A Concubine's Competitive Life in the Prince's Household-Chapter 81

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The Glazed Pavilion.

The summer heat was oppressive, and Shen Wei sat in the waterside pavilion to cool off. A small table beside her held chilled fruits, while mosquito-repellent sandalwood incense curled lazily through the air.

Reclining on a bamboo lounge chair, Shen Wei had applied a homemade facial mask and now held a wolf-hair brush over a sheet of rice paper. She was deep in thought, mapping out her next business ventures. Once "Wei-Yan Emporium" opened smoothly and she had sufficient capital, she planned to establish an inn and restaurant.

Moreover, as summer faded into autumn, she would need to tailor new robes for Prince Yan—a subtle yet meaningful expression of her affection and care.

"Mistress, your chilled citron water is here," Cai Ping announced, presenting a small bowl. During her pregnancy, Shen Wei craved sour flavors, and the intensely tart citron water had become her favorite.

She took a hearty sip, savoring the refreshing sensation.

Cai Ping frowned slightly.

"You favor sour foods, Mistress—surely you’re carrying a lively, healthy young master," she ventured. "Perhaps we should conceal this a little? You could pretend to prefer spicy flavors to mislead outsiders."

There was an old saying: "Sour for a son, spicy for a daughter." Pregnant women who craved sourness were believed to be carrying boys, while those who preferred spice were thought to bear girls.

Cai Ping meant well. The Princess Consort was a viper with a saint’s smile—if she suspected Shen Wei carried a son, she might resort to underhanded schemes.

Shen ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​‍Wei set the bowl down with a faint smile. "If I cannot even protect the child in my womb, then I have no place in this royal household."

The Glazed Pavilion was her domain, beyond the Princess Consort’s reach. With Prince Yan’s favor and the Empress’s protection, she refused to feign a preference for spice just to mislead others. That would be too pitiful, too stifling a way to live.

Besides, the "sour son, spicy daughter" notion had little scientific basis. Whether her child was a boy or girl, Shen Wei would cherish them equally and pave the way for their smooth future.

Cai Ping nodded, though only half-convinced.

"By the way, this afternoon, buy a few bottles of tea oil—the most expensive kind," Shen Wei added. Far more pressing than old wives’ tales was the matter of tea oil.

Cai Ping smiled. "Rest assured, Mistress. I’ll remember."

In ancient times, there were no specialized oils for pregnancy care, so Shen Wei used tea oil as a substitute.

As a woman’s belly expanded, stretch marks often appeared. Rich in fatty acids and vitamin E, tea oil—edible and topical—moisturized the skin and effectively prevented them.

Shen Wei had no intention of ending up with a belly marred by ugly marks after childbirth. Men were creatures of contradiction—they might mouth platitudes like "pregnancy is hard," but inwardly, nine out of ten would secretly recoil at the sight of stretch marks.

She would take precautions early.

Resuming her writing, Shen Wei filled three pages before cheerful voices drifted into the Glazed Pavilion.

"Mistress, Consort Zhang is here," Cai Ping announced, just as Zhang Miaoyu came bounding in like a plump, jubilant dumpling, rolling straight into the waterside pavilion.

Her round face flushed, Zhang Miaoyu’s bright, darting eyes swept over the small table: *Chilled watermelon, grapes, peaches... a bowl of brown sugar jelly, a bowl of milky ice pudding, two plates of candied fruits...*

"Sister Shen Wei, I had nothing to do today, so I thought I’d come for a chat—*ah*, what’s that on your face?" Plopping onto a bamboo chair beside Shen Wei, she made it creak ominously under her weight.

Shen Wei already knew why she’d come. After wiping off the mask, she smiled. "Sister Miaoyu, help yourself to anything on the table."

Zhang Miaoyu eagerly snatched up the bowl of milky ice pudding. "I don’t know why, but everything here tastes better. The scenery’s lovely, the people are beautiful—even my appetite improves!"

The summer heat had dulled even her craving for braised pork knuckle. Instead, she preferred chilled, refreshing treats—and Shen Wei’s pavilion was always stocked with delicious snacks.

Zhang Miaoyu beamed. "I’d love another bowl of this pudding. Can I take two back with me later?"

Shen Wei nodded warmly. "Of course."

Zhang Miaoyu had a formidable appetite, and soon, most of the food on the table vanished into her stomach.

Cai Ping watched, wide-eyed, then whispered to Zhang Miaoyu’s maid, "Xiang Yu, how long has your mistress gone without eating? She’ll bankrupt our Glazed Pavilion at this rate."

Xiang Yu, plump from sharing her mistress’s indulgent meals, sank lower with embarrassment, wishing she could vanish into the ground.

*So shameful. I can’t show my face anymore.*

Clutching her bowl of chilled pudding, Zhang Miaoyu studied Shen Wei, who was diligently writing and sketching with her brush.

Astonishment flickered in her heart. Every time she visited, Shen Wei was *busy*—jogging, writing, gardening, rearranging decor, selecting fabrics for Prince Yan’s robes, planning meals, crafting sachets.

She never idled, always brimming with energy.

In contrast, Zhang Miaoyu’s days were a cycle of eating, sleeping, lounging, and merrymaking. Suddenly, she wondered if she’d been living *too* carelessly.

But she could never match Shen Wei’s discipline. Just the thought of daily jogging made her wilt.

With a mouthful of pudding, Zhang Miaoyu leaned in. "Sister Shen Wei, I should tell you—this morning, a sedan chair brought a new concubine into the rear courtyard. The Princess Consort picked her out for His Highness!"

Shen Wei’s brush paused.

She’d already heard. The newcomer, another peasant girl, was said to be quite pretty.

The Princess Consort had settled her in a southwestern courtyard, waiting for the right moment to present her to Prince Yan.

Zhang Miaoyu patted her arm. "Don’t be upset, and don’t quarrel with His Highness. My mother said if a pregnant woman’s emotions are unstable, the birth could be difficult."

Setting her brush aside, Shen Wei folded her shop expansion plans and tucked them into a dossier.

She settled onto a lounge chair beside Zhang Miaoyu, accepting a fresh bowl of pudding from Cai Ping. "Thank you for your concern, Sister Miaoyu. I’ll protect my child."

After working so long, the chilled dessert was a welcome respite.

The milky ice pudding—a treat akin to ice cream—was made with cow’s milk, fermented rice, and cane sugar. Lightly fragrant with wine, rich with dairy, and dotted with osmanthus petals, it was a summer essential.

Just two bites in, Steward Fu Gui’s voice announced from the courtyard: "Prince Yan has arrived."

With little official business today, Prince Yan had returned early and, as usual, headed straight for the Glazed Pavilion. Stepping into the pavilion, he helped Shen Wei rise from her curtsey—then noticed the table littered with empty bowls.

His expression darkened.

Other consorts with child would avoid chilled drinks and sweets at all costs. Yet Shen Wei, the moment Prince Yan wasn’t looking, sneaked another bite of ice-cooled treats—and a hefty portion at that.

So disobedient!

The more “careless” Shen Wei acted, the more Prince Yan felt the weight of a husband’s “responsibility.”

“This concubine only took two bites, truly no more,” Shen Wei murmured, lowering her head like a child caught misbehaving. Her fair fingers twisted together, betraying her nervousness.

Zhang Miaoyu quickly stepped in to take the blame: “Your Highness, don’t scold her—most of what’s on this table was eaten by this humble one.”

Prince Yan cast a deep glance at the plump Zhang Miaoyu.

A smear of white frozen milk pudding clung to Zhang Miaoyu’s lips, her eyes nearly disappearing into the plumpness of her face. It seemed she had grown even rounder since he last saw her.

If she kept gaining weight, her health would surely suffer.

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Not long ago, at court, Zhang Miaoyu’s father had discreetly approached Prince Yan, pleading for him to help curb his daughter’s indulgence.

The Zhang family was no small asset to Prince Yan’s faction. With a resigned sigh, he commanded Zhang Miaoyu, “Return to your Fragrant Blossom Courtyard. From now on, moderate your meals—only one serving of meat per day. I’ll assign an elderly matron to oversee your daily exercise.”

Zhang Miaoyu looked as if struck by lightning.

She could live without Prince Yan’s favor, but she couldn’t live without braised pork! Depriving her of meat was worse than killing her!