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Marquis Chu frowned at Princess Rong Zhao. The latter was meticulously dressed—with a full makeup, adorned with pearls and jade, a crimson plum blossom pinned on her forehead, clothed in a close-fitting misty rose brocade jacket and a big red skirt embroidered with phoenix tail flowers. She must have devoted an incredible amount of effort into her appearance today.

Nevertheless, no amount of makeup could hide her rapidly aging face. The wildness and flamboyance that used to gleam in her eyes had vanished, replaced with fear, suppressed ruthlessness, and—an abasement of indignity, a grudge she held against her destiny.

After all, despite her flaws, she was still the Emperor's eldest daughter, and a proud princess for many years. To accost a man who had lived under her thumb with such language was certainly beneath her dignity—she could utter the words, but her heart was heavy with reluctance.