Volume One, Chapter Seven: She Doesn’t Want It Anymore

Wei Shuye stared intensely into Changle’s eyes. "What did you just say?"

The others in the courtyard were equally stunned, staring at her in unison, unable to believe that the words about refusing to marry him and calling off the engagement had actually come from her lips.

Only Lin Xinyan, upon hearing this, felt a flash of wild ecstasy in her eyes.

Meanwhile, Hua Zhiyu, leaning against Wei Changqing’s arm, kept her gaze lowered. She appeared to be still reeling from the shock of being pushed off the eaves, clutching at Wei Changqing’s robe for comfort, yet the corners of her mouth curled up slightly when no one was looking.

After the initial shock, Wei Shuye gradually regained his composure. He had grown up with Changle and knew her temperament better than anyone. Changle was flamboyant and competitive; she never liked to admit defeat. He was certain this was just like the countless times before—a tantrum meant to goad him into softening his stance and coaxing her.

Convinced that Changle was merely acting out, he felt his impatience grow.

"Changle, have you thought this through?" he asked. "Don't forget, the last time you made a mistake, my mother demanded we break off the engagement. It was only because you refused that I went to beg her for you. If you insist on being this unreasonable now, I won't be soft-hearted a second time. Don't come crying to me later to beg for it back."

Changle’s expression remained indifferent. "You're right. It was a lapse in my judgment that I didn't agree to break it off last time. I caught you and Lin Xinyan having an affair—your hand was already inside her bodice—and yet my brain was so broken that I didn't want to end it. Forget about you; even I want to turn back time just to slap my past self in the face."

"I still remember how heavy the rain was that day," she continued. "I stood in the downpour for a day and a night, begging one person after another, eventually pleading at the Little Imperial Uncle’s manor. He took pity on me and helped save our engagement. Looking back now, that rain didn't just drench my body; it flooded my brain. I was so busy trying to hold onto something filthy that I didn't even think to throw it away, only to end up disgusted by myself. But I see things clearly now, so I’m granting you both your wish."

Changle spoke calmly. Wei Shuye stared at her, his reaction muted; he merely frowned, a sense of inexplicable agitation rising within him. He didn't care what she said; what bothered him was her current reaction. She was too calm, too composed. This was not Changle’s style at all.

Before Wei Shuye could process this, the sharp sound of a slap echoed through the air. Changle had been struck again, this time by Qi Feirou. The blow was even harder than the last, reflecting the depth of Qi Feirou's fury.

"Hua Changle, have you truly gone mad?" Qi Feirou hissed. "The engagement was something you happily agreed to with the Third Prince! Now you're making a scene demanding to break it off? Where are you putting the dignity of the Noble Consort, the Third Prince, and our Marquis of Chang’an Estate?"

Qi Feirou could not fathom what was going on in the mind of her unruly daughter. The Noble Consort enjoyed the Emperor's enduring favor, and the Third Prince was her only son. The Consort had never been fond of Changle’s crudeness and wild behavior, and she wasn't particularly pleased with the engagement either. It was only because the Third Prince had insisted, and the Consort doted on her son—coupled with the standing of the Marquis of Chang’an Estate—that she had finally agreed to the match. To break it off now was to slap the Noble Consort in the face and openly offend her. Wouldn't the Marquis of Chang’an Estate be marked by her hatred forever?

The more Qi Feirou thought about it, the angrier she became. For a moment, she even wished she had never given birth to this daughter. Fortunately, while this one was a headache, she had Zhiyu, her thoughtful and sensible darling.

Thinking of Hua Zhiyu, Qi Feirou’s anger simmered down slightly, and her tone softened. "Apologize to the Third Prince at once. There must be a limit to your antics. Don't ever speak such nonsense about breaking the engagement again. You should learn from your sister’s gentleness and sense. Stop running around acting like a hooligan. You’re a noble lady, yet you have none of the proper demeanor—you’re dragging the reputation of the Marquis of Chang’an Estate through the mud."

Changle pushed her tongue against her aching cheek, looking at Qi Feirou with a mocking half-smile. "Is the reputation of the Marquis of Chang’an Estate being dragged through the mud just now? Didn't you all decide years ago that it was already ruined?" She looked at her mother steadily. "Back then, you probably wished I had just died out there, so the estate could at least earn some sympathy instead of ridicule, didn't you?"

The most secret thought in the depths of her heart being laid bare, a flash of embarrassment crossed Qi Feirou’s face.

Changle couldn't be bothered with her anymore. She turned back to Wei Shuye. "The engagement—do you agree to call it off or not?"

Wei Shuye’s brow furrowed, his face turning completely dark. "This is not a matter I can decide on my own."

As a prince, his marriage was not a personal affair, nor was it a child’s game; the implications were far-reaching. Changle nodded. It seemed the engagement couldn't be broken on the spot today. But that was fine—she had other ways.

Ignoring the reactions of the others, Changle strode toward the exit. From this day forward, she wanted none of it—not the family ties, not the romantic love. She wanted these messy affairs to never cross her path again.

"Changle!" Feng Linlang, worried, had not left the estate and had been waiting at the gate. Seeing her come out, she immediately rushed forward. Those who knew Changle understood: you didn't fear her when she made a scene; you feared her when she stopped. When she made a scene, it meant she still cared. When she stopped, it meant she had completely removed these people from her heart.

Feng Linlang deeply wished for Changle to discard those who hurt her, yet her heart ached for the Changle who was actually doing it. These were her closest kin and the sweetheart she had grown up with, the one she had loved for so many years. To cut them all out at once—how much must her heart be hurting?

Changle wasn't surprised that Linlang was still there. Seeing her friend’s eyes turn red, she offered a small smile, took her hand, and began to walk away.

Wei Shuye watched the gate where Changle had disappeared, a strange, panicky tremor in his heart. He instinctively stepped forward to chase after her, but Lin Xinyan immediately grabbed his hand, her eyes swimming with tears. "Ah-Ye, your hand is still bleeding."

Wei Shuye frowned, feeling both panicked and uncomfortable, but he clung to the certainty that Changle was merely throwing another temper tantrum. He knew her: she loved him so much that she had even dared to beg the "Cold-Faced Yama"—the all-powerful Little Imperial Uncle whom no one dared to provoke—just to keep their engagement. How could she truly be willing to break it?

At worst, he would wait until she calmed down, then find her and explain things clearly. With Xinyan’s background, his mother would certainly never agree to let her become a Princess Consort. Therefore, the Third Princess Consort would only ever be Changle.