Not long after, as Ella sipped chilled water from an ice-cold glass to sober up, a knock echoed from outside.
“Let them in.”
The door opened, and Madam Margaret stepped inside. She greeted the princess with a graceful bow, observing her from head to toe with a polished smile.
“I’d heard Her Highness refused all birthday gifts, so I was quite concerned,” Margaret said with a hint of amusement. “But it seems my gift suited your taste. To see you wear it yourself is an honor.”
Ella smirked inwardly.
Even if I despised it, how could I refuse?
Margaret had delivered jewels and garments fit for high society, all wrapped as though from a divine emporium. Ella, unable to secure a proper spiritual crystal mine contract, had no room to decline.
Perhaps I should’ve just accepted the Duke of Orléans’ offer outright.
As the door softly shut, Ella caught a glimpse of Kai’s delicate profile standing just outside.
Something was spiraling out of control.
Was it the headache? The stifling frustration of this accursed birthday? The derailing of her trade routes, all thanks to the Duke’s interference?
…Or maybe it was the presence of that boy—if he
was
a boy.
Ella lowered her icy glass with a decision settling in her heart.
It’s the wine. Has to be the wine.
She reached for the aged wine bottle sitting beside her on the small table and began pouring into Margaret’s cup.
“This wine was brewed before I was even born. I thought it would pair nicely with your presence, Madam.”
Margaret’s eyes gleamed with surprise. “And how did Your Highness know I have a fondness for drink?”
She accepted the glass with elegance, taking a slow, appreciative sip while Ella watched closely.
There was only about a month left on the timeline Margaret had set. Margaret was a woman of her word—if she made a vow, she honored it without fail.
But that also meant she might very well move over to the Duke’s side when the time came.
Margaret is a piece I cannot afford to lose.
This woman wasn’t just a pillar of the social world—she had a hand in nearly every profitable business in the empire.
Ella wet her lips thoughtfully.
“I’ve been pondering, Madam… Most of your ventures are designed for the masses, are they not?”
As she generously refilled Margaret’s wine, the older woman gave a look that clearly said,
Alright then. Let’s hear what sort of scheme you’re spinning now.
“Would I be wrong?”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Then may I ask why you’re venturing into spirit stone automobile production? Compared to that, inventions powered by steam and lightning essence seem far more aligned with your previous projects. Like public cultivator transport or electrified carriages—things accessible to the masses.”
Automobiles driven by refined spirit stones—expensive, scarce, slow to sell, and cursed with endless noble complaints—were hardly as viable as large-scale public transportation powered by elemental current.
Ella had just finished mapping out such an alternate route with her scholars and artificers. A new enterprise, one that would allow her to pivot without heavy losses.
…With far more reliable profits too.
She had a mountain of explanations prepared in case Margaret questioned whether Ella simply couldn’t secure a proper cultivation-grade crystal mine contract.
But before she could even open her binder of documents, Margaret answered without hesitation.
“Because I
want
to do something unpopular.”
“…?”
Ella’s brow twitched.
Margaret smiled and gently set her wineglass down.
“In the world of emporiums and aristocratic retailers, I’ve discovered that ‘popular’ is often just another word for ‘vulgar’—at least in the mouths of nobles. I think it’s time I try something… different. I’m old now. Rather than profit, I’d like to pursue something with a little more grace.”
“…”
The princess’s face hardened despite herself.
There was no room for persuasion.
Margaret’s meaning was crystal clear:
“Find a mana crystal vein within a month. Fail, and I sever our deal.”
No compromise.
Like one struck in a vital point by a qi-forged bullet, the princess silently toyed with her glass.
Margaret, realizing her words had hit their mark, added with a faint, polite smile:
“I’m honored by the rare wine, but this weary old body must rest…”
Just then—
Urgent knocking rang from outside the chamber.
Ella’s brows furrowed. Kai? That fool better not be this rude—
“I’m coming in!”
…Completely off the mark.
Both Ella and Margaret recognized the voice immediately.
Ella muttered under her breath,
“…The red-haired girl?”
Bang!
The door flew open, and through it marched a head of bold crimson curls—
Accompanied, bizarrely, by a terrified bald middle-aged man.
Imelin stepped into the room, glanced between Ella and Margaret, then grimaced.
“What a surprise—you’re with a woman for once. Not some man.”
Margaret frowned. Ella snorted softly.
“…You know me too well. That habit of breaking down the royal wing’s door… clearly something you and your spouse have in common.”
Ella rubbed her forehead, eyeing Margaret’s expression.
“Alright… fine. But you’d best explain what nearly gave that poor door a qi fracture.”
She gave Imelin a slightly irritated look. Margaret rose to take her leave, bowing politely.
But just as Ella moved to stop her—
Imelin spoke.
“We might be able to contract with Blue Oak. Right here. Right now.”
Before the words finished leaving her mouth, she grabbed the bald man—Oscar—by the arm with iron grip.
“Isn’t that right, Grandfa~ther?”
Oscar’s face froze. He looked between Imelin and the princess, trembling like a third-rate outer sect disciple caught lying to an elder.
Then he dropped to his knees before the princess.
“W-We… will sign the contract! J-Just don’t let the ownership transfer away!”
His shiny bald head was mere inches from kissing the marble floor.
Ella, shielding her eyes, muttered:
“Get that man on the sofa. His head is reflecting enough light to blind me.”
Then she gestured toward the couch for Margaret as well.
“You too, Madam. I think we have more to discuss regarding our little venture…”
Ella gave Imelin a sly grin.
Imelin mouthed something back:
“No more kidnapping stunts, understood?”
Ella mouthed her reply without hesitation:
“I’ll think about it.”
Imelin’s smile vanished.
✵
✵
✵
Oscar, trembling like a leaf in a winter storm, signed the contract before Princess Ella and Lady Margaret.
Blue Oak.
The mana crystal forest—rumored to produce stones of purity rivaling the Eastern mines where Ella had previously failed to secure a deal—was technically owned by the House of Orléans.
But the mining rights within the forest?
Those belonged to House Galliot.
And Oscar, as the head of that vassal clan, held absolute authority to contract, mine, or sell as he pleased.
And yet…
Oscar had used that land as collateral to borrow gold from a witch.
One million gold.
“Quite the cultivation world we live in…”
Earlier, in the witch’s secret ledger, I saw the number Erik pointed to—and my face nearly fell off.
Borrowing
a million gold
from a witch and sleeping peacefully after?
…Well, I suppose we’re no better. We still owe five hundred thousand ourselves.
But that debt had only grown so monstrous because the witch added compounded interest. The principal alone had been a staggering one million gold. At that point, even a seasoned cultivator like the Witch had no choice but to demand collateral—and that collateral was…
“The rights to Blueoak Grove.”
Unbelievable, truly. Not even his own land, but a forest whose use was merely loaned to his clan by their liege lord—and he dared to pledge it as collateral to borrow coin from a witch.
Eric had assured me that legally, the Witch would never be able to take full possession of that sacred grove—not if things went to court.
“But,”
he warned,
“if this ever comes to light, Oscar will be forced to repay the entire sum immediately. And the House of Galliat… will be annihilated.”
The moment I heard that, I moved without hesitation. Fortunately, word had just reached me that Mother, Philip, and the Witch had all been apprehended by the black-cloaked shadow guards Eric always kept around.
“We’ve secured them. The Witch attempted to release some sort of noxious gas, so we put all three under a deep-sleeping spell.”
Of course. Couldn’t have just been taken in quietly, could they?
I clenched my jaw in frustration. Eric’s face mirrored mine—not because of the Witch’s antics, nor Philip’s treachery, nor Mother’s schemes—but because my deduction had been exactly right.
“So they really were hiding inside the drainage pipes…”
he muttered, exhausted.
“Did Philip go so far as to steal something?”
Stealing
, huh… If only it were just theft. More like sneaking into the homes of women who already had dao companions—or worse, husbands—and engaging in unspeakable dual cultivation sessions...
But explaining that would be far too long. I just nodded vaguely and moved on.
Next, I made my way to the gardens and found Oscar—drunk out of his mind and retching into the bushes.
“Greetings, Grand Elder…”
“...?”
I gently patted the back of the vomiting old man, my tone dripping with sweetness.
Then, with the most compassionate smile I could manage, I softly whispered into his ear:
“So, what’ll it be, Ancestor? Shall your noble clan crumble into ruin… or will you sign this humble agreement?”
Oscar, face drained of all color, collapsed into his own vomit.
I rested my hand over my belly and smiled as if my unborn son had just spoken through me:
“Grandpa says… ‘Why’d you borrow so much money~?’”
Oscar looked up at me, trembling like a leaf.
“B-But… if I sign with you, H-His Grace the Duke… he’ll destroy me…”
Oh? And you think the Witch would’ve let you live?
She’d probably turn that shiny bald head of yours into a decorative lantern. Do you know how many suspicious, unmarked canisters she has stored in her dungeon?
With the gentleness of a benevolent cultivator-turned-pacifier, I added:
“Oh, and by the way… if you sign properly, my darling husband has promised to handle the Duke’s wrath for you. Personally.”
As I finished speaking and winked, Eric—who had been standing at a distance making protective seals over his body—turned sharply toward Oscar.
Their eyes met. Oscar’s face went beyond pale—it turned an ethereal shade of blue.
And thus, it was settled.
Oscar Galliat…
“...signed the contract.”
I looked down at the paper, now bearing his trembling signature, and gave a victorious, serene smile.
Oscar peered at me, pitifully.
“P-Please… this must remain an absolute secret from the Duke, Young Miss…”
“Of course,”
I replied sweetly.
“But… hmm…”
“B-But what…?”
Twisting a lock of my hair around my finger, I crossed my legs and asked:
“How does my hair look today?”
At the nearby table, both Ella and Margaret visibly winced.
Oscar wasn’t much better—until he realized what I was getting at. Then, his eyes widened in horror.
“S-Stunning! Absolutely radiant! Like moonlight spun from silken qi! Elegant and divine!”
“But earlier you said women should just keep their hair tied up…”
“I—I never said such blasphemy! Please, rip out my tongue and feed it to the beasts if I did! I beg you!”
Oscar sprang to his feet, flailing like a man possessed.
I smiled warmly, thinking,
His knees are still in great shape for his age…
Ella couldn’t hold it in any longer. She clutched her stomach and burst into loud, howling laughter, shaking the entire table.
“AHAHAHAHA! She’s the best! Isn’t she the perfect dao companion?! Huh?! Hey, red-haired little sister, don’t wanna marry me? I’ll treat you
so
well! AHAHAHA!”
Chapter 90