Chapter 21 

Yao Huang went to bed early and woke up early as well. By the time of Mao hour (5-7 a.m.), she had already called her maidservants in to attend to her. 

Qiuchan brought water, Bailing tidied the dressing table, while Ah Ji and Chunyan made the bed. 

Before her marriage, Yao Huang only had Ah Ji as her personal maid. When Ah Ji went to fetch water for washing, Yao Huang would dress herself and fold the quilts—small tasks she could handle with ease, never leaving everything to Ah Ji. But now, with four senior maidservants, everything from putting on shoes and washing her face to styling her hair and skincare had been taken over by others. 

Take her morning routine, for instance. Bailing would first massage her scalp and comb her hair several times before putting it up into a bun. When applying facial cream, Yao Huang only needed to lean back in her chair while Bailing’s deft hands gently worked the cream into her forehead, cheeks, around her nose, chin, and neck in slow, soothing circles. It was so relaxing that Yao Huang nearly dozed off again. 

Ah Ji watched wide-eyed from the side. “There’s this much to it?” 

Bailing smiled. “This helps the Princess Consort absorb the cream better.” 

Why did the imperial consorts in the palace age so gracefully? Aside from fine food and luxurious living, expensive skincare and the skillful hands of their maidservants played no small part. 

“It’s not just facial cream—there’s also body balm, applied after bathing. Would the Princess Consort like to try it tonight?” 

As master and servants grew more familiar, Bailing also grew bolder in making suggestions.

Her main training in the palace had been in hairstyling and massage, but Consort Du’s court was filled with talented women—Bailing only needed to showcase one specialty to stand out. When the senior palace maid responsible for styling the consort’s hair fell ill, Bailing had stepped in to serve. Yet if she proved too capable, the senior maids might have seen her as a threat and made life difficult for her. 

Just listening to the description made Yao Huang feel utterly pampered. “Mm, I’ll try it tonight.” 

The Princess Consort’s satisfaction with Bailing was unmistakable. Ah Ji didn’t mind, but Chunyan, watching from a distance, nervously curled her fingers. 

After learning of Huamei’s punishment by the Prince, the three maids from Yikun Palace had all grown anxious about their futures. Bailing had taken the initiative to display her skills, Qiuchan had handled the task of retrieving silver from the accounts office flawlessly the day before—only Chunyan had yet to truly prove her worth to the Princess Consort. 

Seeing that Yao Huang had finished her morning toilette and was about to change clothes, Chunyan mustered her courage and stepped forward. “Princess Consort, the weather is growing warmer. Yesterday, this servant sewed two veiled hats for you—to shield you from the sun and dust. Would you like to try them?” 

Chunyan’s forte was her exquisite embroidery. Yao Huang recalled wealthy young ladies and noblewomen she had seen on the streets who favored such hats and smiled in approval. “Wonderful! Go fetch them quickly. Since I rose early today, I plan to ride outside the city first.” 

She would enjoy the cool morning breeze on horseback, then visit the shops once the day grew warmer. 

Chunyan’s eyes brightened instantly. She hurried out and returned just as swiftly, holding a veiled hat in each hand, with two lengths of snow-white gauze draped over her arm. 

Neither hat had a tall crown—just a wide, hollowed brim that could sit directly over Yao Huang’s coiled hair, ensuring comfort even in summer heat. One was more ornate, its brim adorned with a large, pale-yellow peony silk flower the size of a plate and edged with short tassels strung with tiny pearls. The other was simpler, its peony replaced by a small peach blossom and lacking any tassels. 

Chunyan explained, “This plainer one is for when the Princess Consort wishes to travel incognito. The more elaborate one is for strolls within the mansion’s gardens.”

The white gauze attached to the veiled hats only reached the neck, but if the Princess Consort wished to ride, the shorter veil could be swapped for the waist-length gauze draped over Chunyan’s arm—better suited to block dust kicked up by the horse’s hooves. 

Yao Huang was delighted. She tried on both hats, and since she was currently wearing simple cotton attire, she chose the peach blossom hat and had Chunyan replace the short veil with the longer one. 

After breakfast, she sent a maid to relay a message to Zhang Yue while she herself headed to the Bamboo Courtyard. 

The bamboo grove in the early morning was just as serene as at dusk, yet brimming with a fresh, vibrant energy. Along the short stone path, Yao Huang spotted several slender bamboo shoots that had only just sprouted. 

When she reached the door, she knocked lightly. 

Fei Quan peered through the crack—only to be startled by the sudden sight of a circle of white gauze. His heart skipped a beat. 

The next moment, the visitor lifted one side of the veil, her eyes sparkling like stars as she smiled. “It’s me.” 

Fei Quan hurriedly opened the door, slipping out as usual to speak with the Princess Consort. “Do you wish to see the Prince?” 

Yao Huang: “Yes, I’m going out and wanted to inform His Highness.” *And incidentally, let him see my veiled hat—so he knows I’ve adopted the manners of noble households and don’t go about bare-faced every day.* 

Fei Quan: “Please wait a moment, Princess Consort. This servant will go announce you.” 

This time, Yao Huang waited only half the time it took to drink a cup of tea before Qing Ai wheeled Prince Hui directly to the courtyard gate. 

As the double doors slowly swung open, the Princess Consort turned at the sound, her figure now fully visible to Zhao Sui. She wore the veiled hat, a peach-pink cross-collared blouse, and a light green *xuanqun*—a wrap skirt designed to split for ease of movement, commonly worn by women when riding. 

Once the wheelchair came to a stop, Qing Ai swiftly retreated to a distance. 

Yao Huang deliberately kept some space between herself and the Prince, her voice muffled slightly by the gauze as she teased, “Like this, can Your Highness still recognize me?” 

Zhao Sui could make out the faint outline of her dark eyes and the rosy curve of her lips, but her face remained indistinct. 

Knowing exactly what answer she wanted, he shook his head.

Yao Huang took a few steps forward, stopping just three paces away from him. She bent slightly at the waist, bringing herself closer to his eye level. “How about now?” 

The sheer gauze swayed faintly with her movement, refusing to settle even after she stilled. Through the shifting veil, Zhao Sui caught a fleeting glimpse of her lips—full and vividly red—and caught the delicate fragrance of her facial cream drifting toward him. 

He lowered his gaze and nodded. 

Yao Huang smiled, securing the front panel of the veil to the brim before leaning in again. “Has Your Highness eaten yet?” 

Zhao Sui: “Just finished. There’s no need for this—stand properly.” 

Yao Huang: “But I don’t want you straining your neck to look up at me. Etiquette aside, couples ought to be close.” 

With that, she dropped gracefully to one knee beside his wheelchair, tilting her face up to meet his eyes. “This works too. Either way, I won’t let you tire yourself.” 

Zhao Sui: “…Let’s move to the stone table.” 

Yao Huang: “No need for the trouble. I’ll only stay for a few words—the morning’s coolness is perfect for riding.” 

His gaze flicked to her skirt. “Go then. The heat will come soon.” 

Yao Huang glanced at the tightly shut doors of the main hall, baffled at how the Prince could bear staying cooped up inside day after day. Even if he were an avid reader, keeping his face so unnaturally pale couldn’t possibly be healthy. Physicians often judged a person’s health by their complexion—his legs might be impaired, but that was no reason to let the rest of him wither away in seclusion.

She knelt before him, making it impossible for Zhao Sui to avoid her gaze. He turned his head slightly aside and said, “No need. As I’ve said before, I do not enjoy going out.” 

Yao Huang grew anxious. “Has Your Highness grown displeased with me?” 

Zhao Sui softened his tone as much as possible. “Not at all. I merely wish to spare you the trouble of including me in your future outings. It’s better to make this clear now, so you won’t feel disappointed each time.” 

Contrary to what Qing Ai and the others might assume, Yao Huang’s courage had its limits. Though she wished the Prince would get more sunlight, a single firm refusal from him was enough to deter her—for now, at least. 

The earlier ease between them vanished. Zhao Sui called for Qing Ai. 

As he prepared to return inside, Yao Huang had no choice but to walk back alone along the bamboo-lined path. Halfway down, she glanced back—only to find the courtyard gates already shut behind her. 

Annoyed, she lightly smacked a nearby bamboo stalk. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come this morning. The Prince had already made it clear: she was to seek him out only when necessary, otherwise leave him be. 

By the time she reached the main gate of the mansion, Zhang Yue and the other guards stood ready. Each of the eight guards had their own horse, and they had also brought out eight fine steeds from the mansion’s stables. Yao Huang would ride Jingwu herself, while Ah Ji took her second horse, Niguang. The remaining six horses were assigned to six guards, who were to split into pairs and ride through the East, West, and North gates of the capital, exercising the horses for a full hour before returning. Only Zhang Yue and Wang Dong would remain to escort the Princess Consort. 

The elaborate preparations even drew the attention of Head Steward Guo Shu. Only after hearing Yao Huang’s arrangements did he relax slightly. 

Had the Princess Consort truly ridden out with six riderless horses in tow, it would have drawn crowds of onlookers. If anyone recognized them as Prince Hui’s steeds, rumors would inevitably spread—how the Prince’s fall from grace had even rendered his stable useless. And such whispers would be anything but pleasant for the Prince to hear.

Since he was here, Yao Huang made a point to ask, “I don’t know much about horse care—would keeping them locked in the stables all day cause problems? Or should they be taken out for runs periodically?” 

Even a lifeless blade would rust if left unused for too long, let alone living, breathing horses. 

Guo Shu replied, “The Princess Consort raises a valid concern. Normally, the grooms lead the horses in circles around the stables twice daily—morning and evening—precisely to maintain their muscle condition.” 

Yao Huang: “Is walking enough?” 

Guo Shu: “…Well, running would certainly be better.” 

Yao Huang: “Then it’s settled. From now on, whenever His Highness and I don’t require the horses, have the guards take them outside the city for an hour each morning. Exceptions for rainy or snowy days, of course.” 

Guo Shu: “As you command.” 

After a satisfying ride, Yao Huang instructed Wang Dong to return the horses to the mansion while she continued her outing. She purchased the jewelry she had admired the day before, selected several bolts of silk and fine cloth, and when hunger struck, she moved on to a different restaurant for a meal. Post-lunch, she browsed small trinkets before settling into a teahouse to listen to a storyteller for over an hour. When the storyteller took a break, she tuned in to the lively chatter of the other patrons instead. 

Teahouse patrons were the most well-informed—no fresh gossip in the capital escaped their notice. Their topics ranged from neighborhood scandals, like a younger brother-in-law seducing his sister-in-law, to major incidents involving high-ranking officials’ relatives. At particularly juicy moments, even the storyteller would sidle over, listening with rapt attention alongside everyone else. 

As dusk fell, Yao Huang returned home thoroughly satisfied. 

This time, she brought back a large palm-leaf fan—the kind commonly used by ordinary folk. When Fei Quan peeked through the door crack, Yao Huang told him not to open it and instead slid the fan sideways through the gap. Lowering her voice, she said, “Tell His Highness that I know he’s used every manner of luxurious item and can hardly be impressed anymore. So I chose this palm fan for him. Cheap it may be, and lacking the refinement of a folding fan, but nothing beats its cooling breeze in summer heat—perfect for casual use at home.”

Fei Quan: “Princess Consort, please wait a moment—this servant will request His Highness to come out so you may present it in person—” 

Yao Huang: “No need for the trouble. His Highness is perfectly content indoors—why make him go through the hassle of coming out just to see me?” 

She pressed the fan into Fei Quan’s hands and turned to leave. She had a bath waiting, and Bailing’s full-body massage to try. Since the Prince disliked disturbances anyway, why trouble herself over how to keep him company? 

Fei Quan opened the door to chase after her, but the Princess Consort was already too quick—by the time he reached the edge of the bamboo grove, she had vanished from sight. 

Left with no choice, he carried the plain, five-copper-coin fan back to deliver her message. 

Zhao Sui stared at the fan. 

During inspections of the four garrisons, he’d seen these in the soldiers’ barracks. Entering or leaving the capital in summer, he’d spotted them in the hands of commoners and street vendors. 

He took the fan and gave it an experimental wave. Indeed, it required less effort than a folding fan and produced a stronger breeze. 

But why hadn’t she given it to him herself?