In an instant, her thoughts were pulled back to that lively night banquet.

Only on nights like the Mid-Autumn Festival, Winter Solstice, and Lantern Festival did night banquets provide opportunities for civil and military officials, imperial princes and princesses to gather together regardless of rank. That night, lanterns and decorations adorned everywhere. The clamor and laughter of arrow-throwing games, finger-guessing drinking games, and toasts were endless. Soup from a plate of fire-roasted lamb spilled on her skirt, and Qun Qing left her seat amid the chaos.

On both sides were people moving about toasting and watching singing and dancing. Qun Qing walked sideways when an arrow shaft from the throwing game shot past her nose. Qun Qing dodged backward and accidentally fell against a table, pushing it back a full foot with such force that soup splashed across the tabletop.

She should have struck the table corner, but a hand wrapped around that sharp corner in that instant, and she pressed down heavily on that person’s hand. Qun Qing turned her head to see a gentleman in white robes naturally withdraw his hand, flexing his fingers as he examined the red mark on the back of his hand.

This person’s finger joints were distinct and extremely beautiful, as were his features. The flickering lamplight illuminated his face, casting a nearly perverse glassy color.

Da Chen implemented a system of official dress colors to distinguish rank—only commoners and newly successful examination candidates wore black and white. She’d never seen this person before, yet his robes concealed hidden luxury. He was probably this year’s successful candidate.

As Qun Qing looked at him, he keenly raised his lashes and met her gaze. His pupils were intensely black, his features handsome, inspiring an impulse to shatter delicate objects, but then a smile slowly spread through those eyes like spring thaw on river ice.

Qun Qing thanked him. Since childhood, whenever she saw brilliant things, she had the instinct to avoid them. She casually righted the table when another stray arrow grazed past her temple toward that gentleman. Qun Qing grabbed it by his sleeve and threw it back into the pot.

The arrow-thrower was a friend of Princess Danyang—rather frivolous and dissolute. Seeing her throw it back with temper, he actually clapped and laughed, praising her excellent aim.

Amid the commotion and wine-fueled atmosphere, the soft touch of silk lingered on Qun Qing’s fingertips.

She was anxious to escape, but a man in cloth robes blocked her, his bearing upright, his expression stern: “What happened? You just sat on my table?”

The seated gentleman in white said: “It was an accident. Why say it so unpleasantly?”

The man in cloth robes glanced at the soup on the table and grew agitated: “A sixth-rank inner official who treats people as invisible is one thing, but I haven’t had a sip of this fish soup, and you’ve spilled it on my stool. Don’t you know to wipe it for me?”

The gentleman in white had already carelessly lifted the stool. As soup dripped down, he smiled: “What’s the dog barking about? Aren’t I wiping it?”

“I wasn’t talking to you!” This person glared coldly at Qun Qing.

Qun Qing didn’t recognize him, but seeing him dressed in cloth robes at the banquet, guessed he might be Lu Huating. Fearing he’d detect something amiss, she immediately took out her silk handkerchief to wipe the stool, settled him back down, then held up a cup to pour wine and respectfully offered Chief Administrator Lu a drink.

The surroundings were noisy. She didn’t know if Chief Administrator Lu heard her toast clearly, because he furrowed his brow with an expression suggesting he wanted to slam the table and erupt. The gentleman in white beside him moved swiftly to press down his wrist, stopping him.

The gentleman in white smiled faintly, his gaze sweeping over the stain on Qun Qing’s dress before pointing over his shoulder: “Need to change clothes? Go quickly. The east gate is locked, but the west gate is open—exit that way.”

Qun Qing felt grateful toward him, performed a courtesy and hurriedly departed. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed him returning the courtesy.

She’d already walked away when that person called out lightly from behind: “Young lady—”

Qun Qing turned back. He spread his five fingers and casually grabbed a lantern sitting at the table corner like catching a ball, tossing it into her arms: “The snow is heavy and the sky dark outside. Take this lamp back with you.”

That night, heavy snow fell. The palace paths accumulated snow thick as a quilt.

Qun Qing walked through the snow with uneven steps when she suddenly discovered that the lantern the gentleman in white had given her was modified.

The lamp’s candle hung suspended at the center. No matter how its direction was turned, the candle inside stood steadily upright. The flame was large and stable, undisturbed by wind and snow, illuminating the path ahead and falling snow with exceptional brightness.

She carried the lantern all the way to her quarters, placing it on her cabinet. The screen clearly reflected her slow movements as she changed clothes.

Living next to her was an eighth-rank Mistress of Ceremonies. Seeing she couldn’t hold her wine, the woman urged her to rest. Qun Qing said: “I’ll lie down awhile before returning. Come wake me after half an hour.”

The Mistress of Ceremonies settled her in and helped close the door.

Once she left, Qun Qing climbed up, silently wrapped her hair, changed into a maid’s palace dress, climbed out the window, and took the fastest route through the palace city’s hidden passages back to the side hall beside Hanyuan Hall.

Inside the side hall, the lively night banquet continued. The eastern side hall kept ordinary clothes and maids available for intoxicated nobility to temporarily change clothes and sober up.

Earlier at the banquet, Qun Qing had seen Minister Wei unconscious with drink, supported by two people to the side hall. The moment his front foot left, her back foot departed on pretext, following him like a shadow.

Minister Wei had once been Chu State’s Palace Attendant. When the state fell, he’d led the officials in martyrdom. She didn’t know how Lu Huating had persuaded him—or perhaps this Wei Feng was fundamentally a great traitor disguised as loyal. Seeing Chu State’s situation hopeless, he actually surrendered to Prince Yan carrying military secrets from various palaces. Within a single year, he was appointed Minister.

Such a person made Crown Prince Zhao grind his teeth in hatred. The assassination mission for Nan Chu fell into Qun Qing’s hands.

Minister Wei lay face-up in a chair, snoring loudly. When Qun Qing prepared to approach, she discovered two false palace maids in the corner simultaneously making their move. She suddenly felt something was wrong.

That time, she fell into an ambush.

The “Minister Wei” sobering up in that rattan chair was impersonated by one of Prince Yan’s guards skilled at disguise. He leaped up, using a dagger to take the lives of those false palace maids. Outside, dozens more sworn guards rushed in carrying weapons, surrounding the side hall like an iron barrel.

The barbed blade—the tearing pain of flesh being ripped out almost split a person in two. Qun Qing first crashed against the wall, then fell among corpses, hands and feet soaking in cold sweat. Hot blood gushed out like a fountain, and with it flowed the warmth from her body.

Fortunately, when entering she’d placed a medicated ring on the lamp post. To prevent assassins from escaping, the sworn guards had sealed the doors tight. When the floor lamps burned to that spot, the firelight flickered and the room filled with smoke, rendering some people unconscious. Qun Qing crawled along the ground, chewed prepared ginseng slices for a bit of strength, wrapped cloth around herself several times and pressed hard against the wound, then slowly backed through corpses into the secret passage beneath the side hall’s floor.

As a child playing games, Mother had taught her bandaging and stopping bleeding, even specially dividing flour into small packets pretending to be medicine powder. With no one willing to be her patient, she’d wrap bands around her own belly. She’d played this game a thousand times, so at the critical moment she completed it in one smooth motion. Somehow, Mother had saved her once.

Returning to her quarters, Qun Qing let down her hair and wiped blood from her hair and hands when she suddenly saw the lantern the gentleman in white had given her, fallen on the table, forgotten and still unextinguished, warm and bright.

She gently righted it and pulled it closer, letting that warm light illuminate herself as she undid her clothes, gritting her teeth to rewrap the wound.

The half-hour had passed. The Mistress of Ceremonies pushed the door to call her, seeing Qun Qing already risen, standing behind the screen grooming herself. She wrinkled her nose and asked in surprise: “How does Siji’s new clothes also have such heavy wine smell?”

“Just now I momentarily forgot and folded the new clothes on top of the old ones,” Qun Qing answered.

“You’re this drunk—why not just stay? It’s snowing outside, so cold! Besides, something major seems to have happened at Hanyuan Hall. The banquet can’t continue anyway.”

Qun Qing applied lip rouge over her bloodless lips and turned her face. She rarely used such vivid colors—snow-white skin and vermillion lips looked almost eerily unnatural at night, leaving the Mistress of Ceremonies somewhat dazed. Qun Qing smiled slightly at her, her expression different from usual: “I’ll just return a lantern and come back.”

When Qun Qing returned to the banquet, that table was already empty, lamps extinguished, only leftover food remaining on the table.

Qun Qing returned the lantern to the lamp-tending palace maid, having wiped all blood traces from top to bottom: “Please return this lamp to Chief Administrator Lu and that other gentleman who shared his table.”

“That other gentleman at the table…” the palace maid said. “Oh, that was Xiao Er’lang.”

Qun Qing memorized Xiao Er’lang’s name and asked if the two would return.

The palace maid: “Lord Xiao returned to duty. But Chief Administrator Lu might not. He was in very good spirits today, saying he’d set a trap to catch assassins.”

The wound in Qun Qing’s abdomen still seeped blood. Every step brought piercing pain. That she could stand here calmly relied entirely on willpower. She raised her eyes slightly: “Did they catch them?”

“Reportedly one escaped. His Highness Prince Yan is already sending people to search the palace everywhere. They’ll probably only have the mood to return once caught. It’s not very safe outside—Siji had best travel with companions.”

Qun Qing nodded and left.

Though Minister Wei didn’t die that night, six of Prince Yan’s guards were lost. With testimony from the Mistress of Ceremonies and the lamp-tending palace maid, Prince Yan’s people practically turned over every palace maid, digging three feet deep through the Six Offices, yet couldn’t suspect her.

This escaped assassin became a thorn lodged in Prince Yan’s heart.

…

“I searched for you for over one hundred days. Before that, you cost me four hundred-some sleepless nights.” At this moment, Lu Huating finally revealed the answer, staring directly into Qun Qing’s eyes. “The day Minister Wei was to be killed—that was also you.”

Only now did Qun Qing fully understand she’d mistaken the person. The one who gave her the lamp that day was Lu Huating; the one beside him was Xiao Er’lang. That day they’d clearly met and spoken, yet neither knew the other’s identity.

At the night banquet, Lu Huating would smile warmly at people and help passing female officials out of predicaments precisely because he’d set a trap that day. Believing he could kill her, he was in excellent spirits. Thus, he broke precedent wearing brocade and fine clothes, dressed splendidly in anticipation—just like today.

Qun Qing thought of the snowy night, thought of the lamp. An indescribable feeling descended, her heart transforming into a lead weight slowly falling into her abdomen, triggering entangled, twisting pain. Amid the pain, Lu Huating’s voice lingered by her ear like a phantom: “The assassination of Minister Wei was also you, wasn’t it?”

That dark, hollow square window suddenly flashed with a face full of scars, accompanied by the sound of chains. That person wailed: “Qing Qing! Have you forgotten we grew up together by the Wei River? You’re a betrothed person… you cannot, how can you submit to such a despicable man…”

Presumably someone had dragged that man past the window, forcing him to look through the opening. Lu Huating sat while Qun Qing knelt, her slender neck arched in a vulnerable curve, her chin held in Lu Huating’s hand—it truly looked unseemly.

“Qing Qing…”

Lu Huating repeated these two characters with relish. Just now that Scholar Su was willing to destroy his posthumous reputation to help her, and now here came another. Who would have thought she had so many devoted followers?

Amid cold sweat, Qun Qing barely discerned that this disheveled man spouting wild words—was Lin Yujia.

In childhood, Father had exchanged tokens with the Lin family’s second son by the Wei River without her consent, arranging a child betrothal. This Lin family second son was Lin Yujia. Lin Yujia liked her, but she detested the Lin family’s pedantic stuffiness. Seeing Lin Yujia from afar, she’d often turn and walk away.

Later, Lin Yujia became an official in the Ministry of Rites, falsely submitting to Da Chen but actually, like her, working for Nan Chu’s restoration. He’d delivered several missions. Knowing Lin Yujia was also a spy, she’d gained some respect for him.

Now, seeing Lin Yujia in such a wretched state, disregarding propriety to call her childhood name, Qun Qing suddenly realized: Lu Huating had captured Lin Yujia first. Her identity and her relationship with the princess—Lin Yujia had revealed everything.

Rage burned through her limbs. Her mind instead cleared. She raised her eyes toward Lu Huating: “It wasn’t me.”

“Whether it was you or not—remove your clothes and see if there’s a dagger wound.” Lu Huating spoke lightly. His words carried no hint of impropriety, only cold, grim indifference.

He withdrew his hand, examining his own fingers. He hadn’t expected Qun Qing to be this tense—cold sweat from her temples had soaked his fingers.

He disliked this chaotic, boundaryless feeling. He drew out a silk handkerchief, covering the chaos with cleanliness. Lin Yujia had gone silent—either dragged away or cowed by torture instruments.

When he looked back, he saw Qun Qing actually placing her hand at her neck, beginning to unfasten the hidden clasps of her dark green official robe. But her movements seemed obstructed somehow, extremely labored—she couldn’t unfasten them after a long time.

Perhaps because she truly didn’t seem frivolous, Lu Huating’s gaze held surprise. The pavilion wasn’t hot, yet sweat beaded her forehead. A very faint fragrance emanated from within her collar—this subtle scent was unsettling.

His fan handle suddenly pressed down on her hand, stopping her movement. Qun Qing sensed the contemptuous intent in this gesture.

He seemed to say: What use is playing this game?

Qun Qing’s hand stopped, but the fan handle didn’t. It traced the embroidered roundel flowers on her shoulder blade, following her waistline downward, hooking into her leather belt, then pressing hard against that old dagger wound. Veins bulged on Qun Qing’s neck as she couldn’t help a muffled groan.

“Here’s clearly a wound. Tell me, where did the medicine come from then?” Lu Huating asked lightly, one hand supporting her waist, the other pressing the fan handle against the wound. His smile had vanished, revealing an expression like a hellish asura.

His eyes looked only at Qun Qing’s hand—that hand clutching the peachwood doll from pain. What beautiful hands, five slender white fingers like carved scallion roots. “What poison did you give Prince Yan? What’s it called? What’s the antidote? Speak clearly.”

“Let me tell Chief Administrator Lu something,” Qun Qing’s lashes were damp. When she opened her eyes, there was actually a smile. “Lovesickness Lure isn’t poison—it’s a parasitic curse. Any curse cannot be dispelled unless you find the curse-raiser. I’ve searched for this person for a long time and still haven’t found them.”

Lu Huating suddenly grabbed her robe collar and pulled her close. When their four eyes met, she saw his expression become entirely different, as if staring at the world’s most detestable person.

She saw Lu Huating had conceived the notion to torture her, yet didn’t want to delegate this to others. Thus, he merely stared at her intensely, saying coldly: “Will Siji still make this deal with me?”

“Didn’t Chief Administrator Lu never believe it from the start, nor intend to accept?” Qun Qing smiled at him, speaking slowly. The whites of her eyes grew increasingly red. Looking down, she saw Lu Huating’s white fan already stained with blood threads, yet due to intensifying abdominal pain, she’d lost clear sensation.

So hot.

“Indeed.” Lu Huating said. “After you die, even if I turn around and kill Princess Bao’an, what can you do to me?”

Perhaps because it hurt too much, Qun Qing grabbed his sleeve, crumpling that soft garment: “What is lovesickness? Only when not paired does one feel lovesickness. This curse is fundamentally a love curse—one curse makes a pair. I had the Crown Princess give Prince Yan Lovesickness Lure, but she didn’t know I’d already planted it in her first. Henceforth they prosper together, perish together. You can kill the princess, you can torture the princess—unless you want to watch Prince Yan die as well.”

Sweat covered her temples and brows, yet those beautiful eyes still held mocking provocation. “Or perhaps Chief Administrator Lu is fundamentally a treasonous villain who wants Prince Yan dead to usurp the throne yourself?”

Faced with such provocation, Lu Huating’s expression changed. But Qun Qing suddenly vomited a great mouthful of foul blood. He abruptly froze, watching her body collapse limply to the ground, instantly losing vitality, falling back into a pool of blood.

Bright red blood flowed like a stream, slowly turning dark crimson. Lu Huating lifted his robe to look—thick dark red stained the hem, creeping upward along the silk’s grain.

It was arsenic poison.

In this hall, he’d poisoned many to death. The pain of pierced intestines could make eight-foot men roll on the ground begging for mercy. Yet only this one person could endure to this point, endure so quietly.

So much so that he hadn’t even noticed she’d taken poison beforehand.

Lu Huating’s expression was inscrutable, his face becoming extremely ugly. His temples were also soaked with sweat. He lowered his robe and looked toward the swaying tree shadows outside the window. In the wind, only flowers and leaves scattered profusely.

“You yourself said Yang Fu is weak and useless for great matters. If Nan Chu’s Crown Prince Zhao were useful, he wouldn’t have abandoned you all those years. What are these people worth that you would go this far?”

Qun Qing’s eyes grew unfocused, her lips covered with a thin layer of vivid red. With breath like gossamer she said: “You think… Prince Yan is… any better… It’s merely… victors and vanquished…”

That thread of breath slowly, gradually dissipated into the air. Only wind pushed the window lattice, cool rain-scented air drilling into the room, dispersing the tragic blood stench.

That heavy copper door suddenly opened. Two hidden guards carried Eunuch Liang inside. Seeing Lu Huating’s expression, Eunuch Liang stopped struggling.

“You gave Qun Siji poisoned wine?” Lu Huating asked.

Eunuch Liang was covered in sweat. Kneeling, he kowtowed once: “This servant is guilty! This servant received His Highness Prince Yan’s secret order—I must poison Qun Siji to death before your torture. All guilt rests with her alone and ends with her alone. No need to investigate, absolutely must not implicate others!”

What “must not implicate”—he simply didn’t want to implicate Yang Fu.

Lu Huating expressionlessly toyed with his fan, not knowing what he was thinking. After a long while he smiled lightly: “What use apologizing to me? Go apologize to Qun Siji.”

Eunuch Liang’s mouth opened and closed. After a long moment, he turned toward Qun Qing’s corpse and kowtowed repeatedly: “Qun Siji, this servant wronged you, wronged you! This servant wronged you…”

“Drag him down and beat him to death,” Lu Huating said.

Eunuch Liang’s expression changed instantly. He begged loudly for mercy. Lu Huating smiled: “Spare you? Fine—if Qun Siji says she forgives you, then I’ll spare you.”

Eunuch Liang looked at that corpse in the pool of blood that would never speak again. What didn’t he understand? He broke into curses: “Lu Huating, you dare kill this servant! This servant is imperial household staff—a fifth-rank like you dares, you’re worthy! Ptui! Bandit! This old slave served His Highness Prince Yan from childhood. His Highness will never spare you! His Highness will convict you! Lu Huating, may you die without peace…”

All four corner hidden doors had opened. Several hidden guards stood around, all hesitating as they looked toward Lu Huating.

An inner attendant truly wasn’t someone a strategist could beat to death.

Yet Lu Huating had already lifted his hem and sat on the ground, straightened his clothing and cap, grabbed Qun Qing’s collar and pulled her up, leaning her against himself. His left hand held a handkerchief, wiping blood traces from her face.

The blood stains on Qun Qing’s lips had dyed too deep to wipe clean. A hairpin in her coiffure kept jabbing Lu Huating’s collarbone.

Lu Huating removed the hairpin and tossed it on the floor. Another one jabbed his arm. He adjusted positions several times, as if overwhelmed with irritation, then suddenly said: “Go carry over my coffin.”

Both hidden guards were very surprised. Lu Huating had been frail since childhood. Reportedly he’d drawn a short-life divination stick at a temple in his youth, thus he’d prepared a coffin early, kept year-round in the room adjacent to his residence for unforeseen need.

That coffin was also exquisitely crafted with lotus pattern relief carvings. Reportedly it was a meeting gift from the renowned monk Master Zengjia, very precious—yet he was giving it to a corpse.

Lu Huating skillfully arranged Qun Qing’s official robes, smoothing them out properly. When his fingers touched that knife wound on her lower abdomen, they bypassed it. His fingers suddenly paused—there was actually another knife wound there. He felt a centipede-like scar across her chest.

This woman had too many wounds on her body, like a shattered porcelain vase carelessly mended.

With doubt, Lu Huating lifted Qun Qing’s hair and turned over the back of her ear. His expression changed. In the past when collecting corpses, he habitually used grass tips dipped in cinnabar to mark an unseen spot behind the ear with a vermillion mark.

Now he hadn’t yet marked her, but behind Qun Qing’s ear already lay an old cinnabar trace.

He suddenly felt something dormant in his chest break through the earth and surge upward. When he came to his senses, he’d already spat out a mouthful of foul blood, then vomited blood unceasingly.

Lu Huating raised his fingers—the two fingers that had touched her collar had turned dark blue-green. All four hidden guards fell into chaos. He couldn’t help a cold laugh, suddenly recalling Qun Qing’s awkward hands fumbling with the hidden clasps, and that inexplicable, faint fragrance emanating from her clothes.

The clasps concealed poison. At that time, she was crushing the poison pearl, poisoning him…

In Qun Qing’s hand, she still clutched that peachwood doll tightly.