Chapter 288: The Embers of a Wrong Kiss, the Spread of Hatred
Under the influence of Hehuan Powder, Yongqi mistook Zhihua for Xiaoyanzi, and fell into a deep sleep after a passionate kiss.
The next morning, with the hangover headache still lingering, he opened his eyes and met a pair of tearful eyes.
"The prince called my sister's name seventy-three times last night." Zhihua's knuckles turned white as she clutched the corner of the quilt.
Under the crabapple tree in the east courtyard, Little Swallow was standing on tiptoe to reach the highest dew-covered bud, and the toe of her golden shoes made the swing boards creak.
"Yongqi, you big idiot!" She laughed and scolded the parrot in the cage, completely unaware that the tear from the west courtyard that fell on the marriage certificate had turned into poison.
The morning light filtered through the thick madder window screens, turning it into a chaotic grayish-white, barely filtering into the new house in the west courtyard. The red candles had long since burned out, their solidified wax wax piled up into a hideous mountain on the candlesticks. The air lingered with the sweet scent of lilies, the odor of alcohol, and a suffocating, decadent atmosphere of the night.
Yongqi woke up with a splitting headache.
His eyelids felt heavy as if a thousand-pound rock was pressing down on them, and every attempt to open them caused his temples to throb with pain. His throat felt dry and burning. He groaned unconsciously and tried to raise his hand to rub his aching forehead, but something warm and soft weighed heavily on his arm.
The touch is wrong!
Chaos' consciousness was suddenly awakened as if it was pierced by an ice spike.
He suddenly opened his eyes!
His vision was blurry at first, then gradually cleared. What came into view was the intricate red curtain overhead, embroidered with a tacky picture of hundreds of children and grandchildren. This wasn't the East Courtyard! He rolled his eyes stiffly, his gaze settling on the object his arm was holding down—
Her long, jet-black hair, like a waterfall, lay scattered on a red satin pillow embroidered with mandarin ducks playing in the water. In the hollow of the pillow, a pale, familiar face faced him.
Chen Zhihua!
Yongqi jerked his arm back as if scalded by boiling water, like he had received an electric shock! The movement was so great that the entire bed shook slightly.
Chen Zhihua seemed startled by the noise. Her long eyelashes trembled a few times and then slowly opened.
Their eyes met.
Yongqi's pupils suddenly constricted, the hangover chaos instantly replaced by horror and disbelief. Those chaotic, burning moments of last night, reeking of alcohol and drugs—the blurry red figure, the domineering kiss, the scorching embrace, and the uncontrollable calls... rushed into his mind like a breaking tide! Every image was like a red-hot iron, burning his heart and tightening its grip.
"You..." His voice was hoarse, raspy with hangover and a barely perceptible tremor. He wanted to ask, "Why are you here?" But the messy quilt beneath him, the lingering scent in the air, and her crumpled red blouse, nearly slipping off her shoulders... everything was clear. Last night's absurd farce hadn't been a dream.
Chen Zhihua's face was pale, almost transparent, making the dark, dark circles beneath her eyes and her slightly swollen eyelids all the more glaring. She stared at him quietly, her eyes, so gentle and calculating last night, now like two bottomless wells, churning with a near-dead sadness and... icy despair that Yongqi had never seen before.
She didn't scream, didn't question, but slowly, with great difficulty, sat up. Beneath the slipped quilt, her slender shoulders looked incredibly fragile beneath her thin undergarment. She tilted her head slightly, avoiding Yongqi's shocked gaze, her gaze falling on the disheveled bedding on the inside of the bed. There, a glaring, dried, dark red mark burned their gazes like a silent brand.
Yongqi followed her gaze, his breath catching in his throat! That flash of red, like a red-hot dagger, pierced his chaotic mind. He subconsciously clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening and veins bulging on the backs of his hands. A massive torrent of regret, anger (at himself or at fate, he wasn't sure), and an indescribable sense of absurdity instantly overwhelmed him.
Just then, a cautious knock on the door broke the suffocating silence in the room. It was the maid.
"Your Highness, Concubine, it's getting late. You should get up, wash up, and serve tea to the princess." The maid's voice came through the door, with a hint of deliberate respect.
The two words "serve tea" were like two cold needles that pierced the nerves of Yongqi and Chen Zhihua at the same time.
Chen Zhihua's body trembled slightly, almost imperceptibly. She finally turned her head slowly and looked back at Yongqi. The sadness and despair in her eyes seemed to be forcibly suppressed, covered with a chilling calm. She twitched the corners of her mouth slightly, trying to force a gentle smile, but it was uglier than crying.
"Your Highness," her voice was light and hoarse, as if she had exhausted all her strength last night. "Last night... you were drunk. You held me in your arms and kept... kept calling my name." She paused, each word coming out as if plucked from icy water, chilling to the bone. "Seventy-three times."
boom--!
Yongqi felt as if something in his head had exploded! The last shred of hope vanished. The vague yet persistent call from last night now echoed in his ears with incredible clarity—"Little Swallow... Little Swallow..." The sound, one after another, was like a curse.
A deep sense of shame and the embarrassment of being completely stripped and displayed for public viewing instantly gripped him. He abruptly turned his head away, not daring to look into Chen Zhihua's eyes, which seemed to see through everything and were filled with cold hatred. His gaze frantically scanned the messy bed, his robes scattered on the floor, and finally settled on a brass basin filled with clear water on a rosewood stand in the corner.
The water's surface swayed slightly, revealing his current appearance—his hair disheveled, his face pale, his eyes terrified. Where was the dignity of Prince Rong? He looked more like a fugitive caught in the act, in a state of disarray. The distorted reflection in the water seemed to silently mock his absurdity and cowardice.
He suddenly closed his eyes, his temples throbbing and his head splitting with pain.
But the East Courtyard at this moment is a completely different world.
The morning light was just right, radiating a golden glow across the courtyard. Several tall crabapple trees were in full bloom, their pink and white blossoms clustered on their branches like stacked clouds. A gentle breeze sent petals scattering, bringing with it a sweet fragrance. Beneath the trees, a swing swayed gently in the morning breeze, its wooden planks creaking leisurely.
Little Swallow, wearing a goose-yellow spring gown embroidered with emerald green vines, matching loose-fitting trousers, and a pair of gold-thread slippers adorned with oriental pearls, was tiptoeing, trying to reach the fullest bud at the top of the crabapple tree, its petals still shimmering with morning dew. Her movements were as lithe as those of a nimble yellow oriole.
"Higher... a little higher... Hey, I've got it!" Her fingertips finally touched the delicate petals, and a brilliant, triumphant smile instantly spread across her face, her brows curved, and her cheeks dimpled. The morning light fell on her smooth forehead and thick eyelashes, dancing with tiny golden rays.
She carefully plucked the bud, held it to her nose, sniffed deeply, and narrowed her eyes in satisfaction. Then, clutching the bud, she hopped over to the swing, her skirt fluttering like a butterfly. She carefully inserted the bud into the swing's knot, then gracefully sat on it. With a tap of her toes, the swing swung high.
"Fly!" Her clear laughter echoed in the yard with the ups and downs of the swing, startling a few early-rising sparrows under the eaves.
Under the eaves of the corridor, there is an exquisite gilded birdcage hanging. Inside the cage, a parrot with green feathers and a red beak is tilting its head, and its black bean-like eyes are looking curiously at the owner swinging on the swing.
"Idiot! Idiot!" The parrot suddenly shouted and imitated the human voice in a clear and melodious voice.
Little Swallow swung to her highest point, her skirt almost brushing against the crabapple branches. She wasn't annoyed by what she heard, but instead giggled even more. She pointed at the parrot's cage with a deliberately stern face, but her voice held a hint of laughter: "You stinky parrot, if you keep screaming, I'll starve you for three days!"
Her silvery laughter and the parrot's noisy "idiot" sound intertwined together, full of vitality, like a beam of the most dazzling light, penetrating the morning mist of Prince Rong's Mansion, illuminating the entire east courtyard with bright warmth.
The dead silence of the new house in the west courtyard contrasted with the bright and cheerful atmosphere beneath the crabapple tree in the east courtyard, separated only by a few courtyards. On one side, the burning hatred of a wrong kiss raged, while on the other, the tranquility of a life lived in oblivion. The dew-soaked crabapple bud tucked into the ropes of the swing swayed gently in the wind, oblivious to its silent division. And the heavy weight of "tea service" hung heavy on Yongqi's heart, like a shadow moving westward, slowly pressing down upon the brilliant morning light of the east courtyard.
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