A Concubine’s Competitive Life in the Prince’s Household
Chapter 227

The guard stiffened.

Zhao Yang found it increasingly peculiar and commanded once more, "Raise your head for this princess."

After a brief struggle, the guard slowly lifted his head, the brim of his black hat tilting upward.

Under the bright moonlight of a spring night, his handsome yet unfamiliar face came into Zhao Yang's view.

A stranger.

Zhao Yang was deeply puzzled and asked softly, "Have we met somewhere before?"

The guard's lips curved into a faint smile before he lowered his head again.

...

...

Night fell over Yongning Palace.

The hour was late, and Shen Wei, having drunk a bit at the banquet, felt her head swimming. After downing half a bowl of sobering soup, drowsiness overtook her, and she retreated early beneath the covers to rest.

Li Yuanjing lay beside her on the same bed.

As Shen Wei drifted in and out of sleep, she suddenly heard faint rustling by her pillow. Blinking groggily, she saw Li Yuanjing rise, draping his robe over his shoulders.

"Your Majesty, where are you going so late?" Shen Wei forced herself to ask through her exhaustion.

Li Yuanjing replied, "I'll return shortly. Rest first."

In the past, Shen Wei would never have dared to sleep before her superior. But now, her relationship with Li Yuanjing had deepened—she had firmly rooted herself in his heart and no longer needed to tread as carefully as before.

So without another thought, Shen Wei burrowed back under the blankets.

Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she returned to sleep.

Li Yuanjing fastened his robe and glanced back at Shen Wei in bed. He reached out to gather the loose edges of the quilt, tucking them gently around her before quietly leaving the chamber.

Outside, the courtyard was bathed in silvery moonlight as a black-clad Tiger Guard landed soundlessly within its walls.

The guard reported Zhao Yang’s assassination attempt on the main street, adding, "The coroner confirmed both assailants died of poisoning. They were from Yanjing, but the mastermind remains under investigation."

Li Yuanjing asked, "Was Zhao Yang injured?"

The guard answered, "Thanks to his protection, the princess was unharmed. However... she seems to have recognized his identity."

Li Yuanjing wasn’t surprised.

Zhao Yang was clever—she must have noticed the guard’s peculiarity. Perhaps she had even guessed that the unfamiliar-faced escort was none other than Tuoba Hongchuan, Emperor of Yue Kingdom.

Who would have imagined that the exalted ruler of Yue would disguise himself among his own delegation, risking his life to enter Qing State just to see Zhao Yang?

Of course, had Tuoba Hongchuan not shown such sincerity, Li Yuanjing would never have agreed to Zhao Yang’s marriage to him.

The night wind stirred, lifting strands of Li Yuanjing’s dark hair. His eyes narrowed coldly as he ordered, "Dig deeper into the assassins’ origins. Too many filth have infiltrated Yanjing."

Were these "filth" from Southern Chu Kingdom? Or the Eastern Lin Kingdom? It was unclear.

But Li Yuanjing leaned toward Southern Chu.

After all, Prince Li Yuanli was thriving there, soon to be crowned as Southern Chu’s new emperor.

With the war between Qing State and Yue Kingdom barely settled, conflict with Southern Chu seemed inevitable—and countless civilians would suffer the consequences.

The Tiger Guard vanished into the night.

Li Yuanjing exhaled heavily. The weight of an emperor’s duty was relentless—no sooner was one crisis resolved than another emerged. Wearily, he turned back toward Yongning Palace.

The chamber door stood ajar, and there, beneath the eaves, stood Shen Wei, wrapped in a thin cloak, waiting patiently. The warm glow of candlelight from within cast a golden halo around her.

At the sight of her, Li Yuanjing’s heart stirred inexplicably.

No matter how heavy his burdens, no matter how dire the challenges, whenever he turned around, his Weiwei was always there—like a steadfast lantern in the dark.

"It’s cold outside. You should have waited indoors," Li Yuanjing said, stepping forward, his chest swelling with emotion.

Shen Wei took his hand, smiling softly. "This concubine wasn’t cold. I only wished to wait for Your Majesty’s return."

Though the bed was warm, though their bond was now intimate, she couldn’t forget her duty as a contender.

Not a moment of complacency was allowed—she had to vie for the emperor’s favor relentlessly.

Hand in hand, they returned to the chamber and nestled together in sleep.

...

...

The next dawn broke faintly as Zhao Yang rose early, having tossed and turned all night. The guard’s face had haunted her thoughts.

Finally, she remembered—his unfamiliar features resembled those of the woodcutter she had once saved.

He was Tuoba Hongchuan, Emperor of Yue Kingdom!

The emperor had risked everything to travel incognito to her estate, disguising himself as a lowly guard!

Her heart swelled with emotions—gratitude, confusion, bewilderment, unease—leaving her sleepless.

A glance in the mirror at daybreak revealed dark circles under her eyes. As Yun'er helped her dress, she asked, "Princess, why are you up so early? Where are you going?"

Zhao Yang replied, "To the Yan family’s villa."

She had already resolved to marry the Yue emperor—there was no turning back.

Yet Yan Yunting, ever persistent, kept courting her. Zhao Yang decided to visit him personally and make it clear: she didn’t love him, and he should stay away.

"Princess... do you still have feelings for Young Master Yan?" Yun'er gasped.

Zhao Yang glared. "Nonsense. To this princess, Yan Yunting is filthier than a latrine."

Yun'er prepared the carriage, and Zhao Yang hurried to the Yan villa.

At this early hour, a yawning servant swept leaves in the courtyard. When he spotted Zhao Yang and her maids storming in, his broom clattered to the ground.

"Where is Yan Yunting?" Zhao Yang demanded.

The servant stammered, eyes darting nervously. "Young Master... drank heavily last night and just woke. Please wait in the hall, Princess. This lowly one will announce you."

Zhao Yang had no intention of barging into a man’s bedroom. She turned toward the hall—but as she did, her gaze flickered toward Yan Yunting’s quarters.

What she saw stunned her.

Through the carved lattice window, Yan Yunting, clad in white sleep robes, was tenderly combing the hair of Tantai Rou, who wore similarly thin night attire.

By the small window, he styled her locks.

Tantai Rou blushed demurely, her fair neck adorned with vivid love marks. She sat at the vanity, basking in her husband’s affectionate grooming.

The scene was picturesque—a perfect pair, like matched jade.

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