him with the slow panic of drowning.

 

Ink still darkened the edges of his face, mixing with blue and purple bruises. Bl00d streamed down from a cut near his temple, mingling with water as it dripped from his chin, soaking into his ink-stained robe until everything—bl00d, water, and cloth—blurred into a single, cold shade of black.

 

Song Zhaoyan opened her mouth, wanting to speak—to say something kind, maybe even an apology.

 

But the look in Pei Shen’s eyes stopped her.

 

Pure, unguarded hatred.

 

She froze.

 

Then her expression hardened again, the mask of arrogance snapping back into place.

 

“How dare you look at me like that? Do you not value your eyes?”

 

Pei Shen remains silent. He simply lifted a trembling hand to wipe the bl00d from the corner of his lips, then pressed his palm to the ground, forcing himself upright.

 

Song Zhaoyan took a step forward, half intending to help him—but she stopped when she saw him struggle on his own, every motion taut with pain.

 

He trembled; his breath ragged, yet still—inch by inch—he pushed himself to his feet.

 

For a moment, something flickered in her chest.

 

He might be beaten and broken now, his future littered with thorns and humiliation, but this boy—this man—would one day stand at the very peak of power.

 

And watching him grit his teeth and rise again, Song Zhaoyan felt an unfamiliar flicker of admiration.

 

“Princess Zhaohua,” Pei Shen said suddenly, his voice hoarse but steady, “how else do you plan to torment me? Go on, I can take it.”

 

The words carried a hint of indifference, but his eyes—those dark, sharp eyes—were anything but.

 

They burned with defiance, wild and untamed, a promise of vengeance biding its time.

 

The look sent a chill down Song Zhaoyan’s spine. For an instant, she faltered.

 

Then she gathered herself, ready to speak—to use her usual commanding tone to order him to the Chaoyang Palace for treatment, whether he liked it or not.

 

But before she could open her mouth, a familiar voice called from behind.

 

“Princess! Why did you come here alone? You nearly frightened me to death looking for you.”

 

Xuezhi, her maid, came rushing up with two attendants in tow, relief flooding her expression.

 

Then her gaze landed on Pei Shen.

 

She didn’t know what had just happened, but seeing his disheveled state—and the bl00d and the tension between them—it wasn’t hard to guess.

 

Most likely, her mistress had once again taken her anger out on the Ninth Prince.

 

Still, Xuezhi said nothing. She lowered her eyes and quickly looked away, her voice soft and careful.

 

“Princess, the Grand Tutor has started his lecture again. We should return,” Xuezhi urged softly.

 

But Song Zhaoyan didn’t move.

 

Instead, she lifted her hand, gesturing for the eunuch standing behind Xuezhi to step forward. Her finger pointed sharply toward Pei Shen.

 

“You—take him to Chaoyang Palace,” she commanded coldly. “I’m going to teach him a lesson!”

 

The hearts of every servant nearby sank in unison.

 

The Ninth Prince is doomed again, they all thought.

 

Pei Shen’s life had never been easy, but at least until recently, his suffering hadn’t been fatal. Now, however, every time he was summoned to Chaoyang Palace, no one could be sure he’d make it out unharmed.

 

Still, pity was a luxury no one in the palace could afford. Those who served in Chaoyang Palace all knew their heads hung by a thread—they’d long since stopped feeling sympathy for anyone else.

 

Pei Shen’s injuries made resistance pointless.

 

He didn’t struggle much as they bound his hands and half-dragged him toward Chaoyang Palace.

 

Meanwhile, in the classroom hall, the Grand Tutor frowned when he noticed the empty seats.

 

The Ninth Prince—who was never late, never absent—hadn’t returned. It was already time for the lesson to begin, and the tutor’s expression darkened with disapproval.

 

He could not reprimand Princess Zhaohua, of course. But the Ninth Prince was under his charge, and a prince skipping lessons without cause was unacceptable.

 

Just as he was preparing to send Pei Shen, a palace servant hurried in to report that the young prince had been taken away—by Princess Zhaohua herself.

 

At that, the tutor’s face changed. His irritation gave way to worry.

 

He looked at Song Zhaoyan’s vacant seat, then at Pei Shen’s, and could only sigh heavily. There was nothing he could do. With a weary shake of his head, he resumed his lecture.

 

Inside Chaoyang Palace, Song Zhaoyan sat on her seat of carved sandalwood; her chin lifted in practiced arrogance as she looked down at the boy kneeling before her.

 

Outwardly, she was every bit the proud, temperamental princess.

 

But inside—she was panicking.

 

How do I help him, she thought, without breaking character?

 

If she acted too kind, too softhearted, people would notice. They’d start whispering that Princess Zhaohua had changed—that she’d gone soft on the Ninth Prince.

 

No, she couldn’t afford that.

 

She needed to find a way to save him… and still make it look like punishment.

 

Pei Shen was wounded; that much was obvious—and those injuries needed tending fast.

 

His clothes were still soaked through, clinging to his thin frame.

 

It might be midsummer outside, but inside Chaoyang Palace the air was cool, heavy with the chill of melting ice blocks meant to ease the Princess’s comfort.

 

If he stayed dressed like that, wet and shivering, when he was already half-starved most days, he’d be sick before morning.

 

The first step, she decided, was to change his clothes.

 

Her eyes swept into the hall—and landed on two young eunuchs standing stiffly by the door.

 

“You two,” she said, pointing at Pei Shen. “Strip him.”

 

The eunuchs froze in place, their faces blanching.

 

Pei Shen might be unfavored, but he was still a prince—a son of the Emperor.

 

If another prince or princess struck him, it could be passed off as sibling squabbling. But for servants to lay hands on him, to undress him… that was a crime of overstepping one’s station.

 

Worse yet, to strip a prince bare in front of others—it was humiliation, plain and cruel.

 

Still, in Chaoyang Palace, disobedience was never an option.

 

The eunuchs exchanged a panicked glance, then stepped forward, trembling as they reached for Pei Shen’s robe.

 

That was when he moved.

 

Pei Shen, who had been silent until now, suddenly erupted with raw defiance. His voice shook with both fury and disbelief.

 

“Princess Zhaohua, if you wish to torture me, then do it! But must you humiliate me like this?”

 

Song Zhaoyan tilted her head, watching him with feigned amusement, a smile playing on her lips.

 

“Of course,” she said lightly, almost teasingly. “I enjoy it. Do you have a problem with that?”

 

Her words dripped with mockery, and she waved a hand dismissively toward the eunuchs.

 

“And really—look at you,” she added, her tone turning sharp. “Even if you wore Dragon the Robe itself, you’d never look like a Crown Prince. So why bother dressing like one of the Emperor’s sons? Fetch him a eunuch robe instead.”

 

The hall went silent.

 

Everyone’s breath caught.

 

It was cruel, outrageous—and exactly what they’d expect from the proud and capricious Princess Zhaohua.

 

Only Song Zhaoyan herself knew her true intent: to get him clean, dry, and treated before the chill set into his wounds—without giving anyone reason to suspect that Princess Zhaohua had, for once, grown a conscience.

 

Pei Shen struggled for a while, but his strength went out quickly.

 

Finally, he stilled—his breath uneven, his jaw tight with helpless anger.

 

“… No need,” he said at last, voice hoarse but steady. “I’ll do it myself.”

 

His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for the robe.

 

The bandages beneath were still damp with bl00d; if Song Zhaoyan saw them, she’d probably accuse him of stealing medicine again.

 

Song Zhaoyan arched a brow, lips curling into a lazy, mocking smile.

 

“Oh? Still got a shred of pride left in you?” she drawled. “Fine then. You’re not one to enjoy being waited on anyway. Do it yourself.”

 

Her tone was laced with derision, yet there was something faintly relieved in the way she looked away.

 

Pei Shen turned his back and changed clothes in silence.

 

When he faced her again, the coarse eunuch robe hung a little loose on his narrow frame, but it was dry, and that alone made him feel less suffocated.

 

 

His face had regained a measure of calm—cold, proud calm, like armor hastily reforged.

 

Song Zhaoyan’s gaze lingered on him; her expression was sharp but unreadable.

 

Up close, she noticed how thin he really was—his cheekbones too prominent; his collarbone faintly visible beneath the fresh robe.

 

So, this was the boy everyone mocked as useless, the one left to starve quietly in the shadow of the imperial halls.

 

For a fleeting moment, something in her chest twisted.

 

But she masked it quickly with a scoff.

 

“I’m hungry,” she said, rising from her seat with casual authority. “Xuezhi, bring lunch.”