The bronze door closed heavily behind her.
Qun Qing walked in step by step. The hall was large and empty, lacking the incense burners, floor lamps, and seating furniture typically placed in ordinary palace halls. Warm blood scent still hung in the air, yet there were no torture instruments or tortured victims. That person must have just been dragged away.
Qun Qing’s first glance caught a window opened in the opposite wall. Calling it a window was somewhat forced—it was just a square opening. She also noticed two hidden doors concealed behind wooden pillars against the walls.
Pale sunlight spread across the floor, along with wind. Qun Qing glanced right and indeed saw a half-open carved flower window with swaying verdant tree shadows outside.
So outside remained the gentle spring day.
Looking left, Qun Qing started. Atop a high stone platform hung white curtains. This old curtain embroidered with the Eight Trigrams billowed in the wind, behind it a desk and the silhouette of someone sitting cross-legged who’d made no sound since her entry, ghostlike.
Qun Qing lifted her hem and knelt, not daring to waste a moment: “Shangyi Bureau Rank Six Compiler Qun Qing has urgent matters to report to Chief Administrator Lu.”
The pavilion was so quiet a falling needle could be heard. Qun Qing heard only her own breathing. Whatever she said, he showed no curiosity or reaction. The negotiation immediately fell to disadvantage.
Qun Qing held her breath and waited several breaths before speaking again: “It concerns His Highness Prince Yan’s life and death.”
Still complete silence.
This prolonged silence was suffocating. Qun Qing’s mind instantly flooded with thoughts: Could he already know about the poisoning, holding some evidence? Otherwise why wouldn’t he care even about Prince Yan’s life and death? Or was he deliberately breaking down her psychological defenses?
In the silence, an extremely small sound suddenly came—like something slowly splitting open. Qun Qing concentrated to discern. After this minute sound, she smelled the sour fragrance exploding in the air.
The shadowy figure behind the curtain lowered his eyes, holding something in his hand.
A mandarin orange—he was peeling a mandarin orange.
Qun Qing could hardly believe it.
Lu Huating’s movements were casual, peeling intermittently. Before long, the entire pavilion floated with the fresh scent of mandarin oranges.
Suddenly, a restrained wail came through. Qun Qing looked toward that dark opening—the sound came precisely from within the window. Behind the window indeed connected to a hidden chamber! Immediately came more distorted muffled groans, as if in extreme pain, along with the chaotic sounds of people scrambling to help. Qun Qing recognized the voice as Su Run’s.
“The poisoning of His Highness Prince Yan was entirely my doing alone, unrelated to the Crown Princess or anyone else.” Before a third scream could sound, Qun Qing said, “Scholar Su has breathing illness. If you don’t wish to endanger his life, immediately summon a physician to treat him!”
In the curtains, Lu Huating’s movements briefly stopped. He placed the orange on the table, as if sighing with regret that she’d so quickly surrendered, saying such a foolish thing.
However, from the indistinct shadows, Qun Qing’s kneeling posture showed no collapse. Rarely within the inner palace did anyone kneel so quietly and nobly, spine held as if supported by a ruler, both sleeves hanging down, like a crane with broken wings in the backlight.
The person behind the curtains seemed to be turning to study her.
Wind from the carved flower window caressed Qun Qing’s sweat-dampened nape stroke by stroke, then passed her cheeks, blowing toward the stone platform, continuously lifting the curtain.
She took the opportunity to spy upward—no official robes visible, no cloth garments either. Black and white silk brocade hung down, knees resting on a folding fan, waist hung with silk ribbons—the elegant attire Chang’an gentlemen wore for banquets and refined discourse.
The curtain billowed upward again, caught by a pale white hand that yanked it down to trail on the ground, revealing from top to bottom an extremely handsome face. Those upturned eyes held a sharp gaze: “You sent me away to instruct the Crown Princess to poison Prince Yan?”
His finger lifted slightly, and one hidden door immediately flashed open. But seeing Qun Qing’s expression show no panic, suspecting that foolish statement was deliberately revealed—truth or deception hard to discern—Lu Huating flexed his finger again.
The hidden door closed once more.
“Is this truly what happened, or is Siji deceiving again?” Lu Huating asked slowly.
Qun Qing was rooted in place. The instant she saw the other’s appearance, her mind went momentarily blank.
But she quickly lowered her eyes: “If Chief Administrator Lu believes it, then it truly happened. If you don’t believe me, I have no recourse.”
Lu Huating didn’t listen to her words, seemingly accustomed to personally verifying. He turned his face aside as a hidden guard in soft armor ran in from the hidden door, leaning close to report: “The imperial physician… examined… His Highness is unharmed…”
“Right now he’s indeed unharmed. This poison has delayed onset. After ten days, both knees will ache and weaken, unbearable on rainy days. After one year, energy will fail, with lingering headaches. If rage attacks the heart, he’ll collapse convulsing with danger to his life.” Qun Qing’s raised, clear voice overrode that hidden guard’s voice.
“His Highness Prince Yan is renowned for mounted archery and distinguished military achievements. If hereafter he can only drag a broken body, how can he bear the great responsibility of ruler? When that time comes, you’ll have no choice but to recall the Eastern Palace. Several years of the Chief Administrator’s planning will all be wasted!”
The smile on Lu Huating’s face abruptly vanished. That hidden guard, reading the atmosphere, had long since disappeared.
In the approaching storm, Qun Qing looked at her blurred reflection on the floor and continued: “Since I dare speak thus, I have methods of detoxification and am confident the imperial physicians are helpless. It depends on whether the Chief Administrator is willing to save His Highness Prince Yan.”
“You’re negotiating with me?” Lu Huating looked toward her with a half-smile. “Siji worked so hard at treason precisely to make Prince Yan die. Why save him now and let years of effort come to nothing?”
“Chief Administrator Lu and I have no personal enmity—we merely each serve our masters. Why can’t we negotiate?” Qun Qing said. “Since you threatened me with Princess Bao’an’s life, you must know she is my master. Prince Yan’s life is important, but not worthy of comparison with the princess’s life. I ask little—only that Chief Administrator Lu preserve the princess and not harbor killing intent. His Highness Prince Yan loves the princess. The princess is gentle and cannot accomplish great deeds. Why must the Chief Administrator lose the greater for the lesser, insisting on provoking His Highness Prince Yan’s fury?”
Lu Huating didn’t answer, as if studying her face.
Qun Qing adjusted her breathing, lifted her eyes, and met that gaze directly, both pupils bright: “Chief Administrator Lu’s divine calculations—Qun Qing has always admired them. As a minister to others, reaching your position earns everyone’s envy. If you can become Prime Minister in the future, you’ll have no regrets. Qun Qing losing to you today isn’t a wrongful death. For Chief Administrator to offend Prince Yan over past matters isn’t wise. I’m willing to offer the merit of saving my master, only requesting you leave me one line in the history books as a loyal minister…”
Lu Huating suddenly reached into his sleeve to retrieve something, throwing an object before Qun Qing.
The object rolled and tumbled several times, landing face-up—a peachwood doll wearing cloth clothes with no facial features, a silver earring pin stabbed through its chest.
The silver pin pierced through the seal-script characters “Yunming” embroidered on the clothes, driving the characters into the garment, revealing the depth of hatred.
Yunming was Lu Huating’s courtesy name.
Upon seeing this object, Qun Qing immediately understood that while Eunuch Liang brought her here, Lu Huating had long since had people turn her residence completely upside down, retrieving even such secretly stored items from the hidden compartment of her vanity.
“Is this Siji’s?” Lu Huating watched her, his tone icy.
Qun Qing grasped the peachwood doll in her hand, speaking no more. With evidence before her, saying another word would be clumsy performance, only becoming material for Lu Huating to humiliate her.
She only thought—fortunately she’d burned that notebook in advance, not even ashes remaining, or who knew how people would interpret it.
Lu Huating descended, casually sitting on the stone steps to lean toward her. His gaze was like a soft sword, pressing against her face and scraping across, somewhat surprised: “Siji has grown a face incapable of deception. You speak with detached ease, opening your heart sincerely. If not for this, one couldn’t see that Siji’s heart actually deeply hates me, yet can speak with a frank expression about admiration and respect.”
Qun Qing didn’t respond, disdainful in her heart. She thought, what of it? Struggling against Lu Huating to the later stages, she could use any method. Never mind cursing him with shamanic arts—even shortening her own lifespan to make wishes, using blood in rituals, burning incense and worshipping Buddha—if it could truly make Lu Huating short-lived, she’d probably do it.
Her chin was abruptly lifted. Qun Qing was forced to raise her neck. The richer mandarin orange scent emanated from his fingers, almost making breathing difficult.
She was forced to face those eyes directly—their owner’s eye corners upturned, pupils intensely black yet seemingly amorous.
Lu Huating stared at her unblinkingly: “This isn’t our first meeting. Last year’s winter solstice banquet, you and I met. The one who killed Minister Wei was also you.”