Who Cares About Being the Matriarch? My Rebellious Husband Secured Me a Noble Rank! - Chapter 103

Yàn Míngyí’s face turned icy cold, covered in frost. She clenched her fists so tightly that her nails broke off: “How dare he!”

That was his own father—how could he be so cruel?

Bloodshot veins crawled across her eyes as she staggered back a few steps, a bitter smile twisting her lips.

So all along, Father had intended to pass the throne to her.

When Father’s last will was revealed, she had doubted herself—wondering if she was not good enough, or if Father thought a woman unfit to shoulder such a heavy responsibility, so he stepped back.

She had never once imagined that Father’s favor had always been hers alone, never wavering!

Yàn Míngyí vaguely recalled her childhood, when Father taught her how to write. The very first character he taught her was “君” (jūn).

Father lazily squinted, asking, “Míngyí, do you know what this means?”

The little princess, still innocent and serious, looked up and said brightly, “The Grand Tutor said ‘jūn’ means emperor, it means Father.”

Father gave a half-smile, “’Jūn’ can also mean you.”

Míngyí’s eyes widened in disbelief. After a long moment, she whispered, “How could a child be ‘jūn’?”

Father laughed heartily, holding her close. “Why not? My Míngyí is born to sit on this throne!”

—

Father gave her ambition, and the right to grow that ambition. He did not think a woman’s ambition was wrong.

She had such a good father—yet he was gone forever, killed by his own son.

Yàn Míngyí closed her eyes suddenly, tears slipping down her cheeks.

“Your Highness?” Huìniáng hurriedly reached out to wipe her tears with trembling hands.

Yàn Míngyí grasped hers firmly, her gaze clear. “How did you escape?”

She had secretly ordered investigations. When rumors spread of a disfigured woman fleeing the palace, she guessed it might be Huìniáng. Yet no further news followed, and even the bounty was withdrawn, which frustrated her.

Huìniáng’s eyes flickered with fear. “The Second Prince locked me and all the palace servants inside a hall in Qiánqīng Palace, intending to burn us alive!”

Desperate cries surrounded her; smoke choked her breath. She had almost given up hope.

Her voice trembling, she said, “A palace matron happened to pass by and saved me.”

At that time, she was barely conscious and didn’t see the matron’s face. When she woke, she was in the Imperial Kitchen.

The head kitchen matron recognized her. Though strict before, she was kind-hearted and hid Huìniáng’s whereabouts.

Knowing she would eventually be found, Huìniáng had used a fire poker to scar her own face severely.

The matron was horrified but resolute: “It’s too dangerous inside the palace. I’ll help you out.”

Huìniáng left the palace hidden among buckets carrying waste water, starting a life of hiding and running.

Only when Princess Yún’ān was granted her title early and opened her mansion did Huìniáng sneak in and live safely for a while.

Yàn Míngyí’s emotions fluctuated; her face paled and flushed, the pain from her broken nails stabbing sharply.

She doubted the timing of the matron’s rescue—it was too coincidental, and whoever managed to pull Huìniáng out had to be powerful.

She decided to investigate further.

“Huìniáng, you’ve suffered so much all these years.”

Like before, Yàn Míngyí’s eyes softened as she gently stroked her head.

When she first chose Huìniáng, it was because the girl looked pitiful, with big round eyes full of wonder and curiosity.

Yàn Míngyí sensed that if left alone, such innocence would never survive in the cruel palace.

Father had taught her compassion, so she took Huìniáng under her wing.

Unexpectedly, years later, this compassion led her to learn the true cause of Father’s death.

Fate had long been sealed.

Yàn Míngyí glanced at the Buddhist sutra she had copied, her eyes burning cold.

For over a decade, the Buddha tried to teach her to cultivate inner peace—but her heart burned with resentment and a thirst for vengeance that no peaceful practice could quench.

—

Shěn Tángníng studied the woman before her. The Princess Royal had calmed, her expression unreadable.

She lowered her eyes respectfully. “Your Highness called me. How may I serve?”

Yàn Míngyí’s eyes flicked over her, smiling slowly: “Shěn Tángníng, you are very capable.”

Shěn Tángníng looked up, puzzled. “Your Highness, what do you mean?”

Yàn Míngyí only smiled without answering.

How Shěn Tángníng learned Huìniáng’s identity and why she saved her was no simple matter.

But she no longer wished to pry; the other had done something that pleased her.

“The cooperation you mentioned before—I’m willing to consider it.”

Shěn Tángníng’s eyes shifted slightly, then heard Yàn Míngyí’s playful tone: “But if I agree on my side, how will you convince your aunt and cousin?”

“Your Highness, rest assured, Aunt also wishes to mend fences with you,” Shěn Tángníng said, her heart finally at ease, a smile spreading.

“Mending fences?” Yàn Míngyí mused, then suddenly scoffed, looking her straight in the eye, bluntly saying, “The Crown Prince is a filial son. What I plan is shocking and unconventional—if you can’t persuade him, this deal won’t happen!”

Shěn Tángníng felt a thrill run through her, not fear but excitement.

She had been raised on loyalty, filial piety, benevolence, and righteousness, deeply rooted.

But when the Emperor’s wrath kills millions, what can the people do?

Standing, she bowed respectfully. “Tángníng will not fail Your Highness’s trust.”

Yàn Míngyí watched her, eyes gleaming with interest, then casually handed over a jade token. “If you want to meet me in the future, don’t come here. Just bring this to Ming’s Pastry Shop.”

Putuo Temple was crowded and risky; if she kept coming, suspicion would arise.

Shěn Tángníng touched the koi pattern engraved on the jade, her brows easing.

She knew she had passed the Princess’s test.

As allies, they should share burdens and solve problems.

She looked up. “Your Highness, have you thought about leaving this place?”

She was in the temple, supposedly secluded by religious vows—but truly, a disguised imprisonment.

The Emperor feared the secret royal guards loyal to the Princess and wouldn’t let her leave the capital—keeping her trapped under watchful eyes.

Yàn Míngyí’s lips curled faintly, “Don’t worry. I have plans.”

Shěn Tángníng’s eyes flickered.

Of course—the Longevity Festival was coming, a lively occasion.

The Longevity Festival: the Emperor’s birthday, meaning “boundless life.”