Emperor Qiwen valued Long Feiyan so highly…

Something flickered through Feng Jiu’er’s mind, but the flash came and went so quickly that in an instant, that faint, barely formed thought vanished.

Xue Gu’s words pulled her back to reality. “Is it possible that Nanmeng Ye acted behind the scenes, without even Nanmeng Rong’s knowledge?”

“Unlikely. Nanmeng Ye and Nanmeng Rong share a deep bond as father and daughter. Nanmeng Rong may not think much of her father, but Nanmeng Ye is utterly devoted to protecting his daughter—whatever he did, he wouldn’t have done it without consulting her.”

“And whatever Nanmeng Rong needed to accomplish would surely require Nanmeng Ye’s influence behind it. So why would he have any reason not to commit fully, rather than act alone in secret?”

“Are you certain this person is still at court even now?” Xue Gu studied her closely.

Feng Jiu’er wasn’t certain, but she had a feeling that an answer would present itself soon enough.

“Regardless, having already thrown myself into this, there’s no walking away halfway through.”

She set down her cup and looked at Xue Gu. “I will root this person out, no matter what.”

…

In some lightless place, Nanmeng Rong had lost track of how many days she had been confined there.

Had her son Heng still not returned? Why hadn’t he come to save her yet?

Her father was paralyzed and beyond relying on now; her brother cared only for seizing power, indifferent to whether she lived or died. Now, her only hope rested on her son.

And yet, he still had not come.

On the third night, the person who finally came to see her was a palace maid she had never even laid eyes on before.

Qing Zhi hauled her out of the dark chamber and, after winding through several turns, deposited her directly in a room.

It was nothing more than an abandoned room, but compared to before, it was at least better—light filtered in through the window, letting her make out her surroundings.

After two days and nights in pitch darkness, her eyes had grown accustomed to it, and now, suddenly exposed to light again, she found herself struggling to adjust.

She squinted, and only with effort did she manage to make out the figure seated in a wheelchair—a figure so familiar it startled her.

“Who are you?” The moment Nanmeng Rong opened her mouth, she realized just how hoarse her voice had become, as rough as that of some old crone in her seventies or eighties.

“Nanmeng Rong, you don’t even remember me?” The veiled woman seated in the wheelchair smiled faintly, lowering her gaze to study Nanmeng Rong’s face, pale now beyond all trace of color.

That voice… Nanmeng Rong stared at the veil covering her face, the shock in her eyes spilling out drop by drop until, finally, it turned into pure terror.

“You… you…” How could it be possible? It couldn’t be possible!

It wasn’t possible! Why wasn’t she dead? Why was she still here? Why?

The veiled woman raised a slender hand and finally lifted the veil from her face.

That smiling face, that flawless face, that face pale from years spent indoors, yet white as porcelain—it was exactly the same as it had been all those years ago!

“Why—why haven’t you aged at all? Why does your face…”

In the end, what Nanmeng Rong resented most was that, after all these years, that face hadn’t changed in the slightest!

“Heh, you’re still the same as back then—always fixated on these trivial little things.” The woman gazed at her calmly, waving a hand dismissively. “Qing Ye, bring the Empress a mirror so she can see her own reflection.”

Qing Ye, already prepared, drew the mirror from her sleeve and held it before Nanmeng Rong. “Your Majesty, do you still remember me?”

“You…” Nanmeng Rong reflexively took the mirror, staring at Qing Ye for a long, long moment.

Then, suddenly, her pupils contracted as if she’d seen a ghost, and she scrambled backward. “You… aren’t you already dead? Why are you still alive? Are you human, or a ghost? You…”

“Of course you’d wish I were dead! Because I was the one you stabbed to death, blade after blade—how could I possibly still be alive?”

Qing Ye sneered, looking down at her. “Your Majesty, the wounds you carved into me back then—shouldn’t I return them to you, blade for blade?”

Nanmeng Rong panicked, truly panicked, because back then she really had driven her sword into this woman’s body again and again—at least a dozen times!

Blood had pooled across the ground; there had been no breath left in her. She should have died right then and there!

Why was she still alive? How could she still be alive?

With a clatter, the mirror slipped from her hand and fell to the floor. Nanmeng Rong instinctively bent to pick it up, only to catch a glimpse of her own face in it.

“Ah…” she screamed, never imagining she had aged to such a degree.

No, she wasn’t old at all—she still looked like a woman in her twenties. Otherwise, how could she possibly be worthy of being with A’Jiu?

Wasn’t she still young? All the maids and matrons always said she looked exactly the same as years ago, that she hadn’t changed at all!

Her father always told her she remained as lovely as ever, forever his precious treasure!

Everyone said she was as beautiful as a flower, that none of the new girls entering the palace could compare to her!

She lifted her head again, staring at the face of the woman in the wheelchair, and suddenly her heart trembled violently.

Exactly the same as before… this, this was what it truly meant to never have aged! Her own face, compared to this…

Nanmeng Rong picked up the mirror again, staring at her own reflection within it.

Before seeing this woman in the wheelchair, she had genuinely believed she had taken good care of herself, that she truly hadn’t aged a single day in over a decade.

But now… as she looked at her own face, then at the other woman’s, her heart crumbled apart, piece by piece.

Why—without the cover of rouge and powder, why were there so many fine lines at the corners of her eyes? Why were the bags beneath her eyes so heavy? Why had her face become etched with delicate creases?

And her neck—why did her neck have wrinkles too? Why had her skin grown so dull and lifeless?

And yet, looking at the other woman’s face, her eyes, even her neck—not a single fine line to be found!

Her eyes were bright and clear, her skin like frost and snow, her features delicate and refined, her entire face still pure and youthful, as though she were a girl of barely twenty!

“Why?” Nanmeng Rong was nearly losing her mind, glaring at the woman in the wheelchair, her heart trembling, her lips trembling, her fingers trembling—even her whole body shaking in violent tremors.

“Why, why is this happening…” Where had her beauty gone? Wasn’t she the foremost beauty of the inner palace? Where had her purity gone? Didn’t she still look like a young girl in her early twenties?

Why? Why was this happening?