Ning Yan let out a sharp laugh, his chest shaking uncontrollably for a while. He lowered his head and squinted at her with a fierce glare—but his hands didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the silk ribbon and gave it a clean tug, tearing it open.
Bai Qingqing hurriedly stood up from his lap, flustered and avoiding his gaze. “I’ll pay you back,” she murmured.
“Mhm. I’ll be waiting.”
She turned and slipped into the inner room. Not long after, a timid voice floated out, “Could you… call Qiyue for me? I don’t know how…”
Ning Yan clicked his tongue and got up to open the door. Qiyue was already standing there, seemingly just finding her balance, though her face was calm and composed. “Is Qingqing calling for me? Then I’ll go in. My lord, are you leaving? Take care.”
She slipped inside and closed the door behind her, patting her chest in silent relief. She hadn’t been eavesdropping—when it comes to someone you care about, that’s just being concerned, not spying.
Qiyue had been fretting outside, worried something inappropriate might happen in there. Thankfully, all was well.
But when she helped Bai Qingqing change, she noticed the torn silk ribbon caught in the tassels. “Hm? Is this… the lord’s?”
Bai Qingqing bit her lip, embarrassed, her voice barely above a whisper, “It got tangled… I couldn’t help it. I owe him one.”
Qiyue’s expression froze for a second before quickly smoothing into a smile. She comforted her cheerfully, “It’s alright. The lord never fusses over these things. Just make him a new one.”
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As for the outfit, Bai Qingqing wrapped it tightly, layer after layer, until you couldn’t tell what it was. Only then did she let Zidai take it away. Qiyue headed up to the top floor, and sure enough, found Ning Yan there.
He wasn’t poring over scrolls like usual, nor lost in thought. Strangely, he was doing nothing at all—just leaning against the window, gazing out in a daze.
Qiyue brought in the tea and had just set it on the table when she heard him ask, “She’s gone?”
“And the clothes—did she take them with her?”
Qiyue placed the tea down and stood quietly to the side, but still couldn’t help asking, “My lord, you knew that the Xiayi robes of the Jiyue clan are meant to be worn only for one’s husband—why did you still find an excuse to make Qingqing wear them?”
Ning Yan pinched the bridge of his nose lightly. “Is that so? I don’t remember.”
“But you do remember that if the Xiayi robes are damaged by anyone other than the husband, it’s said to bring misfortune to the woman. You’d rather tear the ribbon yourself.”
Ning Yan opened his eyes and glanced at her coldly. “You’ve said enough today.”
Heh. Qiyue scoffed silently, then startled herself with the thought.
She had assumed Ning Yan made Bai Qingqing wear the Xiayi robe to make things difficult for her—to humiliate her. How naïve she’d been.
Now she understood. But did the lord himself?
After leaving Yanlai Pavilion, Bai Qingqing went to Qingxin Hall. At the entrance, the steward came out to inform her that Fu Yi was inside, waiting—he’d already been there for several days.
Bai Qingqing removed the veil from her hat and stepped in. Sure enough, she saw Fu Yi. The moment he caught sight of her, he strode toward her—only to stop halfway, remaining at a distance.
“Let’s talk upstairs.”
Bai Qingqing led the way up. She’d already guessed Fu Yi would come looking for her—so many eyes had seen what the Princess Consort of Ping and the Virtuous Consort had done at the Summer Festival. How could Fu Yi not know?
“Why wait for me here? You could’ve sent a message.”
Fu Yi’s face was grim. “The Duke of England’s manor refused to deliver it.”
Of course. Mother must be furious, and even Father had told him to sever all ties with Prince Ping.
“So say it. What did you come here for?”