Chapter 31 -

Chapter 31: Chapter

By the time Yimei returned to her bedchamber, night had fully descended upon the capital. The winter air outside bit through the thickest wool, but inside the Northern Courtyard, the subtle transformation was already complete.

Qinqin carefully laid out the silk robes Madame Bai had handed over. Tucked beneath the embroidered folds of Yimei’s own outfit was a dark, elegant robe crafted from midnight-blue silk, trimmed with silver thread along the collar... a brand-new garment tailored specifically for the First Young Master, Bai Zhengyu.

Yimei didn’t change into her formal dress just yet. Instead, she walked over to her private kitchen hearth. Taking the freshly brewed pot of ginger-jujube soup she had prepared, she poured a steaming bowl onto a polished wooden tray.

"Miss, do you really think the First Young Master will agree to go?" Qinqin asked, her voice hushed as she smoothed out the midnight-blue robe. "Lin Guard isn’t even outside his door tonight. He was called away to assist with the front gate preparations. Young Master is entirely alone in there."

"He will go," Yimei said smoothly, her eyes reflecting the soft glow of the hearth fire. "He just needs to realize that staying in the dark benefits everyone else more than it benefits him."

She picked up the tray, draped the dark blue robe over her forearm, and walked out into the courtyard.

When Yimei pushed open the heavy wooden doors to Zhengyu’s chamber, the shift in atmosphere was undeniable. The cold vibe that usually inhabited the room had vanished. Four large copper braziers crackled quietly in the corners, spilling a rich, amber warmth across the stone floor. The suffocating stench of medicinal herbs had been replaced by the clean scent of fresh pine and crisp winter air from the properly aired windows. The bed was made with fresh silk quilts, and extra oil lanterns cast a golden, cozy light into every former shadow.

Zhengyu sat at his long wooden desk near the far wall. His wheelchair was positioned perfectly beside the lamp. In the quiet room, the soft, rhythmic scrape of his ink brush against parchment was the only sound.

He didn’t look up when the door opened. His posture remained straight, unmoving, and calm like a dangerous, quiet predator who simply chose to ignore the intruder in his space.

Yimei stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. Her footsteps were light and unhurried as she walked across the room, setting the tray down onto his desk right beside his inkstone. The warm, spicy scent of ginger instantly drifted over his papers.

Zhengyu’s hand paused for a fraction of a second. He didn’t lift his head, but his dark, calculative eyes shifted slightly toward the steaming bowl.

"I believe I told you yesterday," Zhengyu said, his voice deep, low, and devoid of any warmth. "I do not require your company, nor your soup."

Yimei didn’t flinch. She casually rested one hand on the edge of his desk, leaning in just enough so that her cool, collected gaze met his profile.

"And I believe I told you that as long as I am your wife, this soup will be served every evening," Yimei replied bluntly, her tone completely nonchalant. She set the midnight-blue silk robe down onto the edge of his desk. "Your mother sent this over. The Old Master and your two uncles are arriving at the front gate in less than an hour."

Zhengyu finally stopped writing. He slowly laid his ink brush across the ceramic rest, turning his head to look at her. His eyes were cold, sharp, and analyzing, reading her expression as if she were a military map.

"So Madame Bai sent you to be her messenger," Zhengyu said softly, a faint, mocking curve touching his pale lips. "She thinks sending a simple girl into my room will magically make me parade myself in a wheelchair before the entire family?"

"Madame Bai wants you there to secure your position as the eldest son," Yimei said directly, not bothering to hide the truth or play polite games. "She is worried you are forfeiting your inheritance to the other branches of the family."

Zhengyu leaned back in his chair, folding his long fingers together over his lap. "And what do you want, Yimei? You didn’t walk in here because my mother asked you to. You don’t care about her worries."

A faint, sharp smile appeared on Yimei’s face. She didn’t deny it.

"I don’t," Yimei admitted smoothly. "I care about efficiency. Tonight, Second Young Madame An Yulan and her mother-in-law expect me to walk into that banquet alone, unbacked, and looking like a helpless target. They expect you to stay locked in this room, proving to the Old Master that the Northern Courtyard is weak and abandoned."

She stepped closer, placing both hands flat on his desk, looking straight into his dark, observant eyes.

"You like sitting in the dark, watching everyone from the shadows, Zhengyu," Yimei murmured, her voice cool and dangerously perceptive. "You act like a crippled, useless master so they stop viewing you as a threat. But there is a difference between hiding in the dark to plan your next move, and letting your enemies think they’ve already won."

Zhengyu’s eyes narrowed slightly. The quiet, deadly stillness around him deepened, but Yimei didn’t step back.

"If you stay in this room tonight," Yimei continued, her voice completely straightforward, "they win a easy victory without firing a single arrow. But if you walk—or roll—into that main hall beside me, you force every single person in that room to change their plans. You force them to remember that the First Young Master of the Bai family is still alive, still breathing, and still sitting right at the head of the table."

Silence fell over the warm, lantern-lit room. Zhengyu stared at her for a long moment, his calculative mind weighing every word, every layer of manipulation, and the utter lack of fear in her eyes. She wasn’t begging him. She wasn’t pitying him. She was offering him a tactical piece on a chessboard.

Slowly, Zhengyu reached out his hand. He didn’t touch the silk robe. Instead, his long fingers wrapped around the ceramic spoon, picking up the ginger soup.

He brought the bowl to his lips and took a slow, deliberate sip. The heat washed down his throat, warming his chest.

"You speak too much," Zhengyu said softly, setting the spoon down with a small clink.

Yimei straightened up, her expression calm as ever. "The tea house launch was a success today. Tonight, I intend to finish what I started. Drink your soup while it’s hot."

She turned on her heel, her simple dress swaying gracefully as she walked toward the door.

Just as her hand touched the wooden handle, Zhengyu’s deep voice echoed through the warm room.

"Leave the robe."

Yimei didn’t turn back, but the corners of her lips curved into a sharp, victorious smile in the dim light.

"Ten minutes, Husband," she said smoothly, and pushed open the door.