At these words, the Mourning Hall fell silent.
The envoy naturally heard the malice in Zhai Huan's words.
"Miscellaneous things" meant clothes or odds and ends—in any case, not a person. To insult the reigning Sovereign's own sister in such a roundabout way, right in front of his envoy, was no different from slapping him in the face. The envoy's expression darkened.
Abandoning his earlier ingratiating tone, he put on an air of condescending arrogance and sneered, "You have achieved nothing, Zhai Lang. How dare you show contempt for a Princess? Thunder and rain are both the ruler's grace. The Princess has taken a liking to you, so you should serve her with your very body!"
Zhai Le nearly exploded.
Zhai Huan raised a hand to stop him and said calmly, "According to the laws of the country, when a wife dies, the husband wears mourning for twelve months. My wife's seventh-day rites have yet to pass, and the Princess has already sent an envoy to my door. First, this shows contempt for the law and disregards all moral principles. Second—my wife's death was suspicious."
He left the rest unsaid, merely fixing the envoy with a pair of cold, indifferent eyes, as if looking at a dead man.
The envoy felt not the slightest anxiety. This was hardly the first time he had helped the Princess handle such matters. He had long since become adept at it.
Even if Zhai Huan had evidence, so what? Could he appeal to the King? Would he get anywhere? If the Sovereign learned that his sister had taken a fancy to Zhai Huan, he would be lucky if the man didn't personally deliver Zhai Huan to his beloved sister's bed. Who would dare defy him?
And Zhai Huan was nothing but an insignificant man.