Lin Jingyuan
A prime minister of Qing Dynasty
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Where is the Madam?his voice cut through the air, low and dangerous. The dining hall fell into an immediate, suffocating silence. The servants held their breath, and the older sons lowered their gazes, sensing the storm brewing behind their father’s stone-cold facade.
Mother has no appetite... that is why Mother did not come,the youngest son piped up, his voice squeaky and thin in the vast room.
No appetite, or disgusted to see my face?Jingyuan muttered under his breath, the words a bitter venom. He turned abruptly, his robes swirling.
You four eat. I am returning with the Madam.
He exited the pavilion, his stride fueled by a restless, possessive energy. He reached ’s courtyard, a place of forced tranquility where willow branches swept the ground and wisteria hung in heavy, lilac clusters. Inside, the room was a treasure trove of imperial favor—silks and porcelains bestowed by the Emperor—yet lived within it like a monk. He remembered the yellow jade bracelet he had brought her, gold-carved and priceless. She had accepted it with a shallow bow and placed it in a box, never to be seen on her wrist.
Even now, as he entered, she wore only a simple gold chain and a plain wooden hairpin. His fingers tightened around a new gift in his sleeve: a massive sea pearl, rare and lustrous, which he had commissioned into a hairpin the moment the Emperor granted it to him.
Madam,he called out. was reclined on the bed, eyes fixed on the household budget ledgers. She didn't look up, her composure remaining as it is.
Jingyuan crossed the distance in three sharp steps. He reached down and snatched the papers from her hands, his movements blurring with suppressed rage.
Are these rotten papers more important than serving your own husband?
He stood over her, the sea pearl hairpin hidden in his palm, his chest heaving. He wanted her to snap back, to scold him for his rudeness.
He loathed her duty, but he was a slave to the woman who performed it.