Chapter 368 Consort Rong

Chapter 368 Noble Consort Rong

"He said he wouldn't be too late, so he should be back soon, right?"

Two quilts were piled up on the heated brick bed in the main room. Meng Wan lounged against them, bored out of his mind.

On the table by the heated bed were braised pig trotters, pickled duck, pastries, peanuts, and other snacks. The kitchen had already wrapped dumplings and prepared the main dishes, waiting only for Song Tingzhou's return to bring them to the table.

Shengjing City was several times larger than Xiwu Prefecture. A Yan had been out having fun with Tong'er these past few days and couldn't sit still. He sprawled beside Meng Wan for a while, then sat up to fiddle with his Jiangren figurines and the new cotton dolls he'd gotten.

The boy was clever—even though Meng Wan hadn't told him the price of the cotton dolls, he could tell they weren't as exquisite as the Jiangren figurines. He liked both, but whenever he discovered a new Jiangren figurine, he'd still beg Song Tingzhou to buy it for him.

Meng Wan snatched one of his figurines and examined it closely, saying without a hint of sympathy, "Once the New Year is over, you'll be eight. I'll give you a monthly allowance of ten taels. If you want any figurines, buy them yourself. No more bugging your father, understand?"

A Yan felt like the world had ended when he first heard this. Ten taels a month was the standard allowance for young masters from marquis households. Most of his little friends only got two or three taels. Some who were especially pampered had grandmothers secretly supplementing their allowances to reach ten taels, but not every month.

The thing was, ten taels was indeed a lot, but Jiangren figurines were a real money pit—especially the new releases, which cost at least sixty taels even for the cheapest ones. With his own money, he couldn't even buy two a year.

"Father..." A Yan scooted across the kang like a caterpillar, worming his way to Meng Wan's side.

He was sleeping in the main courtyard tonight. On the screen beside the bed hung his new clothes for tomorrow morning—a bright red robe with gold-threaded embroidery and black trim on the cuffs and collar. Right now, A Yan was only wearing a soft, thin, padded cotton jacket and pants, his black hair tied into two small buns, his small lips rosy, his nose narrow with a straight bridge, and his eyes shaped like peach blossom petals. When he acted cute, he was absolutely adorable.

Meng Wan pulled him into his arms and gently squeezed his round ears. "I'm not going to tell you how poor we used to be or how hard we worked to get here. Even if I talked until I was hoarse, you could never truly understand."

"How come? A Yan knows you and Father worked so hard—you even cut sugarcane and rented land to make money." With his allowance for next year and beyond at stake, A Yan did everything he could to act cute and adorable. He was no longer his usual rebellious self—he was his father's good little boy Yan.

"Heh." Meng Wan chuckled softly. He knew A Yan well—that boy could sweet-talk better than anyone. Meng Wan had developed his skills out of sheer necessity to survive, but A Yan was naturally gifted.

He lounged lazily, picked up a peanut, and popped one into A Yan's mouth. "Anyway, remember this: in our family, whoever earns the money has the say on how it's spent. If you want to be like me and spend as you like, then grow up and earn it yourself. Otherwise, you can only spend what I give you. Understand?"

A Yan didn't want to understand. He dropped the act and said rebelliously, "Father doesn't make that much money either, so why does he get to spend as much as he wants?"

Meng Wan raised an eyebrow, with a touch of pride in his voice. "That's because he married me, your father. We're one, so my money is his to spend."

A Yan had always been good at catching on fast. Mimicking Meng Wan's thoughtful pose, he pinched the smooth skin of his chin between thumb and forefinger, his delicate little face deep in thought. "So if you marry a husband who's good at earning money, you can spend freely?"

"What?" Meng Wan didn't catch what he was mumbling.

"Master, the master is back!" Zhi Mao called from outside.

Meng Wan immediately sat up straight, a smile spreading across his face. He instructed Zhi Mao from the outer room, "Tell the kitchen to bring a bowl of ginger soup first, then serve the meal."

"Got it!" Zhi Mao acknowledged.

Song Tingzhou strode in quickly—before the kitchen's ginger soup even arrived, he was already through the door.

"Father! You're finally back!" A Yan rushed over excitedly.

The outer layer of the cloak he'd taken off was icy, emitting a puff of white mist when it hit the warm air. Song Tingzhou came in bringing a chill, casually hanging up the cloak. "Stay away from Father, I'm freezing cold. You'll catch a chill."

"Then hurry up and drink your ginger soup—dinner's almost ready!" A Yan pretended not to hear, still hovering around him.

A smile tugged at the corners of Song Tingzhou's mouth. "Alright, go back up. The floor is cold."

He warmed himself up before getting onto the kang. Meng Wan poured him a cup of ginger soup—it had just come from the kitchen and had cooled slightly, already drinkable.

Meng Wan smiled knowingly. "Do you know why your son is being so attentive?"

"Aiyah!" A Yan hastily interrupted. "Father must be starving after coming back—let's eat quickly!"

Song Tingzhou and Meng Wan exchanged a glance and both laughed.

Before dinner was served, the family of three first made offerings and burned incense before Song Tingzhou's father's memorial tablet. A Yan kowtowed properly before his grandfather's tablet before returning to the main courtyard to eat.

The fruits and pastries were cleared from the table, and the kitchen brought out six hot dishes and boiled dumplings. The family of three sat on the warm kang, chatting about everyday matters while they ate.

After the meal, the kang table was removed. A Yan washed up in their room and, before midnight even arrived, fell asleep leaning against Song Tingzhou.

Meng Wan spread out the bedding on the kang, and the two of them carefully tucked A Yan into the blankets.

The heated brick bed in the main room was quite large and burned nice and warm. Since the cold weather had set in a few days ago, Meng Wan and Song Tingzhou had been sleeping on the kang.

"No need to get up early for court tomorrow?" Meng Wan asked Song Tingzhou softly.

Song Tingzhou moved closer to him, his arm wrapping around Meng Wan's extremely narrow waist. "No need. His Majesty said to let us have a good New Year—we'll enter the palace together with our families in the afternoon."

Meng Wan yawned. "Perfect, I can get a good night's sleep."

They had never properly kept vigil on New Year's Eve. Meng Wan didn't even know when he'd fallen asleep. The next morning, as usual, Song Tingzhou was the first to wake. Although they'd slept late the night before, Meng Wan also woke up fairly early because he had things on his mind.

After breakfast at home and distributing bonuses to the servants, Nie Zhiyao and Fang Jinrong arrived together. They had met in Lingnan before, though they weren't particularly familiar.

Nie Zhiyao spoke politely, but Fang Jinrong was less courteous. He found Nie Zhiyao a bit pretentious—much like the other ladies and husbands in Shengjing. After hanging around for a while and finding it boring, he dropped Tong'er off to play with A Yan and left on his own.

He wouldn't attend any palace banquet—it sounded dreadfully dull just hearing about it.

"That's just how he is. It's not personal against you," Meng Wan said, pouring Nie Zhiyao a cup of tea.

Nie Zhiyao smiled faintly, not particularly bothered. "I met him in Lingnan. He's indeed not my type of person."

He also didn't ask how Meng Wan had come to know Fang Jinrong and his husband. Meng Wan's connections were vast—he had friends from all corners of the country.

Meng Wan took a sip of the Eight Treasure Tea newly delivered from Lingnan and sighed. "Going into the palace this afternoon, at least we can keep each other company. You have no idea how miserable I was last year."

"Miserable?" Nie Zhiyao hid a smile. "Since returning to the capital, I've heard several accounts of your legendary exploits at the New Year's Day banquet. The folk versions are the most dramatic."

Meng Wan was deeply exasperated by this. In Lingnan, his reputation was nothing but upright and proper—why did everyone in the capital spread such fierce tales about him?

Nie Zhiyao chatted for a bit longer before leaving. Meng Wan began preparing his outfit for the afternoon's palace visit.

This time he had to wear the ceremonial robes of a First-rank Dame. The whole ensemble was bright red: first the large-sleeved red robe, then a deep blue-green cape embroidered with cloud and pheasant patterns and adorned with gold pendants, and finally an outer jacket embroidered with gold-thread cloud and pheasant designs. Fortunately, it was winter—otherwise, this outfit would have been unbearably heavy and stifling.

After having the even more elaborate phoenix crown than the one he'd worn to meet the Empress placed on his head, Meng Wan nearly collapsed under the weight and never wanted to get up again.

As the couple left the house, Meng Wan looked at Song Tingzhou enviously. "I really wish I could wear what you're wearing."

Song Tingzhou cleared his throat and pulled him into the carriage. "I'll let you wear it when we get home tonight."

Meng Wan only figured it out after getting into the carriage. He leaned against Song Tingzhou's shoulder with a mischievous grin. "Alright then—how about just the outer robe?"

Song Tingzhou turned his face slightly, his ears and neck on the side facing Meng Wan flushing bright red, but his arm around Meng Wan's waist tightened.

"Alright."

—

The process of entering the palace was the same as last time, except this time Meng Wan didn't have Chang Jinhua by his side, and he stood in the front row. Nie Zhiyao was even further ahead, following behind the ladies of the Marquis household as they entered first, with Meng Wan next.

Originally, several elderly madams had been between them, but seeing that the two seemed acquainted, they let Meng Wan move forward. It was both a kindness and a testament to Song Tingzhou's current power at court.

No longer Lingnan's Song Tingzhou, but Shengjing's Lord Song.

“You're quite something, slipping right into a seat between the countesses without a word?” Meng Wan raised his wine cup, pretending to drink while actually using his voluminous ceremonial robes as cover to whisper to Nie Zhiyao.

Nie Zhiyao mirrored his demeanor, tilting his head slightly toward Meng Wan. “With the imperial decree not yet issued, would I dare to shoot my mouth off? At the end of the day, my husband's identity is a bit sensitive.”

Meng Wan understood. Lezheng Qi's biological father was the late emperor's imperial uncle, actually two years younger than the late emperor, but he had passed away early, leaving no wife or children. As his posthumous son, Lezheng Qi's seniority in the clan was even greater than the current emperor's, which technically made him an imperial uncle.

But his position was awkward—if the imperial family didn't acknowledge him, he was merely a commoner. The late emperor had shown no intention of elevating him.

Now that the Crown Prince had ascended the throne, circumstances were different. If they couldn't grant him a princedom, bestowing an earldom would be fitting for his courageous efforts in the capital on the Crown Prince's behalf back then.

“Not bad. In a few days, when you return to the Nie family, let those half-brothers and half-sisters of yours properly suck up to you.” Meng Wan teased.

A flicker of disdain passed through Nie Zhiyao's eyes. “Don't. It was fine the way it was before. Keep them away from me—I can't handle that kind of attention.”

The Nie family was vast and wealthy, but in Shengjing, where power and privilege abounded, they hardly measured up. The head of the Nie family had two favorite pastimes: sending the family's young men off to serve as consorts to high officials, and at each triennial metropolitan exam, selecting promising candidates to marry off the family's marriageable daughters.

Unfortunately, his track record was spotty. Over the years, he'd never picked anyone of real promise—most were sent off to distant provinces, and the few who remained in the capital ranked a mere seventh grade. Meanwhile, two of the young men sent as consorts had proven skilled at currying favor and could actually support the family.

If Nie Zhiyao hadn't plotted for his own future, he too might have been reduced to being someone's kept man.

Meng Wan suddenly thought of something and glanced toward Nie Zhiyao's side. Where two countesses had once sat, now there was only one. On Nie Zhiyao's right sat Lin Conghui, the one who had mocked Meng Wan last year. But now she was like a peacock that had lost its tail feathers—subdued and silent, head slightly bowed, as if afraid to draw any attention to herself.

She and Meng Wan were separated only by Nie Zhiyao. Her peripheral vision had already noticed Meng Wan sizing her up, yet she could only raise her cup to hide the twitch in her brow, not daring to cast a sidelong glance his way. Count Chengen had already been executed, and when Count Huaien petitioned to have his concubine-born son named heir, the emperor didn't even acknowledge him. Without an heir to inherit the earldom, once Count Huaien passed, his descendants would be just plain commoners.

Lin Conghui's former arrogance had been built on the earldom's promise of generational continuity—now it had evaporated into thin air.

Meng Wan watched for a while, feeling not satisfaction but boredom. Lin Conghui had been so conceited, leaving herself no fallback. That wasn't pride; that was just stupidity.

“Madam Qin, I hear your household's heir was mobbed on the main street by a group of scholars not long ago?”

The imperial consorts sat opposite the noblewomen. The emperor had only been on the throne for half a year and hadn't yet held a grand selection. Only three women sat across the hall: one was the secondary consort the late emperor had originally assigned to the Crown Prince, one was a male consort the Crown Prince had taken early on, and one was a new consort brought into the harem after the emperor's ascension.

The male consort had served the Crown Prince for years, older than both the Crown Prince and the Crown Princess, and had no children—meek to a fault. After the Crown Prince ascended the throne and granted him the rank of *pin*, he holed up in his palace, treating the harem like a retirement home.

The secondary consort had entered the Eastern Palace a few years prior. Her father was a military official who had unfortunately been implicated in the previous court's affairs. Her entire family had been imprisoned, and she spent her days weeping, sickly and wan.

The new consort's father was a civil official. She was only sixteen this year and had been granted the title Consort Rong upon entering the palace. In the bloom of youth, with striking beauty, her temperament was nothing like the gentle, demure demeanor of typical boudoir-raised ladies—instead, she carried a bold, spoiled arrogance.

Though—she did indeed have grounds for such arrogance.

Meng Wan could see Consort Rong dramatically stroking her slightly swollen belly. To be honest, had she not made such a show of it, beneath the heavy garments, no one might have noticed she was with child.

Madam Qin, who had been addressed, sat right beside the Empress. Upon being questioned about her son's embarrassment, a flicker of coldness passed through her eyes. “Consort Rong is quite well-informed, to have such trivial matters of our household reach your ears.”

Consort Rong's red lips curved upward. “These scholars are truly audacious, daring to defy the Zhongyi Marquis Heir. If you ask me, they ought to be...”

“Consort Rong!”

The Empress cut her off, her tone gentle yet carrying authority. “As a consort of the harem, you should be modest and prudent in speech!”

Consort Rong glanced at the Empress, who sat regally on the phoenix throne in her ornate crown, her demeanor calm and noble. Her smile gradually faded. “The Empress's instruction is correct. This concubine was rash in her youth.”

Though she admitted fault, she showed no sign of settling down. Raising her wine cup, she made a distant toast toward Meng Wan's direction, her voice neither loud nor soft, yet clear enough for all in the hall to hear. “This must be the husband of the Shuntian Prefect? Truly the most striking among all the ladies and consorts in the capital.”

Meng Wan had no idea what this was about, so he set down his cup and rose to respond. “Consort Rong flatters me.”

“Standing up, one can see you're also tall and slender—a true beauty.” Consort Rong said with a smile, studying him for a moment before frowning in confusion. “I recall the Shuntian Prefect is a third-rank official, is he not? Why are you wearing the robes of a First-rank Dame? Your Majesty the Empress, isn't this a breach of protocol?”