Fifty-seven

Meeting Madam Qiao’s unwavering gaze, Prince Zhao averted his eyes with a trace of discomfort.

Yet his tone remained gentle and resolute. Regardless of Madam Qiao’s anger or Meng Changle’s tears, he remained entirely unmoved, offering only a mild smile. "Matters of affection between a man and a woman—how can there be so many whys? Furthermore, this Prince and Miss Qiao have never met before. Even if I wish to call off the engagement, is that really so strange?"

Prince Zhao’s voice was calm, but to Meng Changle, it struck like a thunderclap. She had gone to great lengths to transition from the Meng family to the Qiao family, even usurping Meng Qingyue’s identity, precisely for one overriding reason: to become the Princess of Zhao!

A prince's consort, noble and supreme, revered by tens of thousands—just the mere thought of it over the past few days had been enough to make her smile in her sleep.

Yet now, Prince Zhao was telling her that he wanted to break off the engagement with the Qiao family’s daughter?

Meng Changle instantly lost her composure, resorting to desperate pleas. "Your Highness Prince Zhao, Miss Qiao has been wandering and separated from her family for many years, a truly unfortunate soul. If you insist on breaking the engagement with her now, wouldn't that simply be adding frost to snow...?"

"Your Highness, you have not yet met Miss Qiao, nor do you know her age or appearance... Why not wait a little longer? Once you have met Miss Qiao, it will not be too late to make your decision then..."

Meng Changle’s words were earnest, every syllable dripping with entreaty. Prince Zhao’s expression shifted slightly, though he maintained his polite smile and remained silent.

Madam Qiao, however, realized something was amiss.

Naturally, she could not bear to see her daughter suffer the humiliation of a broken engagement. But if this Prince Zhao truly intended to insult their Qiao family, she would certainly not lower her status to plead for him to stay!

The daughters of the Qiao family were born to enjoy blessings; they were worthy of marrying the finest men in the world! If Prince Zhao insisted on calling off the match, it only showed he was blind!

How could she lower her dignity to beg him not to break the engagement with her daughter? Doing so would make their Grand Duke's Manor look utterly desperate!

Thus, seeing Meng Changle weeping and pleading in this manner, Madam Qiao felt thoroughly uncomfortable.

She gently tugged at Changle’s sleeve. "Changle, say no more. If he does not wish to marry, then so be it. Matters of marriage cannot be forced..."

Matters of marriage cannot be forced?

Meng Changle’s palms clenched so tightly she felt as though she might draw blood. Because of those very words—that it could not be forced—all her painstaking efforts and meticulous planning over the past few days were reduced to naught!

Seeing Meng Changle’s sorrowful expression, Madam Qiao’s heart tightened slightly. She vaguely sensed something was amiss, though she could not quite pinpoint what it was.

In the center of the courtyard, a slightly frail female voice piped up, carrying a profound and meaningful undertone. "Elder Sister is truly warm-hearted. The marriage between His Highness Prince Zhao and the Qiao family’s daughter is none of your concern, yet you trouble yourself to inquire so deeply, and are even moved to tears over another person’s romance. Anyone who didn't know better would think you were the one whose engagement had just been annulled, tsk tsk tsk..."

...

Meng Changle’s mournful sobs choked in her throat.

Madam Qiao’s movements also paused slightly. Only now, prompted by Meng Qingyue’s words, did she belatedly realize what felt wrong.

Indeed, this was a marriage between Prince Zhao and their Qiao family’s daughter; what did it have to do with Meng Changle?

The Grand Duke’s Manor had not yet officially acknowledged their long-lost kin, and Changle should naturally be entirely oblivious to her true identity. Why, then, was she currently in such an anxious, burning rush?

"Changle, this is a family matter of the Qiao family. Why are you so anxious that you’ve burst into tears?"

Madam Qiao’s gaze burned intensely as she fixed it upon Meng Changle.

Seeing Madam Qiao’s expression shift from confusion to suspicion, Meng Changle panicked. In her earlier anxiety, she had almost lost her composure.

Now, meeting Madam Qiao’s questioning stare, she finally realized how unseemly her behavior had been.

She glared bitterly at Meng Qingyue, then withdrew her gaze, looking up at Madam Qiao with a pitiful, delicate expression. "Aunt, please do not blame me. It is simply that Aunt has treated Changle like her own flesh and blood, and Changle naturally wishes to return your kindness with deep respect."

"Miss Qiao is Aunt’s daughter, and Changle regards her as a dear sister to be cherished. Seeing my sister’s engagement broken off, my heart truly feels a sense of injustice on her behalf..."

Seeing Meng Changle’s coy and timid words, imbued with such tender gentleness and boundless pathos, Madam Qiao was quickly persuaded, ultimately concluding that she had merely been overthinking.

Prince Zhao observed all this, his expression turning rather complex. This only served to further solidify his conviction that coming to the Qiao family to break off the engagement was the right decision.

Just two days prior, when he had gone to the Zichen Palace to pay his respects to his mother, the Imperial Noble Consort, he had noticed her radiant spirits and asked what had made her so happy.

To his astonishment, the next moment, his mother had revealed a heaven-shaking secret to him.

The Qiao family’s long-lost daughter had been found!

Upon suddenly learning that his estranged fiancée was about to return, he had felt a mixture of joy and apprehension.

Before he could even speak, the Imperial Noble Consort had spoken again, and her words had instantly caused his expression to curdle.

"That young lady of the Qiao family is none of the other than the eldest daughter of Marquis Huainan's household, Meng Changle!"

Meng Changle?

Prince Zhao had been stunned on the spot, for during these past few days, Meng Changle had frequented the Zichen Palace to receive instructions, and he had crossed paths with her on several occasions.

Even in those few brief encounters, he had witnessed her resorting to all manner of flattery, purposely lowering her collar whenever she saw him, and occasionally "coincidentally" tripping or dropping a handkerchief. She had exhausted every trick in the book just to catch his attention.

What was even more ridiculous was that, if he remembered correctly, Meng Changle should have had a fiancé at the time.

To have a proper, legitimate fiancé yet freely flirt and send clandestine glances without a shred of moral burden—was a woman of such character truly fit to be his princess?

Prince Zhao’s temper had flared immediately. Seeing the Imperial Noble Consort still enthusiastically discussing how the Prince of Zhao’s manor should welcome the bride upon the Qiao girl's return, he had said nothing more, though a plan had already formed in his mind.

He had turned and left.

Now, having come to the Grand Duke’s Manor and witnessing Meng Changle tugging at his sleeve with such a pitiful, tearful plea, his resolve hardened all the more.

This Meng Changle had barely met him a few times, yet she could humble herself to weep and beg; it certainly couldn't be out of genuine love for him.

Yet, to debase her own dignity to the dust simply for the position of a princess consort—such a spineless woman was someone he fundamentally despised.

Thus, the more earnest Meng Changle’s words became, the colder his demeanor grew.

"Your Highness, if you insist on breaking the engagement, this matronymic has naturally no objections. However, as my daughter is about to return, I cannot help but speak up on her behalf one last time..."

"Your Highness is of imperial descent, but our Qiao family is no rustic clan of commoners either. My daughter lacks fortune and is unworthy of scaling such heights as Your Highness..."

Madam Qiao paused slightly, unable to entirely suppress a trace of lingering resentment. "It is simply that this matronymic is truly perplexed: exactly what sort of extraordinary princess consort does Your Highness wish to marry, that even a daughter of the Qiao family is unworthy of your gaze?"

What sort of princess consort?

Prince Zhao’s thoughts drifted away for a moment, involuntarily floating back to that bitter, freezing night of wind and rain. When he had been hunted down by men sent by his second imperial brother and was hanging by a thread, it was a similarly heavily wounded woman who had risked everything to save him.

His future princess consort did not need to possess extraordinary beauty, nor an exceptional demeanor, nor even a particularly illustrious family background. But at the very least, she had to be someone he could respect and admire.

At the very least, she had to possess the merciful heart to do everything in her power to protect his life—even without knowing his true identity—and keep him out of the hands of assassins.

A myriad of thoughts churned in Prince Zhao’s mind. Raising his eyes, he caught sight of Meng Qingyue, still kneeling in the courtyard.

The courtyard was deep, the wind crisp and biting. The young woman’s complexion was faintly pale, kneeling in the breeze like a fragile dodder flower, just as she had appeared on the day he first met her.

He suddenly smiled.