This statement struck Irina’s raw nerve. She couldn’t believe Fu Yunxi was truly dead. Although Fu Yunxi’s illness had been worsening, he had been fine just days ago, still able to eat and talk. How could he have vanished in the blink of an eye? She cried and raged hysterically, smashing everything in the Prince’s mansion and whipping the servants. Finally, Cheng Lei, unable to bear watching this anymore, took her to the memorial hall. There, Irina saw Fu Yunxi lying in the coffin, his body cold and lifeless.
She reached out with trembling hands to touch his body, finding not a trace of warmth. He had truly passed away; Fu Yunxi no longer existed in this world. How could Irina accept this? She had strived for so long, all to become his wife and possess this man. Yet before that day could come, he died.
Unable to accept this reality, she came to find Han Yan. Fu Yunxi’s heart had always belonged to Han Yan, never changing. Irina held onto a sliver of hope, wishing to discover here that Fu Yunxi wasn’t dead. Deep down, she knew the possibility was minuscule, but without even this tiny hope, Irina truly wouldn’t know what to do.
“You loved him so much, yet you’re not grieving at all over his death. So, you must know he’s not dead, right?” Irina stared at Han Yan, this realization filling her with sudden joy. Han Yan’s behavior was indeed strange—didn’t this mean there was still hope?
Han Yan gazed at her quietly and said, “Why should I grieve? Princess, you seem to have forgotten something—the Prince publicly divorced me. Why do you think I should still love him?”
Irina froze. Indeed, Fu Yunxi had humiliated Han Yan at her coming-of-age ceremony. If it had been herself, she would have harbored intense hatred toward Fu Yunxi and sworn revenge. But… when it came to Han Yan, she refused to believe it. If even Han Yan acknowledged Fu Yunxi’s death, then truly all hope was lost. She suddenly let out a cold laugh: “How can you be so unmoved? He loved you so much that he gave up his life for you. Now he’s dead, and you haven’t shed a single tear. Zhuang Han Yan, how cruel you are!”
“The Princess is mistaken,” Han Yan looked at her, her gaze still ice-cold. “In this world, relationships between people are always mutual. My entanglement with the Prince ended the day I moved out of the Xuanqing Prince’s mansion. Thus, the Prince is merely a stranger to me now. Countless strangers die in this world every day—if I were to cry and grieve for each one, wouldn’t that be absurd?” She smiled faintly. “I am different from the Princess. Perhaps the Princess is kind and innocent.” Her tone carried a hint of mockery. “But Han Yan has always been stone-hearted. So if the Princess came to question why Han Yan isn’t crying, Han Yan must decline to engage.” With that, she turned around, then suddenly seemed to remember something and said to Irina: “However, if the Princess doubts whether the Prince’s death is real, you might as well wait to see His Majesty’s reaction. If His Majesty issues an imperial decree, it must be true—the Emperor’s words are absolute.” After saying this, she walked into her room and shut the door with a sharp “bang.”
Irina stood stunned for a moment, then suddenly came to her senses. She was about to step forward and knock on the door to argue when a timid maid beside her, seemingly Irina’s confidante, pulled her back and whispered, “Princess, that Zhuang Han Yan’s eyes were red.”
Red eyes? Irina paused, recalling Han Yan’s calm demeanor, which somehow seemed different from usual. Red eyes—had she been crying? Zhuang Han Yan had always been proud, maintaining this facade when facing others. She always made it impossible to read her thoughts, never showing emotions on her face. Perhaps she had already learned of Fu Yunxi’s death and was heartbroken, yet didn’t want others to notice, so she pretended to be indifferent. This seemed to match her character. But… at this thought, Irina truly fell into despair. Han Yan’s behavior confirmed that Fu Yunxi was indeed dead. There was no hope at all—what her eyes had seen and ears had heard was the true news of his death. She had foolishly believed Fu Yunxi wasn’t dead, but now she couldn’t even deceive herself anymore.
Thinking of how she had followed Fu Yunxi to Da Zong, yet before she could experience his tenderness, he suddenly vanished from this world—there would never be another Fu Yunxi. Whether it was the vibrant young man on the battlefield years ago or the cold, indifferent youth of recent times, neither belonged to the grasslands of Xi Rong. She collapsed to the ground as if all strength had been drained from her, suddenly covering her face and sobbing uncontrollably.
At the Wei Prince’s Mansion.
This day at the Wei Prince’s mansion was exceptionally lively, with most servants wearing expressions of joy and celebration. This was because Da Zong’s Xuanqing Prince Fu Yunxi had passed away. The antagonism between the Wei Prince and the Xuanqing Prince was common knowledge. Now that the Xuanqing Prince had died from illness, it was naturally a great cause for celebration for the Wei Prince. As the tide rises all boats, the servants of the Wei Prince’s mansion were also full of joy, though occasionally some young maids in their prime showed slight sorrow on their faces, lamenting the passing of such an exceptional figure as Fu Yunxi.
In the women’s quarters of the Wei Prince’s mansion, there was a back courtyard with a dark room at its furthest end. The room leaned against the messy side of the courtyard wall, surrounded by clutter and filth, its very sight causing distress. A servant carrying a basket walked directly into the courtyard, took out the lock to the door, and opened it with a creaking sound. Immediately, a sour stench wafted out. The servant, a thin middle-aged maid, wrinkled her brow at the smell, strode in, and heavily placed the basket on the table, stirring up a cloud of dust.
The room was pitch dark. After a moment, there came a rustling sound, and in the slight sunlight filtering in from outside, one could see a figure gradually crawling up from the filthy bed in the distance, moving toward the table. The maid stepped back, seemingly disgusted by the person’s stench. The figure walked straight to the table, reached out with an emaciated hand to lift the basket’s cover, and a fragrant smell of food wafted out.
“This is…” a hoarse voice seemed to carry a hint of delight, and even the eyes began to shine.
“The Xuanqing Prince has died from illness, and the Young Master ordered extra portions for everyone in the mansion today,” the maid explained impatiently. “Lucky for you, hurry and eat.”
Xuanqing Prince? The person paused slightly, suddenly coughing excitedly and grabbing the maid: “The Xuanqing Prince is dead?”
The maid jumped in fright, one hand striking the person’s face with a “bang” as she struggled free: “Yes. What about it?” She looked at the person somewhat fearfully, only to see them suddenly throw back their head and laugh: “Zhuang Han Yan, Fu Yunxi, now you’ve met your day too, hahahahaha!” She laughed maniacally, and in the dim sunlight, that face was withered and gaunt like a forty-year-old crone, though one could still faintly make out traces of once-fine features.