Sixty

Imperial Palace, Zichen Hall.

Noble Consort Chen half-reclined on a couch, allowing a maid to paint her ten fingernails with a vibrant, crimson shade of balsam dye, looking both luxurious and alluring.

Her expression was lazy, yet upon closer inspection, it concealed an inexplicable trace of anger.

When all ten nails were finally colored, she slowly raised her eyes, cast a glance at Prince Zhao kneeling in the grand hall, and said indifferently, "Do you know your wrong?"

"I do not," Prince Zhao replied, his expression equally nonchalant, his words yielding not even an inch.

Noble Consort Chen was instantly choked with anger.

It was only by the arrival of evening that she learned her good-for-nothing son had gone straight to the Duke's Manor without a word of warning, and had even demanded to call off the engagement from Madame Qiao!

She immediately ordered someone to drag Prince Zhao back from the streets, sternly commanding him to go to the Duke's Manor to apologize and profess that today's incident was merely a momentary lapse in judgment.

Yet, Prince Zhao was adamant and flatly refused.

"Imperial Mother, what kind of person Meng Changle is, you know better than anyone. How could such a person ever become the Princess Consort of Zhao? Can you truly wish for your future daughter-in-law to be someone so honey-mouthed and dagger-hearted, so superficial and arrogant?"

Noble Consort Chen fell silent for a moment.

Prince Zhao looked at her pleadingly.

However, the next instant, Noble Consort Chen frowned slightly and ruthlessly rebuffed him, "Leaving aside the fact that this match was betrothed to you since childhood, Madame Qiao and I are intimate friends. If we were to break the engagement, would it not damage the affection between our two families? Furthermore..."

Noble Consort Chen paused, a sharp glint flashing through her eyes, "No matter what kind of person Meng Changle is, she represents the Duke's Manor behind her! The Qiao family's power and influence are at their peak, and Madame Qiao's maternal clan even holds military authority in their hands. If you can marry a daughter from such a family as your Princess Consort, it will be of immense benefit to your future prospects..."

Noble Consort Chen spoke with absolute bluntness, coming very close to stating outright that if Meng Changle became the Princess Consort, it would greatly aid Prince Zhao in his bid for the heirship.

In the imperial family, marriages were never built upon true love and genuine affection; they were invariably choices made by weighing advantages against disadvantages.

Noble Consort Chen believed that Prince Zhao should understand the stakes and entanglements involved.

Prince Zhao indeed understood.

Yet it was precisely because he understood that he found it all the more unacceptable, "If Imperial Mother has her eyes set on the Qiao family's military power, then once Meng Changle is truly welcomed through our doors in the future, wouldn't we have to enshrine her like a living ancestor without a single moment of laxity or disrespect?"

At the mere thought of such a life, he felt a splitting headache.

"Imperial Mother, there are so many noble ladies in the capital; Meng Changle is not the only one..."

***

Noble Consort Chen's face instantly darkened. "Although there are many noble ladies in the capital, none match your status and suitability like the Qiao family's daughter! This marriage must never be annulled!"

Mother and son argued back and forth for several rounds, neither willing to yield to the other.

As a result of this tug-of-war, Prince Zhao was ordered by his own birth mother to kneel before Zichen Hall as punishment.

Yet even after kneeling for a full hour, he showed not the slightest intention of relenting, holding his posture straight as he confronted Noble Consort Chen.

As the night deepened, a maid walked in with slightly hesitant footsteps, leaned close to Noble Consort Chen's ear, and whispered something.

Noble Consort Chen's expression shifted.

Her gaze instinctively fell upon Prince Zhao, but she quickly averted it with a nonchalant air and simply asked, "Is that true? When did she set off?"

The maid replied respectfully, "She departed at the second quarter of the Shen hour. By now, she should have already arrived at Qingyun Taoist Temple."

Noble Consort Chen nodded thoughtfully, while Prince Zhao, on the other hand, furrowed his brow. "What Qingyun Taoist Temple?"

"Word has just come from the Marquis of Huainan's Manor that they have sent Meng Qingyang away to the Taoist temple."

At these words, Prince Zhao was instantly stunned. Upon reflection, he found it utterly unbelievable and instinctively wanted to say something, but a chaotic swirl of thoughts filled his mind, leaving him momentarily speechless.

Why would she go to a Taoist temple?

Could this be her countermeasure in the wake of today's storm at the Duke's Manor?

Yet, what kind of brilliant strategy was this? After racking her brains and scheming all this time, was it just to become a nun in a Taoist temple? Did she want to marry him or not?

***

Meanwhile, at Qingyun Taoist Temple.

The window appeared not to be tightly shut, and the cold wind from the outer mountain forests poured in fiercely, sweeping across the room. Meng Qingyang, wrapped tightly in her quilt, instinctively shivered.

Cui'er, sleeping at the foot of the bed, quickly woke up and tiptoed out of bed to close the window.

When she reached the window, she realized it was actually already shut; it was the poor quality of the window paper that failed to seal properly, allowing the cold wind to force its way through the cracks.

In the dead of night, there was naturally nowhere to find replacement window paper. Cui'er stood before the drafty window, momentarily at a loss for what to do.

Meng Qingyang raised her head, glanced at her, and then sighed, "It's fine, Cui'er. Come back to sleep."

Feeling a sense of self-reproach for failing to take proper care of her young miss, Cui'er nevertheless complied and returned to bed.

***

Perched halfway up the mountain, Qingyun Taoist Temple was rarely visited by anyone other than worshippers offering incense, and consequently, it was not grandly built, serving merely as a humble shelter.

The side chamber where Meng Qingyang and Cui'er stayed contained only a single bed, a long table, two or three chairs, and an altar holding an incense burner.

The mistress and servant were now squeezed onto a single bed, restricted even in turning over, yet Meng Qingyang felt a long-lost sense of peace.

Finally, she would no longer have to suffer bullying or endure cold, contemptuous stares.

Finally, she would no longer wake up every morning with the terrifying uncertainty of what new trap awaited her.

Finally, she was free from enduring her parents' endless partiality, free from facing Meng Changle's hypocritical face day after day, and free from being forced to call Meng Xingzhou her brother while keeping up a pretense of peace in public.

Finally, all this filth and hypocrisy had been left far behind as she followed it to this tiny Taoist temple.

What did it matter if they were poor and suffered a little hardship? At least she still had Cui'er by her side; she was not entirely without support.

On her very first night at Qingyun Taoist Temple, Meng Qingyang slept soundly, her heart filled entirely with expectations for the future.

The next morning, she was jolted awake by a basin of cold water.

The bone-chilling frost and icy water streamed down her temples and into the bedding, quickly forming a damp, soggy mass. Her mind still dazed, she opened her eyes and sat up.

"The sun is already three poles high, and you're still not up to work? Do you think you're still the pampered and precious Second Miss of the Marquis of Huainan's Manor?!"

Standing before her were three Daoist nuns dressed in robes. The one leading them possessed hawk-like eyes, a long face, and an intensely vicious expression, and her words dripped with sarcasm. "What a pity—some people are blessed, but lack the life to enjoy it, driven out of their own homes by their own father and mother, falling from a lady of high birth to a mere maid!"

A round-faced nun behind her quickly chimed in, "You flatter her, Mistress. By now, she's probably even worse off than a maid! A delicate young miss who can't carry anything on her shoulder nor lift anything with her hand, she is truly of not the slightest use!"

As the two spoke, their tones grew increasingly smug, and the looks they cast at Meng Qingyang were filled with undisguised disgust and contempt.

Meng Qingyang finally came to her senses, belatedly comprehending the situation.

If last night she still held a glimmer of romanticism toward the Taoist temple, believing that those who renounced the world were all merciful and compassionate, then seeing these nuns today made her realize how naive her thoughts had been.

"Greetings, Mistresses. I wonder if you have come so early for a particular matter?"