Actually, Zhao Qian'er knew that Rong'er was acting out of spite.
Spiting Aunt Liu's anger.
Spiting the young mistress's anger.
Even spiting his own anger.
Rong'er was a Confucian Scholar, and dared not defy or resent his mother, who had single-handedly arranged for his marriage.
But he was also of an age that should have been rebellious.
So he vented his anger on the young mistress and himself.
Hurting others, hurting himself; in the end, he didn't even know who was hurt the most.
Thinking about this, Zhao Qian'er forcefully exhaled, adjusted her skirt, then entered with a sweet smile illuminating the previously dark, enclosed room.
"Rong'er, it's time to eat, it's time to eat."
"I won't eat."
"Rong'er, you just promised me that you would let me look after you while you study these next few days."
"... Just put it there; I'll eat it in a bit. Don't disturb me, don't disturb me."
