Chapter 3: The Broken House

No one helped her; Bao Ning got off the carriage by herself.

Although she had already prepared herself mentally, seeing the scene before her still shocked her.

In the midst of a desolate grove of trees stood a small courtyard, not very large. The main gate was made of a shaky fence, wobbling as if a gust of wind could topple it. The house consisted of two low, thatched huts, obviously drafty on all sides in the middle of winter. It had snowed a few days ago, and the snow in the courtyard hadn’t completely melted yet — half water, half snow, muddy and filthy.

This didn’t look like the residence of a prince; it resembled more a dilapidated courtyard abandoned for a long time.

Bao Ning glanced around. There was no village or houses nearby, not even a neighbor. As far as she could see were leafless trees. Only the direction from which the carriage came had a narrow winding dirt path, twisting and turning until it disappeared out of sight.

This place would be difficult even for a normal healthy person to live in, let alone the Fourth Prince, who was already disabled.

It was said the people at the Lesser Palace Supervisory Office were the most powerful and influential. Now, seeing this, that couldn’t be more true. When Pei Yuan was in his prime, everyone scrambled to curry favor, sending the best things. But now, they wouldn’t even give him a decent house.

As Bao Ning was thinking this, the fence gate suddenly opened, and a woman dressed as a maid stepped out. She sized Bao Ning up and asked the coachman, “Is this the Fourth Prince’s consort?”

The coachman nodded and smiled, saying, “Cuifu, you must be happy now, right? You don’t have to stay in this awful place anymore; someone’s here to relieve you.”

Cuifu rubbed her hands and pursed her lips, “Isn’t that so? If I had to stay two more days, I’d go crazy. Not to mention this place where there’s not enough food or warmth, but the Fourth Prince’s miserable temper…”

Halfway through, Cuifu suddenly remembered that meeting the Fourth Prince’s consort required some respect.

She retracted the last sentence, bowed politely, then glanced at Bao Ning again and shook her head, “So pretty, such a pity to have married that cripple.”

The coachman yawned, got back in the carriage, and waved, “Enough talking, get in quickly. We can still return to the capital before dark.”

Cuifu sighed, without even saying goodbye to Bao Ning, swung her leg and climbed into the carriage.

The whip cracked, the horse reared and neighed once, carrying the coachman and the maid Cuifu, rumbling away from the courtyard.

“…” Bao Ning stood there watching the carriage disappear into the distance, pursing her lips, unsure what to say.

Those two hadn’t even looked at her; not to mention the Fourth Prince’s consort, in their eyes she might not even be a mistress, just an unlucky bride sent here to suffer, and they wished to keep their distance from her.

Fine, relying on others is unreliable; the only one you can count on is yourself.

Bao Ning sighed, pulled down her veil and held it in her hand, then squatted down and rolled up her pant legs, stepping carefully, slipping with each step, into the courtyard.

She thought to herself, once she changed clothes, she’d better clean up the courtyard quickly — otherwise, if she slipped and fell, it would be a serious matter.

The courtyard wasn’t large, about a dozen paces long. She soon reached the thatched hut’s door.

The two huts were side by side, almost identical. But one had a torn window paper with a hole in it. The cold wind blew through the hole, causing the entire window to rattle as if it would soon be blown apart. The other hut looked somewhat better; at least the window was intact.

Which one was Pei Yuan’s?

Bao Ning thought for a moment, then stepped forward to peek inside through the hole in the window paper.

A large broom stood leaning against the wall; she didn’t notice it and accidentally bumped into it, causing it to fall to the ground with a loud bang.

A hoarse voice inside immediately scolded, “Who’s there?”

Bao Ning opened her mouth: “I am…”

Before she could finish, Pei Yuan grabbed a cup from the bedside and threw it: “Get lost!”

Bao Ning heard the whooshing sound, instinctively stepped to the side, and watched the cup smash through the window paper, missing her nose by less than an inch, forming a perfect arc before landing in the snow.

Bao Ning froze where she stood.

Inside, there was silence.

After a while, Bao Ning finally mustered up courage and peeked through the broken window hole again, directly meeting Pei Yuan’s cold, fierce eyes—guarded and hateful.

“If you don’t leave, do you believe I’ll slap you to death?”

Bao Ning shrank her neck back in fright.

She had prepared herself to marry a cripple and knew Pei Yuan had a bad temper, but she hadn’t expected him to be this hostile. Judging by the hole in the window paper, perhaps he had thrown something to break it.

No wonder Cuifu looked so relieved when she left earlier.

Bao Ning looked up at the sky; it was about late afternoon. She had only eaten half a steamed bun after getting up in the morning and was already starving.

Maybe she should cook first. No matter how fierce Pei Yuan was, he had to eat. When the meal was brought, she could try to talk to him more calmly, perhaps his resistance would lessen.

But where was the kitchen?

Bao Ning circled the courtyard but couldn’t find anything resembling a kitchen. The empty courtyard had only two thatched huts and, in one corner, a very low small room, probably the latrine. The courtyard was so open that the cold wind blew without any barrier. Bao Ning sneezed and headed toward the other hut.

She had thought it was Cuifu’s room, but after going inside, she found something unexpected.

A small place about seven steps long and eight steps wide — half of it was a kang (heated bed), and the other half was a simple makeshift kitchen!

There wasn’t much decent furniture, just a table with a broken leg, a shaky chair, and a pot on the stove.

Even so, the room was cramped, not only dark and damp but smelled strongly of coal smoke.

On the kang were messily piled quilts, pillows thrown on the floor, and several pieces of women’s clothing — a dudou (traditional bellyband) and ruqun (a type of skirt and blouse) — scattered everywhere.

Bao Ning thought that maybe Cuifu had left in too much of a hurry—she must have crawled out of the quilts, put on her clothes, and left without taking anything else. Although there wasn’t much valuable left anyway.

Bao Ning raised her hand and fanned under her nose—the smell was too pungent. She didn’t care about the cold; she opened all the doors and windows to ventilate the place.

The afternoon sunlight poured in, and the room suddenly felt a little brighter and more cheerful.

Bao Ning let out a long breath, feeling much more comfortable, and began tidying up. There wasn’t much to clean, just those clothes and miscellaneous items Cuifu had left behind. She quickly gathered them together and put them into the laundry basket. Her dowry trunk was still outside in the yard; Bao Ning planned to sort that out tonight and decided to focus on cooking first, to prepare a meal for Pei Yuan.

Cuifu must have known Bao Ning would definitely come today, so she didn’t even cook lunch or light the kang.

There wasn’t a single spark of fire in the stove; the pot contained remnants of the last meal, some kind of corn porridge-like stuff, stuck to the pot and giving off a rather unpleasant fishy smell.

Bao Ning bent down to sniff and wrinkled her nose—it had already gone sour. It wasn’t leftovers from the last meal but must have been sitting there for several days.

Bao Ning was surprised—what exactly did these two eat normally?

To cook, she first had to start a fire and scrub the pot.

The firewood was stacked not far from the door; although not much, it was enough. Plus, outside the woods there were plenty of dry branches to keep the fire going.

The question was: where were the vegetables and rice? And where was the water?

Bao Ning looked around inside and saw only a wooden bucket containing about an inch of water—barely enough to take two sips, let alone anything edible.

There was no well in the courtyard either.

Bao Ning stood dumbfounded at the door, momentarily speechless. How had these two been living these days—no food, no water to drink?

After pondering for a while, she decided to ask Pei Yuan. He had been living here for some time and should know about these things.

The hut was very dilapidated. The door was old, a battered, pocked wooden plank. The wedge used to lock the door had somehow rotted away, so the door couldn’t be locked or closed tightly. The wind made it tremble. The door and windows were broken; the stove fire was out. No need to guess how cold it must be inside Pei Yuan’s room. His health was poor—how had he survived?

Bao Ning sighed and knocked on the door: “Fourth Prince, may I come in?”

No answer inside. She waited a moment, knocked again, still no sound.

Worried something had happened to the frozen and sick Pei Yuan, Bao Ning didn’t wait for a reply and pushed the door open.

Once inside, she started coughing violently. The smell in the room was worse than the kitchen—bitter medicine mixed with an indescribable sour stench stung her eyes. Upon closer sniffing, she even detected a faint metallic, bloody smell.

On the small heated kang, Pei Yuan was lying on his side, sleeping.

He seemed restless, his brows tightly furrowed, with a circle of stubble around his lips. His hair was half tied, half loose—a messy tangle. The quilt wrapped around him was filthy, stained yellow and red with dried patches; some cotton stuffing even showed through.

Perhaps due to pain, his hand on the pillow was clenched into a fist; blue veins bulged on the back of his hand, and his knuckles were pale.

This bedraggled, destitute appearance looked like a homeless man—nothing like the proud and flamboyant Fourth Prince he once was.

Bao Ning stood frozen, suddenly feeling a pang of sadness.

Pei Yuan was awakened by her coughing. He turned his eyes irritably. Being awake was far harder than sleeping—at least when asleep, he didn’t feel cold or hungry, nor the pain. But once conscious, the unbearable sensations returned. His wounds twitched painfully; he gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. The endless rotting and itching were driving him mad.

Perhaps from fever, Pei Yuan felt his mouth dry and throat burning painfully.

He propped himself up with his arm, pressed his temple, half-closed his eyes, and reached for a cup on the table.

After feeling around for a while, his hand touched only dust.

Bao Ning couldn’t bear it and brought over a teapot, placing it into his hand: “You just threw the cup out. The water in the pot has gone cold. Do you know if there is a well or stream nearby? I can fetch some water and boil it for you.”

The unfamiliar female voice entered his ears softly and gently, carrying warmth that clashed with the cold environment.

Pei Yuan was startled and suddenly opened his eyes wide.

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