The Princess Consort paid no heed, her tone even laced with disdain: "No matter how much the Empress Dowager favors the Shen Clan, it won’t change their lowly origins. The Shen Clan will never replace this Princess Consort’s position—Granny Liu, go check the kitchen. Is the chicken soup for Cheng Ke and Cheng Zhen ready?"
Compared to Shen Wei and Prince Yan, the Princess Consort cared more about the chicken soup being prepared for her children.
Her children were her true anchors.
As long as they grew up capable and smoothly inherited their father’s legacy, a mere Shen Wei was nothing to worry about.
In the afternoon, Shen Wei went to Prince Yan’s main residence to visit him. She carried nothing in her hands.
"My lady, should we bring a pot of poria chicken soup?" Cai Lian, following closely behind Shen Wei, whispered a reminder.
Shen Wei shook her head: "No need. The summer heat makes soup too heavy."
Besides, the imperial physician had advised that Prince Yan’s recovery required gentle, gradual nourishment—overdoing it would be counterproductive.
As Shen Wei and Cai Lian approached the main residence, they spotted two figures by the courtyard gate from afar. It was concubine Xiang'er and her maid. Xiang'er held a food box and was arguing with the guards at the entrance.
"I demand to see His Highness!" Xiang'er fumed.
The guard remained expressionless: "His Highness is recuperating. No disturbances allowed."
Xiang'er retorted, "I am His Highness’s concubine. He’s injured, and I’ve brought chicken soup to tend to him. What’s the problem?"
The guard still refused to yield. Xiang'er nearly stormed past them in frustration. Her treatment had been worsening lately—daily meal portions reduced, maids growing neglectful.
Xiang'er couldn’t accept it.
Having tasted the sweetness of luxury, she refused to return to her former life of misery and despair. Worse still, she had sent most of the rewards she’d received back home to support her family.
Thanks to her financial aid, Xiang'er—once overlooked—had finally earned her parents’ praise and recognition.
Now, they expected her to keep sending money monthly to improve her younger brother’s life. But if she couldn’t see Prince Yan or regain his favor, how could she continue supporting them?
Xiang'er had no choice but to find a way to approach Prince Yan. Today, she had specially requested the kitchen to prepare chicken soup for him—a request the kitchen dared not refuse.
Yet here she was, barred even from entering the courtyard.
Just as Xiang'er stood there helpless, she suddenly noticed the two guards—who had been so harsh with her—abruptly change their demeanor, bowing respectfully: "Greetings, Lady Shen."
Shen Wei had arrived.
With a light smile, Shen Wei said, "I’ve come to see His Highness."
The guards promptly stepped aside: "Please proceed, Lady Shen."
Xiang'er watched, dumbfounded. She and Shen Wei were both concubines, of equal status—why could Shen Wei enter without hindrance?
As Shen Wei walked gracefully into the main residence, Cai Lian discreetly slipped two silver pieces into the guards’ hands: "The heat is unbearable. Take this for some tea, gentlemen."
The guards thanked her profusely, gratefully accepting the silver.
Xiang'er fell silent. So it was about bribes.
Gritting her teeth, she fished out the last two silver pieces from her pouch and offered them to the guards: "Here’s your payment. Let me in to see His Highness."
The guards waved her off.
One of them replied coldly, "This isn’t about silver. Don’t make things difficult for us."
The truth was, Shen Wei could enter freely because Prince Yan wanted to see her.
Even if Cai Lian hadn’t given the guards any silver, they would’ve still respectfully allowed Shen Wei through.
Xiang'er, oblivious to the deeper reason, assumed the guards looked down on her. Her eyes reddened with resentment as she glared at Shen Wei’s retreating figure.
Shen Wei wore a pale purple palace gown, its sleeves fluttering lightly. Her pregnancy hadn’t yet shown, her waist still slender and delicate. Even from behind, her poise was elegant, exuding an indescribable grace.
Xiang'er glanced down at her own attire—her finest dress and hairpin—yet beside Shen Wei, she felt like a crude imitation.
Both were daughters of peasant families—why did Shen Wei possess such refined grace?
Xiang'er couldn’t comprehend it, resigning herself to ill fate. Clutching the food box, she turned and stormed off, tears of frustration streaming down her cheeks.
As she walked, Xiang'er wiped her tears and cursed under her breath: "Shen Clan, enjoy your favor while it lasts. May you bear a useless daughter! May your beauty wither into that of a hag!"
Inside the main residence, Prince Yan wasn’t lying in bed to recuperate. Since childhood, he had been robust, skilled in archery and horsemanship—his physique was exceptional. A mere arrow wound couldn’t slow him down.
Prince Yan was practicing swordplay in the courtyard, wielding the blade with his right hand.
A daily regimen of martial training kept his mind sharp and energy high, even during demanding official duties.
Shen Wei stood under the eaves, watching as Prince Yan swung his sword with formidable prowess.
He was undeniably dashing.
Without his outer robe, Prince Yan’s left shoulder was wrapped in a white bandage, his sculpted abdomen on full display. Sweat glistened as it trailed down his neck and across his taut muscles—a sight to behold.
Shen Wei sighed inwardly. In some ways, Prince Yan and she were alike—both relentless in their pursuits, each in their own way.
Once his practice ended, Shen Wei descended the steps and rose on tiptoe to wipe his sweat.
"Your Highness, aren’t you worried about aggravating your injury?" Her tone was chiding, yet resigned.
She didn’t stop him from training. As a fellow perfectionist, Shen Wei understood one thing well: those who strive despise interruptions.
Prince Yan’s voice was husky: "Change my bandages."
Shen Wei’s cheeks flushed pink: "Yes..."
A maid brought in ointment and fresh robes before quietly withdrawing. Shen Wei carefully cut away the old bandage, dampened a cloth, and gently wiped away the sweat from Prince Yan’s body, her movements tender.
The arrow wound wasn’t deep, already scabbed over in a thin layer. Yet the dark purple bruising around it looked gruesome.
As Shen Wei applied the medicine, her eyes gradually welled up. A tear slipped free, landing squarely on the back of Prince Yan’s hand.
His heart stirred as if brushed by a feather—touched and softened.
Who else but his Wei Wei would shed tears for his well-being?
Shen Wei’s teary eyes were utterly endearing, like a delicate flower. Prince Yan wiped the moisture from her lashes and murmured, "Don’t cry. I’m perfectly fine—see? Still swinging swords."
Her voice was muffled, tears clinging to her lashes: "This humble one knows Your Highness is unharmed... but my heart still aches for you..."
While his other wives and concubines remained indifferent or reserved in their concern, Shen Wei wore her heart on her sleeve—she simply couldn’t bear to see him in pain.
Who could resist a woman whose every thought revolved around him?
Certainly not Prince Yan.
After tenderly redressing his wound and securing the bandage, Shen Wei helped him into loose robes.
Just as she moved to fetch tea, Prince Yan caught her slender wrist. With a soft gasp, Shen Wei found herself pulled into his lap, his scorching breath against her ear.
"Your Highness?" Shen Wei’s eyes widened in surprise, meeting the smoldering intensity in Prince Yan’s dark gaze.
Shen Wei nearly rolled her eyes.
Even bandaging him could stir his passions—he must’ve been a spaniel in his past life. ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ Novᴇl_Fire(.)net
Shen Wei nestled softly against Prince Yan's chest, contemplating whether to yield to his advances. Just then, a eunuch's deferential announcement echoed from outside the chamber:
"Your Highness, Prince Heng has arrived."