Chapter 74: What on Earth Is Happening to Him

When recalling the events of last night, Qiao Qingyun was utterly furious. She never expected that, drunk, she would fall prey to that man. From now on, she swore never to touch alcohol again!

"You!" Yuan Zaichun’s face was livid with rage as he paced back and forth in the hall, exhaling deeply after a while. His trembling finger pointed at Qiao Qingyun, uncertain whether he was enraged or simply breathless.

"You are my wife. Even if there was an agreement at the start, now that I have laid hands on you, it is done. So what of it?" he demanded. "Has the rite of Zhou lost its meaning?"

The Zhou rites? If Zhuang Zhou knew of such a Zhou, he would surely be incensed enough to rise from the grave.

"My lord must have drunk too much today. I am unwell; please, leave and rest," Qiao Qingyun said.

"Qiao Qingyun!" The man forced her name through clenched teeth, his jaw grinding audibly as though he wished to kill her to vent his anger.

Liu Fu, standing nearby, kept his head bowed and dared not speak, only signaling Qiao Qingyun with furtive glances. Now was not the time to provoke Yuan Zaichun.

"Liu Fu, get out!"

"Yes, sir."

Startled at being singled out, Liu Fu quickly raised his head. Meeting Yuan Zaichun’s fiery gaze, his heart sank. The crown princess was about to suffer. Yet, as nothing more than a guard, there was little he could do. He turned and left.

"What—what do you intend to do?" Qiao Qingyun watched as the door closed and Yuan Zaichun advanced step by step, even unfastening his belt. Panic seized her; she stammered, retreating with every step.

"Your Highness... Yuan Zaichun, you... you..."

"If you do not know how to be a proper crown princess, I shall teach you myself!" With that, the man tore off what little remained of his clothing, pushed Qiao Qingyun onto the bed, climbed over her, and ripped away layer upon layer of silk.

"Ah! You bastard, let me go! Let me go!"

No matter how Qiao Qingyun struggled, she could not budge Yuan Zaichun in the slightest.

The next morning, Qiao Qingyun was still in a deep sleep. Yuan Zaichun had risen already; he frowned as he gazed at her tear-stained face. What had come over him last night? It was as though he were bewitched, nearly tormenting Qiao Qingyun to death.

"Your Highness, shall I wake the princess?" Qingluo entered and, seeing Qiao Qingyun lying broken on the bed, felt her heart shatter. Nevertheless, she suppressed her trembling and bowed, awaiting Yuan Zaichun’s command.

It was tradition for the crown princess to serve the crown prince as he dressed.

Yuan Zaichun straightened his garments, which had been put on by Liu Fu, and frowned. "No need. Tend to your mistress."

"Yes, sir."

Once Yuan Zaichun had left, Qingluo’s legs gave way; she knelt on the floor, covering her mouth to stifle her sobs. She should have known—when Yuan Zaichun said he wished to speak with Qiao Qingyun yesterday, she should never have left. She assumed it was mere marital squabbles, but now, seeing Qiao Qingyun’s bruised body, it was clear she had been abused.

After regaining her composure, Qingluo nearly had to lean on the doorframe to walk out. At the threshold, she ran into Hong Ying.

"What’s wrong? You look as though your soul has left your body!" Hong Ying eyed Qingluo with surprise.

Tears shimmering in her eyes, Qingluo replied, "Prepare the princess's clothes and some medicine for bruises—quickly, bring them in. I... I must fetch something else for her."

"Medicine for bruises! The princess is hurt!" Hong Ying exclaimed, rushing into the room. She emerged a moment later, her face dark, and sat heavily in a chair.

"Qingluo, the princess—"

"Enough, just prepare what’s needed," Qingluo said, taking a deep breath to steady herself. Forcing a smile, she carried the undershirt into the room.

She approached the sleeping Qiao Qingyun, touched her delicate skin, and gently called, "Your Highness."

She tapped Qiao Qingyun’s arm. After a while, Qiao Qingyun finally opened her eyes, immediately pulling the quilt up to cover herself.

"Qingluo, has that bastard Yuan Zaichun gone?" she asked, still shaken.

Seeing Qiao Qingyun so distressed, Qingluo’s tears spilled freely; she nodded, "Yes, Your Highness, he’s gone. I’ve asked Hong Ying to fetch medicine for your bruises—you’ll need it soon."

Hearing Yuan Zaichun had left, Qiao Qingyun relaxed entirely, like a deflated balloon. Her hair was already disheveled, making her look all the more worn.

"Your Highness, if you truly can’t endure this, perhaps you should keep your distance from His Highness. These wounds..." Qingluo’s voice trembled mid-sentence.

Qiao Qingyun gave a faint, indifferent smile. "Enough, don’t cry. Come, walk with me—I need some exercise."

She hadn’t trained in a long time. Ever since she married into the crown prince’s household, she’d ceased all physical activity. The skills she once possessed had nearly faded.

With help from Hong Ying and Qingluo, Qiao Qingyun managed to walk steadily to her own courtyard. As she had instructed, Zhong Shi awaited her, having been there for quite some time.

"Your Highness," he greeted.

The man wore deep blue attire. Seeing Qiao Qingyun’s pale complexion, he instinctively wanted to lend her a hand, but reason swiftly reminded him: he must not. Their positions forbade such gestures.

"Teach me," Qiao Qingyun said. "Let’s see if I can reclaim the skills I learned from you all those years ago."

"Of course," Zhong Shi replied, tossing her a red tassel spear. As soon as Qiao Qingyun caught it, Zhong Shi drew his long sword and attacked her, aiming for her face.

Though he had restrained his strength, Qiao Qingyun struggled to fend him off, barely managing to block his blows.

Each time, Zhong Shi guided her movements, ensuring she was never truly at risk. Instead, the more they sparred, the more adept Qiao Qingyun became.

"Zhong Shi, are you teaching me through actual combat?" she asked, studying his attack patterns and splitting her focus between offense and defense.

"Your Highness, you must concentrate or you’ll reveal a flaw," Zhong Shi reminded her, surprised. Despite constant blocking, Qiao Qingyun hadn’t exposed a single weakness. Clearly, she was cut out for martial arts.

They sparred for a full hour. As breakfast approached, Yuan Zaichun, intending to dine with Qiao Qingyun, caught sight of the scene from afar.

The woman’s calves powered each retreat, her gaze resolute, wielding the red tassel spear with grace—like a startled swan, like a swimming dragon—poised and never yielding.