A Concubine's Competitive Life in the Prince's Household-Chapter 129

Liu Ruyan’s eyes were red-rimmed as she stared blankly at the snow-white bed curtains, her beautiful face etched with sorrow. "Promises made in spring bear fruit in autumn, yet who now bears the weight of past vows?" she murmured. Once a loving couple, they had ultimately succumbed to the relentless passage of time. Now, Prince Yan had found new affections, leaving her—the heartbroken one—to linger in place, nursing her sorrow alone. All for a few cakes, the prince had cast her aside.

"Xue Mei, throw away the baked cakes," Liu Ruyan muttered, burying herself deeper under the covers.

Silently, Xue Mei walked to the table, picked up the lonely plum blossom cakes, and carried them outside, where she devoured them hungrily. As she ate the fragrant cakes, she gazed at the snowflakes swirling in the sky, wiping away the tears that welled up despite her efforts.

In her heart, Xue Mei knew she had tried her best to create opportunities for Liu Ruyan and Prince Yan to reconcile.

Earlier that day, when Liu Ruyan had fainted from a cold, Xue Mei had sent the maids to fetch the physician while she rushed to the Glazed Pavilion to summon Prince Yan. If only Liu Ruyan had softened her pride and acted coy, the prince, moved by their past affection, might have rekindled their love.

But her mistress had squandered the chance, and Prince Yan’s patience with Liu Ruyan had worn thin.

Wiping her tears, Xue Mei looked up at the dark sky. How much longer would this miserable suffering last?

...

A eunuch held an umbrella as Prince Yan, seething with anger, turned toward the Glazed Pavilion.

Midway, the faint sound of a child’s sobbing reached his ears.

By the snow-covered stone path, the soft glow of a lantern dispelled the darkness. There stood Li Yao, clutching a small lantern, dressed in a pink cloak, crying as she walked.

An elderly maid beside her comforted her, "Young mistress, don’t be upset. The Princess Consort didn’t mean to reject you—she just spoke harshly."

Li Yao sniffled, "Mother called Yao’er an ungrateful wolf... Wuwu... Yao’er isn’t a wolf..."

Seeing the child’s tearful face, the old maid’s heart ached. She bent down to wipe Li Yao’s tears. "Young mistress, don’t cry. It’s cold outside—let me carry you back to your courtyard—"

Before she could finish, a cold voice interrupted from behind. "Yao’er, why are you crying?"

Li Yao froze, then lifted her head in surprise.

Under the warm glow of the courtyard lanterns, Prince Yan’s tall, imposing figure came into view.

With a wail, Li Yao threw herself into his arms. "Father, Yao’er isn’t a wolf..."

It turned out Li Yao had pitied the concubines in the southwestern courtyard who had frozen to death. That evening, she had mustered the courage to approach the Princess Consort, pleading for extra charcoal to help them survive the winter.

Enraged, the Princess Consort had scolded her harshly and sent her away. Heartbroken, Li Yao had cried all the way back.

Her voice trembling, Li Yao said, "Father, those aunties have no charcoal for winter... They’re so pitiful..."

Prince ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‍Yan’s eyes turned cold.

He had always adhered to the principle that men governed external affairs while women managed the household. As a prince, he devoted himself to state affairs, leaving the inner household to the Princess Consort.

Providing charcoal and warm clothing for concubines in winter was her duty.

Yet, she had neglected it—not just once or twice.

If the censors found out, impeachment memorials would pile up like snowflakes on the emperor’s desk.

"Yao’er, go back and rest. I’ll discuss the charcoal with your mother," Prince Yan said, brushing snow off her small shoulders.

Li Yao nodded obediently, gazing at him with hopeful eyes. "Then Yao’er will go back. Father, don’t stay up too late either."

The old maid led Li Yao away.

The night deepened, and the snow continued to fall.

Exhausted, Prince Yan rubbed his temples. He longed for sleep, but the household troubles kept piling up.

He ordered a eunuch, "Tell the Princess Consort to distribute charcoal to the concubines promptly this winter."

Just as the eunuch turned to leave, Prince Yan changed his mind. "Never mind. I’ll go myself."

...

Late at night, snowflakes drifted silently outside, while the study remained brightly lit and warm.

The Princess Consort was still awake, supervising her two sons’ studies. The Imperial Academy’s winter examinations were approaching, and she was determined they would outshine their peers.

"Mother, I’m worried about Yao’er," the elder son, Li Chengke, said anxiously, gripping his brush.

Earlier, the Princess Consort had scolded Li Yao, who had run off in tears. With the storm raging outside, Li Chengke feared for her safety.

The Princess Consort frowned. "Yao’er has her maids. Focus on finishing this essay—you’ll submit it to Dr. Sun tomorrow."

Li Chengke pressed his lips together, stifling his drowsiness as he forced himself to continue writing.

Granny Liu hurried in and whispered to the Princess Consort, "Your Highness, the prince has arrived."

The Princess Consort was puzzled.

Prince Yan rarely visited her in winter. On the rare occasions he did, it was only for formal matters—he never stayed.

Why had he come tonight? Could it be about the children’s exams?

Suppressing her confusion, she hurried with Granny Liu to the courtyard gate. Snowflakes swirled as Prince Yan strode in, his presence icy. His gaze swept over the brightly lit study and the two boys bent over their books.

The three old maids sent by the empress to care for the children stood at the study’s entrance, their faces lined with concern. They often clashed with the Princess Consort over the boys’ upbringing, their methods frequently overruled.

Prince Yan closed his eyes briefly, then said coldly, "Take Chengke and Chengzhen to their rooms."

The maids obeyed eagerly, ushering the boys away with relief.

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The two children bowed timidly to Prince Yan, then left without a word. Fear outweighed respect in their hearts.

The Princess Consort frowned. "Your Highness, the winter examinations at the Imperial Academy—"

Prince Yan had no patience left for reasoning.

Over the years, he had repeatedly reprimanded her for negligence, yet she never listened.

Words were wasted.

She dismissed all advice, convinced only of her own correctness.

His cold gaze fixed on her as he delivered his ultimatum: "If another concubine freezes to death in the southwestern courtyard, you will no longer be mistress of this household."