“What rank? What rank are we? And what rank are you? If we’re really talking about rank, you should be on your knees, bowing to Lady Fengqie!”
Shen Yiru planted her hands on her hips and drew herself up, chin high, looking down at the two women in the room. She simply disliked Lou Yueying and Sun Yurou, and both her face and voice made that abundantly clear.
At Shen Yiru’s words, Sun Yurou and Lou Yueying both flashed sly, resentful smiles—expressions so vivid they said more than words ever could.
“That title of ‘jun zhu’—how did she even get it? What good is a name without backing? She’s nothing without a powerful family behind her.” They both envied the title, but neither took Mu Fengqie seriously. After all, being an Anning Commandery Princess bestowed by the Empress Dowager was impressive only on paper; without a strong maternal clan, she was easy pickings.
Mu Fengqie forced a smile. “So what if it’s only a title? Still, I was personally invested with it by the Empress Dowager. Miss Sun, since you’ve spoken to me so rudely today, I could very well accuse you of great disrespect and turn you over to the Prefect of Shuntian. You might choose your words more carefully.”
She hadn’t wanted to make a fuss, but Sun Yurou’s incessant pecking had grown unbearable. If she didn’t strike back, she would be treated like a sickly cat.
Mu Fengqie knew this was Lou Yueying’s doing. Having finished her retort, she shot Lou Yueying a glance loaded with meaning.
Lou Yueying took it as a cue and stopped hiding her real feelings. “What the princess says isn’t wrong, of course. But remember this: even a lean camel is larger than a horse. Princess, you’ve just arrived here all by yourself—there will be some blind fools who overstep. Please forgive them on my behalf.”
Compared to Sun Yurou’s petty taunts, Lou Yueying’s approach was far subtler. Her words sounded like praise, but their edge was unmistakable—an almost playful mockery, topped with a faintly provocative smile.
Mu Fengqie’s brow tightened. Her eyes flicked to Lou Yueying with obvious caution. Lou was a formidable opponent; but the young master of the Apothecary Valley—her Jing Xunche—was no pushover either.
“Miss Lou, you’re mistaken,” Mu Fengqie said, arching an eyebrow. “Camels live in the desert; horses travel further and see more of the world. And it depends which horse you mean—maybe I’m the legendary sweat-blood steed that runs a thousand miles a day. Wouldn’t you agree? Besides, whether I’m truly alone or not is something you, Miss Lou, should know better than anyone.”
At the mention of Jing Xunche, Lou Yueying’s expression changed in an instant. The careful restraint she’d worn seconds ago vanished, replaced by a flare of pure anger that darkened her whole face as if the sky itself had clouded.
Sun Yurou noticed Lou’s sudden shift and tugged at Lou’s sleeve to steady her. Lou took a breath and let out a cold snort; her eyes were deep, bottomless. “Things that aren’t yours will leave you sooner or later. I doubt that day is far off.”
“Oh?” Mu Fengqie lifted a brow and replied lightly, “Even if they’re not mine, they aren’t necessarily yours either. Isn’t that right?”
Lou ground her teeth in fury. The Beauty Hall was becoming crowded; if she had the freedom, she’d have liked nothing better than to lash Mu Fengqie with a whip. But she held herself in check.
Shen Yiru and Mu Fengqie left the Beauty Hall in high spirits. The place itself had been more crowded than either of them expected—Mu Fengqie had heard it was popular, but seeing it for herself was something else. The tiny shop was packed, and beauty wares were taken off the shelves so fast it was visible; if Mu Fengqie hadn’t been making cosmetics every night with Xiaoqing and Zhu Fei, the demand would have outstripped supply in no time.
The sky was still early when they stepped back into the street. Mu Fengqie enjoyed being out of the palace, and she didn’t want to go back so soon—yet there wasn’t much to do in the neighborhood.
“Isn’t that the Third Prince’s carriage?” Xiaoqing called out, her voice pulling everyone’s gaze. They all turned and saw the emblem of the Third Prince’s residence. Mu Fengqie’s eyes lit up; a plan was already forming.
It had been nearly a month; rent was due. And besides—she hadn’t forgotten the Third Prince’s little stunt in the palace, when he’d brazenly instigated the Empress against her. Had it not been for her own quick thinking that day, she’d have been humiliated beyond measure.
A debt must be repaid. If she couldn’t square things with the Third Prince inside the palace, she certainly could outside.
“Let’s go to the House of Delicacies,” Mu Fengqie said.
“The House of Delicacies?” Shen Yiru frowned. “Isn’t that the Third Prince’s restaurant? We just ate lunch—why would we go there?”
“Rent collection,” Mu Fengqie said with a sly smile. “And to enjoy a little spectacle.”
A few blocks later they stood before the House of Delicacies. Every detail—its signboard, its interiors—spoke of wealth and care. The opulent restaurant looked palace-like, and it was easy to see why the city’s well-to-do favored it; even just the decor was a pleasure.
A waiter hurried over, all smiles. “Welcome, honored guests. Dining or lodging?”
Mu Fengqie waved him off. “Neither. I’m here to see the Third Prince. Is he in?”
The waiter looked her over warily from head to foot. “The Third Prince doesn’t see just anyone. If you have a token, I can go in and inform him.”
“I have no token,” Mu Fengqie said calmly. “But go and tell him that Princess Anning wishes a private word with the Third Prince. I’m sure he’ll see me.”
At the name “Princess Anning,” the waiter’s face changed instantly—astonishment replacing his doubt. The title had been the talk of the capital; the girl who had been given it overnight caused endless controversy. Seeing the princess in person left him no hesitation. He bowed and hurried inside to inform the Prince.