MTLNOVEL Chapter 137: Where I Should Be
I was pruning the bitter melon vines when Minister Bai arrived, his boots crunching over the gravel path like a man with something to prove.
He didn't bother bowing. Not to me. Not even to the guards who lingered at a distance now, wary ever since the skull incident. No, Minister Bai walked right up to the garden gate and gripped the wooden frame like he wanted to tear it off its hinges.
"Crown Princess," he said stiffly, "I'd like a word."
I didn't look up. "You've already had quite a few, Minister Bai. Most of them behind closed doors."
His lips pressed into a thin line. "You're dangerous."
"Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment."
I clipped a wilted leaf and let it fall to the ground. "Then perhaps you should choose your words more carefully. You know, to avoid any misunderstandings."
He stepped inside the garden, uninvited, and I finally stood, brushing dirt from my hands and turning to face him. He looked pale, gaunt, and the years definitely have not been kind to him. He'd probably spent the night trying to salvage what was left of his family's alliance with the throne—and then to hear about the skull on his daughter's pillow this morning had likely done him no favors.
"You cannot continue like this," he said. "You are the Crown Princess of Daiyu. Whether you like it or not, you represent the virtue of the court, the grace of the Empress, the very future of our nation. You cannot treat your fellow wives like servants and call yourself Mother of the Nation."
I blinked.
Then smiled. Slowly.
"You've mistaken me for my sister, Minister Bai."
He faltered. "What?"
I walked past him, plucked a stalk of green garlic from the edge of the garden bed, and twirled it lightly between my fingers.
"My sister, Zhao Meiling. She was the one raised to smile through insult and betrayal, to dream of jade hairpins and the Empress's seat." I turned, my eyes meeting his like twin shards of obsidian. "She wanted to be Mother of the Nation. I never did."
He opened his mouth.
I cut him off.
"In fact, I never saw myself as the mother of anything," I said with a cold shrug. "Not a nation. Not a family. Certainly not this harem. The idea that I should treat a woman who tried to kill me with sisterly grace is… laughable, at best."
"Lady Bai is still a noble daughter—"
"And she's lucky to still be breathing."
He went quiet.
I stepped closer.
"And speaking of people who've been quiet lately…" I let my smile widen. "My sister—Lady Yuan's favorite companion next to your daughter. The one who probably even helped her plot and poison and whisper."
His eyes sharpened. "Lady Zhao—"
"Has been very quiet since the assassin's visit. So quiet, in fact, that I've been wondering if she's sick. Or plotting. Or both." I tilted my head. "Why don't you take her back with you while you're at it? I'd hate for something… unfortunate to happen. She's so fragile. Like a flower crushed under its own thorns."
His hands curled into fists at his sides.
"I have been very patient," I said, voice low now, almost kind. "I have let this court parade me like a broken toy, I have let your daughters insult me, drug me, and now try to end my life. But that patience is wearing thin. Tell me, Minister Bai—how many more daughters are you willing to sacrifice before you realize that I am not the one on trial?"
He stared at me.
And in that moment, I saw fear. Not just the usual aristocratic offense or pride—no, this was real, stomach-tightening fear. The kind that came when a man finally realized the creature standing before him was no longer prey.
"I will take my daughter and return your sister to your father's house," he muttered, his head bowed.
"You do that," I said, already turning back to my vines. "And next time you decide to invade my garden, wait for an invitation."
He left without another word.
That evening, the sky bled into shades of rose and wine. I had just sent Shadow to patrol the courtyard perimeter when I heard the soft footfalls of someone who didn't belong.
I didn't turn around.
"Shi Yaozu," I called lazily. "You're late. I thought you were bringing dinner."
"It's not Yaozu," came a familiar voice behind me.
I blinked and turned.
Zhu Mingyu stood near the gate, dressed in simple robes, hair unbound and falling past his shoulders. No guards. No attendants. Just him.
I raised a brow. "You're in the wrong courtyard."
He stepped closer. "Am I?"
I crossed my arms. "What are you doing here?"
He didn't answer right away. Just looked around—at the garden, at the steaming basin I'd been preparing, at the shadow of Shadow pacing silently along the wall.
Then he smiled, soft and tired.
"I'm your husband," he said. "This is where I should be."
I stared at him.
Really stared.
He hadn't stepped foot in my quarters since the wedding. We'd exchanged formal bows, sealed the match in public, and occasionally worked on projects together. We were more like colleagues than a couple, and it had suited us both. Neither of us had wanted this marriage—he hadn't asked for a witch, and I hadn't asked for a throne.
But here he was.
And the strangest part?
He looked like he meant it.
"I don't need you here," I said quietly, searching for something in his face.
"I know."
"I don't want company."
"I know that, too."
I narrowed my eyes. "So why come?"
"Because today, three powerful families tried to force my hand again. And instead of breaking, I finally chose something for myself."
His voice wasn't soft. It was steady. Like steel beneath silk.
"I chose to protect the only person in this court who didn't ask for power but earned it anyway. The only person who frightens me and impresses me at the same time. The only person who, when the court falls, might still be standing."
I didn't speak.
Not for a long moment.
Then I stepped aside.
Just slightly.
And he walked past me, sat down on the edge of the basin, and dipped his fingers into the warm water like he'd done it every night for years.
"I'm not gentle," I warned him. "I am not a submissive wife who will whisper platitudes and tell you what you want to hear."
"I'm not asking you to be."
I eyed him.
"You'll regret this."
He smiled faintly. "Probably."
And then, with that same terrifying calm that had shattered three noble reputations before breakfast, he rolled up his sleeves and attempted to peel the vegetables I had brought in from the garden.
No questions. No expectations. Just silence and moonlight and two people sitting on the edge of a knife.
This marriage had never been about love.
But maybe—just maybe—it could still be about survival.
And I had just discovered that there was no longer a way for me to survive by myself when everything had settled down.