“What does Princess Changfeng wish to discuss?”

The color quickly drained from Concubine Zhen’s face due to blood loss. Her magnificent robes added a touch of fragile beauty to her pallor. “My background, or why I’ve gone to such lengths to plan all this?”

“Zhen” was certainly not her original surname.

When a new emperor ascends, new officials take office. When history books are dusted off, the ashes that fall on people can bring catastrophe.

Just because ten years ago, her grandfather had stood on the wrong side, plotting for the deposed Crown Prince, he had brought upon them the disaster of having their family property confiscated and their clan exterminated. Blood flowed like a river at the southern market entrance. The cries of her sisters, unable to bear the humiliation, still echoed in her ears. If not for her wet nurse exchanging her daughter to save her life, she would have been among the dead.

After escaping, she changed her name and took refuge in a Daoist temple. Fortunately, she had a talent for mixing fragrances and concocting pills. Over the years, through careful planning and networking, her followers gradually increased.

Was there hatred? Naturally, there was.

But what she sought was not the petty gains before her eyes. As a woman, it was inconvenient to attract too much attention, so she chose her Daoist uncle as a proxy to spread her teachings. She prepared fragrances and pills for him, enabling him to approach the Emperor under the pretext of offering elixirs, thus gaining trust.

Even as the sovereign of ten thousand years, one fears death; and in that fear lies weakness.

General Wenren Jinping had supported Zhao Ji’s ascension to the throne, attacking those who dissented, and was also the one who had arrested her grandfather.

…

…

She knew Wenren Jinping was upright and unbending, intolerant of even a grain of sand in his eye. So she secretly revealed suspicious points about the deposed Crown Prince’s poisoning, leading him to uncover the truth, causing confrontation between the monarch and his subject, forcing the Emperor to cut off his own arm.

Then, using the same tactic, she used the Empress Dowager as a chess piece…

Unfortunately, the Empress Dowager was not easily manipulated. After her defeat, she retreated to Huayang, and Concubine Zhen had to step forward personally.

That year, when the Emperor climbed the mountain to discuss the Dao, everyone knew it was Priest Shen Guang who had recommended Concubine Zhen to the Emperor. But even the Emperor himself didn’t know that “Priest Shen Guang” was merely a puppet controlled by her.

With the Emperor’s favor, she and Priest Shen Guang coordinated, one in the front and one behind the scenes. The Shenguang cult grew stronger day by day, worshipped by tens of thousands, with countless disciples and followers. Half the officials in the court had secret connections with the Shenguang cult.

The Emperor was muddled, killing ministers and sons; the court was in chaos, with rulers and subjects growing apart, while she remained a lofty divine woman, compassionately looking down on everything.

She had believed she could restrain Wenren Lin with an antidote, but he was simply a madman who would destroy even himself.

She didn’t take seriously the Crown Prince who had “died and been reborn” after his wings were completely clipped, but now the one with a knife at her throat was this seemingly fragile false Crown Prince.

“Princess Changfeng opposes me merely because what I seek isn’t aligned with you. But have you ever considered on what grounds those who don’t stand with you must all be villains?”

Cold sweat seeped from Concubine Zhen’s temple as she broke into a pale, faint smile. “Compared to Wenren Lin’s perverseness, at least I bestow faith upon all beings, giving their hearts somewhere to rest and their souls somewhere to belong. Princess Changfeng shouldn’t be my enemy.”

Concubine Zhen carefully observed Zhao Yān’s expression, trying to find a trace of wavering in her eyes.

Those who spread teachings were skilled at persuasion and confusing people’s hearts, able to break through mental defenses by attacking subtle details. Given a little time, she could surely find Zhao Yān’s weakness.

But the imagined confrontation didn’t materialize. Without hesitation, Zhao Yān pushed her short dagger forward until Concubine Zhen’s lower back hit the railing, with nowhere to retreat.

Black clouds hung low, dense smoke billowed behind them, and the exploding sparks had ignited the reed mats and straw covering more than ten nearby granaries.

The heat waves from the flames distorted their vision.

“I have no interest in your past. The tactic of delaying time is equally useless against me.”

Zhao Yān’s knuckles turned white, blood dripping through her fingers. “Hand over the antidote.”

Concubine Zhen revealed a look of sudden realization, her smile taking on more compassion.

“You’ve come for a dying man? He’s increasingly difficult to control. The Emperor long ago ordered me to destroy all the antidote formulas and ingredients. There is no more antidote in this world…”

“You hate Father Emperor, and you’re cunning and meticulous. You wouldn’t fail to leave yourself an escape route.”

Zhao Yān shouted hoarsely, “Hand it over!”

The blade pierced the side of Concubine Zhen’s neck, red blood seeping out, causing her to involuntarily swallow.

After all, she wasn’t a “Master” who had attained the Dao and ascended. How could a mortal body be completely unafraid of death?

Concubine Zhen slowly extended her uninjured hand into her cloak. Zhao Yān’s gaze sharpened, her grip on the blade tightening.

“If you make even the slightest unnecessary movement, I’ll kill you immediately.”

“You hold the knife; how would I dare?”

Concubine Zhen smiled sadly and took out a black porcelain bottle from her bosom.

Zhao Yān watched her movements closely. “Eat some for me to see. I want to confirm it’s not poison.”

Concubine Zhen removed the stopper, tilted her head back, and poured a dark red pill into her mouth, swallowing it.

The familiar frosty, snowy cold fragrance—it seemed correct.

Seeing that Concubine Zhen showed no abnormal reaction, Zhao Yān kept one hand firmly pressing the dagger against her while reaching for the medicine bottle with the other.

Just as she was a hair’s breadth from the antidote, Concubine Zhen unexpectedly loosened her fingers and tossed the bottle, which instantly slipped from her hand and fell!

Zhao Yān’s eyes widened. She instinctively lunged over the railing, stretching her hand to grab the bottle, barely grasping it between her fingers.

Got it!

Before she could breathe a sigh of relief, a cold flash appeared at her side.

It was Concubine Zhen who had seized the opportunity to escape, pulling out the bloodied heavy arrow and thrusting it viciously at her.

Zhao Yān instinctively raised her short blade to block. The sharp iron arrowhead struck the thin, autumn-water-like short blade with a crisp cracking sound. Zhao Yān’s short dagger, once belonging to Zhao Yǎn, broke into two pieces before her suddenly contracting pupils.

At the same time, two earth-shattering explosions came from below. Debris flew everywhere as the watchtower’s ancient support pillars suddenly collapsed, carrying her swaying and tilting to one side—

Half a cup of tea’s time earlier.

The cool wind had just risen, the air heavy with the smell of blood, dispersing a few wisps of damp rain.

A scarred man’s blade dripped blood, soaking the yellow earth beneath his feet. He looked indifferently at the Hu blade embedded in his shoulder, advancing instead of retreating, raising his hand to grip Wu Que’s arm, preventing him from withdrawing.

Wu Que was pushed back repeatedly, his shoes scraping up a trail of dust. The moment the blade fully pierced through Chou Zui’s shoulder, Wu Que was also pressed against a mud wall by this brute force.

The wall cracked, his turban came undone, and Wu Que’s disheveled white hair instantly fell to his shoulders as he squeezed a bloody, turbid breath from his chest.

“Truly… a wild beast, don’t you… Feel pain?”

Wu Que looked at the corpses strewn across the ground, his golden eyes lined with blood, laughing despite his extreme anger.

Those were the elite warriors he had brought from Northern Wu, now lost here! He truly regretted it!

He shouted a command in a foreign language, and the hidden archers fired three arrows, forcing Chou Zui back.

Wu Que seized the opportunity to escape, but after running just a few zhang, those terrifying footsteps had already caught up behind him!

Wu Que’s heart nearly stopped! This was the first time since coming to the Great Xuan that he felt the pressure of death.

He cursed in his native tongue and raised his hand to signal the archers: “Use the explosives! Hold him back for me!”

The first niter oil fire arrow exploded beside Chou Zui. The massive impact overturned the earthen wall. Chou Zui’s heavy body rolled like a sandbag several times on the ground, his curved blade fell from his hand, and a dark red pool of blood quickly spread beneath him.

But he paused for only a breath before shakily rising, his terrifying ghostly figure visible in the rolling yellow dust.

The curved blade in his hand slashed out, cutting deeply across Wu Que’s arm. As blood splattered, the first heavy arrow, tied with a copper pellet, flew over, but due to the dust blinding his eyes, it missed its mark and flew straight over the collapsed earthen wall, embedding itself in the base of the watchtower.

With a deafening crack, the watchtower struggled and creaked for a moment before tilting and falling to one side.

Wu Que hadn’t anticipated this collateral damage. He stared in shock with his golden eyes, instinctively stepping forward, but was pulled back in time by his subordinate, urging him to leave the scene.

Chou Zui stared fixedly at the leaning watchtower, as if obsessed, taking two difficult steps forward.

Then he moved faster and faster, running with all his might toward that apricot-white figure about to fall.

…

“A-Yan, A-Yan?”

A gentle, soft voice seemed to come from the sky, gradually becoming clearer.

Zhao Yān slowly opened her eyelashes, letting in bright light, which forced her to raise her palm to shield her eyes.

The view through her fingers gradually cleared, and she saw a familiar face, very similar to her own.

A fifteen-year-old youth, wearing a loose, light-colored outer robe, seemed relieved as he smiled and said, “You’re finally awake.”

“Zhao… Yǎn?”

“What, you don’t even recognize your brother?”

“How did I get here?”

“You’re one to talk. You haven’t come to see me in all these years. Are you still angry with your brother?”

Zhao Yān stared at him without blinking, shaking her head in confusion.

Everything felt like a blurry dream. She didn’t know why she was here, but slowly, very slowly, her eyes reddened.

“Zhao Yǎn.”

She choked up, and of a thousand words she could have said, she only squeezed out one sentence: “I just… broke the short dagger you left behind.”

Zhao Yǎn was stunned, then covered his mouth with his fist and chuckled, the tear mole under his eye appearing as he did so. Gently, he said, “Silly A-Yan, which is more important, a dagger or my dear sister? Brother should be grateful it protected you.”

Conversation sounds came from the distance, and Zhao Yān suddenly sat up.

Looking around, she saw that she was lying on a patch of tender, soft grass. Wild chrysanthemums bloomed all around like scattered stars. When the wind blew, the grass waves bowed down, as if bathed in a warm current, incomparably comfortable.

The sky was clear blue without a cloud. Under a maple tree not far away, there was a table and seats. Two young men dressed as scholars were playing Go, while another youth, dressed similarly to Zhao Yǎn, stood nearby with a sword in his arms, watching pink butterflies dancing over the grass.

Zhao Yān had never seen them before, but for some reason, their names came to her lips.

“Shen Jingming, Cheng Jixing, and… Shadow.”

“You know them.”

Zhao Yǎn was surprised, then accepted it readily. “That saves introductions. Why not walk with your brother for a while?”

Zhao Yān nodded and walked with him along the winding mountain path. The spring scenery all around was beautiful, making them feel as if they were flying.

“Is Liu Baiwei doing well?” Zhao Yǎn asked.

Zhao Yān nodded: “He is now the grandson of the Duke of Yingchuan. Apart from some difficulties in competing for power in the duke’s mansion with the heir’s wife, everything else is fine.”

“That’s good. And Mother?”

“She keeps the Empress Dowager company now and is doing quite well, except that she misses you occasionally…”

Zhao Yǎn listened quietly until she stopped, then smiled and asked, “Then, is A-Yan doing well?”

Zhao Yān was taken aback, turned her head, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m doing fine, too. With the support of family and friends, and people teaching and protecting me, although there are difficulties, they can be quickly resolved.”

Zhao Yǎn seemed satisfied and asked again, “Do you like that golden hairpin?”

Zhao Yān recalled the moment when she had broken the box in Huayang, her nose tingling with emotion as she gave a very light “Mm” in response.

Reassured, Zhao Yǎn smiled and sighed: “I wish I could see how beautiful you look wearing it.”

Hearing this, Zhao Yān immediately searched herself, then stopped, disappointed: “I… I forgot to bring it.”

Seeing her downcast expression, Zhao Yǎn suddenly laughed lightly.

“A-Yan, you’ve grown up.”

“Yes, I’m as tall as you now.”

Zhao Yān continued along the mountain path. Just as they were about to reach the foot of the mountain, the footsteps behind her gradually stopped.

Zhao Yān turned back to see Zhao Yǎn, his clothes fluttering, still standing in place, gazing at her tenderly.

“Zhao Yǎn.”

Zhao Yān called out, puzzled. “Why did you stop?”

“Brother can only accompany you this far. A-Yan must go back on her own,” Zhao Yǎn replied.

Zhao Yān felt a twisting pain in her heart, as if she understood something.

She strode forward, pressed her lips together, and said, “I’ll stay too.”

Zhao Yǎn didn’t move. His gentle complexion grew increasingly faint, like melting snow, as he shook his head and insisted: “It’s enough for brother to stay alone. A-Yan must go back.”

“Then come with me!” Zhao Yān gritted her teeth, her eyes instantly reddening.

Zhao Yǎn sighed again lightly, raising his hand to rub Zhao Yān’s head, intimate as in childhood. Only that fair, gentle hand on her head was as light as a breeze, with no perceivable pressure.

“They all said you took away my health. But in truth, I took away the happiness you deserved.”

Zhao Yǎn said softly, “I’m sorry, A-Yan. Remember, you will always be your brother’s pride.”

“Zhao Yǎn! Zhao Yǎn—”

A gust of wind blew, and everything before her eyes dispersed like colored smoke, becoming increasingly hazy and faint.

Zhao Yān tried to hold onto Zhao Yǎn’s sleeve, but it was like passing through mist—she grasped nothing.

Helpless panic swept over her as she desperately tried to hold on.

“Zhao Yǎn, don’t do this! I’ve finally seen you after so long!”

“I should be the one saying ‘sorry.’ I shouldn’t have argued with you, shouldn’t have said I wanted to swap identities with you! I… I don’t dislike you at all. It was my pride that made me mistake your care for pity. I’m sorry…”

“I’m sorry! Brother—”

For the first time since she could remember, she called Zhao Yǎn “brother” in such a heart-wrenching, disheveled manner.

Zhao Yǎn seemed stunned for a moment. Before the dream dispersed, he turned his head with a smile and silently mouthed something.

The dream scattered, plunging suddenly into darkness.

Cold raindrops fell on Zhao Yān’s face. She coughed and slowly opened her wet, sticky eyelashes.

The sky was like ink, rain falling silently like broken strings. Zhao Yān breathed heavily for a long time before the sharp noise in her head finally subsided somewhat, replaced by the clamor of rain and the crackling sound of the collapsed watchtower burning not far away—

Beneath her was a thick, rough layer of straw. It took Zhao Yān a moment to recall everything.

The watchtower had been destroyed, and Concubine Zhen was buried under the debris and beams. In that flash of light, Zhao Yān vaguely remembered that many straw piles used to cover the granaries were stacked in the courtyard below. She had gauged the direction and timing and jumped from the watchtower over five zhang high…

She was tightly clutching two things in her hand: a bottle of pills and a broken short dagger—

Perhaps it was Zhao Yǎn’s protection from beyond that had allowed her to block Concubine Zhen’s desperate strike and precisely land on the thick, fluffy straw pile, escaping disaster.

Zhao Yān pressed the broken dagger to her chest, slowly exhaling. After regaining her strength, she sat up.

Her fingers touched something sticky. Zhao Yān raised her hand in surprise to see fresh blood on her palm.

Her body had no severe pain; this blood wasn’t hers.

Zhao Yān suddenly turned around to see a tall, damaged figure leaning against the wooden stake that secured the straw.

Chou Zui’s bamboo hat was gone, his messy hair blowing around his gaunt cheeks. One arm still maintained a protective posture around Zhao Yān’s waist, having used his own body to catch her.

In the dim rainy light, the right side of his face had been burned, blistering and exposing raw skin, making his appearance even more frightening.

Zhao Yān opened her mouth, but her throat, injured by the bowstring, was too painful to make a sound immediately.

“Chou Zui…”

She called hoarsely, tucking the antidote into her bosom, instinctively reaching for Chou Zui’s other hand, only to grasp empty air.

His right arm had been severed at the elbow, leaving only burnt, tattered sleeves—injuries from his earlier fight with Wu Que.

Zhao Yān hurriedly tried to tear strips from her clothes with the broken dagger, but couldn’t succeed because her hands were shaking too badly.

Chou Zui coughed up a mouthful of stagnant blood, his eyes still indifferent and hollow, only his sword-like lips moving slightly.

Zhao Yān leaned in to listen and heard him repeating one phrase: “Caught you, my lord…”

Two summers ago, his lord had been poisoned by a fragrance in the Eastern Palace, falling before his eyes.

If he had been more vigilant, if he had moved faster, his lord might not have died.

He had never studied, didn’t know the principle that “a warrior dies for one who knows him.” He only knew that if given another chance, he would be quicker, even quicker, using those hands once stained with the blood of sin to protect his master.

Zhao Yān gritted her teeth and pulled hard, finally tearing off a piece of sleeve to tightly bind Chou Zui’s right arm wound to stop the bleeding.

“Chou Zui, don’t sleep! Open your eyes!”

She spoke frantically, but Chou Zui just stared blankly ahead with no response.

In a daze, the rain seemed to stop, the wounds healing and fading, everything becoming bright.

He returned to that winter day three years ago when a frail, pale young man placed a white plum branch before him, smiling and saying: “Chou Zui, are you willing to follow me?”

Chou Zui’s fingers moved slightly as he nodded and said, “Yes.”

The heavy rain poured down, washing away the smoke and dust in the air.

Zhao Yān knelt motionless on the straw pile, allowing the rain to soak her completely, streaming down her jaw and fingertips.

The small flower drawn in fresh blood was washed away by the rain, disappearing without a trace.

Hurried, chaotic footsteps approached—the Military Affairs Bureau’s men had finally arrived, extinguishing the fires that had destroyed the granaries. Someone surrounded her, offering cloaks and umbrellas, anxiously calling out something.

“The granary… is it safe?”

Zhao Yān murmured.

“The Shengping Granary was farther away. The rebels hadn’t had time to act when Gu Xing caught them like turtles in a jar. Not a single grain was lost. The Master’s main force was sent to the Jiaping Granary, but Your Highness dealt with the situation promptly, saving seventy percent of the granaries.”

Liu Baiwei wrapped Zhao Yān in a cloak, wanting to touch the wound on her neck but not knowing where to begin. “How is Your Highness? Don’t be afraid. The Imperial Physician has been sent for. It’s all over… What a fool I am, how could I let you confront the enemy directly!”

“I’m… fine. First, save the injured guards. Inform the families of those who sacrificed themselves, give them proper burials and ten times the usual compensation.”

She took one last look at Chou Zui and slowly rose to her feet. “Take him to the maple tree on Western Mountain to keep my brother company.”

“Your Highness…”

“Mobilize the military provisions. I will accompany the transport official and personally deliver them to the western capital front.”

“You’re still injured!”

“Go.”

Zhao Yān raised her hand to cover her leather belt, lightly but firmly gripping the medicine bottle hidden inside.

…

The night was deep, the remnant moon like a hook.

Cai Tian, returning from reconnaissance, was momentarily stunned when he heard that the prince had suddenly led a squad of light cavalry to raid the enemy camp.

“What happened?” he questioned Zhang Cang, who had rushed out.

“The prince’s expression didn’t look right just now, the whole person was chillingly grim. I found it terrifying, a bit like…”

Even the straightforward Zhang Cang was quite frightened this time. While ordering the commander to dispatch troops for support, he lowered his voice, “A bit like the symptoms flaring up.”

Cai Tian’s face changed slightly as he said sternly: “Don’t talk nonsense! The prince has been in good health these days. Didn’t Physician Sun say it was under control? What exactly happened?”

Zhang Cang said, “Just now, I received an urgent letter from the capital. Seeing it was urgent, I presented it to him. I hadn’t even left the tent when the prince…”

Cai Tian dismounted and ran into the tent, picking up the confidential message that hadn’t been destroyed yet.

The note was brief, with just a few words:

[Remnant rebels colluded with Northern Wu to destroy the granaries. Princess Changfeng intervened, fell from the watchtower, neck and hands have string injuries, life not in danger; Chou Zui died in battle.]

Falling from a tower, strangulation injuries, especially to the neck…

The military provisions were almost exhausted. With the prince’s temperament, how could he continue to wait patiently?

Cai Tian took a deep breath, glared at the tactless Zhang Cang, turned to lift the tent flap, and mounted his horse.

Cai Tian and Zhang Cang led troops to provide support. They had just crossed the long slope when they saw a sea of raging flames outside the western capital, fire burning from camp to camp.

In the chaos, a path had been torn through the dense enemy forces. Horses neighed loudly as a man in dark armor cut through like a knife through wheat stalks. Wherever he went, men and horses fell, and no one dared to fill the bloody path he had carved.

Cai Tian’s heart sank.

Even though the prince was exceptionally skilled, this kind of slaughter exceeded what his body could endure, so powerful it was almost abnormal.

“Support the prince!”

With his command, he led the eagle riders charging down the long slope, their shouts shaking the heavens.

At the enemy pass, amidst broken swords and shattered blades, a blood-covered warhorse collapsed with a thunderous sound. The man in dark armor and red robes had his black hair unbound, flying in the wind. With one hand holding a notched long sword and the other gripping something, he stood silently atop a mountain of corpses. Just his silhouette was enough to make one’s heart quake with fear.

Hearing footsteps, he slowly turned his face.

The remnant moon emerged from behind the clouds, casting frost-like light across the ground.

By this light, Cai Tian and the others finally saw clearly what Wenren Lin was holding in his hand—

The head of Prince Shu, Zhao Chengde.

The Great Xuan eagle riders were greatly encouraged and cheered, but Cai Tian couldn’t smile.

He saw that beneath the prince’s flying black hair, his eyebrows were heavy, his skin as pale as frost, and his eyes revealed a strange, familiar bloodiness, without a trace of human warmth.

It was the sign of poison entering the organs, causing bleeding—a bewitchingly abnormal phenomenon, worse than ever before.

“Not good, the prince’s poison has flared up.”

When this poison fully erupts, it brings unbearable pain, causing bleeding from all seven apertures, turning people into creatures that lose all reason, dying in madness!