Chapter 38: Your Highness, Would You Sacrifice Yourself?

Qingluo was already waiting at the door, while Qiao Qingyun sat inside, performing the final rites—the nuptial wine and the rest of the ceremony. When everyone inside had left, night had already fallen. Yuan Zaichun was not allowed to leave and could only remain inside to consummate the marriage.

“Hey, hey, hey! Why are you going in at this time?” Qingluo lowered her voice and stopped Hongying and Zhong Shi, who were about to enter.

“Didn’t the matron say we should fetch the white bridal handkerchief?”

Qingluo sighed helplessly, casting a quiet glance at Hongying. “We must wait here until the sounds inside have ended. Only then can we ask and enter.”

Inside, Qiao Qingyun and Yuan Zaichun stared at each other, eyes wide. “Um… Your Highness… could you perhaps… do me a favor?”

“Oh? You wish to consummate the marriage with me?” Yuan Zaichun raised his brows in amusement, gazing at Qiao Qingyun with interest.

Yet, for a moment, he found himself distracted by this woman. She wore only light makeup, but her delicate face was strikingly lovely. Every frown and smile seemed to land heavily on his heart. For an instant, Yuan Zaichun realized that perhaps being with Qiao Qingyun like this was not so bad after all…

But when he thought of Bu Shenglian, all those thoughts vanished instantly.

“No, Your Highness, you misunderstand. I only meant—could you perhaps sacrifice a little of your blood? I’m afraid of pain,” Qiao Qingyun said, her voice a bit aggrieved. She pointed at the white bridal handkerchief on the side. “I have to hand it over, after all.”

“Mm,” Yuan Zaichun replied, saying no more. He reached out, unfastened his robe, startling Qiao Qingyun, who quickly dodged aside. “Your Highness! What—what are you doing?”

Perhaps her voice carried outside, for Zhong Shi clenched his fists, standing rigidly by. Qingluo grew nervous—could it be that her mistress was too shy to go through with it?

“Don’t move!” Yuan Zaichun’s commanding voice came from inside, and indeed, all fell silent.

“The prince and princess are now consummating the marriage!” The matron arrived, for it was time to inform the couple that this was the auspicious moment.

Qiao Qingyun watched as Yuan Zaichun picked up a small knife and made a cut on his finger, letting the blood drip onto the white handkerchief.

“Does it hurt?” the woman asked anxiously, her brow furrowed as she leaned in to check. Yuan Zaichun shot her a glance. “Why don’t you try it?”

“So… what now?” Qiao Qingyun looked at Yuan Zaichun, who now wore only his crimson inner garments. The man frowned and strode forward, tearing open Qiao Qingyun’s dress in one swift motion.

“Ah!” she cried out. Outside, the matron stifled a laugh.

“Madam, what are you laughing at?” Hongying, innocent in such matters, asked.

The matron smiled knowingly. “It’s nothing. The prince is simply too eager, afraid he may hurt the princess.”

She failed to notice how tightly Zhong Shi’s fists were clenched. For a man who loved Qiao Qingyun, having to stand outside and listen to the woman he adored being bullied inside was torture.

Hongying suddenly understood, flushing red and lowering her head in silence.

“Why are you screaming? Relax!” Yuan Zaichun barked.

“Then don’t be so rough!” Qiao Qingyun protested, clutching the quilt to cover herself as Yuan Zaichun pinned her to the bed and tore at her clothing.

Yuan Zaichun glanced toward the matron outside, then leaned over Qiao Qingyun, pressing her down beneath him.

“You—!”

“Silence,” he commanded coldly. Then, balancing above her, he began to do push-ups.

“Play along,” he whispered.

The matron outside would not leave without hearing the appropriate noises, so Qiao Qingyun had no choice but to cooperate.

“Mm…” she let out a deliberately coquettish moan—awkward and unfamiliar, yet it almost made Yuan Zaichun lose his composure. He hadn’t expected her voice to be so enchanting. It was as if a little cat was scratching at his heart.

“It hurts…” Qiao Qingyun’s voice grew softer, stirring something in Yuan Zaichun, who struggled to suppress the fire rising in his abdomen.

At last, the matron, satisfied by the sounds, turned to Qingluo and Hongying. “You two, go in soon and fetch the bridal handkerchief. Bring it to the front hall and hand it to me for the empress’s inspection.”

“Yes,” they replied. Only when the matron left did Hongying mutter, dissatisfied, “Why must she meddle so much in a couple’s affairs?”

“That’s the rule in the palace,” Qingluo said with resignation. “It’s said that previously, a prince’s consort lost her status and became a concubine simply because she didn't bleed on her wedding night.”

“Really?” Hongying was shocked. She hadn’t realized the rules were so strict.

Neither of them noticed Zhong Shi, who had been standing silently nearby, as if unable to join in the women’s conversation.

After a while, the noises from inside finally ceased. Qingluo paused, made sure all was quiet, then knocked and called, “Your Highness?”

“Come in.”

When permission was granted, Zhong Shi, for reasons unknown, followed them inside. He was greeted by the sight of Yuan Zaichun in his night robe sitting on the bed, Qiao Qingyun’s fair shoulder exposed, her wedding robe torn to shreds on the floor, her hair in complete disarray.

“Oh my! You blockhead! Out, quickly!” Qingluo, seeing Yuan Zaichun’s darkened expression, hastily pushed Zhong Shi out. Bowing her head, she apologized, “Forgive him, Your Highness. He is the princess’s dowry attendant, honest and unfamiliar with court etiquette. Please do not be angry.”

“It’s nothing,” Yuan Zaichun replied.

With that, he glanced at Qiao Qingyun lying beside him and, feigning tenderness, caressed her cheek. “My dear, you must be tired. I will go toast the guests first, and return to you soon.”

“Yes,” Qiao Qingyun replied.

After Yuan Zaichun, assisted by Qingluo, changed his clothes and left, Qiao Qingyun snapped upright as if revived.

“Hurry! I want to bathe!”

She was exhausted—she hadn’t expected acting to be such tiring work.

“Ah? Your Highness, you…” Hongying, holding the white handkerchief, looked worried as Qiao Qingyun insisted on bathing. “Is it allowed at this time?”

Qingluo considered. “It should be fine. Let me help you, Your Highness.”

She gently helped Qiao Qingyun into fresh clothes and brought her to the back chambers to bathe.

Hongying took the handkerchief and hurried to the main hall, where Yuan Zaichun was still toasting the guests. She handed it to the matron. “Madam, please have a look.”

The matron, dutiful as ever, presented the handkerchief to the empress.

The empress glanced down, a smile playing at her lips, and waved her hand.