Yao Lin demonstrated spear techniques while Yao Zhenhu stood outside the main hall’s threshold watching. Prince Hui’s wheelchair was stopped inside the threshold, with Qing Ai standing behind it.
When Yao Huang glanced over, the first thing she noticed was actually Qing Ai’s face, even paler than Prince Hui’s—it definitely hadn’t been like this before.
At this moment, Yao Lin cleanly finished his demonstration and put away his spear, making way for his mother and sister.
Luo Jinhua followed her daughter by a step, feeling as if the sky were collapsing. Having their son show off his martial skills in front of their son-in-law whose legs were crippled—only the Yao family’s foolish tiger could do such a thing.
If the prince became displeased and directly punished her husband, Luo Jinhua would bitterly say he deserved it. But she feared the prince would endure it here, then take it out on her daughter later!
Yao Zhenhu hadn’t noticed the fury in his wife’s eyes at all. He turned to inquire of his son-in-law: “What does Your Highness think?”
He was merely a centurion who’d had no opportunity to meet Prince Hui before this marriage. But Prince Hui’s excellent martial skills learned from a master and his various military achievements had long spread throughout the military camp. Yao Zhenhu sincerely sought his son-in-law’s instruction, hoping it could help his son’s skills advance further and win a good ranking in next year’s military examination.
At these words, Qing Ai’s already pale face turned an additional shade of green. The princess was beautiful enough that even occasional tactlessness didn’t inspire anger, but Yao Zhenhu with his hulking appearance—the things he said and did all poked at the prince’s wounds. Could the prince endure this?
Zhao Sui’s gaze swept across the princess and her mother emerging from the west wing, settling on the hand Yao Lin used to grip his spear. He said: “Lingyun possesses extraordinary strength and skilled spearwork. Only your footwork is slightly insufficient. If you could promptly pivot after thrusting your spear, you would have greater odds of victory in martial contests.”
Lingyun was Yao Lin’s courtesy name. Being only two years older than Yao Huang at nineteen, Zhao Sui offered guidance in the tone of an elder brother.
Yao Lin exclaimed: “Your Highness has a sharp eye! Every time I spar with Li Tingwang, I lose because he gets ahead of me in the moment when I’m withdrawing my spear!”
Luo Jinhua’s eyelid twitched.
Zhao Sui didn’t know who Li Tingwang was and had no interest in finding out. He continued instructing Yao Lin on how to improve his footwork.
Yao Huang understood—her brother lost in agility. He needed to train the reaction speed of his head and various body parts.
Yao Zhenhu, hearing the prince speak so accurately, also wanted to request the prince’s guidance for himself.
Luo Jinhua gave him no chance to speak again. She blocked her husband and signaled their daughter with her eyes.
Yao Huang timely suggested returning to the manor. If their family had a large residence, they could invite Prince Hui to rest in a guest room. Since they didn’t, they could only leave early.
After the couple boarded the carriage, Luo Jinhua breathed a sigh of relief, but inside the carriage Yao Huang began to grow nervous.
Unlike when they came, the carriage interior now carried a trace of alcohol.
Yao Huang knew it was her father’s favorite strong liquor that he’d hidden in the room to keep her brother from stealing it—the Wangxian Restaurant’s fine brew that he only bought one jar of per year. Yao Huang had once dipped her chopsticks in a single drop out of curiosity, and that one drop had burned her chest like fire. Yet her pale-faced prince husband had drained a large bowl in one breath!
Alcohol’s effects came on gradually. It had been two or three quarters of an hour since finishing the meal…
Yao Huang stealthily glanced toward Prince Hui.
The prince leaned back in his wheelchair with eyes closed. His pale, handsome face showed no flush from drinking.
Yao Huang relaxed, then looked at that comfortable wheelchair crafted from rosewood with some envy.
The wheelchair body was spacious. If the prince moved to the very edge, another person could squeeze in beside him.
Below the wheelchair was a footrest, and below that was a platform about two feet long where another person could sit. The backrest wasn’t vertical but curved at an angle suitable for leaning—if not for the four wheels below, this wheelchair at first glance would be an extremely comfortable reclining chair. After a satisfying meal, during a long journey, leaning back like this would certainly be more comfortable than sitting upright with a straight back as she was.
Suddenly, Prince Hui opened his eyes.
Yao Huang guiltily lowered her head.
Zhao Sui: “Water.”
The Yao family’s buns tasted excellent, just a bit too salty. The cooks at Prince Hui’s manor had received the physician’s instructions—for this past year, flavors had been kept very mild.
The teapot was in the cabinet opposite. The upper two levels of the cabinet had small drawers holding handkerchiefs, towels, combs, mirrors and such. The bottom level was over a foot high, containing one teapot, one water pitcher, and two matching sets of small bowls.
No matter how steadily the prince’s manor carriage moved, there was still some swaying. To avoid spilling water, Yao Huang lifted her skirt and knelt before the cabinet, one hand lifting the jade-toned white glazed small water pitcher, the other steadily gripping a bowl of the same color and material.
She stared intently at the water flowing from the spout and the bowl’s surface, not noticing that both sleeves had slipped down a bit, revealing a pair of wrists more supple than white porcelain.
Yao Huang hadn’t drunk wine during the meal, but she naturally had a rosy, healthy complexion. Before leaving the west wing she’d washed her face, easily bringing to mind pink-petaled peonies blooming after rain clears.
The water poured, Yao Huang returned the pitcher to the cabinet, carefully stood up, and bent forward to present it to Prince Hui.
She wore a bright red jacket. When standing, the long skirt’s waistband tightly conformed to her body, concealing the spring scenery within without any possibility of leakage. But now Prince Hui sat low—when Yao Huang bent at the waist, a slight gap appeared between the skirt waistband and her skin.
Zhao Sui accepted the small bowl without looking sideways, draining it in two or three gulps.
Yao Huang: “More?”
Zhao Sui: “Mm.”
Yao Huang poured him another bowl. The bowl’s rim wasn’t even as large as her palm—one bowl truly couldn’t quench thirst.
Once the prince had drunk his fill, Yao Huang changed to a different small bowl and herself drank two bowls consecutively.
Returning to the side seat, Yao Huang glanced at Prince Hui. Seeing his eyes were open, she asked quietly: “Does Your Highness usually drink wine?”
Zhao Sui: “No.”
Yao Huang’s heart instantly leaped, her eyes showing a trace of panic: “Then when my father pressed wine on you, were you angry?”
Zhao Sui looked at her: “Usually I don’t drink. During social occasions I’ll have a cup or two.”
Yao Huang: “…Your Highness has quite good alcohol tolerance. You didn’t get drunk even from Wangxian Restaurant’s strongest liquor.”
Zhao Sui: “Passable.”
The conversation box opened, Yao Huang grew bolder: “What does Your Highness think of my father, mother, and brother? If there’s anything displeasing, I’ll remind them to change.”
Zhao Sui: “Nothing.”
Yao Huang: “Meaning you weren’t angry at all at our house?”