Murong Qiufeng’s face froze in shock—though not at what his father imagined.
But to Murong Xing’s eyes, that silence was as good as an admission.
How could a man as seasoned and sharp as Murong Xing not see that there was something unusual between his son and Prince Ye? He had always told himself it was nothing, that he was imagining too much. But now…
For the first time, Murong Xing truly felt that his life had been a complete failure. His eyes darkened with grief and anger as he fixed them on Murong Qiufeng.
“Qiufeng,” he said heavily, “I know the Murong family has wronged you all these years. If you wish for revenge, if you hate me, despise me—that is fine. Vent it all on me. But your sister… Qiujun is your flesh and blood. How could you, a man, steal her husband from her? Can your heart really rest easy? Have you never once thought about how your mother would feel if she knew? And you—are you truly willing to throw your life away as some… plaything for a man? That path would only destroy you.”
Qiufeng’s face turned deathly pale. He looked at Murong Xing with disbelief, then slowly with sorrow and disappointment. Taking a step back, he let out a bitter laugh.
“So this… is what Father thinks of me.”
“Unless…” Murong Xing hesitated, “unless you were forced—did Prince Ye coerce you?”
Qiufeng gave a mocking twist of his lips, a weak and bitter smile, just as he was about to speak—
A voice, cold and hard, cut through the air faster than him.
“He is my princess consort, not a plaything.”
Both father and son froze at the sound.
Prince Ye strode into the room, his face dark, his hawk-like gaze sharp as a blade. Anger smoldered in his eyes as he looked upon Qiufeng’s pale face and the pain hidden in his expression. His heart clenched, fury rising—but with nowhere to vent it.
“Your Highness.” Murong Xing showed no fear, meeting that gaze with his own, voice icy. “What is the meaning of those words?”
As he walked to Qiufeng’s side, Prince Ye replied slowly, “On one thing, Prime Minister Murong, you are correct. Your family owes him too much—more than you can ever repay. And yes, you also guessed right: Murong Qiujun was never in this palace. From the very beginning, she never was.”
“What—you… you mean Qiujun—!”
“Hmph. In your eyes, has Murong Qiufeng ever even existed?” Prince Ye’s tone sharpened, full of scorn. “I never harmed Murong Qiujun. Truth be told, were it not for him, your precious daughter might already have been executed under a thousand cuts. Let me enlighten you: on that wedding day, it was not Qiujun who rode in my bridal sedan—it was Qiufeng. You are clever, Prime Minister. Can you guess why your daughter was not there?”
Murong Xing’s face drained of all color. His eyes darted to Qiufeng, wide with shock and suspicion—only to see him frowning, signaling desperately to Prince Ye, his eyes silently pleading.
But Prince Ye only frowned, lips pressed thin, ignoring the plea.
“What is the truth, Qiufeng? Where is Qiujun?”
“Hmph. Allow me.” Prince Ye’s voice was as sharp as a knife. “Your precious daughter Qiujun, before the marriage, was already carrying the child of the prince of Yu. On the wedding day, she had her own brother stand in her place while she eloped with her lover—off to Yu to become his princess. No doubt she’s living happily ever after now. What a fine daughter you raised! Selfish and shameless beyond compare. And yet, you dare blame him? If not for him, do you think your family would have survived until today? You’d be mourning far more than Murong Hao alone.”
“Enough, Ye! Stop!” At last, Qiufeng broke in, his voice trembling. He turned to his father, letting out a long, weary sigh.
“Father… Qiujun is my twin sister. I could never harm her. And as for our family—I have never once held any grudge against you or anyone. Whether you believe me or not, I speak the truth. As for Ye and me—yes, it is as you think. We have already pledged ourselves to one another. I know what the world will say: two men cannot be accepted. But all I know is that we love each other. That is enough. I have never sought to use this relationship for power or rank. At most, I will help him with some affairs, but I will never serve in court. If you believe I disgrace the Murong name…”
Qiufeng paused, drew a deep breath, turned his head away, and added quietly,
“…then let the Murong family consider me dead. Let there be no such person as Murong Qiufeng.”
Murong Xing staggered, his body trembling, staring in shock at his son’s retreating back.
But Qiufeng had already taken Prince Ye’s hand, pulling him swiftly out of the room.
Prince Ye said nothing, only cast Murong Xing one last look before leaving. That single glance—laden with fury, scorn, and pity—struck Murong Xing’s heart like a cold blade. His chest tightened, breath caught, and soon he was wracked with harsh, uncontrollable coughs.
Outside the courtyard, Qiufeng suddenly found himself pulled close. Prince Ye wrapped an arm around him, pressing his head gently against his shoulder, rubbing soothing circles along his back.
Qiufeng didn’t resist—only held on tighter around his waist.
After a long while, Prince Ye spoke, his voice soft, warm.
“I’ll always be by your side. And this way… this way, you’re mine alone. No one else to compete for you, no one else to divide your heart. All you need to do is give it wholly to me.”
Qiufeng stiffened, then lifted his head, half moved, half exasperated. He bit at Ye’s jaw in protest, muttering with a helpless laugh, “That’s your idea of comfort?”
Prince Ye chuckled, unbothered, even tender. “If you want to take advantage of me, you don’t need excuses. I’m already yours.”
Qiufeng flushed red, his sorrow eased by the teasing.
The moment lingered—until it was broken.
A voice intruded, carrying a faint smile.
“Master, Young Master—someone has arrived outside. Half-dead, yet insisting he must see Young Master one last time to deliver his dying words.”
Qiufeng blinked. “Who is it?”
“Don’t know,” the man—Sunset—answered with a smirk. “But he wears white, and he’s rather handsome.” He glanced meaningfully at Prince Ye as he spoke, eyes glinting with mischief.
White robes. Qiufeng’s heart dropped like a stone. At once, a face came to mind—his senior brother, Yun Feiyang. His face drained of blood. He grabbed Sunset’s arm in a panic.
“Where is he?”
Prince Ye’s eyes narrowed. He too had thought of Yun Feiyang. But when he saw just how shaken Qiufeng was, jealousy soured his heart.
Together, they hurried to the courtyard.
Inside, Youxiang was tending to her flowers. Shadow melted silently into the dark. At a stone table, Qian Baihuan sipped wine, smiling faintly as he gestured toward one of the inner rooms.
