MTLNOVEL Chapter 129: In Her Pocket
The quiet of Zhu Mingyu's study was broken only by the rhythmic tapping of his fingers against the arm of his carved sandalwood chair. Sunlight filtered in through the lattice windows, catching on the strands of golden ink painted across a scroll he hadn't yet read. He stared at nothing, but the silence felt dangerous—like the pause between thunder and lightning.
A shadow guard knelt before him, dressed in black from throat to toe, head bowed low to the floor.
"Kill the kitchen staff," Zhu Mingyu said at last. His voice was steady, composed, but cold enough to shatter glass. "My wife may be soft and kind. I, however, am not. They tried to kill her in her own house, and that is simply not acceptable."
The guard didn't blink. "Yes, Your Highness."
Without another word, the man vanished, silent as mist.
Zhu Mingyu remained still. His hand, so often used to sign treaties, tighten reins, and hold wine cups, now curled against the wood of the chair like it wanted to curl around a throat instead.
He was not a fool. He knew the concubines whispered and schemed—that was expected. He knew Lady Yuan believed herself clever. But this? This was an open declaration of war.
They had tried to poison her.
His wife.
The word tasted foreign in his mind. Not because of reluctance or doubt, but because it had shifted. Zhao Xinying was no longer the strange girl in green with an unreadable gaze. She was not some outsider who needed to be tolerated.
She was his.
And someone had tried to hurt her.
He stood slowly and walked to the window, hands clasped behind his back. Outside, the courtyard below was quiet again, the chaos of the morning replaced by an eerie stillness. But he could still see it—the way she'd sat like a queen without a throne, how she hadn't even flinched when the kitchen staff dared to ignore her summons.
She had commanded the entire house without a raised voice. No tears. No hysteria. Just precise, cold action.
It should have shaken him.
Instead, it thrilled him.
He'd spent years playing the role everyone expected—the charming heir, the soft-spoken peacemaker. The Crown Prince who smiled when he was insulted and gave ground when others pushed.
But something in him had started to crack.
He was tired of being underestimated.
He was tired of playing nice.
And watching Zhao Xinying, watching how she held power without needing to proclaim it, had awakened something sharp in him. Not jealousy. Not fear. But hunger.
The desire to stop pretending.
Footsteps approached. He didn't glance toward the door. Only one man walked like that—like the hallways belonged to him, like sound was a favor he bestowed or withheld.
Shi Yaozu entered and said nothing. He stood just inside the study, arms relaxed at his sides, expression unreadable.
Mingyu spoke without looking at him. "Who was the man in my wife's courtyard?"
Yaozu's voice was quiet but precise. "That is Yan Luo."
The Crown Prince turned. Slowly. His eyes were narrowed.
"You know this, and yet you said nothing."
"You said to protect her. Not to report her allies."
A long pause stretched between them.
Mingyu rose to his feet. "Yan Luo is a myth. A whisper in the dark. The one who trades favors for debts and leaves no trail. And now he's bringing her breakfast like a doting husband."
"He is not her husband."
"No," Mingyu agreed. "But he is in love with her."
Silence.
"Would you like me to confirm that?" Yaozu asked evenly.
"No," Mingyu muttered. "Anyone who saw the way his entire body seemed to gravitate to her would know that, whether he knew it or not, she is the centre of his universe."
He turned back to the window and watched the shadows crawl along the stone paths below. "She has men like that at her command. A man like Yan Luo. You. Even Zhu Deming. And she moves between you all like a breeze no one can catch. Tell me," he said, voice lower now, "do you believe she planned it?"
"The poisoning?"
"No. The display."
Yaozu was silent for a moment. "She reacted exactly how she should have. If she had backed down and was seen as unharmed, the next person would try that much harder until someone succeeded."
Mingyu nodded. "And yet everyone in that courtyard will remember the way she stood. The way she ordered punishment. The way she did not look to me, even when I arrived."
"Because she did not need to."
Mingyu exhaled through his nose, something between amusement and frustration. "That should infuriate me. It should. And yet… there's something about it that—"
"Feels right?"
He glanced over his shoulder. "Did you feel it too?"
Yaozu gave the barest nod. "She made this manor hers."
"And I didn't even see it happen," Mingyu muttered. "She doesn't wear crowns. She doesn't kneel. She doesn't wait for permission."
"She is not a woman who ever begged for power."
"No," Mingyu agreed, turning fully to face him now. "But the question is… how many more men like Yan Luo does she have in her pocket?"
Yaozu finally smiled. It was small, but it was there. "It doesn't matter."
"Why not?"
"Because none of us are in her pocket, we aren't a weapon to her that needs to be brought out only when needed. We chose her because she sees us. That is the difference."
The words settled like snow. Mingyu studied the man before him—the quietest of his shadows.
He wasn't just watching anymore. He had chosen. And he wasn't the only one.
"So she didn't win us over with power," Mingyu murmured. "She became the thing worth following."
"Yes."
The Crown Prince turned back to his desk and ran his fingers across the still-unread scroll. "Then I suppose it is time I stopped acting like she needed my permission to do what she was always going to do."
Yaozu didn't respond. He didn't need to.
Mingyu sighed. "Keep her safe. I don't care how many alliances she builds. As long as she's alive, I don't have to worry about the empire falling apart."
"Understood."
"And find out what else Yan Luo wants," he added. "No one like him comes without an agenda."
Yaozu nodded. Then paused at the door.
"He's not after power."
Mingyu tilted his head.
"He just wants to be seen."
When the door finally closed, Mingyu sat again, slower this time.
Not the way a prince sits, but the way a king does—settling into the weight of his responsibilities.
The Crown Princess didn't need to kneel, because she already held the loyalty of warriors.
And perhaps, it was time he stopped smiling for the sake of peace.
There was more than one way to rule.
And kindness had never been enough to keep a kingdom.