The wheelchair remained empty again tonight.
Yao Huang had no idea how other newlywed couples spent their nights, let alone how a husband with leg impairments managed such matters. Perhaps restraint was expected—or perhaps Prince Hui, with his limited mobility, simply wasn’t inclined toward such pursuits.
For Yao Huang, it was one less burden. She and the prince had only known each other for a few days. Every time his hand reached for her in the darkness and silence, her heart would race. It was hard to reconcile this version of him with the reserved, quietly imposing prince of daylight hours—let alone the sounds she made, so shameless she could hardly bear to hear them herself.
If they both lost composure, it might have been easier to accept. But she was the only one driven to madness, while Prince Hui, at most, breathed a little heavier. Even the way he looked at her seemed no different from his usual daytime demeanor.
Yao Huang was grateful she had once deliberately mussed her hair to mimic the aftermath and checked the mirror. The reflection hadn’t been unflattering—otherwise, the sight of her disheveled, weeping, and moaning might have convinced the prince she was truly unhinged, worsening their already lukewarm marital bond.
By now, Yao Huang had learned to cherish these rare moments of closeness. She slipped under the covers and nestled against him with practiced ease.
The man in her arms remained still, only the steady rise and fall of his chest betraying his breath.
The bed curtains shrouded them in darkness, but Yao Huang could just make out the outline of Prince Hui’s jaw and collarbone, the occasional bob of his Adam’s apple.
Breathing in his faint, pleasant scent, she ventured, "The names of your four horses are lovely. Did you choose them yourself?"
Zhao Sui: "Mm."
Yao Huang: "Then could you name my horse too? I picked the chestnut one."
Zhao Sui considered briefly. "Neon Glow."
Yao Huang brightened. "I love it! You must be very learned, Your Highness."
Silence.
She chuckled. "A pointless question—of course you wouldn’t boast about yourself."
Still silence.
Yao Huang bit her lip and gave his shoulder a light shake. "Do you dislike talking to me? If so, I’ll behave and never disturb you again."
Zhao Sui: "...No."
Yao Huang: "Then why so quiet?"
Zhao Sui: "I’m not good at conversation. I can only answer your questions."
Propping herself up on one elbow, she gazed down at his shadowed face and smiled. "Would you answer anything I ask?"
Zhao Sui: "What I can answer, I will."
Yao Huang: "Then I have a hundred questions—but I’m afraid of misspeaking and upsetting you."
Zhao Sui: "I won’t answer questions that would upset me. As long as you don’t deliberately cross the line, I won’t get angry."
Yao Huang braced herself on her right arm, twirling a lock of hair around her left finger. "If you weren’t a prince, I wouldn’t tiptoe around my own husband. But you are, and I’m terrified you’ll throw your weight around—punishing me with kneeling in the ancestral hall until even the servants scorn me, or worse, divorcing me and making me the laughingstock of the capital."
Zhao Sui’s lips quirked in a soundless, fleeting smile, unnoticed by his wife.
"Then don’t treat me as a prince. I won’t use my title against you."
Yao Huang: "Really?"
Zhao Sui: "Really. From now on, drop the formal address."
Grinning, she leaned into his ear and drawled, "Your Highness, you—are—so—good."
Zhao Sui tilted his head away.
Sensing his sensitivity, Yao Huang mischievously chased after him, blowing softly into his ear.
Zhao Sui shut his eyes.
His lack of reaction spoiled the fun. Yao Huang settled back against his shoulder, arms looping around him. "Your Highness, since you’re in the wheelchair all day, does your... backside ever get sore?"
Zhao Sui: "..."
Yao Huang stiffened. "Did I offend you with the very first question? Don’t misunderstand—I only meant that the wheelchair seems hard. If it’s uncomfortable, I could sew you a cushion."
It had puzzled her. The imperial family indulged in every luxury—even their carriages were filled with exquisite trinkets—so why had no one thought to pad the prince’s wheelchair?
Zhao Sui: "...Unnecessary. I don’t spend more time in it than a typical scholar-official would at his desk."
Yao Huang: "Oh? Do you lie down the rest of the time?"
Zhao Sui: "I read. When tired, I stand for a while, supporting myself."
Yao Huang found his left hand, her thumb brushing the thick callus on his palm. Now she understood its origin.
The realization warmed her cheeks. Burying her face in the crook of his neck, she murmured, "No wonder your arms are so strong."
He only ever collapsed atop her afterward—during, he held himself up entirely with those arms.
Zhao Sui: "...Do you want to?"
Lost in her thoughts, Yao Huang answered in a small, flustered voice, "Want what?" Arms as powerful as his?
Zhao Sui: "Never mind."
The implication struck her. Mortified, she recoiled like she’d been burned, scrambling to the far side of the bed and yanking the covers over her head. "I didn’t mean that! Can’t I just compliment you without you twisting it?"
Her frantic denial was like a child who craved sweets but refused to admit it out of sheer embarrassment.
Zhao Sui stared at the bed canopy. "Then sleep."
As silence stretched, the heat under the blankets subsided. Clarity returned—and with it, a sudden thought: Had the prince asked because he was the one wanting it?
For all his pretty words about not treating him as royalty, if she truly disregarded his status, he might take offense.
Realizing this, Yao Huang burrowed back toward him inch by inch, arms encircling his waist. Her voice dripped honey. "Do you want to, Your Highness? If you do, then I do."
Zhao Sui abruptly seized her wrist, voice low. "Sleep. Tomorrow’s the twenty-fifth. I’ll still be here."
If they did it tonight and again tomorrow, she might resent a disabled prince for being so insatiable.
—
Morning came, and Zhao Sui woke first. Yao Huang, too embarrassed by last night’s boldness to face him, feigned sleep, cocooned securely in the blankets. At most, Qingai would only see her head when he arrived.
Zhao Sui had already straightened. Glancing at his legs, he rang the bell without rousing her.
Qingai entered, eyes downcast as he drew back the bed curtains—then froze at the sight of a pair of red-soled sleeping slippers.
If Yao Huang was unaccustomed to being attended by a eunuch, Qingai was equally unpracticed in serving a princess consort abed. Steadying himself, he focused solely on dressing the prince.
His routine was swift. Soon, he wheeled Prince Hui out.
Only then did Yao Huang come alive.
Yet when they met for breakfast in the front courtyard, she still couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Her face burned, resentment simmering. He’d started it—if he’d just indulged her when she tried to please him, one round would’ve settled it. Instead, his refusal made her seem desperate.
For the first time since their wedding, Yao Huang didn’t initiate conversation.
Zhao Sui could see her flushed face—not the natural rosy glow she usually had, but more like the shyness she’d shown on their wedding night when she first faced him openly.
Silently, Zhao Sui picked up a fried dumpling and placed it in her bowl.
The dumpling’s wrapper was lightly golden, each no longer than a thumb, arranged in a circle on the plate with a sprig of emerald-green cilantro in the center—purely for decoration.
"Thank you," Yao Huang murmured, her eyes fixed on his chest as she dipped the dumpling in vinegar and finished it in two bites.
Just as she scooped half a spoonful of red date and yam porridge, another dumpling appeared beside her.
Yao Huang finally looked directly at Prince Hui. Seeing him eating calmly, she understood—the prince hadn’t taken offense at her words from the night before.
But she still felt wronged. She wanted to tell him she wasn’t that kind of frivolous girl. Her father’s rank might be low, her mother might not be from a noble family, but their upbringing had been proper. She and her brother were both well-mannered, knowing propriety and shame!
Staring at the dumpling, Yao Huang slowly set down her chopsticks and lowered her head. "It’s your fault. You were the one who brought it up first. I didn’t even think of it—I only said it because I was afraid you’d be angry."
Zhao Sui: "...I know. I didn’t misunderstand you."
Yao Huang looked up.
In her eyes, Zhao Sui saw resentment. Yet, his mind still conjured images of his consort from another time.
Lowering his gaze, he said, "Eat. We’ll go riding later."
The thought of riding softened Yao Huang’s heart—a prince with crippled legs was willing to accompany her. In return, she picked up a dumpling and placed it in his bowl.
Zhao Sui didn’t dip it in vinegar.
Yao Huang, having forgotten the events of the night, asked, "Your Highness doesn’t like vinegar?"
Zhao Sui: "It’s optional."
Yao Huang decided to observe his dietary preferences slowly. Over time, they’d surely reveal themselves.
After rinsing their mouths, Yao Huang pushed the wheelchair outside, with Qingai and Feiquan following behind.
Zhao Sui watched their shadows on the ground. Her willingness to push the wheelchair meant the morning’s tension had passed.
At the garden gate, Guo Shu and guard Zhang Yue stood holding two horses—Jingwu and Yao Huang’s newly named Niguang.
Handing the wheelchair to Qingai, Yao Huang went to greet her steed, stroking its face with a smile. "I asked His Highness to name you—Niguang, as radiant and beautiful as a rainbow. Do you like it?"
Niguang nuzzled her hand—either in approval or confusion.
Yao Huang took it as agreement. Turning, she saw Jingwu kneel before the wheelchair on its own, so obedient it was enviable.
Zhao Sui gazed at his once-battle-hardened mount, his vision ending at the red hem of his consort’s skirt.
Strangers and guests had witnessed his struggles mounting a horse, but she hadn’t.
Yao Huang suddenly noticed Guo Shu, Zhang Yue, Feiquan, and Qingai standing with identical solemnity, as if preparing for a critical, error-free task. The prince remained impassive, while only Aji, glancing curiously at the four, seemed alive.
This wasn’t new—every time the prince mounted or dismounted, these attendants wore the same lifeless expressions.
But if the prince truly minded being watched, would he agree to outings or riding?
Yao Huang released Niguang and walked over, smiling. "Step aside. Just watch."
Her tone was so casual and familiar that all four looked to the prince for confirmation.
Zhao Sui gave a slight nod, and they retreated.
Measuring the distance between the wheelchair and Jingwu’s back, Yao Huang ensured the wheels were locked. Then she knelt on one knee, her back to Prince Hui. "Your Highness, lean on me and hold my shoulders."
The prince’s legs might be useless, but his upper body was strong—this pose wasn’t difficult for him.
Zhao Sui knew refusing would embarrass her before the attendants.
So he straightened, resting his weight on her shoulders.
Yao Huang wrapped her arms around his waist and rose steadily.
Though his legs dangled, Zhao Sui balanced himself with firm hands on her shoulders.
As a child, Yao Huang often played rock-paper-scissors with her brother—the loser had to carry the other twenty paces.
Even when her brother grew to nearly two hundred pounds, she’d managed.
The prince, weakened by illness, was lighter. These few steps were easy.
Standing beside Jingwu, Yao Huang instructed Aji, "Lift His Highness’s right leg onto the horse."
Aji hesitated, unfamiliar with the task. Before she could react, Qingai swiftly stepped in and completed the motion.
Once the prince was on the horse, the rest was simple. Yao Huang and Qingai secured his feet in the stirrups, and Jingwu—intelligent as ever—adjusted to its rider’s needs.
Finished, Yao Huang looked up at the prince astride Jingwu and said to Qingai and Feiquan, "See? Carrying His Highness onto the horse isn’t so hard, is it?"
They murmured agreement, though inwardly conflicted—accustomed to lifting the wheelchair, they’d never dared suggest carrying the prince unless ordered.
Yao Huang mounted Niguang, leaving the attendants behind as she and Prince Hui rode into the garden.
On wide paths, they rode side by side; on narrow ones, single file.
Yet riding beside him, Yao Huang found it oddly unfamiliar to glance over and meet Prince Hui’s striking face outside mealtimes. And atop a horse, with no trace of disability, he looked even more noble—untouchably regal, the kind of man most women could only dream of.
Once again, Yao Huang realized what a bargain she’d struck. If not for his legs, Prince Hui would’ve been Princess Fucheng’s son-in-law, a step away from the crown prince’s seat.
But who wouldn’t rejoice at such luck?
That she, Yao Huang, had landed this handsome prince proved she was born under a fortunate star.
Zhao Sui: "...What are you smiling about?"
His consort kept stealing glances at him—hard to miss.
Yao Huang feigned mystery: "Guess?"
Zhao Sui couldn’t, only that it concerned him.
After a pause, Yao Huang pointed at her face. "Your Highness, how do you find my looks?"
Zhao Sui: "...They suit your name."
Ahead lay a peony garden, and the prince’s estate naturally boasted prized varieties like Yao Huang and Wei Purple.
The early-blooming Yao Huang petals were pale gold, deepening to rich yellow at full bloom—plump, luxurious, and dazzling in the sun, earning the title "King of Flowers."
Yao Huang’s heart swelled. Softly, she said, "Only you could compliment someone so elegantly."
Zhao Sui kept his eyes on the path ahead.
Yao Huang: "Then... do you like how I look?"
Zhao Sui gave a simple hum of acknowledgment.
Yao Huang smiled again: "Your Highness likes it, but Your Highness doesn’t show emotions easily. I’m different—if my husband is handsome, I can’t help but laugh."
The words were still somewhat bold, and Yao Huang’s face flushed after saying them. Not wanting the prince to see, she urged her horse forward.
Zhao Sui could only watch the back of his princess—the swaying red jade earrings at her ears, the pale glow of her nape, the slight sway of her waist with the horse’s gait, and her legs resting on either side of the horse’s belly.
Zhao Sui halted his horse.
With one less set of hoofbeats, Yao Huang turned back in confusion.
Zhao Sui: "Come here."
Unable to read his expression, Yao Huang turned her horse around. The closer she got, the more nervous she grew under his unwavering gaze.
Zhao Sui: "Dismount."
The more commanding his tone, the less she dared to disobey. As she stood on the ground, wondering if she had said something wrong, the man above her spoke again: "Get up here."
Yao Huang was stunned—even more so when Jingwu knelt down!
As Jingwu steadied himself, Zhao Sui grasped Yao Huang’s wrist and pulled her onto the horse in one swift motion.
Flustered, Yao Huang quickly settled in front of the prince to avoid any awkward tugging that might send them both tumbling.
Jingwu rose and began walking forward at a leisurely pace.
Zhao Sui handed the reins to Yao Huang, wrapped an arm around her waist, and asked above her head, "Why did you run off after saying that?"
Yao Huang kept her face down, cheeks burning.
Zhao Sui: "Afraid I’d dislike you speaking so boldly?"
Yao Huang hurried to explain: "I wouldn’t say such things to just anyone. It’s only because you’re my husband that I dare speak so freely—and everything I said was true. Just now, I laughed because Your Highness is so handsome."
Zhao Sui: "Mm. I wouldn’t dislike you for that."
Yao Huang relaxed.
Zhao Sui: "Including what you said last night—I didn’t dislike that either."
Heat rushed to Yao Huang’s chest, her entire body aflame.
Ahead lay the bamboo grove, its courtyard empty at this hour.
Zhao Sui glanced at it but ultimately led them onward.
