Chapter 129: Stunned — The Noble Consort Slaps the Emperor
On this day, the emperor arrived with a whole entourage of attendants in tow, led by none other than Chief Eunuch Wang, the Grand Director of the Inner Court.
Nan Xun rested her chin on her hand in the courtyard, watching the little maids play and fool around, cracking sunflower seeds from time to time.
When the emperor entered, the eunuchs at the gate failed to announce his arrival. So when the children who were playing suddenly saw this towering figure, the maids and young eunuchs all dropped to their knees with a thud, heads bowed low, daring not to look upon the imperial countenance.
After seeing who it was, Nan Xun merely paused her hand for a moment before continuing to crack sunflower seeds, not even bothering to shift her seat.
Chief Eunuch Wang Shun barked angrily, “How dare you, Noble Consort Qin! His Majesty has arrived—why do you not rise to greet him?”
Nan Xun flicked him a glance and cracked her seeds with even more gusto.
The crack crack sound rang especially clearly in the courtyard, amplified several times over by the surrounding silence.
No one dared breathe. The attendants who served under Noble Consort Qin were already weeping inwardly.
They had thought they’d landed a cushy posting—following Noble Consort Qin, eating well and living well. Who would have thought she was someone with a death wish, blatantly ignoring the Son of Heaven and not even performing a single courtesy? Wasn’t this rushing headlong toward death?
It was over, completely over. These worthless servants were all going to be buried along with her!
One little eunuch was trembling so badly that a suspicious damp patch spread down his trouser legs.
Yet the expected thunderous imperial rage never came.
Not only did the mercurial ruler of the realm fail to rebuke the insolent Noble Consort Qin, he instead shouted angrily at the chief eunuch, “Wang Shun, shut up! Since when is it your place to lecture my woman?”
At those words, Wang Shun dropped to his knees with a thud and immediately slapped his own face. “Your Majesty, please calm your anger! This old servant spoke out of turn—this old servant deserves death!”
“You may all withdraw. Cui Huan, you too. I wish to speak privately with your mistress,” Yan Mohan said, sweeping a calm yet commanding gaze over the crowd.
The servants fled as if pardoned from death, scrambling and stumbling away.
Before they had even fully exited the palace gates, they heard Noble Consort Qin’s voice, thick with fury, ring out from inside: “Don’t touch me! Get lost!”
Their steps faltered, nearly throwing out their backs.
But what followed was even more terrifying—a loud, crisp smack.
These palace servants had spent years steeped in the ways of the inner court. One listen was enough to know exactly what it was: the sound of a woman slapping someone, and with no small amount of force.
They cursed their terrible luck—why weren’t they blind and deaf at a moment like this? Seeing what they should never have seen, hearing what they should never have heard.
Even the seasoned old fox Wang Shun couldn’t help wiping the cold sweat from his brow.
In all his years serving the emperor, he had never seen His Majesty treat any woman with such gentleness—let alone tolerate being told to “get lost,” or even being slapped, without flying into a rage.
This Noble Consort Qin was truly formidable.
Inside Pengyue Palace, the atmosphere sank to an oppressive low.
Five vivid red finger marks still marred Yan Mohan’s face, clear evidence of how hard that slap had landed.
Even after being struck, he hadn’t let go of her. Instead, seizing the moment she froze, he pulled her tightly into his arms.
Nan Xun looked at him in surprise. “Why didn’t you dodge just now?”
She truly was surprised—she had expected Yan Mohan to avoid it. Instead, he hadn’t even blinked.
“Yaoyao, have you finally vented your anger?” Yan Mohan asked instead, his voice low, his gaze fervent yet restrained.
Nan Xun looked at him indifferently, the corner of her mouth curling into a mocking smile. “What is it this time? Another bitter-meat scheme?”
“Yaoyao, what must I do before you’ll forgive me? I’ve said it—I truly love you! Why won’t you believe me?” Yan Mohan grew increasingly agitated.
Heaven knew how he had endured these past days. The nightmares that once came every night were gone, replaced entirely by the image of Qin Buyao wishing to stab him to death the moment she learned the truth.
He had never regretted anything so deeply. That one matter was indeed his fault.
Yet at the same time, he felt a twisted sense of relief that he had once harbored the malicious thought of ruining Qin Buyao. Otherwise, he would never have schemed so carefully to approach her, never would have met a Qin Buyao so completely different from what he’d imagined—nor been drawn to her, obsessed with her, addicted beyond redemption.
Even if she hated him, it didn’t matter.
This was what he owed her.
Nan Xun quietly allowed him to hold her. After a long while, she finally said, “When you no longer want these three thousand beauties of the harem, when you no longer want that lofty imperial throne—then I’ll believe you.”
Yan Mohan stiffened, remaining silent for a long time.
Nan Xun lowered her head, unable to see his expression. She curved her lips slightly and said softly, “Your Majesty, don’t speak to me of love anymore. You don’t even know what love is. You just asked how you could be forgiven—Your Majesty, such words truly shame me. You are the ruler of a nation; how would I dare be angry with you? So let us not speak of forgiveness at all.”
“Yaoyao, must you speak to me like this?” Yan Mohan said in anguish. “Your words are like knives carving into my heart. How can you be so cruel?”
Nan Xun said nothing, wearing an expression that plainly declared: Do whatever you want—I can’t hear any of it.
Little Eight said nervously, “Did you forget the big boss’s darkening value is already at 90? You’re still provoking him like this—aren’t you afraid of dying?”
“Let me ask you—does Yan Mohan count as a scumbag?” Nan Xun shot back. “Don’t tell me he doesn’t. He made me drink a sterilizing potion, and he deceived my feelings.”
The words Little Eight was about to say got swallowed back down. It changed its tune. “He does, he does count… but the big boss was reborn, you know. The shadows from his past life are just too heavy—it’s somewhat understandable, cough cough…”
In truth, if the current Qin Buyao weren’t Nan Xun, she would have long been brutally killed by the tyrant. Little Eight didn’t dare say that.
“Darling, as long as you’re happy,” Little Eight said gently. “You can torment him however you want—just don’t overdo it and end up backfiring, okay? Don’t forget our ultimate goal. Muah.”
“I know what I’m doing. Don’t worry,” Nan Xun replied.
That night, the emperor stayed in Pengyue Palace.
Nan Xun kept a frosty expression the entire time. Yan Mohan, knowing he was in the wrong, didn’t dare force her into intimacy. He simply held her in his arms, the two of them lying under the covers and talking.
“Yaoyao, I’ll think about what you said. Give me some time, all right?”
Nan Xun said coolly, “I was only joking. Your Majesty needn’t take my words to heart. Without the throne, you would have nothing—and I would suffer along with you. And what about those three thousand women in the harem? They are all women you’ve favored. How could you possibly dismiss them?”
Yan Mohan choked. After a long while, he said awkwardly, “Yaoyao, you know very well—I was impotent before. The ones who ‘visited’ them were my shadow guards.”
Afraid she wouldn’t believe him, he hurriedly emphasized, “Really! I was impotent! I never touched those women!”
Nan Xun nearly burst out laughing.
A big boss who kept insisting on his own impotence just to prove his loyalty—no matter how she looked at it, he seemed ridiculously foolish.
