The crowd instantly fell silent, gazing with complex expressions at the slender woman bowing in apology on the palace path.

In the bitter cold wind, the elderly couple sighed.

“Ah, let it be! All we wanted was the truth and justice. What use is it to trouble a lady?”

Having said this, the pair shakily supported each other, rubbing their bruised knees as they knelt back down outside the gate.

Seeing this, the others gradually retreated to their positions as well.

Zhao Yān stepped forward, gave the crowd a respectful bow with sleeves clasped, then went to help Rong Fuyue stand.

Rong Fuyue could barely remain standing. Her lips were completely bloodless, like a handful of snow about to melt away. Zhao Yān asked softly, “Uncle… Why did Aunt Rong come here?”

“This concubine has lived foolishly for eight years. There are some things I wish to ask him directly.”

Rong Fuyue tucked her hair behind her ear and softly pleaded, “I beg Your Highness to grant permission.”

Rong Fuyue had been deceived for eight years. From Wei Yan’s arrest until now, she had been confined in the Marquis’s residence without even a chance to question him face to face.

Zhao Yān couldn’t bear to refuse. After considering for a while, she said, “I can give Aunt Rong a quarter of an hour, but everything you bring inside must be thoroughly inspected.”

Rong Fuyue nodded. “Thank you, Your Highness. That’s only proper.”

The food box Rong Fuyue brought contained a pot of wine, two cups, and a plate of pastries. The jailer tested everything for poison with a silver needle, confirming there was nothing wrong with the food and drink, and no hidden weapons. Only then did they escort Rong Fuyue inside.

Zhao Yān didn’t leave immediately. She instructed the jailers to keep an eye on what happened inside, then waited at the steps.

In the prison, Wei Yan heard familiar footsteps.

When he saw Rong Fuyue, his composed expression froze, and he instinctively stood up to straighten his robes. He wanted to maintain his most dignified appearance before Rong Fuyue, but the clanking shackles on his feet and the dark, damp prison were constant reminders of his wretched state.

The jailer opened the cell door, let Rong Fuyue in, then locked it again, keeping watch from the end of the narrow corridor.

“I’ve already written you a divorce letter. After my sentencing, you won’t be implicated…”

Before he could finish, Wei Yan noticed the red mark on Rong Fuyue’s forehead, the ink stains on her skirt, and even a few rotting vegetable leaves inside her cloak hood.

Wei Yan seemed to understand something. Pain flashed in his eyes as he hurriedly stepped forward with raised hand, saying, “How were you injured? Did they bully you?”

“It’s nothing. I just accidentally bumped into something,” Rong Fuyue turned her head to avoid his touch.

That slight evasion made Wei Yan’s hand freeze in mid-air.

He swallowed hard and lowered his hand, saying hoarsely, “You shouldn’t have come here, Ayue.”

“I came to personally ask you for an answer. Otherwise, I couldn’t rest even in death.”

“Don’t say such things, Ayue. You won’t die.”

Rong Fuyue leaned on the table, about to sit down on the straw mat, when Wei Yan stopped her. “Don’t sit. The ground is damp and cold. Your health can’t take it.”

He took the only clean outer robe in the cell, folded it neatly to cushion her knees, his care and tenderness evident.

Yet this same man had, for his selfish gain, sacrificed the lives of nearly a hundred thousand soldiers, and even repeatedly plotted against the Crown Prince who shared his bloodline.

Rong Fuyue endured the twisting pain in her heart as she laid out the pastries and wine from the food box on the table. After composing herself, she finally asked, “Was Wenren Cang assassinated on your orders?”

“Ayue, please don’t ask…” Wei Yan was almost begging.

“Yes, or no?” Rong Fuyue emphasized.

She had never spoken harshly before; her voice would tremble if she raised it even slightly.

Wei Yan paused, then lowered his gaze and said, “Yes.”

Rong Fuyue turned deathly pale, clutching her chest as she closed her eyes and bit her lip.

“Ayue…”

“Why did you kill him?”

“If he didn’t die, Ayue would never have belonged to me, and the Wei family would never have had its chance to rise.”

“Are you also responsible for the deaths of a hundred thousand soldiers?”

“…In a way, yes.”

“And the assassination attempt on your nephew—was that also your doing?”

“Yes.”

“Are you lying to me about any of this?”

Wei Yan gave a bleak smile. “At this point, I have no reason to lie to you. Ayue, don’t torture yourself. I’ve admitted to everything.”

He squeezed his knuckles, wanting to tell Rong Fuyue to find another good husband after their divorce and live well, but the words reached his lips and still couldn’t come out.

Rong Fuyue knew well that even if he showed a trace of sadness now, it was certainly not remorse for his wrongdoings.

“Regardless, thank you for telling me the truth.”

She wiped the cold tears from her face, poured two cups of wine, and pushed one toward Wei Yan.

“May this wine mark our final parting—never to meet again in life or death.” She raised her cup.

Hearing this, Wei Yan’s calm face paled.

“…Never to meet again in life or death.”

Repeating these words, he picked up his cup of wine, lowered his eyes, and laughed softly, “Ayue, you and I never drank the ceremonial wine at our wedding, yet now we make up for it.”

When news of Wenren Cang’s death reached the capital, the Rong family found themselves in a dilemma, fearing their daughter would be labeled “husband-killer.” The Rong family had already been considering breaking the engagement, so when Wei Yan came to propose, Rong’s father didn’t think twice and hastily married his daughter off.

Wei Yan could never forget how, filled with joy, he had lifted the bridal veil to reveal that beautiful face bathed in tears under the warm light of the wedding candles.

“Eight years, I thought I could warm your heart.”

Wei Yan smiled bitterly, then drank the wine in one gulp before Rong Fuyue’s eyes.

A bitter taste spread through his throat as heat welled up in his eyes.

“But you’ve broken my heart.”

Rong Fuyue brought the wine to her lips, but Wei Yan raised his palm to cover the cup, gently pressing it down.

“Ayue’s health is poor, and she shouldn’t drink wine.”

He took the cup from Rong Fuyue’s hand and brought it to his lips.

Rong Fuyue’s fingertips trembled, unable to express whether she felt resentment or hatred.

“Does this poison work quickly?” Wei Yan asked softly, holding the cup.

Rong Fuyue’s back stiffened. He had figured it out—she had smeared poison on the rim of the cup.

She wanted to give an accounting to the wrongfully dead soldiers and punish herself for aiding evil for eight years.

“Don’t worry, I’m already a dead man walking. I won’t blame you.”

Wei Yan still had the strength to smile reassuringly at her, feeling the strange sensation in his abdomen. He slowly said, “It probably won’t be that fast. Let me play a tune for you.”

He placed the bamboo flute to his lips and began playing “Wind Through Bamboo,” the melody they had composed together. The rough bamboo flute lacked clarity in tone, sounding murky, like the wind wailing.

Before long, the melody became sluggish, as if something had clogged the flute.

Blood seeped from the corner of Wei Yan’s lips, gradually flowing down the flute and seeping out through the bamboo holes, but he didn’t stop.

At the same time, Rong Fuyue clutched her chest and suddenly coughed up a mouthful of dark blood.

The bamboo flute emitted a sharp whistle, and the music abruptly ceased.

Wei Yan looked at Rong Fuyue, who was also spitting blood, and froze in disbelief: “Ayue… Ayue!”

Rong Fuyue gave a miserable smile, looking at the dark blood on her palm with the relief of someone who had received what they sought.

“Before coming, I had already taken poison.”

Her breath trembling, she said, “Wei Yan, you care for no one, treat lives as worthless grass, and show no remorse even in prison… but I know how to hurt you.”

She was his only weakness; only she could wound him.

So Rong Fuyue made herself the blade that delivered his fatal blow.

This was her revenge.

Wei Yan, so you can feel pain and regret after all?

Look at yourself now, how pitiful and wretched you appear.

Wei Yan went mad.

The bamboo flute fell to the ground as he caught Rong Fuyue’s limp body. His lips quivered, trying to call out, but only hoarse breaths emerged.

His gaze shattered. With no trace of his usual refined manner, he crawled on his knees to grab the prison bars, shouting in near desperation: “Someone! Someone save her!”

Outside the prison, Zhao Yān heard the flute music end abruptly after a sharp, jarring note.

Birds flew across the gray sky as she remembered her aunt’s pale, cold face, and suddenly had an ominous premonition.

She turned, going from striding to running, breathlessly making her way through the stone steps and dark passages of the prison, stopping at the innermost cell.

She widened her eyes and, without any hesitation, instructed the panicked jailer: “Make them vomit the poison! Go to the Imperial Physician Court and call for Zhang Xu! Hurry!”

Zhang Xu arrived quickly, and the prison was thrown into chaos.

After a long while, Zhang Xu emerged from the cell and reported to the solemn-faced Zhao Yān: “Your Highness, the prisoner is overwhelmed with grief, his heart meridians severely damaged. He refuses to open his mouth to expel the poisoned wine. The situation is quite difficult.”

If even Zhang Xu called it difficult, Wei Yan truly had no will to live.

“What about Uncle… Aunt Rong?” Zhao Yān asked.

Zhang Xu replied: “Madam Rong did not consume poison.”

“If not poison, why did she vomit blood and faint?”

“This… this humble official cannot be certain yet, but it appears to be a symptom of extreme emotional distress. However, her pulse is relatively stable. She truly has not been poisoned.”

Zhao Yān recalled Rong Fuyue’s deep bow at Shunyi Gate, her face already devoid of much will to live. If Aunt Rong hadn’t taken poison, why would she lie to Wei Yan?

And where did the poison she fed Wei Yan come from?

Remembering Wei Yan holding Rong Fuyue and weeping blood, Zhao Yān had a sudden realization and asked the Minister of Justice: “Who was responsible for sealing the Ningyang Marquis’ residence and monitoring the servants and relatives?”

The Minister dared not conceal: “In response to Your Highness, Prince Su was in charge.”

Zhao Yān understood.

She frowned slightly and instructed Liu Ying to stay behind to take care of Rong Fuyue, temporarily keeping the news of her safety secret, before boarding her carriage.

Back at the Eastern Palace, the doors to the bedchamber were open.

As soon as Zhao Yān entered, she saw a man sitting with crossed legs behind the screen, in a chair.

Wenren Lin was reading a scroll, occasionally turning a page with his fingertip.

He had been waiting for some time and had anticipated her arrival. Even hearing her footsteps approach, he didn’t look up, only saying in a low voice: “You’re back.”

His expression was hidden behind the scroll; Zhao Yān could only see his beautifully shaped knuckles pressing on the pages.

Seeing her prolonged silence, Wenren Lin placed the scroll on his lap, bent his elbow to rest on the armrest, and said with a smile: “If you have something to ask, ask it. Isn’t Your Highness uncomfortable holding it in?”

Very well, you asked me to ask.

Zhao Yān pressed her lips together and asked bluntly: “Rong Fuyue’s visit to Wei Yan in prison—you secretly permitted it? Prince Su’s men are all capable and shrewd. I don’t believe she could leave the Marquis residence without your tacit approval.”

“Correct.”

Wenren Lin did not attempt to hide it from her, slowly tapping the scroll with his fingers. “To discover that your husband of eight years in the same bed is the evil mastermind behind everything—no woman could bear such a truth.”

“So you gave her poison.”

“What I gave her wasn’t poison at all—that was a lie. She was already overcome with grief, with no will to live. It was merely a medicine to help her expel the congested blood.”

Zhao Yān stepped forward, standing before Wenren Lin, looking at him with furrowed brows.

“But you used her desperate wish to die to strike at Wei Yan’s heart.”

“Yes. This Prince said before that I wouldn’t let Wei Yan die too easily. After his disgrace, stabbing him in the heart makes for a satisfying end. As for Rong Fuyue…”

Wenren Lin laughed softly and said in a low voice, “When my elder brother’s body was barely cold, with news of his death just reaching the capital, she married another man. Now she desperately seeks death, but I refuse to let her die. Living is much harder than dying.”

Zhao Yān’s brow furrowed deeper: “But she is innocent.”

Wenren Lin gently tapped his fingers, nodding as he asked in return: “Of the more than eighty thousand who died back then, which one wasn’t innocent?”

Zhao Yān fell silent.

Wenren Lin’s voice softened as he reached out to take her hand, affectionately rubbing her cool fingertips: “I told Your Highness long ago that this Prince is not a good man.”

Zhao Yān grabbed Wenren Lin’s meticulously neat collar, leaning down to stare into his dark lacquer eyes.

Wenren Lin remained motionless, allowing her to crumple his collar, like a devotee who had drawn a circle as his prison, willingly placing blade and shackles in her hands.

“That day after leaving Taiji Gate, I asked you a question you never answered.”

Zhao Yān looked down at him, fox fur collar brushing against her fair jawline. “I’ll ask you once more: Wenren Shao Yuan, what exactly do you want?”

Though Wenren Lin was the one being interrogated, he appeared more composed than Zhao Yān, his interrogator.

“The answer is simple, but Your Highness may not like hearing it.”

“I want to hear it.”

Looking at her firm, clear eyes before him, Wenren Lin hesitated, which was rare for him.

He was very clear about what might await him if he revealed his true thoughts.

But he wouldn’t lie to his little Highness; he couldn’t bear to.

Wenren Lin maintained his seated position with crossed legs, pulling Zhao Yān closer and raising his hand to gently hold the back of her head, pressing it down slightly.

He leaned in to gaze at her, his features profound, both affectionate and mad.

“Because what Your Highness and the Crown Prince want is to save The Great Xuan, but what this Prince wants is to destroy it.”