45

Meng Changle's expression grew increasingly panicked. At this moment, she could no longer care about Meng Qingyue's provocation, thinking only that she had spent nearly half a month learning the skill, yet if she still failed to surpass Meng Qingyue—who was supposedly just beginning in everyone's eyes—where would she hide her face if word got out?

Therefore, her mind raced rapidly, and in the next second, she abruptly reached out.

Before Meng Qingyue could react, with lightning speed, Meng Changle switched Meng Qingyue's tea bowl with her own.

At that exact moment, the matron stepped into the back hall.

"Young ladies, how are your tea-whisking tasks coming along?"

Before the matron's inquiry had even faded, Meng Changle stepped forward without a trace of guilt, holding up the tea bowl for her to see. "Matron, I have already finished!"

"Matron, that is my tea bowl, not hers!"

Caught off guard, Meng Qingyue had allowed Meng Changle to switch the bowls in a moment of distraction. Having now realized what had happened, she hurriedly stepped forward to speak up.

The matron frowned.

In all her years as an instructing mistress, she had truly never encountered such a situation.

Were these two not sisters? Why were they arguing so fiercely over a single cup of tea?

Such behavior lacked upbringing and was utterly devoid of decorum.

No wonder Lady Qiao had sent both of them to the Noble Consort for instruction; with such unruly conduct, wouldn't they simply become a laughingstock once married into their husbands' households?

Meng Qingyue naturally knew nothing of the matron's complicated thoughts. Anxious that her own achievement had been stolen by another, she immediately defended herself. "Matron, this bowl of tea was whisked entirely by my own hands. If you do not believe me, I can recount the steps of tea-whisking to you one by one..."

"My sister speaks foolishly." Meng Changle cast a sidelong glance at her. Convinced that Meng Qingyue could produce no evidence whatsoever today, her tone grew even more smug.

"The steps for whisking and tasting tea were explained in such detail by the matron just moments ago that anyone could commit them to memory. It is not just you, Sister, who can recite them—I can do so just as well!"

The matron furrowed her brows slightly.

For a moment, she did not know whom to believe.

Anxious, Meng Qingyue cried out, "Matron..."

Interrupting her once again with a sharp tongue, Meng Changle said, "Tea ceremony is the most difficult of arts. Since this is your very first day here, how could you possibly have mastered it so quickly?"

These words finally dispelled the matron's doubts.

Indeed, the art of tea was the most challenging among the eight feminine arts. Even for someone of supreme natural talent, it was impossible to achieve mastery in a single day.

From this perspective, it must indeed be this second young lady who was lying.

Her face darkened slightly. Seeing that the successfully whisked tea bowl was already in Meng Changle's possession, she grew even more convinced that Meng Qingyue was deliberately causing trouble.

"If you cannot whisk tea well, then so be it; I would not fault you for that. But you should not claim another's merit as your own. Such conduct bears not the slightest resemblance to the demeanor of a noble lady."

Meng Qingyue was on the verge of tears.

Yet she could not possibly reveal the truth to the matron, for if she did, the matron would inevitably question why Meng Changle had never learned these things before.

Once that happened, the secret regarding their true identities could no longer be concealed.

This matter was a strictly guarded secret of the Marquis of Huainan's estate. Even when Meng Changle had inadvertently mentioned it in front of Qiao Xian previously, the Marquis of Huainan had shot her a glance so chilling it was clear his displeasure had reached its absolute peak.

If she, Meng Qingyue, were to leak word of it within the Zichen Palace, the consequences... went without saying.

Seeing Meng Qingyue stammering on the spot, as if desperately trying to explain yet unable to utter a single word for a long time, the disappointment on the matron's face became increasingly apparent.

Ultimately, she said nothing more, merely motioning for Meng Changle to go ahead and have her evening meal, before turning around and leaving Meng Qingyue alone in the back hall.

She let out a long sigh.

It seemed that as long as she was tied to Meng Changle, she would never encounter anything good.

Resigning herself to her fate, she replaced the tea water and began the process of whisking tea all over again.

The daylight faded further, and lantern flames flickered to life one by one. With the visibility far worse than during the day, Meng Qingyue rubbed her aching eyes, desperately trying to ignore her rumbling stomach as she sought only to finish whisking the tea and be done with it.

"Qingyue, so this is where you are."

A soft, gentle male voice sounded from behind her. Meng Qingyue's spine instinctively stiffened before she slowly turned around and offered a bow. "Greetings, Prince Zhaowang."

"Why so formal?" Prince Zhaowang laughed heartily. Seeing that Meng Qingyue remained crouched in place without moving, he added, "Rise."

Only then did Meng Qingyue stand up, retreating slightly while maintaining a proper distance. "I know not what brings Your Highness Prince Zhaowang here on such a visit."

Prince Zhaowang scratched the back of his head in bewilderment.

"I come to my mother's palace for dinner every single day... What... is there a rule saying I cannot come?"

Meng Qingyue felt somewhat embarrassed. She had nearly forgotten that this was the Zichen Palace, and Noble Consort Chen was none other than Prince Zhaowang's birth mother.

Seeing her reaction, Prince Zhaowang chuckled offhandedly and asked, "Why are you still here so late? Did the strict matron punish you by denying you dinner again?"

Meng Qingyue shook her head repeatedly. "No, no... it's just that I didn't study diligently enough..." Before she could finish her sentence, her eyes reddened.

Having one's achievements stolen out of thin air with no one to uphold justice—anyone in her position would feel aggrieved.

She mumbled under her breath, feeling a sense of humiliation, and lowered her head, falling silent.

Prince Zhaowang sighed, then, as if pulling off a magic trick, produced a food box from behind his back.

"It's fine, if you can't master tea-whisking, then you can't. Eating is what matters most. Fill your stomach first."

Prince Zhaowang simply assumed that Meng Qingyue had failed to learn tea-whisking and was secretly weeping here out of sheer discouragement.

Though Meng Qingyue had no intention of explaining the matter further to him, a quiet warmth nonetheless slowly welled up in her heart.

She glanced around, and seeing no one else nearby, she took the food box and began to eat ravenously.

It had to be said that the two of them shared remarkably similar views on certain matters: heaven and earth were vast, but a full stomach was paramount.

No matter how urgent an affair might be, one should never wrong one's own stomach.

Seeing Meng Qingyue readily accept his kindness, a smile tugged at the corner of Prince Zhaowang's lips. Once she had eaten her fill, he teased with a light tone, "Now that you've eaten my food, how do you plan to repay me?"

...

It was merely a meal; did it truly require repayment?

Meng Qingyue was speechless. Back then, she had saved his life, and she hadn't even demanded repayment from him!

While inwardly complaining, outwardly she only asked submissively, "What is it that Your Highness desires? I only wonder if this humble subject can afford to give it..."

The smile in Prince Zhaowang's eyes deepened. He unhooked a sachet from his belt. "It is nothing difficult. It's just that the stitching on this sachet of mine has come loose; I must trouble you to mend a few stitches for me and bring it back when you next enter the palace."

As Prince Zhaowang stepped out of the hall, he happened to run into Meng Changle in the front courtyard.

He halted, looking at the eager-faced young lady before him, though for a moment he could not recall who she was.

"Prince Zhaowang, this subject is the daughter of the Marquis of Huainan, given the personal name Changle."

The evening mist was hazy, and the gentle moonlight cast its glow across the treetops and woods. Gazing at the man before her who looked like an immortal descended from the heavens, Meng Changle felt her gaze turn somewhat infatuated.

"Mm."

Prince Zhaowang uttered a single, simple syllable, yet it made Meng Changle's cheeks flush crimson instantly. Long after he had walked far away, her heart remained pounding in turbulent waves.

Prince Zhaowang—a person of imperial dignity and jade-like grace—this was the man she, Meng Changle, was destined to marry!

So what if his attitude toward her was cold? Naturally, a man of such exceptional caliber could not be expected to be endlessly tenderhearted toward women.

As long as she was soon officially recognized by the Duke of Zhenguo's estate, then no matter how aloof he might be when the time came, he would have no choice but to accept and acknowledge that she, Meng Changle, was his rightful princess consort!

She would be his one and only wife, the companion for the rest of his life!