Meng Xizhao studied the celestial stone for a while, then turned and instructed someone to fetch a porcelain jar large enough to hold it. Carefully, he placed the national treasure of Nanzhao inside the jar and carried it away.
A nearby palace guard opened his mouth, hesitating, but ultimately stayed silent.
Any observant person could see that the Crown Prince shared a close bond with Prefect Meng. Whatever Prefect Meng wished to do, a mere lowly guard dared not interfere.
Back at the Western Palace, Meng Xizhao busied himself for a while before looking up: “Where is the Crown Prince? Still consulting with the generals?”
The messenger shook his head. “His Highness has gone to interrogate Princess Luosahua.”
Meng Xizhao froze, immediately standing and rushing out.
In the past few days, Princess Luosahua had endured unbearable humiliation.
The people of Qi cared little for whether she was favored; they only saw that she was a reasonably attractive princess and treated her like the other children of Zhen Anluo, all packed together.
Over twenty princes and princesses, bound together like cargo in a single room, eating, drinking, and relieving themselves in the same space, and crying daily. Luosahua usually only regarded her elder brother as family; for these half-siblings, she simply ignored them.
Fed up with their noise, Luosahua scolded them, only to be rebuked back.
They were prisoners of Qi, after all. Who feared her then, as the “most favored princess” of her father?
Luosahua had never endured such indignity. Biting her lip, she forced herself to tolerate it. Her limbs stiffened; after passing through the numbing and itchy stage, she could barely feel her legs.
Panic set in. She feared that if confined any longer, she would become a cripple.
But she would not allow herself to become so. As long as she lived, she felt it was not yet the end. Resolute, she began making a scene, demanding to see the Crown Prince of Qi, claiming she had urgent matters to report. If he did not come, she threatened to throw herself against the wall, and the Qi court would never know what she intended to say.
Yu Fulan, monitoring Zhen Anluo nearby, thought the princess was troublesome.
The Crown Prince had previously named her specifically: anyone could escape, except this princess, who must be prevented.
Yet after Ningren Prefecture fell and the palace was pacified, the Crown Prince, seeing Prefect Meng safe, had forgotten about Luosahua. He now had more urgent matters and no time to deal with a Nanzhao princess already reduced to a prisoner.
Yu Fulan didn’t understand. Wasn’t this good? Why risk dying unnecessarily?
But since she had cried out, Yu Fulan worried she might follow through. Should the Crown Prince later seek revenge, she would be gone.
Thus, Yu Fulan had someone invite the Crown Prince and specially moved Luosahua to another room, detained alone. Bowing her head, she appeared obedient—but once Yu Fulan left, she sneered.
—Foolish Qi men.
Unbeknownst to her, Yu Fulan also sneered outside.
—A Nanzhao viper rushing to her doom.
……
When Cui Ye arrived, Luosahua immediately employed every tactic to elicit his sympathy.
Her plan: cast a hook, make the Qi Crown Prince believe she held something of utmost importance, secure her release from prisoner treatment, then use her free hands to send messages to her confidants. Later, she could exploit her charms to ensnare the Crown Prince, seduce him into her embrace, and find a chance to escape—possibly even taking the famously frail Crown Prince as a hostage.
A clever plan—but tragically, she was casting her bait to a blind man.
Cui Ye watched silently, unmoved by her fear or urgency, her teary-laced expressions and silver-tongued words producing nothing.
Luosahua: “……”
This man was a master.
It seemed the Qi Crown Prince acted only when the opportunity was certain. Frustrated, Luosahua revealed a small piece of intelligence unknown to the Qi forces.
Of course, it was half-truth, half-fabrication; she would never truly tell the enemy anything critical.
Cui Ye’s expression finally shifted slightly.
Luosahua, thinking she had hope, brightened her gaze, though her face remained composed.
What she didn’t realize: Cui Ye’s disgust for her had only deepened.
From the moment this scene began, he found it delicate and absurd. When Luosahua cast out her bait, he realized—this was exactly the trick Meng Xizhao often used.
Ha. Imitation, yet a poor one—Eastern Shi mimicking, painting a tiger that becomes a dog.
Thus, when Meng Xizhao arrived, Cui Ye was already demonstrating his skill.
He stood, smiled faintly at Luosahua: “Princess Luosahua, do you truly believe you are the only clever one in this world?”
Luosahua, expressionless, replied: “Why would His Highness say such a thing? I do not understand your meaning.”
Cui Ye’s smile deepened, more alluring than before: “The princess is good at feigning ignorance… or perhaps, not feigning at all, and genuinely foolish.”
Luosahua: “…………”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
He had taken a half-step forward, then retreated, silently standing with Zhang Shuogong, their eyes wide as they watched the unfolding scene.
Luosahua, unable to tolerate this humiliation, protested: “Your Highness, why must you shame me so!”
Cui Ye gave a deliberately ambiguous chuckle, stepped two paces forward, looming over the kneeling Luosahua. His smile finally softened, revealing his true countenance.
“You are a Nanzhao barbarian—there’s no need to mimic the tone of Qi women. It’s unnatural, insipid, and frankly nauseating.”
Luosahua lifted her head to glare at him, and thin threads of red began to creep across her face.
Not from embarrassment—pure anger.
And Cui Ye’s gaze on her was like that on a mouse: neither foe nor person, and killing it casually would change nothing.
A shiver ran down Luosahua’s back. She suddenly realized this Crown Prince despised her—perhaps even wanted to kill her.
Fear appeared on her face, real fear this time, not feigned.
Cui Ye admired the sight of her trembling, then bent slightly, his voice soft, like a lover whispering:
“Do you want to know why you have fallen into such a state?”
“You are certain to die today, but I am merciful. I wish to let you die with understanding. Do you know why I kill no one else but you?”
Luosahua stared at him, astonished. She truly could not comprehend this. Everyone in the Nanzhao royal family had been detained for days—why suddenly decide to kill someone? And why her first? How could she possibly be the first to bear the brunt?
Cui Ye toyed with her like a cat with a mouse, preparing to reveal the answer just to see her gasp in frustration… when suddenly, Meng Xizhao burst in.
…He had no choice but to intervene.
He had rushed in fearing a confrontation between the two.
Meng Xizhao did not know what Cui Ye intended to reveal next. If it were only to expose his identity as Prefect of Longxing Mansion, it would be fine. But if Cui Ye, thinking Luosahua’s days were numbered, simply blurted out, “You captured the one my heart admires as an aide…” just imagining it made Meng Xizhao’s vision go black.
He arrived, panting, just before Cui Ye could speak. Seeing Meng Xizhao, Cui Ye froze briefly.
“What are you doing here?”
Luosahua’s reaction was far more intense.
She first stared, stunned, as if she had mistaken him for someone else. After a long moment, her expression twisted.
Then she screamed in sheer terror:
“Jin—San—Cang!”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Now she finally understood why the Qi forces had entered so suddenly, without a hint of warning, penetrating the palace as if it were deserted.
She could no longer maintain composure, thrashing wildly like a madwoman.
“You betrayed me!!! You shameless wretch, I curse you! By the will of the god of witches, within three years, you shall be laid out to—”
Smack!
Her head was struck to the side with tremendous force by Cui Ye. Meng Xizhao’s eyes widened, fearing her neck had been broken.
Blood trickled from her mouth. Luosahua held her position, then gave a strange, eerie laugh and attempted to continue the curse.
Seeing this, Cui Ye kicked her to the ground, yanking her hair to force her upright. Then, from his sleeve, he produced a small concealed knife.
Though small, it was exquisitely made, a tribute from Persia—enough to cut through not just human skin, but even elephant hide in a single stroke.
Meng Xizhao froze. Zhang Shuogong, hearing the commotion, rushed in with others. They all gawked as Cui Ye, cold and unflinching, aimed the knife at Luosahua’s throat, preparing to slit her on the spot.
Fortunately, Luosahua, in a life-or-death struggle, unleashed a powerful survival instinct. She writhed like a fish, and Cui Ye’s knife missed her throat, carving a deep gash in her chin instead.
Frowning, Cui Ye was about to strike again when Meng Xizhao finally reacted.
“Stop!!”
He tugged and pulled Cui Ye back, grasping the knife-wielding arm with both hands.
“Do not kill her! During my time in Nanzhao, if it weren’t for her, I would have already died!”
Cui Ye growled: “She is trying to curse you!”
Meng Xizhao: “…Does it matter? The Nanzhao witch-god has no sway over Qi citizens.”
His insistence was firm. Feeling the tension in his grip, Cui Ye, though clearly disapproving, pressed his lips together and finally released the knife.
Meng Xizhao exhaled, then turned to Luosahua on the ground. Her chin still bled, her clothes soaked—she looked pitiful.
Frowning, he first waved Zhang Shuogong and the others out.
Zhang Shuogong: “……”
If the Crown Prince was intent on violence, they had no choice but to leave.
The room was now left with the three of them. Meng Xizhao looked at Cui Ye. Cui Ye caught his gaze, still reluctant, but after a pause, he moved to the back and sat down.
Meng Xizhao stepped closer, squatting a few paces from Luosahua.
“Princess,” he said, “I have not betrayed you. I am, after all, a Qi citizen. You sent people to Qi to capture me, leaving me stranded in a foreign land. I sought to save myself—what wrong did I do?”
Luosahua glared at him with hatred: “I never intended to capture you! I wanted Meng Xizhao!”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
Scratching his head, he said, “But I am Meng Xizhao.”
Luosahua froze completely.
“You…”
“You are Meng Xizhao?!”
Meng Xizhao smiled shyly: “See? I truly did not betray you. From the start, I could never have pledged loyalty to Nanzhao. Now Nanzhao has fallen—not your fault, nor mine. Fate simply placed us here; we are but small pawns in a greater game.”
Luosahua stared blankly, her mind a fog.
How could this coincidence occur… and she had not realized that it was she who had invited the wolf in, she who had endangered her father and brother… she who…
Luosahua’s pupils constricted, and a metallic, iron-tasting bitterness surged up her throat. Her brother, Luomailong—indeed, it was her own plan, following Meng Xizhao’s strategy, that had led to his death!
Her hatred for Meng Xizhao in that moment was so fierce she could almost imagine consuming his flesh, drinking his blood—but she no longer cursed him. She only fixed him with a look full of malice.
Meng Xizhao remained completely unfazed by this mild, impotent hatred. He continued, “In similar circumstances, Princess, I suppose you would have exerted yourself just as I did to deal with Qi. I do not speak to excuse myself, but to let you understand: if we were not enemies, if our identities were not as they are, perhaps we could have been friends, meeting with joy rather than conflict.”
Luosahua laughed, bitter and incredulous. Yet, as she laughed, tears fell like strings of pearls: “Now you are the victor. Naturally, you can say such things. I was blind; I caused the ruin of Nanzhao. Those who die in Nanzhao return to the embrace of the witch-god, but I… perhaps I cannot. Ha ha ha ha… Meng Xizhao, should I become a restless spirit, the day I come for your life, may you, as today, not hate me!”
Meng Xizhao watched her in silence.
After a long pause, he said, “The people of Qi believe that after death, one travels to the Western Pure Land. The gods and Buddhas they revere are merciful to their citizens. In the dead of night, the yin energy is strongest, and the deceased might turn into malevolent spirits. By day, there is no such worry. With so many deities, why choose one to burden yourself? Princess, I sincerely hope you find peace.”
He then took a clean handkerchief from his robes and gently wiped the blood from her face.
Leaving the handkerchief nearby, Meng Xizhao stood and prepared to call Cui Ye to leave with him. Luosahua’s eyes, red and wet, stared blankly after him, her mind in turmoil.
Perhaps this was their final meeting. Despite everything, her heart had stirred once more.
She opened her mouth and called after him: “You killed my brother, I broke the pendant of your beloved—now we are even!”
Meng Xizhao staggered slightly. Instinctively, he looked back, seeing Luosahua closing her eyes in apparent surrender, tears streaming down her face: “Then, when I die, I will not come for your life either.”
He opened his mouth, but in the end, said nothing.
Leaving Luosahua inside, the first thing Meng Xizhao did was summon a physician to tend her wounds. Cui Ye’s blade had been vicious; Meng Xizhao worried she might bleed to death.
After the doctor was called, Meng Xizhao turned and walked, his pace quickening.
Near the western palace, he nervously glanced back to check on Cui Ye. Yes, he was still there, just a step behind, eyes sharp and unwavering.
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
He felt a pang of helplessness. He had rushed so frantically to prevent Cui Ye from revealing their connection, fearing Luosahua might overhear and repeat his words.
Yet now, Cui Ye had revealed nothing, and Luosahua had, inadvertently, exposed it herself.
Meng Xizhao felt as if nails had grown into his feet, keeping him planted awkwardly.
He knew Cui Ye would not let him off easily.
After a long silence, he began to explain: “I told that lie only to get Xie Yuan away. I said my beloved was a young attendant, sensitive, prone to melancholy.”
Cui Ye tilted his head: “That’s me, isn’t it?”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Shocked, he asked, “You admit that too?”
Cui Ye smiled calmly and enumerated: “When we first met in Zongzi Alley, you mistook me for a young attendant. Later, even if it wasn’t mentioned, I imagine each time you scolded me in your heart, you must have recalled it.”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
“And this sensitive nature—you know, whenever you smiled less at me, I would ponder it carefully.”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
“And as for melancholic tendencies, I have an old condition. The weak-bodied tend to dwell on such things. By the way, since you used me as an excuse, did you also tell Luosahua of my frailty?”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
He looked at Cui Ye, speechless: “Your Highness… you truly are a genius.”
Cui Ye smiled: “Thank you for the compliment, Er Lang.”
Meng Xizhao glanced at him. Seeing him so determined to claim the truth, he twitched his mouth and decided to let him be.
Turning, he continued into the palace. Once alone, he spoke: “I intend to let Luosahua go.”
Cui Ye’s mood instantly darkened: “Why?”
Meng Xizhao sat, pondering before speaking: “She leaving is more useful than returning with us to Tianfu. The Nanzhao royal line has almost been eradicated. A few remaining branches might attempt to claim the throne. But if Luosahua escapes, as Zhen Anluo’s favorite daughter, she could rally a following herself.”
Cui Ye paused: “But not everyone will heed her.”
Meng Xizhao nodded. Even a third would suffice, given her influence.
After all, she was a princess.
Though a princess, her bloodline and legitimacy gave her leverage; everyone else relied merely on a male heir.
With the Qi army pressing relentlessly, internal divisions and suspicion would fragment power—a perfect breeding ground for manipulation.
Meng Xizhao admired Luosahua’s capabilities, though he could not guarantee her success. Regardless of whether she could establish herself as Nanzhao’s ruler, the country’s territory was destined to shrink. Its future held only two paths: complete conquest by Qi, or submission to Qi.
No matter how desperately Luosahua struggled, she could no longer save Nanzhao—she could only save herself.
But when caught in a whirlpool, how could anyone see the full situation clearly? At the very least, right now, she could not. While Luosahua withdrew to a corner, still contemplating how to revive Nanzhao, the strength of Qi had roughly recovered.
Three to five years later, Shi Dazhuang’s reputation had spread across Qi. Grain supplies were sufficient, military equipment stockpiled, and Zhan Buxiu had risen to a high rank. By then, a final campaign to completely subjugate Nanzhao could proceed without fear of sudden alliances between Dali and Tubo against them.
Those three to five years gave Qi a chance to catch its breath—and offered Luosahua a window. If she realized it in time and chose self-preservation, she still had a path to survival. If not—or even if she realized it but still chose to stand with Nanzhao—Meng Xizhao would have no power to intervene.
Cui Ye listened to Meng Xizhao weigh the pros and cons, and the tension in his heart gradually eased. He had initially thought Meng Xizhao’s repeated interventions to prevent him from killing Luosahua might indicate a subtle attachment.
It did not.
Cui Ye considered what might happen after letting Luosahua go. He furrowed his brow: “Luosahua’s fame is known even to the Emperor. When we return, he will surely ask about her. If he learns she escaped, he may not be pleased.”
Meng Xizhao waved a hand dismissively: “It’s fine. One door closes, another window opens. Besides, if Luosahua stays, how could we leverage Zhen Anluo? He is the Nanzhao emperor, and according to Qi rituals, we cannot slaughter captives. If we bring him to Yingtian Prefecture, we must treat him well—feed him, entertain him. The Emperor might even grant him a princely title.”
The idea of bestowing a princely title was meant to humiliate Zhen Anluo, but Meng Xizhao thought of it as an idle amusement.
“Do you know how high a prince’s stipend is? Even our own princes are barely supported, yet we’d have to maintain another one from a foreign land?”
Cui Ye frowned: “So, what’s your plan?”
Meng Xizhao smiled faintly: “Bring him back, let the Emperor have his fun, then notify Nanzhao—they’ll have to pay to ransom him.”
His eyes gleamed: “A single prince, three million taels of silver. An emperor? Surely at least thirty million. If Luosahua wants to inherit the legitimate throne, she must show filial respect for Zhen Anluo. If she does not ransom him, it shows impiety and ruthlessness. The Nanzhao people will have to weigh whether to continue following her.”
Cui Ye: “…………”
He hadn’t even left, and Meng Xizhao was already scheming.
After a long silence, Cui Ye said: “Nanzhao probably doesn’t have that much money. Their capital is already taken; even if other regions have treasure, it’s not much.”
Meng Xizhao sipped his tea: “I never said we couldn’t negotiate. If necessary, they can pay in installments—three million a year for ten years. If they pretend to be poor and refuse even three million, fearing Zhen Anluo’s return might affect their status… well, there are ways around that too.”
He chuckled twice, then said: “Then let them pay for his upkeep. We won’t return Zhen Anluo; we’ll keep him as a hostage, feed him well, and demand fifty thousand taels a year. If not, we’ll execute him! For the sake of reputation, they’ll pay—it’s a small price.”
Cui Ye: “…………”
Truly, only he could think this way.