Song Luan’s eyes were rimmed red. She swallowed hard, her voice muffled as she said, “I understand.”

Zhao Nanyu nodded in satisfaction, releasing her chin. His fingertips brushed down the curve of her cheek, lingering at the collar of her robe. Leaning in, he buried his face against the delicate skin of her neck, inhaling deeply. A faint, fresh scent clung to her, light and intoxicating.

Something stirred in him. His gaze darkened.

His cold fingers traced along her waist, and with a swift tug, he loosened the sash of her inner robe.

Song Luan jolted, her entire body stiffening. A sharp pang of panic shot through her.

Kisses rained down on her skin, unhurried yet relentless. Between breaths, Zhao Nanyu murmured, “As long as you behave, I’ll treat you well.”

She was his wife. If she stayed in line, if she cut ties with those other men, he would cherish her.

He never tired of this—the sight of her trembling helplessly, too weak to resist. There was a twisted pleasure in knowing she had no choice but to depend on him, in holding absolute control over her emotions.

But even more than her submission, he enjoyed those fleeting moments when she bared her claws—small, sharp flashes of defiance wrapped in that delicate, stubborn beauty of hers.

Song Luan thought something was bound to happen tonight. But just as things reached the brink, Zhao Nanyu suddenly stopped. With deliberate care, he fastened each button on her robe, his voice low as he murmured in her ear, “Go to sleep.”

She closed her eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. That was when she remembered a defining trait of Zhao Nanyu, the novel’s male lead—his severe obsession with cleanliness.

In romance novels, a domineering male lead having a cleanliness fetish wasn’t even a flaw; in fact, it was practically a virtue. It meant he wouldn’t fall for just any woman, nor would he casually entangle himself with one.

Song Luan let out a relieved sigh—only to find, to her own horror, a trace of disappointment lurking beneath it. What the hell was that about!?

She pinched her thigh hard. Get a grip! Was she really feeling let down over this? Beauty truly was a dangerous thing.

After the fiasco with the courtesan, she and Zhao Nanyu settled into a rare period of peace.

A month slipped by in the blink of an eye.

Then, Song Luan abruptly realized—one of the most pivotal moments in The Minister of Power was about to unfold.

The female lead was coming.

Designed to be the perfect match for the male lead, she was a delicate, fragile white lotus—so pure, so kind, so heartbreakingly naive that she seemed to embody every idealized virtue of a woman.

After saving a gravely injured Zhao Nanyu on the road, she unwittingly caught his interest. And as time passed, that interest turned into something deeper.

From that moment on, Zhao Nanyu cut down his enemies without mercy.

The heroine, for all her lack of skills, had one powerful weapon—she knew how to act cute.

And Zhao Nanyu had one fatal weakness—he adored delicate, coquettish women.

Thus began her reign in the palm of his hand.

Furious. Absolutely furious.

The gap between people was just that unfair. The female lead could do no wrong, while Song Luan had to bear the sins of the original owner—even when she did absolutely nothing.

A tragic injustice. Utterly absurd.

The male lead had meticulously arranged everything for the female lead, down to the last detail. Later, every servant attending to her in the Zhao residence would be his most trusted confidant.

Back when Song Luan read the novel, the female lead’s life had seemed blissful—she never had to lift a finger, no one could rival her, and she spent her days happily tucked away in the rear courtyard, cherished to the bone.

But on second thought, that kind of life wasn’t exactly free, was it?

Even stepping outside meant being closely watched by countless eyes, both in the open and in the shadows. The feeling of having one’s life entirely in someone else’s hands? Not pleasant at all.

Not that any of this had anything to do with her.

Song Luan had already mapped out her plan: once she erased Zhao Nanyu’s resentment toward her, she’d sit him down for a serious talk—then make a run for it.

Her mother was wealthy. Being divorced wasn’t a big deal. As long as she could eat well and live freely, that was enough.

After all, from the very beginning, her goal had always been to escape.

And once the female lead showed up—she could finally make her getaway!

This made her feeling smug.

The only headache-inducing problem was that Zhao Nanyu still didn’t seem to have any intention of letting her go. He was taking the whole domineering act to the extreme—alive, you’re mine; dead, you’ll die by my side.

Oh no, how terrifying. Truly, so scary.

After breakfast, Song Luan headed to the front courtyard. Her husband might be a complete bastard, but her son was an absolute delight—he had completely won her heart.

Lately, Zhao Chao had been teaching Shige poetry. Song Luan stood outside the study for a while, waiting patiently until he finally emerged. No matter the time or place, Zhao Chao always had a warm, inviting smile—like a spring breeze that put people at ease, making them instinctively lower their guard.

He paused for a moment upon seeing Song Luan, then quickly resumed his usual pleasant demeanor. “Second Sister-in-law, you’re here. Shige is still inside.”

“Mm, I just came to check on him.”

Zhao Chao subtly stepped in front of the doorway, blocking her path ever so slightly. He still didn’t trust her.

After all, the scars on Shige’s body had once been caused by her own hands. Who was to say whether her recent change of heart was genuine or just an act?

At that thought, the warmth in Zhao Chao’s smile cooled a fraction. His voice remained polite, but distant. “Second Sister-in-law, what brings you here today?”

Song Luan’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m free every day.”

Zhao Chao studied her expression carefully before suddenly stepping aside. “Then I won’t keep Second Sister-in-law any longer.”

Song Luan frowned. There was something odd about Zhao Chao’s attitude toward her. He clearly disliked her, yet he was always smiling when he spoke to her—warmer, even, than most others in this household.

She shook off the thought and pushed open the study door.

Inside, Shige sat at a low table, his tiny face scrunched up in deep concentration as he stared at the book in front of him, clearly struggling.

Song Luan settled beside him, glanced at the page, and asked, “Can you understand it?”

Shige answered honestly, “No.”

She sighed. Zhao Chao was making things too difficult—he was teaching the boy poetry that was way too advanced. He was only four; why weigh him down with such heavy expectations?

Gently, she closed the book. “If you don’t understand it, then don’t force yourself.”

Shige’s eyes stayed fixed on the book in her hands, full of reluctance. He shook his head earnestly. “I can’t. Father will test me tonight.”

“What?” Song Luan frowned. “If you can’t answer, will you be punished?”

Shige nodded. “Yes.”

She pressed on. “What’s the punishment?”

“Copying books.”

Song Luan huffed in outrage, pulling him into her arms. “Then we’re not studying today. I won’t let your father punish you tonight.”

What was the point of being so strict with such a young child? He was only four—this was supposed to be the time for him to enjoy his childhood. She couldn’t bear to see him pressured like this.

Shige didn’t say anything. In truth, he wanted to learn. No one at home played with him, and the other children in the manor kept their distance. Not that he liked them, anyway.

He’d much rather sit quietly and read—it made him happier.

But when Shige noticed that his mother didn’t seem too fond of him studying, he kept his mouth shut and said nothing.

Afraid he’d get bored, Song Luan dug out some paper and a brush, putting her drawing skills to use as she sketched a Monopoly-style game board. Then, with a bit of effort, she even crafted a set of dice.

Mother and son sat cross-legged by the window, golden sunlight pouring over them.

After briefly explaining the rules, they began their first round.

Shige quickly grasped how to play, and as luck would have it, children always seemed to have better fortune—he won in no time. Looking up, he flashed Song Luan an exceptionally bright smile.

She pinched his cheek, delighted. With a grand wave of her hand, she declared, “Let’s go again!”

Shige thought the game board was a bit silly, but seeing how excited his mother was, he decided to keep his opinions to himself.

As noon approached, the Zhao household suddenly bustled with activity.

The sound of gongs from the street filtered through the walls, reaching Song Luan’s ears. Curious, she turned to the maid beside her and asked, “What’s happening today?”

Drums thundered, firecrackers exploded—it didn’t seem like a private family celebration.

The maid replied, “Today is the imperial exam results announcement.”

Realization dawned on Song Luan. So, the rankings were being unveiled. The streets were lively and bustling, yet the Zhao residence remained eerily quiet.

It wasn’t until the afternoon that she heard the news—Zhao Wenyan had failed. After throwing a fit in his room, he refused to eat or drink, sulking in silence.

Song Luan already knew that while he didn’t make it this time, he would succeed in the next round.

A few days later, she ran into Third Madam Zhao a couple of times. The woman looked utterly drained—her face pale, her eyes red-rimmed, clearly from crying multiple times. The deep worry etched on her face was enough to make anyone concerned.

After asking around, Song Luan found out that Zhao Wenyan still hadn’t recovered from the blow of his failure. Though he had finally started eating again, he refused to speak to anyone.

He had been pampered since childhood—talented, proud. It was only natural that he struggled to accept such a setback.

When Song Luan spotted him by the pond, her first instinct was to avoid him. He seemed to have grown even taller in the past few days—his figure straight and elegant, his complexion pale as paper. Just as she turned to leave, he happened to glance her way. Their eyes met.

He looked utterly lifeless, his once-proud demeanor shattered beyond recognition.

She sighed. There were things she hadn’t planned on saying, but she couldn’t ignore the fact that, in the end, Zhao Wenyan had been the only one truly devoted to the original Song Luan. He had even died for her.

Since she had seen him, she couldn’t just walk away.

Slowly, she approached and greeted him.

Zhao Wenyan glared at her with seething resentment. Even though all she had done was call his name, he was convinced she was mocking him.

Song Luan folded her arms and looked him in the eye. “I heard you failed the exam?”

“You—!”

No one in the family had dared to mention it in front of him. Yet she had tossed it out so casually, as if she were deliberately trying to humiliate him.

The more Zhao Wenyan thought about it, the more wronged he felt. Women’s hearts were fickle indeed—she used to say she liked him, but now all she had for him was a cold, indifferent face.

“What? Did I say anything untrue?” Song Luan continued mercilessly. She strolled leisurely to the edge of the pond and pointed at the water. “I even heard you’ve been starving yourself. What, planning to waste away in protest? Seems like a lot of effort. If you really want to die, just jump in here. Much faster.”

She didn’t even give him a chance to respond before adding, “Don’t worry, your second brother and Shige will take care of your parents. You can go in peace.”

Zhao Wenyan’s face flushed red with fury. His expression twisted through a whole spectrum of emotions before he finally exploded, “I’m not trying to die!!!”

He was just humiliated, that was all. His second brother had passed the imperial exam early, and here he was—an utter failure.

Song Luan shot him a sideways glance. “Then what the hell are you throwing a tantrum for? Your mother’s worried sick, she’s lost weight because of you. Instead of playing this pathetic act, maybe try opening a damn book. You’re sixteen, for heaven’s sake. You’ve got plenty of time. Acting like a drama queen isn’t going to change anything—seriously, you’re embarrassing yourself.”

Even when offering comfort, Song Luan made sure her words cut deep.

Being a contrarian was truly a delight.

Zhao Wenyan gradually cooled down. It seemed like she wasn’t here to mock him, but that didn’t mean he was about to show weakness in front of her. “None of your business!!!”

He spun on his heel and stomped away. But halfway through, he stopped, turned back, and snapped, his tone sharp and hostile, “Who said you could meddle in my affairs?! Worry about yourself! And stay away from other men—if you don’t… if you don’t, my second brother won’t let you off!”

With a huff, he folded his arms, puffing himself up. “That’s all I have to say! Take it or leave it!”

He was only warning her out of the kindness of his heart. This woman was just as insufferable as ever.

=^_^=