The princess consort’s voice was shrill, nearly hysterical. Her eyes were sunken, her gaze feral, like a cornered beast.
“Why hasn’t Fu Yi come yet? How dare he not come? Without my help, he would never have secured the position of heir. How could he not come?”
Nanny Chang had already repeated the same line countless times: “Young Master is truly occupied. The prince trusts him deeply and has entrusted him with many important matters. Once he’s finished, he will definitely come see you.”
The princess consort’s mania finally began to ebb. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the armrests of her chair. She raised her head and stared at Nanny Chang. “Will he still come? It’s been so long. No matter how busy he is, it’s impossible that he doesn’t know what I’m going through. He couldn’t just ignore me like this…”
Her pupils suddenly constricted. “You don’t think… he knows?”
“Don’t overthink it, Madam. That was all so long ago. How would Young Master possibly find out?”
“No. He must know.”
The light faded from the consort’s eyes as she murmured to herself, “Otherwise, why would he suddenly use Qingyun’s marriage to threaten me? He’s never been like that. Even when we quarreled before, he never left me in silence for so long. He’s always been a dutiful son…”
The more she thought, the colder her heart became. She clutched Nanny Chang’s wrist like a drowning woman grasping for driftwood, her nails digging in deep.
“He must know, Nanny. What do I do? What should I do?”
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Nanny Chang endured the pain and tried to console her gently. “It might not be that. With Young Master’s temper, if he truly knew, would he not come confront you directly? You raised him yourself—don’t you know what he’s like? He’s not one to keep something so big to himself.”
Only then did the consort slowly release her grip, the panic in her eyes fading slightly. “You’re right. I know Yi’er’s temperament best—he can’t tolerate the slightest speck of dust in his eyes. He’s never been one for scheming or playing games. Yes… I was overthinking it.”
But then why hadn’t he come? Hadn’t he seen what kind of situation she was in within the residence? Did he truly not fear losing the title of heir to Fu Xiao?
The Fu Yi she remembered—the one who couldn’t tolerate injustice—had perished in her past life. The man he had become now was calm and deliberate. Every task Fu Yanghong handed him was completed with precision and care. Delighted, Fu Yanghong clapped him on the shoulder with praise after praise.
“They say a tiger’s son won’t be a dog, and sure enough—it’s true! Hahaha!”
But Fu Yi’s face showed no pride, only the same steady composure as always. This only pleased Fu Yanghong further. He had once feared the princess consort would ruin the boy, thought Fu Yi less manageable than Fu Xiao. But now he realized Fu Yi carried a shadow of his own youthful brilliance. Everything he touched was handled cleanly and well.
“Oh, that reminds me,” Fu Yanghong said, “the Minister of Rites mentioned something the other day—he has a young daughter, just come of age…”
He hadn’t finished the thought before Fu Yi spoke up, “There’s much turmoil at home these days. All I want is to shoulder more for Father. There’s no rush to marry. When our estate rises again, perhaps even surpasses its past glory, do you think I’ll have trouble finding a bride?”
“Well said!”
Fu Yanghong beamed with satisfaction. “You have ambition—that’s like me. You don’t let romance trip you up, and only that kind of man can accomplish great things. In this, you’re better than your brother.”
At the mention of Fu Xiao, the smile on Fu Yanghong’s face faded. “I’d thought he’d finally come to his senses. He hasn’t mentioned that courtesan lately, seems to be focusing on his duties. But then I tried to set up a marriage for him, and he flat-out refused—clearly still pining for her!”