MTLNOVEL Chapter 139: Worse Than It Is
The Bai family carriage rolled to a slow, creaking stop before the estate of the Left Prime Minister. The courtyard gates, lacquered red and trimmed in gold leaf, opened without delay. No one wanted to be caught waiting when Minister Bai was in one of his moods.
He didn't step down immediately.
Inside the carriage, Zhao Meiling sat silent and stiff, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her chin raised like a martyr who hadn't been chosen. Her hair was slightly disheveled—unacceptable by noble standards—and her lower lip had a faint bite mark where she'd chewed it raw during the ride.
"You will not speak unless spoken to," Minister Bai said coolly. "Your father's patience is thinner than mine."
She didn't answer. But she didn't argue either.
Minister Bai stepped down first, his boots striking the stone with all the solemnity of a man about to deliver a funeral announcement. His face was lined with exhaustion and frustration, though the latter was already hardening into something colder—something calculating.
The Left Prime Minister met him just inside the entrance, robes pristine, brow furrowed.
"Minister Bai," he greeted. "We heard you were on your way. The servants are preparing the garden hall for tea—"
"This isn't a social call," Bai cut in. His eyes flicked past the Prime Minister's shoulder, noting the waiting servants, the decorum, the polished civility.
All of it felt too clean. Too safe.
He leaned in, voice low. "The Crown Prince is no longer pretending to be a dog without teeth."
The Prime Minister's eyes narrowed.
"He's choosing sides now. Making moves. Sending women back to their fathers and putting heads on pillows." Bai gave a slow, pointed smile. "Tomorrow, at court, we're going to have to remind him what it means to go against us."
"You think he's ready for open war?"
"He doesn't have to be. He's already winning. But we'll clip his wings before he learns how to fly."
A muscle in the Prime Minister's jaw twitched, but he nodded. "I'll speak with the other Ministers. We'll be ready."
Behind them, Zhao Meiling finally descended, her slippers barely touching the stone as she swept toward the inner courtyard. A servant trailed after her, but she paid the girl no mind. Her head was held high, but the rage in her eyes betrayed her.
Inside the women's quarters, her mother—Madam Zhao—stood by a carved sandalwood table arranging combs. When she turned and saw her daughter, her expression didn't shift immediately. There was no gasp, no running embrace, only a long, thoughtful look as if assessing whether Meiling was salvageable.
"You were gone for quite some time," Madam Zhao said mildly. "I honestly thought you wouldn't stay there this long."
Meiling, in return, exploded.
"They humiliated me!" she snarled. "That bitch humiliated me! The Crown Prince cast me out like garbage. My own sister! That monster, that—"
"Lower your voice."
But Meiling didn't.
"She walked into that manor like it belonged to her. She poisoned me, turned the other concubines against me, killed Lady Yuan's child—"
"That was never proven," Madam Zhao said calmly.
"She put a skull in Lady Bai's bed! And now she gets to sit in that courtyard with her herbs and her veils while the rest of us—"
"I said lower your voice."
This time, Madam Zhao's words cut with precision. Not angry. Just sharp.
Meiling faltered.
Her mother stepped forward, brushing a strand of hair behind Meiling's ear with clinical detachment. "You lost control. That's why you failed."
"She's a demon."
"No," Madam Zhao corrected. "She's smarter than you. And smarter women win. Do you know why?"
Meiling stared at her.
"Because stupid women fight other women. Smart ones use men to do it for them."
"But the Crown Prince—"
"Is no longer neutral," her mother said. "But there are still men who can be bent. Twisted. Used."
She guided Meiling gently to sit on a cushion near the low table, pouring a cup of floral tea with the grace of a woman who had spent her entire life surviving the capital.
"We'll let your father and the Third Prince deal with Xinying."
Meiling's eyes glittered. "How?"
Madam Zhao didn't answer immediately. She set the teacup down and studied her daughter's face. There were no bruises, no welts. Not yet.
"How much pain can you withstand?" she asked softly.
Meiling blinked. "What?"
"I said—how much pain can you really withstand? If it meant having her on her knees. At your mercy. If it meant making her life in the palace untenable."
Meiling's voice dropped to a whisper. "To have Xinying crawl before me? I can withstand anything. But no one will want me if I have scars."
That was the concern, wasn't it? Beauty. Purity. Even in pain, Meiling still clung to the illusion of perfection. No noble son would marry a concubine with a ruined face.
Her mother's smile was small. Chilling.
"Don't worry, sweetheart. I know a way to make it look a lot worse than it is."
Meiling's breath caught.
"You'll need to keep silent," Madam Zhao said, rising to retrieve a narrow lacquered box from behind the screen. "Just until everything is over. Then I want you to cry, loud enough for the entire household to hear. Then you'll cry until your throat is raw and let your father and the Third Prince do the rest."
She set the box down on the table and unlatched it.
Inside lay a fine silver needle.
Not long. Not thick. But sharp.
Meiling stared at it.
"You'll bruise. Just enough. The doctor will say you were attacked a week ago, that your sister did it. That the Crown Prince's manor is no longer safe for you."
Her mother stroked the girl's hair like one might soothe a prized hunting hound before loosing it.
"Tomorrow, when you show your injuries at court… the game will change."
"And if she denies it?" Meiling asked, eyes wide and heart pounding.
"She will. But that's the beauty of it," her mother replied. "The truth no longer matters. The Crown Prince married a woman who maims her rivals. He will have to choose between protecting her… or keeping the court."
Meiling shuddered. But her hands, when she reached out, didn't tremble.
She took the needle.
And somewhere far off, a servant in the hallway paused, hearing the first scream tear through the Prime Minister's estate.
It was followed by silence.
And then the clink of porcelain as Madam Zhao calmly poured another cup of tea.