Upon hearing this, the steward understood perfectly.

It seemed that Young Master Shen was indeed different to the Third Princess.

The many arrangements for the wedding were handled by the Ministry of Rites. Aside from occasionally trying on her wedding attire, Ji Zhaohe spent the rest of her time fooling around outside, never staying home. One day, she went to listen to storytelling; the next, she watched cockfights; the day after, she went on a shopping spree. In short, she was almost never idle.

On the day of the wedding, high-ranking officials gathered at the mansion to offer their congratulations. The Empress and the Phoenix Sovereign also arrived early, demonstrating the importance they placed on the day’s ceremony.

In the bridal chamber, the Phoenix Sovereign pulled Ji Zhaohe aside to give her many instructions. Unfortunately, Ji Zhaohe let it all go in one ear and out the other, focused solely on eating the fruits on the table.

The Phoenix Sovereign looked at his youngest daughter, who resembled him the most, with a mix of frustration and helplessness. “Once you’ve married Qingtang, it’s time to settle down. I’ll speak with your mother and have her assign you a position where you can gain some proper experience. Later, you’ll be able to assist your elder sister.”

Ji Zhaohe suddenly found the melon seeds in her mouth tasteless. She looked pitifully at the Phoenix Sovereign. “Father—who doesn’t spend time nurturing their relationship with their husband right after marriage? If I’m given a position that keeps me away from home all day, how am I supposed to build our bond? At the very least, I should have a month of marital leave!”

“Fine, have it your way.” The Phoenix Sovereign’s heart softened, unable to bear seeing his youngest daughter suffer. “I think Qingtang is a wonderful child. You must treat him well, not like you did before.”

“I know, I know. It’s about to start—let’s go, Father!” Ji Zhaohe urged.

The wedding was far too complicated. Ji Zhaohe felt like an emotionless puppet, dragged from one ritual to another, dazed and unsure of what she was doing. By the time the guests had nearly all left and the sky had darkened, she finally began to regain her senses.

The rowdy gate-crashing and challenges she had expected never happened! It was clear how unpopular the original host of this body had been. After seeing her elder sister off, Ji Zhaohe collapsed onto a recliner beneath the crabapple tree, sighing deeply at the sky.

Ancient wedding attire was far too heavy! It weighed her down so much her back was hunched, and she nearly developed shoulder inflammation!

“Your Highness, this is the sobering soup my master prepared for you.” Fu Jiu knelt gently and handed the bowl to Ji Zhaohe.

All the guests in the mansion had left, yet the Third Princess lingered outside, refusing to enter the chamber to fulfill her duties as a wife. If outsiders found out, they would surely mock her. Fu Jiu’s heart ached at the thought.

Ji Zhaohe took the sobering soup and took a small sip. The bitter taste of traditional medicine filled her mouth, making her want to vomit. She had a high alcohol tolerance and didn’t really need the soup, but just in case: “In the future, the sobering soup doesn’t need to be so complicated. Just simmer white radish and sugarcane.”

She handed the bowl back to Fu Jiu, pushed off with her feet to rise from the recliner, and went to see her delicate husband.

Ji Zhaohe stood before the door, about to open it, but paused.

So, in this female-dominated world, how was she supposed to enter the bridal chamber? And how did men give birth?

This question piqued her curiosity as a medical student. The original host had plenty of practical experience, but no one had taught her about this before the wedding. If she went in now, wouldn’t she lose face? Maybe she should have Steward Jiang Deming bring her some illustrated manuals to study in detail before entering the bridal chamber?

Seeing the Third Princess hesitating at the door, unwilling to enter, and even preparing to leave, Fu Jiu mustered his courage and threw himself to his knees beside her. “Your Highness, the young master has been waiting for you for a long time.”

Ji Zhaohe felt a headache coming on. Why did people here kneel so easily? Didn’t their knees hurt? She had no choice but to respond, pushing the door open and passing through several screens to reach the inner chamber. There, she saw her precious husband, dressed in dignified and elegant red robes embroidered with gold thread, one hand revealing a fair wrist, the other holding a delicate small knife. Her pupils contracted, and she quickly stepped forward to grasp the wrist holding the knife.

“Where did this knife come from?” Ji Zhaohe demanded sharply. Shen Qingtang trembled all over, as if frightened, his voice as faint as a mosquito’s. “It was placed on the table.”

“Someone come—” Without another word, Ji Zhaohe pried open those slender, pale fingers, not even pausing to register their softness, and swiftly took the knife, handing it to Jiang Deming, who had rushed over. Jiang Deming looked at the knife in his hand, hesitating to speak. “Your Highness, this knife is for the hair-tying ceremony.”

After the hair was tied, it was placed in a brocade pouch to be carefully preserved. For royal noblewomen, the pouches containing their tied hair were to be returned to the palace to prevent unscrupulous individuals from using the princess’s hair for malicious purposes. In case of divorce, the pouch would be handed over to the palace to be burned.

Ji Zhaohe impatiently snatched the knife back. With swift, decisive movements, she cut off a small section of her own hair, then reached behind the timid figure and pulled out a strand of long hair, unceremoniously cutting it off for him.

Shen Qingtang didn’t dare to breathe, standing frozen like a wooden chicken.

Jiang Deming took the two sections of hair and withdrew, terrified that the Third Princess might lose her temper and he would suffer the consequences.

How could Young Master Shen be so shortsighted, attempting to harm himself on his wedding night? What would become of the royal family’s dignity? The Third Princess had always cared deeply about face since childhood. With Young Master Shen’s actions today, how could he ever hope to win Her Highness’s favor in the future?

After Jiang Deming shook his head and left, the room fell into silence. Ji Zhaohe lifted the red veil and caught her breath. A stunningly beautiful, delicate face met her eyes. The young man bit his thin lips, gazing at her with eyes as clear as autumn water.

Holy shit, Ji Zhaohe couldn’t help but curse internally.

No wonder he was known as the capital’s number one beauty in the original story. The sight of his face instantly cut her anger in half.

What had she been about to say again?

Ji Zhaohe couldn’t resist pinching his delightfully springy cheek.

Oh, right. On their wedding night, was Shen Qingtang so unwilling to enter the bridal chamber with her that he’d rather die to prove his point?

Ji Zhaohe pinched his other cheek.

No matter how notorious the original host had been, her looks were undeniable. It wasn’t necessarily clear who would be taking advantage of whom here.

Shen Qingtang lowered his gaze to the hand pinching his cheek, then looked up at the Third Princess, who was lost in thought one moment, conflicted the next, and then grinning foolishly. A flicker of anger rose in his eyes, but he quickly suppressed it.

I must endure, Shen Qingtang thought.

He had taken the knife and attempted to harm himself precisely to provoke the Third Princess’s anger, hoping she would take him to bed in a fit of rage. Now that his goal was within reach, what did a little pinching matter?

In the flourishing Jingde era of this matriarchal world, if a principal husband was not bedded by his wife on their wedding night, he would never be able to hold his head high in the household again. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say he’d be relegated to the cold palace. The Third Princess had hesitated outside the door—was she planning to return to some other lover’s embrace? Everyone knew how the Third Princess had flitted between taverns and pleasure houses right up to the eve of the wedding.

The obedient youth, waiting to be bedded, had no idea that the Third Princess’s anger had completely dissipated during the cheek-pinching. Only after Ji Zhaohe had gotten her fill of touching did she remember what she had intended to do. She didn’t question Shen Qingtang’s earlier actions, instead tilting her head and asking, “Why don’t you go change and freshen up first?”

Not removing your makeup at night will ruin your skin by tomorrow. Not brushing your teeth leads to cavities.

Shen Qingtang looked at the Third Princess in confusion. Why freshen up? It was their wedding night. If he washed up and removed his makeup, he wouldn’t be at his most beautiful.

But despite his confusion, he obediently went. A wife’s command was paramount.

After he left, Ji Zhaohe sat on the bed. Something dug into her hip. She resignedly lifted the quilt and, sure enough, found a pile of fruits. How are we supposed to sleep like this?

She looked around but couldn’t find any container to put all this fruit in. It was giving her a headache.

“Jiang Deming—” Ji Zhaohe called out toward the door. Jiang Deming, who was on standby, swiftly appeared.

Ji Zhaohe pointed at the bed. “Take all this stuff away.”

Shen Qingtang removed the heavy phoenix crown and accessories, freshened up, and returned to the bedside, where he keenly noticed an extra set of bedding laid out on the bed.

The Third Princess sat smiling by the bed, watching him, and gestured for him to lie on the inner side. Suppressing his nervousness, he took off his shoes, climbed in, and lay down, his pristine face wearing an expression of resigned acceptance.

But the notoriously promiscuous Third Princess, after he had settled, pushed the quilt further in, picked up the other set of bedding, spread it out, lay down herself, and said, “Sleep. I won’t touch you tonight.”

Little did she know that the words “won’t touch you” carried immense destructive power. Shen Qingtang bolted upright. He looked at Ji Zhaohe, who had closed her eyes ready to sleep, and said timidly, “Your Highness, this isn’t proper.”

His face was scrunched up, deep in thought. Ji Zhaohe, thinking he was worried she wouldn’t keep her word, also sat up and reached a hand toward him.

Shen Qingtang closed his eyes, nervous yet anticipatory. But then his body was suddenly lifted into the air. Ji Zhaohe’s hair brushed against his cheek, tickling him.

The next second, his body was gently set down. Ji Zhaohe swiftly wrapped him up like a zongzi (sticky rice dumpling), even tying the corners into a bow. She tapped his furrowed brow and said, “If you can’t untie the knot in your heart, just turn it into a bow!”

Shen Qingtang: “…”

Ji Zhaohe, you absolute idiot!!!

Early the next morning, before dawn had even broken, a row of servants followed Jiang Deming into the room in an orderly manner to prepare for the day’s events.

Ji Zhaohe was a light sleeper. Disturbed, she couldn’t help but feel irritable. She opened her eyes and looked around. Seeing that Her Highness was awake, Jiang Deming approached her. “Your Highness, please rise quickly so this old servant may attend to the Master Consort.”

“Attend to him for what?” Ji Zhaohe asked, puzzled.

“Aiya, it’s to check if that thing is still there,” Jiang Demming said, his eyes darting suggestively toward the bedding.

A night had passed. The Third Princess, with her poor sleeping posture, had managed to kick her own quilt over onto Shen Qingtang as well. To an outsider, it simply looked like the two were sharing a bed.

Shen Qingtang had lain in bed last night, restless and anxious, barely sleeping a wink. His mind was filled with anxiety about the next day. Ji Zhaohe had also draped her own quilt over him, stretched her long leg boldly across his, and let an arm slide around his waist, pinning him down so he couldn’t move. He felt hot and flustered, only finally falling asleep a short while ago.

Jiang Deming’s eyes darted around. The Master Consort was probably still deep in sleep, exhausted from last night’s activities. His face was flushed, but protocol could not be ignored. He leaned in a little closer.

Finally, Ji Zhaohe began to understand. So, in this matriarchal society, did young men also have… a proof of virginity?

What should they do about that?

“Everyone out,” Ji Zhaohe said loudly, shielding Shen Qingtang from view.

Jiang Deming had no choice but to lead everyone out. Before leaving, he reminded her, “Your Highness, you must go to the palace later to pay your respects.”

Shen Qingtang had woken up when she spoke. He hid nervously under the covers, waiting until everyone had left the room before opening his eyes.

Seeing that he was awake but staring motionlessly at her, Ji Zhaohe smacked her forehead. She had forgotten about the bow she’d tied in his quilt last night.

It wasn’t a tight knot, but given his slight frame, he probably couldn’t break free.

She stepped forward, untied the quilt, and fished him out.

Shen Qingtang endured his embarrassment, letting her maneuver him.

Ji Zhaohe stared at the clean bedsheet, deep in thought. “If I put a drop of blood from my fingertip, would they notice?”

Shen Qingtang: “?”

Ji Zhaohe: “Jiang Deming said he needs to check you for ‘that thing’.”

Understanding dawned on Shen Qingtang. A bitter smile touched his lips. He lowered his gaze, untied his sash, and revealed half of his pale shoulder. A slender arm emerged, bared to Ji Zhaohe’s view—on it was a bright red mark.

Ji Zhaohe’s eyes widened. She realized she had misunderstood. So Jiang Deming was checking for the Shougong Sha (chastity mark). This was even trickier than bloodstains. She didn’t understand the composition of this Shougong Sha, only knowing that according to stories, it could only disappear through consummation. “Maybe we could cover it up with concealer?”

No, the Third Princess immediately vetoed her own idea. Ancient concealer definitely wasn’t as good as modern stuff.

Shen Qingtang knelt on the bed, watching the Third Princess pace back and forth, muttering to herself. Silently, he retracted his arm and put his clothes back on. Just exposing his arm in broad daylight for an outsider—oh no, for his wife—to see had already filled him with unbearable shame. And the Third Princess kept glancing over at it…

If word got back to the palace, to the Phoenix Sovereign, that they hadn’t consummated the marriage last night, his future days would likely become even more difficult.

Why did the Third Princess, known for her fondness for such activities, lose all interest… when it came to him? Was he less skilled than those courtesans in the pleasure houses at pleasing a woman?

His wife would rather run off to who-knows-where than touch him.

Shen Qingtang bit his lip. His body felt a little unsteady. He hadn’t eaten since the night before last, sustaining himself only on tea, all to make himself weak and helpless, easier for his wife to handle.

Ji Zhaohe stood before the bed, watching her little husband wither like a flower, lost in his sorrow. She sighed. “I’ll think of a way to handle this. Get yourself ready. After we eat, we’ll go to the palace to pay respects to Father.”