16. Proof of Consummation
2023.10.16.
Clade strode briskly toward the console mounted on the wall, then pulled out medicine from a drawer and chewed it down.
He twisted his head twice, then pressed his temple with trembling hands—shaking like someone who had just taken medicine—before glaring fiercely at Yuan.
“Just because my body’s been crushed doesn’t mean I’ve lost my damn mind.”
His bloodshot eyes stared at her as if piercing through.
As if asking whether she still wanted him after seeing him in such a state.
Between his widely stretched lips, white teeth became visible.
When the pain becomes unbearable, laughter sometimes escapes like that of a madman.
She knew this all too well.
“Try it.”
The man, whose entire form resembled a blackened mansion consumed by fire, suppressed his agony and stretched his lips into an even longer smile. He looked faintly like a fallen angel long consumed by corruption.
Yuan paused briefly, as if lost in contemplation, then placed the candlestick she had been holding onto a nearby table.
“Keep going. Do what you can.”
She clenched her jaw and cautiously approached him.
His deep brown skin was stiff and tightly knotted.
She saw, one after another, his face suppressing waves of pain and his tightly clenched jaw.
‘I can fix this.’
That was pain itself.
It wasn’t illness causing this—it was pain, visible to the eye, rising up in raw form.
She was certain she had read about a similar symptom somewhere before.
Clade let out a mocking laugh at the sight of her examining him as though diagnosing a skin disease.
“What are you doing? Should I peel it off for you first?”
“B-bare it.”
“What?”
It was time to check whether that grotesque affliction had spread across his entire body.
Yuan, gathering courage, ran her eyes across the skin exposed between the loosely untied nightgown.
Clade, looking down at her, wore an expression suddenly overwhelmed by shame he had been suppressing beneath pain.
***
The crown prince stood frozen for a moment, then began to laugh, his shoulders shaking.
He cackled hoarsely, his hair—faded like withered autumn leaves—swaying with each burst, then abruptly lifted his head and flung off the nightgown already half undone.
As soon as his body, blackened by agony, was revealed, he strode toward Yuan. When she didn’t flinch away, he raised an eyebrow slightly.
Yuan looked at him with the same faintly shimmering eyes she had seen that day in the carriage.
“Not bad at holding up?”
Yuan stared back at him in silence.
His pain-twisted eyes sparkled, having found new amusement.
“How about it? Want more? Give me more?”
The crown prince growled, more viciously this time.
Yuan walked past him and approached the console cluttered with medicine packets. A crystal goblet, seemingly drunk from to forget pain, lay carelessly tossed aside. It was still half-filled with a pale yellow liquid.
Yuan seized it and abruptly held it out to the crown prince.
Her hand trembled violently, making the liquid inside slosh.
Her heart felt like it would burst.
“Drink this.”
The crown prince approached, amused, and took the goblet.
“Fine. Why don’t you just kill me instead?”
His expression clearly believed she must have poisoned it.
Yet he neither threw the goblet nor poured out the drink, but instead stared straight into her eyes and brought it to his lips.
“With such petty poison, you think you can—”
No sooner had he swallowed than pain struck—Clade groaned while still sneering.
Yuan cautiously stepped forward and reached out her hand.
Following his head, which briefly recoiled as if in refusal, she stretched her hand further and gently wiped the corner of his mouth.
At the same time, she absorbed a small fraction of his pain.
Along the path of Yuan’s fingers wiping away the droplet, a patch of marble-smooth, pale white skin briefly appeared.
Yuan stared blankly at his face, now free of agony.
An unbelievably radiant and beautiful face appeared before her eyes.
The red, feverish eyes, clouded by suffering, regained their true color in an instant—revealing luminous violet irises.
For a fleeting moment, Yuan met the clearest gaze of Clade Euphris she had ever seen.
“What…?”
Clade, too, noticed the sudden change.
Since the pain in his head—or rather, his face—had briefly been absorbed, his mind felt as clear as if he had just splashed cold water on himself.
His eyes, previously glazed with madness, widened in shock, staring at Yuan as if she were a ghost.
Then, in an instant, his massive body swayed forward. It was the same reaction he had seen in all those he had secretly treated over the past ten years.
Whoever Yuan relieved of pain would either briefly lose consciousness or fall into sleep, if that was her wish. It was also why, for ten years, no one had ever discovered her method of healing.
Yuan quickly caught the unconscious Clade, grunting as she dragged him and laid him on a secluded bed.
Then, she immediately let out a stifled groan.
“Haaah—!”
A pain as if her brain were twisting and pulling against itself.
Headaches striking like faint lightning at random intervals.
Her entire face burned as if on fire, and her skin felt peeled and scraped raw.
Gasping for breath, Yuan buried her face in the blanket beside Clade. She bit down on the fabric and sobbed for a long while before the agony gradually subsided.
And this was only a small taste of his suffering.
Yuan looked down at the sleeping Clade with a sweat-drenched face.
Under the moonlight peeking through the curtain, the exquisitely sculpted, gem-like beauty of the man lay in peaceful slumber.
The dark, contagious aura of pain, like a plague, began creeping up slowly from his neck toward his face—but tonight, at least, would be peaceful.
Yuan ran her hand over the face of the man who, like her, had lived every night in torment.
The skin, now cleansed of its earlier grotesqueness, was not merely smooth and pale—it was almost translucent.
She couldn’t believe she had walked into the tiger’s den out of a fleeting moment of pity, when she herself was barely holding on.
But then again, considering the previous situation—where she would have been driven out regardless—perhaps this wasn’t such a bad choice after all.
Gasping heavily, Yuan gazed at Clade’s face for a long while before struggling to clear her fogging mind.
‘I need to go back…’
After days without incident, her body collapsed like a paper doll, utterly drained by the horrific pain she had just endured.
***
He hadn’t had a nightmare.
It was the first time since the ninth bride had entered the mansion.
Clade shook his oddly lightened head and frowned at the sunlight striking his face directly.
…Did I draw the curtains?
Still dazed, sitting upright, he was retracing last night’s memories when, without warning, the bedroom door swung open with a bang.
Only one person in this mansion would dare such a thing.
“What is this nonsense? Clade. What on earth happened?”
Only Lancelot Rev.
Judging by his deathly pale face, he must have seen a mouse the size of a forearm while tying up a horse in the stable.
Hurriedly rushing in behind Lancelot was Eddie Rev, Lancelot’s older brother and the eldest son of Marquis Rev.
Eddie Rev, nearly as tall as Lancelot, stood with arms crossed, lips tightly sealed.
His caramel-colored eyes behind rimless glasses were visibly hardened—something was clearly wrong.
“What’s all this commotion?”
“Hey, you look better? Huh? When did you stop playing innocent? Now you’re embracing women?”
“What?”
Confused by Lancelot’s sudden outburst, Clade frowned and climbed out of bed.
He irritably drew the curtains shut again and glanced around the darkened room.
The objects, which were always scattered messily every morning, were now neatly in place. A cold chill ran down his spine.
“They say you consummated last night and proved it at the palace this morning? That your ninth wife has decided to stay here permanently?”
“What?”
“The palace says they’ll fully recognize the ninth bride instead of searching for a tenth. They sent their reply so quickly, everyone’s been waiting only for your word.”
The day after the nightmares—which had returned after the ninth bride arrived—ended.
Clade now faced a situation worse than any nightmare.
“The butler says he had to reprimand every servant who slept in the rooms near the stairs, just to pretend he didn’t hear what went on in this room last night. Just how incredible was your night?”
***
Throughout Lancelot’s amused teasing, Clade paced the bedroom for a long time.
Eddie remained silent from the moment he entered, watching Clade with a grave expression.
The foggy mental state and piercing headaches that usually plagued him had significantly lessened in intensity and frequency this morning. With his mind clearer than usual, recalling the night wasn’t difficult.
He remembered the familiar agony-filled night—then suddenly, the door opening, and a defenseless, black-and-white figure stepping in from outside.
Yuan Pelliese. The uninvited guest known as his ninth wife.
‘W-well, the consummation period has been going on, and since you didn’t come, I waited…’
—BANG!
Clade’s fist slammed hard onto the table.
Now, memories began slowly creeping back.
She had boldly entered his room in that unforgivable state, then even offered him a drink…
What exactly had happened?
His hazy memories started chaotically merging.
Images came to mind: the woman nearly naked.
The frightened look on her face.
Himself throwing off his nightgown.
And then…
‘Prove your worth.’
‘Bare yourself.’
‘Not bad at holding up?’
‘How about it? Want more? Give me more?’
Absurd lines that sounded like the ramblings of a degenerate, now backing up ridiculous rumors.
“Steward!”
The sharp shout brought Gustav the steward rushing in, his face unreasonably flushed.
Beside him, Lancelot began whistling.
Clade growled, his irritation rising.
“Why is your face so red, old man?”
“Wha—? No, not at all.”
The experienced old steward’s flushed face grated on Clade’s nerves.
“Explain. What is going on?”
“What explanation…?”
“Proof of consummation.”
Gustav blinked once, then lowered his voice.
Glancing at Lancelot, who was now humming to himself, and at the rigidly silent Eddie, he hesitated—wondering whether such words belonged in this room—before finally speaking.
“The two of you shared a bed last night. This morning, Her Ladyship handed me the bedsheet stained with blood, and I reported it directly to the palace.”
Male lead reborn without memories — but he still falls for her.
The person he finds displeasing in this life turns out to be his cherished wife-master in previous life…
Xie Zhi and Fang Xianxing who had known each other for less than three days through a blind date sat in the same car in front of the civil affairs bureau. They had a disagreement and failed to get married.
Xie Zhi immediately took out his phone, slid through his contacts, and randomly selected the next marriage candidate.
The woman snatched his phone and hung up. Looking at his phone wallpaper, she awkwardly changed the subject: “An ancient painting, eh? It looks pretty good, it’s just that the person in the painting looks a bit like me.”
When he heard this, he sarcastically mocked her for being so delusional, completely unaware that, the person in front of him was the reincarnation of Wen Ru, the famous prime minister of Yuan Shun whom he most admired…
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