My Lady Says She Wants to Marry Me - Chapter 30

Chapter 30

As night fell, neither Lu Youming nor Su Wanrou continued the topic they had discussed during the day.

Su Wanrou could not read her own heart, nor did she dare to ask Lu Youming—perhaps she simply didn’t know how to ask. The days passed one by one, and much of the anxiety in Su Wanrou’s heart dissipated once the County Office officially closed for the holidays.

With the New Year approaching, the yamen would be closed for fifteen days. Only duty personnel remained; everyone else was on holiday. Lu Youming had no friends or relatives in this area, so she wrote two letters and prepared gifts: one sent to Mount Wangcheng for Daoist Priest Puzhen, and another to Apricot Blossom Village for the Village Head, asking him to look after her old home.

Swift-Wind lay on the floor sleeping. The heat in the room wasn’t quite sufficient, so Lu Youming sat by the charcoal brazier, wiggling her slightly frozen toes. Su Wanrou sat on the edge of the bed holding a hand warmer while reading. Neither spoke. Outside, the flying snow fluttered through the sky, vanishing the moment it touched the ground.

Su Wanrou shifted her gaze from the ancient book to the snow outside. Tomorrow was New Year’s Eve. Every corner of the yamen was adorned with the character for “Fortune” (Fu) written by Lu Youming. On the various courtyard gates hung over a dozen pairs of spring couplets written by Su Wanrou. Her calligraphy was in the formal Kaishu style; even if they were seen by outsiders, no one could criticize them as being mere “women’s script.” After all, the official documents she had processed by now were piled as high as a person.

Su Wanrou lifted her small quilt and sat up from the Luohan couch. Setting down her hand warmer, she suggested, “Husband, let’s go out and see the snow.”

Lu Youming had been drowsing by the fire. Hearing Su Wanrou’s voice, she half-opened her eyes and realized it was indeed snowing. She stood up with a yawn. “Alright. Let’s see if the snow is heavy. I had the villagers check their roof beams a few days ago to prevent the snow from collapsing their roofs.”

Su Wanrou’s shoulders slumped. She simply wanted a private stroll with Lu Youming; she hadn’t intended to bring “official business” along. She looked at Lu Youming with a touch of distress—this person seemed to have nothing in her life except work.

The two, wrapped in fur cloaks, walked along the leveled streets. Since it was the day before the New Year, there were few pedestrians. Su Wanrou clutched her hand warmer, her eyelashes trembling. “Husband, are you cold?”

“Not at all. Are you?” Lu Youming, thinking Su Wanrou was sensitive to the cold, moved her paper umbrella closer to her.

“Mmhmm,” Su Wanrou nodded with a slight smile as they wandered through the snow-filled streets.

The day before the New Year, a major event occurred at court. The Princess of the Realm was bestowed the title of Grand Princess of the Realm, granted the right to participate in court affairs and appoint her own officials.

While this news shocked the world, the court’s reaction was lukewarm; officials continued their work as usual. Lu Youming and Su Wanrou received the emergency gazette on New Year’s Day. It was a decree issued just before the Emperor “sealed his brushes” for the holiday.

Holding the gazette, the two shared a look and retreated to their room to whisper.

“Oh my, has not a single one of the Emperor’s sons turned out to be talented?” Lu Youming whispered, her eyes sparkling with gossip as if she’d discovered a massive scandal.

“Hush, keep your voice down,” Su Wanrou cautioned. “The Emperor has seven sons and two daughters. The Grand Princess is his eldest legitimate daughter. I heard back in the capital that Her Highness is skilled in both civil and military affairs. Conversely, the Princes are… somewhat lacking.”

“It seems the daughter is too outstanding,” Lu Youming mused, stroking her chin. “But the Emperor likely won’t hand the throne itself to her. At most, he’ll let her participate in and supervise the government.”

Lu Youming was right. The Emperor was over sixty. His eldest son was forty but frail and bedridden. The second son cared only for cockfighting and knew nothing of politics; he was also incredibly gullible. The third son was obsessed with alchemy; no matter how many times the Emperor kicked over his “bullshit” furnaces, the Prince would just set them back up. The fourth, fifth, and sixth sons were all grown and had turned the court into a battlefield of schemes. They had even dared to embezzle funds meant for river levees—causing countless deaths— and withheld military pay, shaking the borders.

In a fit of rage, the Emperor had ordered the three princes confined. Those princes had screamed, “The throne can only go to one of us! Little Seven (the 7th son) can’t produce children. Father, you’ll have to let us out eventually!”

The civil and military officials grew pale hearing this. Princes, do you realize you haven’t even been granted titles yet? The Emperor’s face was terrible to behold. Ultimately, he spoke only one sentence: the three princes were to be removed from the imperial genealogy and demoted to commoners.

The court was as silent as a cicada in winter. The Emperor felt the weight of his legacy. He was only the second emperor of the Great Sheng; the dynasty had seen less than forty years of peace. How were his sons so incapable?

It was then that the steady, low-profile Grand Princess caught his eye. He had always liked this daughter—intelligent, stable, and quick to grasp political nuances. He had sighed countless times, wishing she were a man. He recalled his own father’s evaluation of her: Deep, resilient, and firm. Four simple words that defined her character.

For the first time, the Emperor looked at his daughter through a political lens. He decided he could be a different kind of sovereign.

The Grand Princess, under her father’s gaze, remained kneeling. She was steady, her eyes lowered, yet she did not appear timid—rather, she possessed the serene gravity of a bodhisattva.

“Shaoyang, rise,” the Emperor called her by her title, beckoning her closer.

Grand Princess Shaoyang looked up at her father with her usual peaceful and affectionate gaze. “Father, are you well?”

The Emperor rubbed his forehead tiredly. “Only my daughter truly cares for me.”

Shaoyang didn’t speak, but smiled and poured him a cup of tea. “Father is in his prime; you must take care of your health.”

The Emperor smiled bitterly. “I am sixty. There is no ‘prime’ left. Shaoyang, I intend to let you officially enter the court to participate in government. What do you think?” He spoke this world-shaking decision in a normal tone, watching his favorite daughter closely.

Shaoyang set down the teacup, her gaze remaining calm and unruffled. “Whatever Father arranges has your reasoning behind it. Shaoyang is willing to follow your commands.”

She understood clearly: her father liked her to be as proud as a dragon or phoenix, yet he would never let her cross the line. All his considerations were rooted in the fact that she could not inherit the throne. He was likely shifting his gaze toward the fourth generation now. Having her supervise the state would give him time to see which of the grandchildren showed promise.

Shaoyang looked up at the sky. Once things are given, they are very hard to take back.

Back in Chongjiang, Lu Youming and Su Wanrou finished gossiping in bed and climbed out from under the covers. Steward Lin was relieved to see them emerge, happily imagining he might be holding a “little master” by next year. Lu Youming had no idea that behind Steward Lin’s smiling face was the silent pressure to reproduce.

“Today is New Year’s Day. Everyone except those on duty can go play. Just be careful with the candles,” Lu Youming announced. She and Su Wanrou handed out bonuses and dismissed the servants. Having stayed up late for the vigil and woken up early to such “big news,” the two decided to go back to sleep.

Liu Qing stood with Wen Shu and Wen Shu’s three-year-old sister—a cute, chubby little girl.

In the bedroom, Lu Youming and Su Wanrou lay on the thick bed. The charcoal stove emitted a cozy warmth. Su Wanrou, wearing white sleepwear matching Lu Youming’s, familiarly pulled open Lu Youming’s arms and tucked herself inside. Resting in the “little heater” of a hug, she let out a satisfied sigh.

“Is it really that comfortable?” Lu Youming asked, amused. Su Wanrou gave her a look. “You wouldn’t understand.” She snuggled into the quilt, inhaling Lu Youming’s pleasant scent, and closed her eyes. She had decided: she would make Lu Youming used to her in every way, so that if she ever wanted to leave, she wouldn’t be able to.

Lu Youming looked at her fair, palm-sized face. Her lips were naturally red without rouge, and her brows were elegant above her petite nose. Her gaze lingered on those closed eyes. Lu Youming swallowed instinctively. She found she had a sudden, mounting urge to kiss those fluttering eyelids.

Blushing, she stiffly turned her head away, forcing her breathing to stay calm. It’s over. I’ve actually fallen for a nineteen-year-old kid. Am I a beast? Lu Youming, who would turn twenty-three this year, thought morosely. She forgot that she was only four years older than Su Wanrou.

Su Wanrou’s heart was racing. A faint cold sweat broke out on her back—either from the heat of the gaze or the thrill of nervousness. When the heavy atmosphere finally lifted and she heard Lu Youming’s shallow breathing again, Su Wanrou couldn’t tell if she felt more disappointed or relieved.

Suddenly, Su Wanrou rolled over and lay on top of Lu Youming. She opened her eyes, her warm breath brushing against Lu Youming’s face. Lu Youming snapped her eyes open. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice raspy. She tightened her hold on Su Wanrou’s arms, her eyes fixed on Su Wanrou’s trembling lashes.

Su Wanrou whispered, “Yesterday you asked me what your New Year’s gift was. This is my gift to you. Do you like it?”

Lu Youming’s heart skipped a beat. She pulled Su Wanrou closer but did nothing else. Su Wanrou listened to that thundering heartbeat. She didn’t know why she had been so impulsive.

“I… I don’t know,” Lu Youming sighed. She had never truly planned for anything to happen, as she had always assumed Su Wanrou simply didn’t want to marry a man.

Su Wanrou’s heart trembled at the confused reply. She gripped Lu Youming’s clothes. “Do you not like women?” she asked softly, fighting back sadness.

Lu Youming remained silent. Su Wanrou closed her eyes in disappointment and began to loosen her grip. Just as she was about to pull away and nurse her wounds in private, Lu Youming spoke.

“I thought you were the one who wouldn’t like a girl.”

Su Wanrou was stunned. What does she mean by that? Is it what I think? Is it because she thought I didn’t like women that she never considered being with me?

Lu Youming stroked her hair and laughed helplessly. “Not every woman likes women.”

“Then… do you like me?” Su Wanrou grabbed her clothes again, her voice shaking.

Lu Youming pondered for a moment. “Let’s discuss this once you are twenty.”

Su Wanrou grabbed Lu Youming’s finger, her gaze stubborn. “Why?”

“Because you are still too young. We’ll talk when you are twenty.”

“Women my age are already mothers! Only you keep saying I’m young,” Su Wanrou protested, sitting up to look down at her.

Lu Youming looked into those earnest eyes and found herself unable to argue. In ancient times, eighteen or nineteen-year-olds had children; in her eyes, they were just high schoolers. Unable to explain her modern perspective, she simply pulled Su Wanrou back into her arms to keep her from catching a chill.

Snuggled against Lu Youming, Su Wanrou inhaled that mysterious, wonderful scent. “You do fancy me, don’t you?” her voice was full of excitement and caution, seeking one more confirmation.

“Mmhmm. I fancy you,” Lu Youming’s chest vibrated with the affirmative, making Su Wanrou’s ears tingle. The knot that had been in her heart for months was instantly unraveled.