Chapter 20
**Chapter 20: Shen Wei's Layered Schemes**
Shen Wei turned her head, her almond-shaped eyes sparkling. "Your Highness, you’re back!"
The Yan Wang strode over and sat down across from her at the table. Noticing the brush in Shen Wei's hand, he chuckled, "Wei Wei can still write?"
Shen Wei nodded, her voice sweet as honey. "Your Highness may not know, but I have a younger brother who is quite studious. A couple of years ago, he even passed the provincial examination. When I was at home, I watched him read and write, and picked up a few skills myself."
After a pause, she tightened her grip on the brush, a hint of shyness in her tone. "At the spring banquet, the Heng Wang mistakenly thought I was a talented singer and dancer, well-versed in poetry... But I come from humble beginnings, and I’m not good at singing or dancing, nor have I read many books. I didn’t want to embarrass Your Highness, so I decided to be a diligent learner and practice my writing."
The Yan Wang's eyes glimmered with gentle amusement.
This silly girl, trying to put on a show for him, had actually started practicing her writing.
He picked up a piece of Xuan paper that Shen Wei had used for practice, eager to see her literary skills.
But upon closer inspection, he nearly went blind.
Shen Wei's characters were crooked and chaotic, resembling a few poisoned worms writhing in disarray.
The ugly handwriting was unforgettable.
The Yan Wang couldn’t help but burst into laughter.
Shen Wei's face flushed with embarrassment as she slammed the brush down on the table. "If Your Highness keeps laughing at me, then... then I won’t practice anymore."
The Yan Wang suppressed his laughter and walked over to take her hand. "Come, let me teach you how to write."
His large hand enveloped her smaller one, guiding her stroke by stroke. His grip was firm, and his strokes were bold.
Moments later, a powerful character for "Yan" appeared on the Xuan paper. It didn’t just look like "Yan"; it resembled a proud and majestic eagle.
Shen Wei tentatively tried to replicate the character.
Her attempt was crooked and uneven, so ugly it was hard to look at.
Her face fell.
It wasn’t that Shen Wei was pretending; her brushwork was genuinely terrible. Back in her modern life, she was used to typing on a computer, and had rarely held a pen.
"Writing takes patience; don’t rush it. Practice slowly, and you’ll improve," the Yan Wang said, once again taking her hand to guide her.
Shen Wei thought for a moment. "Your Highness, I’d like to ask you to write a poem for me, so I can practice copying it every day."
The Yan Wang raised an eyebrow. "What poem?"
Shen Wei's eyes sparkled. "When I was young, I traveled to Jiangnan with my brother. We passed by a small courtyard and heard someone reciting a poem called 'Spring Banquet.' My brother said that when I found my ideal husband, I should recite this poem to him—so I’ll recite it to you, Your Highness, and you can teach me how to write it."
The Yan Wang, well-versed in poetry, had never heard of a poem called "Spring Banquet."
Intrigued, he said, "Wei Wei, recite it for me."
With a smile blooming on her rosy lips, Shen Wei began to recite:
"Spring banquet, a cup of green wine, a song sung once again.
I bow to Chen San with three wishes:
First, may my lord live a thousand years;
Second, may I always be healthy;
Third, may we meet like the swallows on the beams,
Year after year, always together."
This was a poem from the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms period, but Shen Wei didn’t claim it as her own creation.
Her persona wasn’t that of a talented woman; stealing someone else’s brilliance would eventually lead to her downfall.
"Year after year, always together." The Yan Wang pondered over the poem. Though the lines were simple, each word dripped with affection. The entire poem was fresh and natural, a rare gem.
He took the brush and quickly wrote out the entire poem on the Xuan paper. He deliberately altered the style to a neat regular script, making it easier for Shen Wei to practice.
Shen Wei faced the Yan Wang's writing, beginning to practice each stroke. Meanwhile, the Yan Wang sat on the other side of the table, flipping through an ancient text, occasionally glancing over to watch her practice.
Seeing Shen Wei’s octopus-like, hideous handwriting, he shook his head in exasperation.
Outside, the announcement of a sumptuous dinner echoed; the evening meal had arrived. Tonight’s dinner featured not only delicious dishes from the kitchen but also fresh vegetables personally grown by the Yan Wang.
The vegetables were made into a tofu soup, and the Yan Wang devoured two large bowls.
That night, he naturally stayed in Shen Wei's Fangfei Garden. Although Shen Wei's left arm was still injured, it didn’t hinder their playful antics on the bed.
With her arm hurt, Shen Wei couldn’t be on the bottom.
But being on top had its own charm.
After a night of playful banter, Shen Wei and the Yan Wang bathed and then went to bed together. Of course, in the middle of the night, Shen Wei didn’t forget to sneak out to drink her contraceptive soup.
Cai Lian, returning with the medicine bowl, whispered, "My lady, if you enjoy practicing writing, I’ll find some good ink for you tomorrow."
Shen Wei nodded. "That sounds great."
Her desire to practice writing wasn’t a fleeting whim; it was a well-planned strategy. A small vegetable garden could capture the Yan Wang's attention, but it wasn’t enough. She needed more little details in her life to keep him focused on her.
For instance, practicing writing.
Shen Wei’s handwriting was atrocious, and with the Yan Wang personally teaching her, he became her teacher. As a teacher, he naturally had to frequently check on his student’s progress.
So, the Yan Wang would keep "practicing writing" in mind and often come to Fangfei Garden to check on Shen Wei’s progress.
With every little improvement Shen Wei made, the Yan Wang felt a growing sense of accomplishment.
What do you call this?
This is called nurturing.
The more effort the Yan Wang invested in Shen Wei, the harder it would be for him to let her go.
Once Shen Wei’s writing improved, she could also practice painting, dancing, singing, and horseback riding. There was plenty of time ahead for her to train the Yan Wang.
Stifling a delicate yawn, Shen Wei slowly returned to bed, hugging her beloved treasures, and soon fell asleep.
...
As Shen Wei and the Yan Wang embraced in slumber, a new master moved into the neighboring Rose Garden.
After a thorough cleaning, the Rose Garden was quite tidy.
Zhang Yue sat in the main seat, surveying the spacious courtyard, a swell of pride rising within her.
From this day forward, she, Zhang Yue, was no longer a lowly maid; today, she had been elevated to a concubine by the princess. The princess had even gifted her two maids to attend to her daily needs.
"Pour me a cup of tea," Zhang Yue commanded, lifting her chin with an air of arrogance.
The two maids, one named Fang'er and the other Cui'er, had previously worked alongside Zhang Yue in the laundry room.
Now, Fang'er and Cui'er had become her attendants.
Zhang Yue felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction!
Fang'er bowed her head and respectfully brought over a cup of hot tea. Zhang Yue took a sip and suddenly splashed the tea all over Fang'er. "Is this scalding tea meant to burn me alive?"
Fang'er and Cui'er fell to their knees, trembling in fear, not daring to show an ounce of disrespect.
The two maids knew that Zhang Yue was the new mistress. Based on years of experience in the Yan Wang's residence, newcomers often quickly replaced the once-flourishing Shen Wei.
So, they couldn’t afford to offend Zhang Yue for now.
After berating and hitting the two maids, establishing her authority as the mistress, Zhang Yue finally returned to her bed, satisfied.
Being a mistress was exhilarating; being a maid was simply stifling.
Zhang Yue gazed at the dark bed curtains, her fingers gently brushing over her beautiful face, a flicker of hatred crossing her eyes.
Zhang Yue murmured, "Shen Wei, just wait. I will take everything you hold dear."
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