Chapter 22: A House Full of Prosperity, What Is That to Her?

Chapter 22: What Does This House of Riches Have to Do With Her?

Waking up after a night of heavy drinking, Ye Wanwan felt a dull ache in her head; she had never been particularly good at holding her liquor. Though she was quite intoxicated, she remembered everything that had transpired. She glanced at Yan Chen, lowered her gaze, and remained silent.

She brushed her fingertips lightly against the table. "I haven't played the zither in a long time. Qingsha, bring my instrument."

"As you wish."

As Qingsha went to fetch the zither, Hongshang approached, looking slightly excited. "Your Highness, there is news from Consort Shen. She is not pregnant; it was merely a case of eating something that disagreed with her. It has become quite the farce; she is currently kneeling outside the Zhaoyang Hall, begging for forgiveness."

Ye Wanwan felt no emotional fluctuation; she had expected as much.

When Qingsha returned with the zither, Ye Wanwan washed her hands and sat down. As her fingers grazed the strings, a sequence of notes flowed forth—the very melody from the palace banquet the previous night. Skilled in the four arts of the scholar, she played with an effortless grace that rivaled any musician in the imperial court.

Midway through, she pressed her hand firmly against the strings, a mocking smile appearing on her lips. A mere man like Lin Yu was hardly worth disturbing her peace of mind. Now that her confinement was over, there were far more important things to attend to.

"Prepare the carriage. We are leaving the palace."

Ye Wanwan had longed for this moment. As she finally stepped outside the palace gates, the air felt different—crisp and infused with a sense of freedom. Before her, the view was no longer the oppressive, sky-high palace walls, but a bustling scene of carriages, horses, and rows of shops, filled with an endless stream of people—the vibrant pulse of common life.

The Ye residence was not far from the palace, but she deliberately took a long, winding route, savoring the sights of a world that felt like a lifetime away. Everything looked fresh and vivid, from the lush wild grass along the roadside to the brightly polished storefronts.

Finally, she arrived at her destination. The plaque of the Prime Minister’s manor stood high and imposing, unreachable and cold. The smile faded from Ye Wanwan’s face. In truth, she had not been looking forward to returning to this place.

This was her home, yet now, it felt like home no longer. Her biological mother had passed away from complications during childbirth when Ye Wanwan was seven, and the child she carried had not survived. The current Madame of the manor was a cousin from her maternal side; though they were kin, they had never been close.

Her father knew about the sterile decoction she was forced to drink. He knew when she was falsely accused. He watched with folded arms as she suffered a fate worse than death, all to preserve his own power. What was there to expect from such a father? As for the concubines and half-siblings within the manor, they had long since grown distant. Perhaps at fifteen or sixteen, she might have sought to converse with them, but she was no longer that girl.

"Wait, is that the Eldest Miss? The Eldest Miss is back!"
"No, it is the Imperial Noble Consort! Pay respects to the Imperial Noble Consort!"

The gatekeepers stammered in confusion as they saw her. Ye Wanwan stepped inside. The scenes of her memory were familiar yet distant, leaving her in a daze. Since entering the palace, she had returned only a handful of times—for illness, for conflicts, and for various entanglements—before being imprisoned and ultimately dying. She had never been able to return to this residence again.

This luxurious manor, filled with such immense wealth—what did it have to do with her?

"The Imperial Noble Consort is back!"
"Quick, notify the Prime Minister and the Madame!"

The residence erupted into activity as familiar faces emerged from every corner to welcome her. Yet, when they reached the main hall, they found it empty.

"Didn't they say the Imperial Noble Consort arrived? Where is she?"
"It seems she went back to her own quarters."

Ye Wanwan had returned to her old boudoir. Her courtyard remained untouched, exactly as it had been before her marriage. To them, it had only been two months, but for her, it had been a lifetime. Every corner held long-faded memories. She stood in the courtyard, staring at the place that felt both familiar and alien, lost in thought for a long time.

Prime Minister Ye Zhaoru and his second wife, Zhuang Qin, hurried over. "Wan’er, why have you returned? You should have sent word so I could have prepared."

Ye Wanwan turned to look at the middle-aged man before her. Her own father—he had indeed treated her with affection, and the concern in his eyes did not seem feigned. And yet, he was the one who had conspired with the Empress Dowager to force the sterile decoction upon her. He was the one who had chosen to ignore her when she was framed.

*“Wanwan saved the Emperor and the fate of the Great Liang dynasty. Her merits and faults have canceled each other out; she has achieved a perfect end. If she has any awareness in the afterlife, she will surely be grateful to the Emperor.”*

Those were his words, too. In his eyes, her death was a "perfect end," and she was expected to be grateful to that scoundrel, Zhao Yi.

Suppressing her emotions, she said, "I dreamt of my mother. I came back to light some incense for her."

Ye Zhaoru sighed. "I see. Go ahead. If you need anything, just tell your mother."

Ye Wanwan called her biological mother "Mother," and referred to Zhuang Qin as "Madame." Zhuang Qin’s attitude toward Ye Wanwan was neither particularly warm nor unkind. "The Yilan Courtyard is cleaned daily and remains exactly as it was when you were wed. If anything is missing, I shall have it seen to immediately."

Ye Wanwan nodded. "Thank you, Mother."