Chapter 183: Cheng Zhao, Aren't You Close with Your Husband

Cheng Zhao was nearly frightened out of her wits.

Her first thought was “kidnapper,” so she fought back with all her strength, desperate to escape.

She kicked and flailed wildly.

“Cheng Zhao, it’s me!”

Her struggling stopped. Slowly, she turned to look at the man beside her.

Zhou Yuanshen seemed a bit tanned, his eyes brighter than ever, his face expressionless as he watched her.

Cheng Zhao’s heart was pounding violently.

It felt as if someone had pushed her to the edge of a cliff—her terror at its peak, her survival instinct surging—only for her to realize the drop beneath her was just a shallow ditch, barely half a man’s height.

She felt relief wash over her.

She sat there, drained, and once her racing heart steadied a little, she looked at the man crouching beside her and gave him a hard punch.

“You scared me half to death!”

“Who would have thought you’d be this jumpy,” he said coolly. “Besides me, who else could embrace you?”

Cheng Zhao: “Plenty of people. Kidnappers, mountain bandits, even enemies—if they wanted to kill me here, they’d tie me up first.”

Zhou Yuanshen: “...”

He simply stared at her in silence.

Cheng Zhao saw not a shred of guilt in him, and the fear from before surged back. She hit him twice more.

Zhou Yuanshen caught her hand, leaning in slightly. “My footsteps, my breathing, the scent of me—even the way I hold you. Are you unfamiliar with all of it, Cheng Zhao?”

His eyes were utterly still, his gaze sharp as ice.

The August sun was still warm, its light streaming into the meditation room through the window—half falling on the statue of the Buddha, half behind him.

Yet his eyes seemed like deep winter.

Cheng Zhao: “You’re being unreasonable. You scared me to death, and now you’re turning it around on me.”

Zhou Yuanshen gripped her chin. “Even as husband and wife, there’s no need to be so separate. Cheng Zhao, from the very start of our marriage, you’ve been the one saying ‘willingly and gladly.’”

He added, “You only wanted to be the Duchess of Chen, and I’ve done everything to support that. I’m still the Duke of Chen—throwing me away before I’ve served my purpose, isn’t that a bit cold and heartless?”

Cheng Zhao: “...”

She was stunned.

She’d been scared out of her skin, and now she was somehow the one in the wrong?

What exactly was he nitpicking about?

“... I’m not talking to you. You’re like talking to a brick wall!” Cheng Zhao stood up. She needed to find her mother-in-law.

She was usually sharp-tongued, but this was the first time she felt truly at a loss for words.

Zhou Yuanshen was twisting everything—mixing right and wrong, calling a deer a horse.

With all this muddled reasoning, Cheng Zhao couldn’t even sort out where the argument had started; and her heart was still racing. She needed some quiet.

She turned to leave, but Zhou Yuanshen pulled her into his arms.

She stumbled, nearly falling into him.

He held her tightly, kissing her.

In her peripheral vision, Cheng Zhao could see the door of the meditation room ajar, could feel the solemn Buddha behind her. She pushed at Zhou Yuanshen.

But she couldn’t push him away. Panicked, she gasped, “Zhou Yuanshen, Zhou Yuanshen...”

“Hm!”

He heard her, yet pressed even closer.

The door seemed to shift slightly. Cheng Zhao looked up and saw the gap from before was gone—someone had closed it from outside.

Sunlight was blocked, the doorway cast in shadow, with a figure silhouetted against it.

The shadow wore a jade crown—not the usual attire of a deputy general.

Cheng Zhao bit Zhou Yuanshen hard.

She held back a little, afraid of drawing blood, and kicked at him as well.

Maybe she landed the kick—he loosened his grip and let her go. Or maybe she missed—his face stayed expressionless, no sign of pain.

He stepped back two paces.

Adjusted his robes, and without another word, he opened the door and left.

A gust of wind seemed to sweep into the meditation room, then out again. Had it not been for the lingering sensation on her lips and her slightly askew sash, Cheng Zhao might have thought it was all an illusion.

She stood there, silent for a moment.

“... From the very start of our marriage, you’ve been the one saying ‘willingly and gladly.’”

Cheng Zhao’s ears rang with Zhou Yuanshen’s words.

So this was where her battle had begun to unravel?

That one phrase, “willingly and gladly,” had surrendered her stronghold into his hands, giving him the secret to controlling her from then on.

Cheng Zhao took a moment to compose herself.

Someone at the door said, “Amitabha,” snapping her back to the present.

“Madam, are you ready? The vegetarian meal is about to be served,” a young monk said from the doorway.

Cheng Zhao responded: “I’m ready now, I’ll be right there.”

She straightened her robes, smoothed her hair, and stepped out.

As she left the meditation room, she felt eyes on her. She looked up and saw a pavilion slightly above and off to the side of the room.

A man in a plain pale blue robe stood there, watching her steadily.

It was Helian Xuan, the Prince of Andong.

Cheng Zhao had vaguely noticed him when she first entered the temple.

Their eyes met, but he didn’t approach or acknowledge her—just kept looking.

Cheng Zhao recalled their past, and then his actions at the hunting grounds in Ningzhou Prefecture, and felt a flicker of wariness.

“Duchess of Chen, the dining hall is that way,” he said.

His voice wasn’t loud, but just audible.

The young monk walked beside Cheng Zhao.

She asked, “Little master, where were you just now?”

“Waiting up ahead, madam.”

“Did you happen to see the Prince of Andong? Did he come down?” Cheng Zhao asked.

The monk glanced over. “No, he didn’t.”

“Is he also a regular visitor here?”

“The Dowager Consort sponsors a perpetual lamp here,” the young monk said.

“But isn’t the Dowager Consort at her fief?” Cheng Zhao pressed.

The monk said, “She doesn’t come herself—someone donates oil money on her behalf. She’s kept the lamp lit for many years.”

Cheng Zhao understood and stopped asking.

She went to the dining hall.

The Second Madam and Zhou Yuanqi were there, along with many distinguished guests—including Dowager Consort An.

Seeing the dowager consort, Cheng Zhao, regardless of their relationship, had to step forward to pay her respects as the Duchess of Chen. Etiquette could not be neglected—especially in public, where appearances mattered.

She smiled and bowed: “Dowager Consort.”

Dowager Consort An seemed to not recognize her fully, studying her for a few moments. “Is it Young Madam Zhou? So you married into the Zhou family, didn’t you?”

“The dowager consort has such a good memory—better than people half her age. Indeed, it’s the Zhou family,” Cheng Zhao said with a smile.

Her words carried veiled sarcasm; the dowager was overacting.

The two families had been neighbors in Fengzhou back then. There’s no way she forgot who Cheng Zhao was. She was just putting on this act.

“It’s impressive how you’ve grown into a lady. When you were little, you were such a mischief. Now you’re so proper and refined—it’s clear the Zhou family knows how to raise people.” Dowager Consort An chuckled.

She’d subtly insulted Cheng Zhao’s upbringing in her parents’ house.

“Children always grow up, Dowager Consort. You’ve been confined to your fief these days, rarely in the capital—your words have gotten rather muddled. I almost thought you were having senior moments, and my heart ached for you,” Cheng Zhao said.

Dowager Consort An: “...”

There were a few ladies with her, all accompanying her to burn incense.

From the very first exchange, it was clear that something was off between them.

Both were smiling, their tones warm and gentle—but their words were charged.

The more they spoke, the more acrid it became.

Dowager Consort An’s smile was starting to crack.

Cheng Zhao might as well have said she’d grown senile from living so long in the countryside, spewing nonsense.

“My mother is in good spirits, thank you for your concern, Duchess of Chen.” Helian Xuan, who had somehow entered the dining hall, greeted her with a brilliant smile.

His handsome peach-blossom eyes made his smile seem all the more genial.

Cheng Zhao finished her greetings and returned to the table where Second Madam was seated.

Zhou Yuanshen sat nearby, his face utterly devoid of emotion.

Second Madam asked, “What were you two talking about?”