“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.