The next day, news arrived that Young Master Chen had been assassinated. The capital magistrate came to investigate but, seemingly out of deference to Prime Minister Han, asked Ziqing only a few brief questions before leaving. Ziqing paid it little mind.
As promised, three days later Ziqing had restored Han Xi’er’s face to normal. In truth, it hadn’t required any especially advanced medical skill—merely some anti-inflammatory herbal remedies unknown to the people of this era. However refined the medical arts of the ancients might be, they still could not compare to the basic medical knowledge of a modern person.
At this moment, in the quiet courtyard, Ziqing lay on a stone slab doing sit-ups, already past three hundred repetitions. Her simple dark blue robes were soaked through with sweat, her small face flushed red, breathing hard.
This body, after all, was not truly her own. Never mind the arrow wound on her shoulder—even the Bone-Softening Fragrance, despite having already taken the antidote, had left lingering aftereffects; it wasn’t until the day before yesterday that she’d fully regained her strength.
Had it been her own body, back on that day, she certainly could have held out a while longer against the drug. Unfortunately, the real Han Ziqing had simply been far too weak.
She needed to train this body into strength as quickly as possible—otherwise, even if she remembered every combat technique in the world, she would never be able to summon the raw power essential to actual combat!
If she managed to restore her physical condition, would she be able to deal with that “bastard”? From their last encounter, she knew perfectly well he had been holding back—otherwise her kneecap would have already been shattered.
At the thought of this, Ziqing couldn’t help but clench her fists. Every time she thought of that bastard, something choked in her chest and refused to settle.
If that fellow really was from the imperial family, judging by his age… could he possibly be one of the imperial princes?
But then, if he truly were an imperial prince, he could have simply walked into Nation’s Beauty openly and aboveboard—why bother sneaking around, taking advantage of Han Xi’er’s scheme in such a furtive manner? And why would there be people in the palace still investigating the matter afterward?
Just as Ziqing sank into these thoughts, a sudden commotion erupted not far away. Though it wasn’t yet time to light the lamps, the entire Prime Minister’s residence suddenly blazed with light.
Had something happened?
Ziqing paid it no further attention. She changed her clothes and left through the side gate—everything happening at the residence was of no concern to her…
By nightfall, Vermilion Bird Avenue was ablaze with fragrant candles and dazzling lanterns, bustling with activity.
Ziqing sat leaning against a railing, gazing at the brilliantly lit imperial palace in the distance, her expression calm and composed. She had never been one who loved bustling crowds; even in the midst of the liveliest night in all of Da Zhou, she seemed utterly solitary and detached.
Suddenly, the sound of scolding and slapping came from nearby. Ziqing turned to look and saw a woman gripping the arm of a young beggar of twelve or thirteen, slapping him repeatedly with sharp cracks!
“You little wretch, dare to steal my purse, are you tired of living?”
“Give up the names of your accomplices, or I’ll skin you alive!”
…
The young beggar was so filthy it looked as though he’d crawled straight out of a garbage heap, one hand struggling desperately while the other clung tightly to a pillar, enduring the woman’s interrogation without uttering a single word.
“Will you talk or not? If you don’t talk, I won’t go easy on you!”
The woman raised her hand again, demanding coldly. Seeing the young beggar still refuse to answer, she brought her palm down without mercy—a loud crack rang out!
Still, the beggar said nothing, though those clear eyes in that grimy little face remained untainted, as though nothing could ever sully them. The beggar glared furiously at the woman.
“Crack!” Another slap. “Will you talk or not? Where are your accomplices!”
Still, no answer. Blood slowly began trickling from the corner of the beggar’s lips.
“Speak!”
Still, silence.
“Crack!” Another slap. The woman finally seized the beggar’s arm with both hands and yanked with all her might. “You’re coming with me to see the magistrate!”
Heaven only knew how much strength this young beggar possessed—the whole body seemed on the verge of being torn apart, yet the hand clinging to the pillar refused to let go!
Truly at her wit’s end, the woman suddenly released her grip without warning, and the young beggar’s body slammed straight into the wooden pillar, a gash opening across the forehead with a loud thud. The beggar seized the moment to turn and flee.
Unfortunately, before more than a few steps could be taken, the shopkeeper blocked the way.
“You little wretch, it’s you again! Here just to cause trouble, aren’t you! Someone, grab her and take her to the magistrate!”
In an instant, several servant boys surrounded the beggar. In a panic, the young beggar clung tightly to another pillar nearby, a pair of bright eyes staring at the crowd with trembling defiance, that small face ferocious as a wild beast’s, blood trickling from her lips, eyes filled with stubborn refusal.
Seeing this, Ziqing suddenly let out an inexplicable chuckle and tossed a silver ingot, striking the woman squarely on the back of the head.
“Who hit me!” the woman shrieked, whirling around.
“Me,” Ziqing said coldly, rising and walking over. She kicked the silver ingot up and handed it directly to the woman. “Here, compensation for your losses. She’s mine—let her go.”
At the sight of such a large ingot of silver, the woman’s face lit up with delight. She snatched it up eagerly, laughing, “Fine, fine, she’s all yours then.”
With that, as though fearing Ziqing might change her mind, she quickly said a few placating words to the shopkeeper and hurried off.
“I’m not yours!” the young beggar immediately snapped, furious.
“You are. You’re worth exactly ten taels of silver. I’ll come find you in a few days,” Ziqing said coldly, and without paying any mind to the murmurs around her, turned and walked away.
In this little beggar, she saw a reflection of her own past self—only she herself had been even younger back then, just six years old.
Once Ziqing had left, the fearful murmuring around them grew louder.
“Isn’t that the Second Young Lady of the Prime Minister’s household?”
“I heard Young Master Chen’s son was assassinated—I bet it has something to do with her!”
“No way, I’d bet it has more to do with Han Xi’er—that Eldest Young Lady’s probably silencing witnesses over the whole Nation’s Beauty affair!”
“Shh… are you trying to get yourself killed? I heard Prince Yao himself just arrived at the residence—they’re probably choosing the consort right now! Han Xi’er is the presumptive Princess Consort—do you have a death wish, talking about her like that?”
…