Chapter 107: Jealousy

Yan Yan realized that she had already placed the Ninth Master deep in her heart; she worried about him, thought of him often, and even missed him. But was this what love truly was? Yan Yan did not understand. She always believed that love should be as the books described: passionate and intense, inseparable day and night, unwilling to be parted even for a moment. The relationship she had with the Ninth Master was nothing more than—what was the word? Ah, bedfellows. Now that they had a child together, it could barely be called family, but whatever the term, it was certainly not love.

So then, what exactly was this feeling she carried?

Yan Yan was all too familiar with this sensation. In her previous life, each time she passed through the campus and saw Ni Chen laughing and chatting with other female classmates, she felt this way. Later, whenever she walked past Ni Chen’s office and saw him joking with female colleagues, the feeling returned.

It was a sour, aggrieved sensation, as if the world were ending.

But why did such a feeling arise here, concerning the Ninth Master? Yes, he resembled Ni Chen, but after all, he was not Ni Chen—there was a chasm between them, a gulf of hundreds, if not thousands, of fathoms.

“Consort, it’s late. The Ninth Master won’t be returning to the mansion tonight. You should rest,” Cui’er said gently as she saw Yan Yan sitting in the hall on the first floor, sighing heavily for some time. Yan Yan apparently hadn’t caught what Cui’er said, her large eyes looking at her with confusion. “What did you say?”

“I said, Consort, you need not wait for the Ninth Master. He sent word that he will be staying in the palace tonight,” Cui’er repeated. Yan Yan’s expression immediately darkened. “Who said I’m waiting for him? I don’t care to wait for him at all,” she snapped, then stormed upstairs in a huff.

Watching Yan Yan’s retreating figure, Cui’er grew anxious. Instinctively, she thought Yan Yan was jealous—but jealousy was the foremost cause for dismissal under the “Seven Grounds for Divorce.” This Consort must not lose her wits now.

After some hesitation, Cui’er decided to seek out Mother Song. She dared not approach Aunt He; the latter was the Ninth Master’s confidante, not Yan Yan’s. Mother Song, on the other hand, was only in the household because of Yan Yan and was not truly a servant of the Prince’s estate. Her loyalty lay with Yan Yan.

Mother Song was putting the little one, Zisu, to bed when Cui’er arrived. She quickly covered the child and came out to the outer room. “Miss Cui’er, is there something you need?”

Cui’er grasped Mother Song’s hand and hesitated before explaining the situation. Mother Song sighed deeply. Jealousy was indeed a dangerous thing—it must not be allowed to escalate. So, even late at night, she accompanied Cui’er to Yan Yan’s chambers.

Yan Yan saw the two enter together and knew they had something to say. She curled up in a wicker chair, hugging her knees. If her friends from her previous life saw her now, they would know she was seeking self-protection. But Mother Song and Cui’er only saw a pitiful figure.

Mother Song sat on a small embroidered stool in front of Yan Yan and spoke softly, “I heard from Cui’er that your mood is unsettled today. Could you tell me what troubles you?”

Yan Yan tilted her head, glancing at Mother Song and then at Cui’er, before muttering, “Who says I’m unhappy? I’m very happy.”

Mother Song looked at Yan Yan’s blatant lie with a faint smile. Just as she was about to gently coax her, a slightly displeased voice interrupted, “What are you all doing awake at this hour?”

Mother Song and Cui’er hurriedly stood and bowed, but Yan Yan remained curled up, casting a glance at the Ninth Master and then turning her head away in silence. Cui’er was alarmed—her mistress was far too bold. This was blatant arrogance borne of favor. If the Ninth Master were to lose his temper, this Consort would fall from the clouds to the depths of hell in an instant.

The Ninth Master, surprised by Yan Yan’s behavior, shot a sharp look at Cui’er and Mother Song. Cui’er shuddered and, sweating nervously, quickly pulled Mother Song downstairs. Before leaving, she glanced once more at Yan Yan and silently wished her luck.

The Ninth Master looked down at Yan Yan’s small frame, curled up in the chair, and for some reason, felt a hint of amusement. Before coming, he had already heard from Wang Quan’er about the affairs of the household—he knew that Dong E’s family was preparing a hundred-day celebration for the child and was aware that one of his concubines was pregnant.

But he did not know how these matters related to Yan Yan’s indifferent attitude. The Ninth Master seemed to sense something but couldn’t quite grasp it. After standing for a moment and seeing that Yan Yan showed no intention of greeting him, he slowly moved in front of her, looking down from above.

Yan Yan was indeed frail; even after giving birth, she still resembled a child—not only in figure but in temperament. His gaze eventually settled on Yan Yan’s bare feet. They were exquisitely beautiful, pure white and clean. Yan Yan had always disliked wearing socks; no matter how many times he told her, she would still walk barefoot on the carpet.

Seeing no movement from her, the Ninth Master’s patience wore thin. He suddenly grabbed Yan Yan up, lifting her face precariously close to his, his voice sharp, “Are you sulking with me?”

Yan Yan looked at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. The Ninth Master took this as tacit agreement and gently tapped her forehead, lowering his voice to warn her, “Yan Yan, you must know your place. I’m letting today’s matter pass as if it never happened, but if it happens again, don’t blame me…” He stopped there, his rough thumb stroking her full lips, as if hesitant to continue.

Yan Yan suddenly turned her head sharply, avoiding his touch, and lowered her gaze, saying coldly, “Go to the Consort’s chambers. I’m unwell and can’t serve you.”

The Ninth Master’s eyes instantly cooled, his grip tightening as he forced her to look at him. “What did you say?” he asked through clenched teeth. This was the first time a woman had tried to send him away—utterly intolerable.

But Yan Yan showed no fear. Her eyes met his without yielding, each word cold and clear: “You told me to know my position. I understand well—you are the master of all, to be shared equally with everyone. Yan Yan is not so fortunate to enjoy your favor. From now on, you need not enter Qimeng Garden.”

The Ninth Master had never expected such words. His brows knitted tightly, the air around them thickened, charged with an urgent tension like a storm about to break. “Say that again, so I can hear it clearly,” he demanded.