Palace eunuchs escorted Jing Hengbo to a palace chamber in the front hall, arranged for people to serve her while she rested, then hurriedly fled.

Jing Hengbo naturally wouldn’t sleep. Having finally made Ming Yan’an so angry he pretended to faint and refused to continue fighting with her, she naturally wanted to take this opportunity to thoroughly search for Zirui.

But strangely, Ming Yan’an could certainly guess her intentions, yet he hadn’t dispatched large numbers of guards to watch her. All along the way, apart from necessary guard patrols, there were no signs of additional defensive personnel being deployed in the palace.

“What do you think this is about?” She stood at the window, gazing at the silent palace courtyard, asking Master Mu.

“Two possibilities.” Master Mu smiled. “First, Ming Yan’an really fainted from anger and made no arrangements for guards, while others have no authority to command palace guards. Second, there’s deception involved.”

“What kind of deception?”

“Still two kinds of deception. First, Zirui isn’t in the palace at all. Second, Zirui is in the palace, but he’s fearless and not at all afraid of you searching for her.”

“Why wouldn’t he be afraid?”

“Still two possibilities. First, the place holding Zirui has dangerous mechanisms and hidden weapons, and he’s confident you won’t return, conveniently solving you without making a move. Second, the place holding Zirui has very formidable people, and he’s still confident you won’t return.”

“Summed up in the end, it’s actually just one possibility.” Jing Hengbo smiled. “He wants me to have no return.”

Master Mu didn’t speak. After a while, both opened their mouths together: “All are the second possibility.”

“He wants me to have no return…” Jing Hengbo curved her lips, her eyes charming. “I’d like to try. But… the palace is so large, yet there aren’t many hours until dawn. How can I quickly find Zirui?”

“This humble one… wishes to assist Your Majesty…” A weak voice came.

Jing Hengbo turned around and saw Chai Yu, who had just been unconscious on the couch, had already opened his eyes.

“You?” Jing Hengbo was somewhat surprised.

Chai Yu struggled to get up, saying in a low voice: “This humble one knows several places in the palace suitable for imprisoning people…” Facing Jing Hengbo’s obviously questioning gaze despite her smile, sweat appeared increasingly on his forehead, his voice growing lower: “…This humble one previously… this humble one previously concealed from Your Majesty… this humble one was formerly… a eunuch… serving in the palace imperial study managing writing materials for many years. Later, because of a strange illness that made me increasingly fat, I offended noble eyes and was expelled from the palace…”

As he spoke, he bent down to bow apologetically to Jing Hengbo. Poor thing, with a belly full of fat, bending was extremely difficult.

Jing Hengbo stepped forward and supported him, smiling: “You’ve finally told the truth. Earlier I wondered why your voice always had a sharp quality like a woman’s. So you are…” She didn’t continue, gently patting his back.

Chai Yu said bitterly: “This humble one didn’t intentionally deceive Your Majesty. It’s just that this experience is shameful to speak of, and I feared Your Majesty would look down on me because of it…”

“Then why are you suddenly willing now?” Jing Hengbo asked with a smile, her manner much more intimate.

“Because Your Majesty needs help, and also because those humiliations in the hall earlier… reminded me of everything I faced when I first started gaining weight…” Chai Yu’s body trembled, his voice halting. Jing Hengbo looked at the pain on his face, thinking those days must have been very difficult—that must be his lifelong hidden pain.

Such a pitiful person.

She smiled slightly and said slowly: “It doesn’t matter. Physical defects don’t represent character defects. That you can be honest with me makes me very happy. Rest assured, no one will humiliate you, expel you, or mistreat you again in the future.”

She spoke each word clearly and seriously. Chai Yu’s body trembled as he looked up at her.

The woman’s face no longer showed her usual playful, arrogant expression. Her gaze was clear, her eyes sincere. Looking at those lustrous eyes, one could tell every word came from the heart.

Chai Yu immediately lowered his head, his heart trembling, a heavy bitter feeling rising up, seeming to flood his emotional defenses.

“Then let’s go.” Jing Hengbo looked toward Master Mu. “Please trouble you to stay here. If Ming Yan’an sends people to check and test, I’ll also need you to help me handle it.”

“Your Majesty be careful.” Master Mu didn’t refuse, nodding with a smile.

Jing Hengbo took Chai Yu’s hand and flashed out of the hall.

In the room, Master Mu listened to the movement outside, slowly stood up from his wheelchair, stretched lazily, and sighed: “How did I think to pretend to be disabled back then? Sitting in this wheelchair all day is really uncomfortable.”

He tucked the silver mask into his chest, took off his outer blue robe, revealing black clothes underneath. He bundled the blue robe and mask together, tied them to his waist, and flashed onto the hall roof.

After a while, in the empty, deserted hall, a figure flashed and a white figure appeared.

That white-clothed person looked at the empty wheelchair, his lips pressed straight, seeming slightly mocking.

He took out a silver mask identical to Master Mu’s from his chest and put it on his face, took off his outer white robe, revealing blue clothes inside identical to Master Mu’s. He rummaged around the hall and found a dark cloak, draped it over himself, then flashed away and disappeared.

…

Master Mu Yelu Qi, now in black clothes, raced across the rooftops.

To avoid being discovered by Jing Hengbo, he had deliberately waited until she disappeared for a while before getting up from the wheelchair. With this delay, and Jing Hengbo’s unparalleled teleportation ability, he immediately lost her trail.

Yelu Qi could only stand at a high point, first observe the palace layout, then determine Jing Hengbo’s approximate location.

His gaze suddenly flashed as he saw a figure flash out from the palace chamber where he and Jing Hengbo had just stayed, heading toward the east side of the front hall.

That person wore a dark cloak, his form and appearance indiscernible. Night wind lifted his robes, his footwork very distinctive—extremely light, like a snowflake drifting.

Seeing such a person at this time was very strange. Yelu Qi hesitated slightly—who should he pursue?

After thinking, he ultimately felt more uneasy about this cloaked person. His figure swept down from the hall roof, chasing after the cloaked person.

The cloaked person ahead seemed somewhat unsteady in his steps. Yelu Qi followed at a distance, watching as they headed toward Ming Yan’an’s sleeping quarters. Yelu Qi gradually frowned.

He was now getting closer and closer to this cloaked person, and the cloaked person was increasingly less concerned with concealing his tracks. Going further, they would be discovered by palace guards, which would cause Yelu Qi to be discovered as well.

Yelu Qi was thinking whether to capture this person first, but feared that after capturing him, he wouldn’t know what the person intended to do. Suddenly the figure ahead flashed—that fellow who had been moving slowly suddenly accelerated, turned around a corner, and disappeared in a flash.

Yelu Qi was alarmed and was about to pursue when a patrol of guards came ahead. After he dodged that group, the person he wanted to chase was naturally nowhere to be found.

Yelu Qi raised an eyebrow—this fellow seemed to have deliberately led him here.

Either it was diverting the tiger from the mountain, or there was some situation here.

He observed the surrounding guards and found Ming Yan’an’s sleeping quarters were quite heavily guarded. Moreover, the west side hall of the sleeping quarters still had lights burning, with people constantly going in and out—it seemed Ming Yan’an still had guests.

A guest appearing in Ming Yan’an’s inner palace at this time was quite subtle.

Yelu Qi decided to first see what tricks Ming Yan’an had here.

He evaded three shifts of guards, floated onto the hall roof, and slowly approached the west side hall of the sleeping quarters, pressing his palm on the glazed tiles.

Under his palm, the tiles slowly softened, crumbled, until they silently turned to powder. He gathered this powder into a ball and put it in his sleeve to prevent the powder from being blown down and discovered.

The entire process made not a sound.

The moment the tile disappeared, he drew a piece of black cloth from his chest and covered the opening to prevent light changes from being noticed by those below.

Instinct told him that if there were guests below, they must be important figures. Any carelessness would lead to failure.

Through the black silk cloth, he could vaguely see the situation below.

The room was lit with flickering lights—one person sitting, one standing.

The sitting person was Ming Yan’an with a haggard expression.

The standing person…

Yelu Qi suddenly widened his eyes—it was actually that cloaked person!

His expression was quite incredulous.

How could it be that cloaked person below? He had followed the cloaked person all the way here. Though he lost track, he could be certain that in such a short time, the other party couldn’t possibly have entered Ming Yan’an’s sleeping quarters. Moreover, the cloaked person had concealed his tracks all along, obviously not wanting to be discovered. How could he openly enter Ming Yan’an’s sleeping quarters and sit facing him in conversation?

Then he noticed the difference—this cloaked person wasn’t the one who had led him here. Even their cloak colors were different.

He held his breath and listened to the conversation below.

Faintly came Ming Yan’an’s voice, very gloomy and angry: “Who would have thought the Queen would be so difficult to deal with. By tomorrow at the latest, she’ll definitely force me to hand over her female official. Should I really let her come and go freely in my palace? What face would I have left then?”

“Why wait until tomorrow? Didn’t she already make her move tonight?” That cloaked person laughed shortly. “Don’t you have a trump card hidden away?”

“I knew this couldn’t be hidden from you.” Ming Yan’an said. “Do you think that person at Ningxue Pavilion can take down the Queen?”

“You’d better be careful with your arrangements.” The cloaked person said. “I know you want to bring down the Queen. But when too many things are arranged, it becomes counterproductive. In my view, having that person at Ningxue Pavilion is enough. Doing anything else makes it easy to show your hand.”

“It’s already arranged and can’t be withdrawn. She truly is a variable.” Ming Yan’an sighed. “I hope the Queen can be completely resolved at Ningxue Pavilion.”

“Tonight your palace has demons dancing wildly.” The cloaked person laughed. “It remains to be seen which of the various immortals will win in their contest of magic?”

“I seek not to lose.” Ming Yan’an stared at him. “What about you? You’ve been helping me all along—what do you seek?”

The cloaked person smiled slightly, poured himself a cup of tea, raised it to his lips, then said indifferently:

“I seek for everyone to lose.”

…

Following Chai Yu’s guidance, Jing Hengbo took him through several teleportations to arrive at a secluded palace complex.

“This place…” Chai Yu said in a low voice, “is… the Cold Palace. The king’s deposed or forgotten concubines live here. This palace is heavily guarded. I think people might be imprisoned here.”

Jing Hengbo surveyed those palace chambers—not exactly dilapidated, just black tiles and blue walls with half-traces of snow, emanating a desolate, lonely air. Ordinary people wouldn’t want to approach here—a good place for imprisoning people.

“This Cold Palace seems to have residents.” She saw signs of habitation.

“Yes.” Chai Yu gazed at the palace gates, his eyes sorrowful, saying softly: “Several fallen-from-favor concubines live here…”

Jing Hengbo smiled. Though she felt this place was suitable for imprisoning people, instinct told her Zirui probably wouldn’t be held here.

“Your Majesty…” Chai Yu waited a while and, seeing no movement from her, couldn’t help urging: “Won’t you… go in and look?”

Jing Hengbo vaguely felt his tone seemed to hold some hidden eagerness. She looked at him in surprise, but Chai Yu turned his head away at this moment, concentrating on looking at the palace walls.

“Then let’s go in and look.” Jing Hengbo thought looking wouldn’t hurt.

She took Chai Yu and flashed into the courtyard. The courtyard was cold and desolate. Jing Hengbo could tell at a glance that Zirui wouldn’t be here, so she said: “Let’s go.”

“Yes…” But Chai Yu’s gaze fell on a room in the west wing of the courtyard, suddenly pointing there: “I saw a figure flash!”

Jing Hengbo said “Oh?” and quickly went to look, but saw no figure. When she turned back, she saw Chai Yu had also followed, looking timidly into the room. Jing Hengbo smiled: “No need to be so careful. There’s no one in the room.”

“No one?” Unexpectedly, Chai Yu’s face suddenly went white.

“It looks like someone lived here before, but no one’s here now. The entire courtyard is empty.” Jing Hengbo looked around and was quite certain.

Suddenly there was a sound behind her. She turned to see Chai Yu stumble and nearly fall.

“What’s wrong with you?” She quickly reached out to support him, seeing Chai Yu’s face pale and covered in cold sweat.

“I… this humble one…” Chai Yu said tremblingly, “Perhaps the medicine from that wine earlier… hasn’t worn off…”

“Sigh, why did you force yourself? I should have let you rest properly if I’d known.” Jing Hengbo helped him sit down, but he refused to sit, struggling to stand on tiptoe to look into the room, murmuring: “Really no one…”

“Yes.” Jing Hengbo also glanced once, suddenly saying: “Strange, this Cold Palace even has children living here?”

She had just noticed under the bed in the room were two pairs of shoes—one pair of women’s shoes, and another pair that were clearly children’s shoes, for a two or three-year-old child.

Chai Yu’s entire body of fat trembled again. He suddenly stood up: “Your Majesty… since there’s no one here, let’s change locations to search. We must hurry.”

Jing Hengbo studied him: “You’re alright?”

“I’m fine. Just felt uncomfortable for a moment.” Chai Yu seemed to have returned to normal.

Jing Hengbo nodded and took him out of the Cold Palace. After several teleportations, they passed by a palace complex.

The palace buildings here looked exquisite and luxurious, with continuous chambers—incomparable to the Cold Palace from before.

This place naturally couldn’t be holding Zirui. Jing Hengbo was about to flash past without looking when crying and wailing came on the night wind, faintly seeming to be a child’s voice.

Chai Yu suddenly swayed and cried “Aiya!”

“What’s wrong?” Jing Hengbo stopped, thinking Chai Yu’s wine effects were acting up again.

Chai Yu’s forehead was covered in cold sweat: “Just hit a roof tile and seemed to twist my foot…”

“My speed was too fast.” Jing Hengbo felt apologetic—she was also a bit tired. Chai Yu was too fat and she was having trouble managing, unable to maintain proper form.

“It’s nothing…” Light flickered in Chai Yu’s eyes as he said softly: “Your Majesty, you truly are a good person…”

The crying below suddenly grew louder: “Wuu wuu wuu who are you… wuu wuu wuu I don’t want to be here… I want my mother… I want my mother… Mother… Mother…”

“Whose child is crying for their mother?” Jing Hengbo said in surprise. “Who in the palace would dare separate a concubine’s child from their mother?”

Before she finished speaking, Chai Yu’s body leaned back and suddenly tumbled down from the roof.

Jing Hengbo was greatly alarmed. Her body quickly flashed down from the roof, and in mid-air she reached out urgently to grab.

“Rip.” With a sound, she caught Chai Yu’s belt. The momentum was too great—the belt snapped, and Chai Yu fell heavily to the ground. Fortunately the ground was earth, and when Jing Hengbo caught him, they were already close to the ground, so ultimately there was no major harm.

“Holy crap…” Jing Hengbo grimaced and shook her hand—Chai Yu was too fat and nearly dislocated her arm.

Chai Yu lay on the ground, that light in his eyes flickering again—some pain, some hesitation, some gratitude, some confusion…

Suddenly the crying grew loud, the door was flung open, and a small child rushed out of the hall doors, shouting: “I don’t want to be here… I want my mother… I want my mother… My mother… Mother…”

He suddenly saw Chai Yu lying on the ground, stopped in his tracks, and stared blankly at him.

Chai Yu was instantly tearful, hastily covering his face with his sleeves.

Jing Hengbo was looking over there at this moment—with a child rushing out of the hall, palace maids naturally followed. Thinking this was bad, she quickly waved her hand. A wooden frame holding palace lanterns in the corridor fell down, striking that palace maid unconscious.

That child didn’t turn to look at the palace maid. He pointed ahead, opened his mouth to scream.

Seeing this was bad, Jing Hengbo raised her hand—

“Don’t!” Chai Yu suddenly pounced forward with agility impossible for a fat man, grabbing her arm, his voice heart-rending: “He’s just a child!”

Jing Hengbo didn’t even pause. Her other unrestrained arm waved, and before the child could cry out, he flew through the air back into the hall, followed by a “bang” as the hall doors closed.

Then she turned her head, looking at Chai Yu hanging on her arm, her gaze deep.

Under her stare, Chai Yu showed no guilt whatsoever, saying tremblingly: “This is still a child… You can’t…”

Jing Hengbo’s gaze shifted, then she suddenly smiled: “What are you thinking? How could I harm a child? I just sent him back inside the hall to sleep.”

“Really…” Chai Yu asked tremblingly.

“Of course.” Jing Hengbo smiled. “If you don’t believe me, you can go in and see for yourself.”

Chai Yu shook his head bitterly. Coming to his senses, he bowed apologetically to her with a face full of remorse: “Your Majesty, this humble one was presumptuous…”

Jing Hengbo studied him: “You seem very concerned about this child.”

Chai Yu paused, then wearily nodded. This was something he couldn’t conceal, and he seemed to have no intention of concealing it.

“This seems to be an important consort’s palace.” Jing Hengbo suddenly changed the topic, saying casually: “Is this where Ming Yan’an’s queen lives? Why don’t I see anyone? Who is this child? The crown prince?”

Chai Yu said in a low voice: “This is Yuehua Palace. It was indeed… the queen’s main hall. But it’s been uninhabited for a long time. This child isn’t the crown prince—he’s the king’s third son, named… Ming Yue.”

“Oh.” Jing Hengbo said flatly.

“This humble one…” Chai Yu said quietly: “When I was in the palace, I received much care from the queen and watched Prince Yue grow up…”

“I understand.” Jing Hengbo said. “But since this child lives in Yuehua Palace, he should be well-loved. You can rest assured.”

Chai Yu opened his mouth, wanting to speak but stopping. He looked around Yuehua Palace once, a trace of nostalgia and melancholy passing through his eyes. He glanced once more at the quiet hall, then said softly: “Yes… I can rest assured.”

His tone began with some hesitation but ended with firmness, as if he had made some decision.

Jing Hengbo didn’t look at him, nodded and said: “Then let’s go.”

Chai Yu said nothing, letting Jing Hengbo take him away without looking back once.

Inside Yuehua Palace.

That child shook the jammed hall doors, tears streaming down his face, continuously calling in a low voice:

“Mother… Mother!”

…

After several more teleportations, Jing Hengbo approached that ruined palace complex that had been quite lively tonight.

She moved through these nighttime palace buildings like a flickering ghost. The unique spatial leaps of teleportation made even the strictest defenses useless against her.

Jing Hengbo found Chai Yu to be someone with remarkable composure. Most people, seeing Jing Hengbo’s abilities for the first time, would inevitably be shocked and flustered, but apart from some initial surprise, he had been very calm afterward.

This person carried heavy thoughts and worries that created a suffocating feeling for both himself and others.

Jing Hengbo withdrew her appraising gaze from Chai Yu and examined the dilapidated palace chambers before them. Compared to the Cold Palace, this looked like a ghost palace—broken doors and rotting walls. It was hard to imagine such buildings existing within a palace.

Precisely because of this, such buildings appeared extremely conspicuous. Was this really a place for imprisoning people?

Chai Yu seemed to awaken from a dream, heavily sighing as he looked at those doors: “I’ve never been here either, but when I was in the palace, the first strict order I knew was absolutely never to approach this place…”

“Where do you think the danger might be?” Jing Hengbo confirmed the palace chambers were still uninhabited—so it must be mechanisms?

“Whether there’s danger or not, this humble one can explore for Your Majesty.” Chai Yu’s gaze gradually grew calm, as if thinking about something and deciding something. He stepped forward and reached out to push the door.

With his back to Jing Hengbo, she couldn’t see that at the moment he pushed the door, tears suddenly welled up in his eyes.

Farewell…

Though he didn’t know what awaited him when the door opened, it would certainly be killing intent and a dead end.

Once this door was pushed, he would die, and the person behind him would certainly die too. This was a mutually destructive ending.

An ending he himself had chosen.

He shouldn’t harm others, but couldn’t avoid harming them—then he would accompany them together!

His previously hesitant mindset suddenly became firm the moment he saw the child rush out of Yuehua Palace.

That was a signal and a warning—one thought heaven, one thought hell. Yue’er’s heaven and hell were controlled by others’ single thoughts.

There was no choice.

He closed his eyes, silently reciting the Heart Sutra.

At this moment of walking toward a dead end, he didn’t seek transcendence or heaven.

He sought redemption, to calm his inner guilt, for there to be no more heartless people in this world, for the child to live safely—even losing his mother’s protection, he could still grow up safely because of her sacrifice.

The door would be pushed open for the third time tonight.

The gunpowder underground waited for its third chance.

Jing Hengbo suddenly reached out and placed her hand on Chai Yu’s shoulder.

Chai Yu, full of heavy thoughts, nearly had his legs give way from this light touch, his hand suddenly dropping.

Jing Hengbo had already walked to his side: “Look, this door beside us has had half removed.”

She pointed to the door panel that Pei Shu had cut in half earlier.

Then she turned her head and saw Chai Yu’s expression, saying “Eh?” in surprise: “You’re covered in sweat again! Is the wine taking effect again?”

Chai Yu hadn’t yet recovered from his extreme tension, his heart pounding wildly as he barely managed a mumbled response.

Jing Hengbo thought for a moment: “Your body is too weak. You should know that obesity harms many organs in the body. When we return, I’ll take responsibility for making you lose weight. I guarantee I’ll restore you to a handsome, elegant gentleman. It’s just obesity—how could it not be curable?”

Chai Yu lowered his head. Hearing these warm words at this moment, he felt only guilt and shame, wishing he could crash his head against the door panel and die. His voice already carried a sob: “No need… I don’t deserve it…”

“Why think so much? There are no dead ends in this world—it just depends on whether you dare to fight back.” Jing Hengbo patted his shoulder. “Let’s enter through this dug-out side door. Someone has definitely been here before and discovered something wrong, so they dug out half the door. Let’s try.”

But Chai Yu was too fat to fit through that half door. Jing Hengbo had to say: “Then you hide nearby and don’t let anyone discover you.”

Chai Yu nodded and silently retreated. Jing Hengbo watched him lumber into the shadows of the palace walls and sighed softly.

She squeezed through the side door and walked a few steps along the wall, indeed discovering this courtyard was extraordinary. The dust in the courtyard was stuck to the ground, the leaves didn’t move, and there were several nearly invisible thin wires spanning the entire courtyard. One wire was connected to the spider web on the door—even the spider web was fake.

The only strange thing was that while other fake items were made extremely realistic, only those thin wires were brazenly strung there, showing a casual indifference.

She naturally didn’t know that the original design had been very hidden, but the brocade-robed man had been here. That harmful fellow had adjusted all the mechanisms with a wave of his hand—his purpose was just to kill and toy with people, not caring whether it looked good.

Jing Hengbo identified the positions of those thin wires, flashed her body to avoid them, and rushed directly into the rear palace chambers.

After several flashes, she reappeared at the original position, disappointment on her face—no one there.

She returned to the courtyard, thinking about what to do next. Her gaze suddenly fell on the swing in the courtyard.

She suddenly remembered that in Yuzhao Palace, she also had a swing that Cui Jie had asked guards to help set up.

Wisteria mixed with fine gold wire for ropes, white birch wood for the seat. The swing was often tied with seasonal fresh flowers. Each time she swung high, those flowers would flutter around her clothes, face, and in the wind.

At that time, each high swing was just to look at the study in the quiet courtyard, to see that figure in the study.

I carry flower fragrance, swinging past your window, wanting to fly into your dreams.

At that time he would always look up, showing no reaction, but next time she would discover the swing ropes had been thickened by another layer. That cautious fellow thought she swung too high and feared the rope would break, so he ordered reinforcement.

Thicker and thicker, until finally the swing rope was thick as a pillar and her hands couldn’t grip it steadily. Later, she stopped playing.

He showed no remorse because that was exactly the effect he wanted—not playing was safest. Swinging high in the palace made oneself a living target, easily attracting assassination attempts.

But he didn’t say so, knowing that even if he did, she wouldn’t listen. So he used such an unobtrusive method to make her give up on her own.

At that time he was like that—wholeheartedly managing her safety and life and death, not planning to care whether she liked it or not.

In the end, flowers withered, dreams shattered, the swing broke.

The swing suddenly began swinging.

She was startled, only then realizing that somehow she had already walked to the swing’s side and gently pushed it.

This shock was no small matter—there were mechanisms everywhere here. How could she lose composure like this?

But it was too late. The tilted swing had already flown up. With two “pop pop” sounds, a row of black arrows shot out from under the swing.

Jing Hengbo broke out in a cold sweat, then sighed in relief—there were indeed mechanisms, but they weren’t aimed at her, but at the courtyard entrance.

Thinking about it, outsiders would naturally enter through the courtyard gate, so mechanisms would naturally face outward.

She could be said to have escaped disaster.

She secretly warned herself, deciding never to think about that palace or that person again.

They had already gone separate ways—even if there were seas and corners of the earth, even if there were countless feelings and thoughts, ultimately they couldn’t overcome the complete difference in fate and nature.

How could people standing on different sides travel the same path?

The arrows struck the wall corners with thuds. With crackling sounds, the ground behind the courtyard gate suddenly sank down.

She was overjoyed—unexpectedly, triggering this mechanism had accidentally opened the underground secret door. She quickly flashed over.

Behind the courtyard gate opened a passage about one zhang square. Below the passage, a lamp flickered faintly like a bean.

She flashed inside. In places with mechanisms everywhere, teleportation was actually safer than walking step by step.

The next instant she stood at the bottom of the passage, but saw a person she never expected to see again.

…

In Ming Yan’an’s sleeping quarters, the conversation between the cloaked person and Ming Yan’an grew increasingly quiet, so much so that even Yelu Qi with his keen hearing could no longer make it out clearly.

He finally only vaguely heard one sentence: “…if there’s any commotion later… don’t be surprised…”

After a while, the cloaked person rose to take his leave. Before leaving, he gave Ming Yan’an a small bottle, which Ming Yan’an gratefully accepted.

The cloaked person left the hall without requiring an escort, disappearing into the boundless darkness. Yelu Qi gazed at his departing figure from the hall roof, suddenly realizing his gait was somewhat similar to the cloaked person who had led him here earlier.

What was similar was that snow-drifting-in-wind lightness. What was different was that this cloaked person’s snow-drifting posture was relatively less obvious, only noticeable after watching for a while, while the one who led him here had lighter steps, almost like swaying in the wind.

In lightness skills and gait, a tiny difference could mean a thousand li of error. He couldn’t be certain whether this similarity in gait could represent anything.

Below the hall roof, Ming Yan’an contemplated for a while, seeming to hesitate about something, then called in an attendant, handed him the bottle, and quietly gave a few instructions.

Yelu Qi was concerned about Jing Hengbo and wanted to leave, but felt that Ming Yan’an wasn’t quite right.

That furtive manner, combined with the long contemplation and hesitation, suggested he had made a somewhat difficult decision that needed to be done very secretly.

Yelu Qi, long experienced in court intrigue in the Imperial Song, well understood the potential implications of such behavior—there must be conspiracy.

At this time, all of Ming Yan’an’s conspiracies would necessarily relate to Jing Hengbo.

He looked back at the dark palace courtyard—complete silence indicated Jing Hengbo hadn’t been discovered yet. She was currently safe.

Weighing pros and cons, he chose to continue waiting on the hall roof. Shortly after, that attendant came out of Ming Yan’an’s sleeping quarters carrying a tray, and he immediately followed.

He followed all the way to another luxurious palace complex with blue background and gold characters “Yuehua” on the hall doors.

At this time there was some chaos in that palace. The attendant entered and inquired what was happening. Palace servants reported that a corridor palace lantern had suddenly fallen, injuring a palace maid and frightening Prince Yue, who was now crying.

When Jing Hengbo and Chai Yu had fallen into that hall earlier, Ming Yue had rushed out first, and the palace maid serving him had chased out after, with attention focused on the child. She hadn’t had time to see Jing Hengbo and the others before being knocked unconscious, while others were all sleeping and naturally didn’t know what had actually happened. As for Ming Yue, that child kept crying without saying a word, so no one could ask anything.

The attendant ordered everyone not to panic, to carry the palace maid for medical treatment, then went to see Ming Yue himself.

That eunuch crouched before the child, smiling: “Your Highness, stop crying. This slave has something delicious here. Would you like to try it?”

Ming Yue only cried, continuously murmuring softly: “Mother… Mother…” paying him no attention.

The attendant grew somewhat impatient. He looked back—the hall doors were already closed, with only him and the little prince.

He saw his own shadow cast long and dark by the slanting palace lanterns, completely enveloping that child. He saw the child before him, timid and helpless, his face streaked with tears.

The starlight above was cold and flickering, the palace lanterns throughout the room gave no warmth, and wind wandered quietly through the deep halls.

“This pastry is very delicious. Your father the king specially bestowed it upon you. Didn’t you say you couldn’t see your father? If you eat this, he’ll come see you…” He giggled, picked up a piece of pastry, forcibly pinched open the child’s chin, and stuffed it into his mouth.

…

The cloaked person who left Ming Yan’an’s sleeping quarters didn’t leave the palace directly as Yelu Qi had imagined.

He actually headed toward that ruined palace complex that had been quite lively tonight.

Soon he stood before the palace gate that had lost half its door. With just one glance, he confirmed that the mechanisms in the courtyard had been destroyed by seventy or eighty percent, but the most crucial one was still maintained by several casually strung thin wires.

He gazed at those thin wires with a rather yearning expression.

Masters always liked to spar with masters. He had long heard of that Third Prince of Dong Tang and very much looked forward to a match with him.

Unfortunately, tonight the Third Prince belonged to Jing Hengbo—he had to yield.

After the Third Prince killed Jing Hengbo, it wouldn’t be too late for him to act.

He walked forward lightly, gazing at that spider web, looking through the half door at the courtyard where the swing that had just fired hidden weapons still swayed gently.

His gaze suddenly focused as he discovered a glint of light on the swing’s ropes.

He suddenly leaped up onto the swing, reached out to touch that point of brightness—cold to the touch, it was indeed an extremely fine bit of ice and snow.

There was no wind or snow tonight.

He looked at that bit of ice and snow, a slight smile appearing in his eyes.

“Your condition isn’t very good…” he sighed softly. “Almost unable to control it? When the time comes, will you die or go mad? But I don’t want to lose you as an opponent so quickly…”

He muttered inexplicably to himself for a few sentences, then glanced down at the underground, seeming to hesitate about something. After a moment, he still shook his head.

Acting should prioritize safety above all. Having an opportunity but letting it pass was not what a wise person would do.

Those two should both be underground now—this chance couldn’t be missed.

He smiled lightly, reached out, and pulled those thin wires.