How to deal with Zhen Anluo could be decided once they returned. After all, no matter how clever Meng Xizhao’s plans were here, if Emperor Tianshou disagreed back in Yingtian Prefecture, it would all be for nothing.
After a pause, Meng Xizhao looked up at Cui Ye: “Your Highness, perhaps we should delay our return.”
Cui Ye studied him, nodded slightly, and asked, “Why?”
Meng Xizhao sighed: “Once we return to Yingtian Prefecture, a tough battle awaits. Every one of them is cunning; I must concentrate fully, no distractions allowed.”
Cui Ye, puzzled: “How does our timing relate to that?”
Meng Xizhao explained: “I mean, we should stay a bit longer. The physician said the initial stage of the medicine, until the therapeutic bath, will be extremely painful. If we start after returning, any mishap could be disastrous. It’s safer to complete the first treatment here. When you feel stronger, we set out.”
He added: “We can also announce to outsiders that you are gravely ill. The more exaggerated, the better. Then when we return, we can play the sympathy card. If anyone asks how the Crown Prince recovered so quickly, I’ll say he was blessed by heaven.”
Cui Ye: “…………”
Indeed, if detoxification began after returning, though his condition would be evident to all, he would be unable to confront those at court—leaving Meng Xizhao to handle them alone, which Cui Ye could not bear.
After weighing the advantages, Cui Ye looked at Meng Xizhao and smiled gently: “So, you mean, if I am bedridden, you won’t be distracted?”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
He stared at him silently for a long moment before asking: “That’s the point you focused on?”
Cui Ye nodded firmly: “That’s the crux.”
Meng Xizhao stood and began to walk. Cui Ye followed, a faint smile still on his lips. After a while, watching the empty space before him, his smile gradually faded.
Obstacles… there really were many.
Late at night, the already heavily guarded Nanzhao palace became eerily silent.
After being brought out, Luosahua was not returned to her previous quarters. She was left alone in a small room, without a single lamp. Anyone else might have cried from fear in such a place.
But Luosahua’s expression remained remarkably calm, no longer the shattered visage she had shown in broad daylight.
When she first realized that Meng Xizhao truly was Meng Xizhao… yes, she had broken down. But when the Crown Prince of Qi—so ruthless—had almost struck to kill her, she had regained full clarity.
Now, with herself as the fish and others as the knife, and seeing the obvious closeness between the Qi Crown Prince and Meng Xizhao, she knew that if she recklessly provoked this high-ranking Qi official, her life would surely be in danger.
In the books, Nanzhao had been utterly destroyed; her entire family had perished, leaving only her, yet she had not lost her reason and had resolved to perish together with Qi. Now, Nanzhao still had a chance to breathe, her father was still alive, and she could not forsake the opportunity for survival.
Her later breakdowns of weeping were merely a performance—not for Meng Xizhao, but for the Crown Prince.
After all, Meng Xizhao had never shown any intention of killing her, while the Crown Prince genuinely wanted her life.
That said, she still did not understand why the Qi Crown Prince harbored such singular hatred toward her. Perhaps it was simply because, at the time, she had attempted to curse Meng Xizhao—and had been punished for it. When she cautiously muttered that they were “even,” she could not know whether it had taken effect.
Sitting in silence, Luosahua pondered endlessly how to escape.
Staying was impossible. Even if the Crown Prince no longer sought her life, for reasons she could not discern, she instinctively felt that whatever she did next would be under his watchful eye.
Moreover, after being humiliated by Cui Ye, she now detested the idea of relying on others. Yet if she were truly brought to Yingtian Prefecture, this would be her only avenue.
Because… once in Qi, she would no longer be a princess. She would be an ordinary woman. In the Qi court, the only way to gain power would be through marital or romantic influence.
No longer a princess…
Luosahua could not accept this. Born a princess, the most honored of women, she vowed that even in death, she would remain the most honored of women.
This resolve steeled her determination: she must escape.
Lost in her thoughts, she suddenly heard the guards at her door being urgently summoned elsewhere, as though a major event had occurred outside.
She froze, then quickly rose and crept to the door, peering through the crack.
No one.
…A trap?
Before she could dwell on it, the distant sound of the palace gongs rang out—bang, bang, bang. Nanzhao’s palace had once kept time with gongs, but these had ceased since Qi’s invasion. Now, suddenly, they sounded again. Even if she wished to understand, the meaning eluded her.
—Midnight, when yin energy is strongest.
—Heading west to the Western Pure Land.
Midnight. West.
Luosahua froze for only an instant, then made a decisive gamble.
She shouldered open the door, initially cautious, scanning for anyone nearby. Fortune seemed to smile upon her: she moved toward the West Palace gate without being seen by a single Qi soldier.
Once past the gate, she spotted a few patrolling soldiers at a distance. She ducked into hiding until they passed, then sprinted in a chosen direction.
At a bridge, she used a stone to cut her bindings, tore off her bloodstained clothes, and swapped them for discarded garments from the street. Stumbling, she finally reached a hidden rendezvous where her own people awaited.
Those Nanzhao loyalists had been attempting to rescue her; seeing her arrive safely, they nearly wept with relief.
With Luosahua present, they had a rallying point. She immediately resolved not to linger, heading southwest toward their ancestral capital, Langyan Fortress.
Yes… just the name suggested an abundance of seafood.
This region lay along the Guangxi-Guangdong coast, unlike the provinces later occupied by Nanzhao. Here, all were Nanzhao loyalists—the most stubborn and traditional of their kind.
Dali and Qi often mocked Nanzhao as foolish, madly devoted to the indigenous faiths. Yet compared to this group, even those “backward” Nanzhao people seemed enlightened.
Luosahua, a reformist, would face challenges here. But now she had no time to ponder that. She mounted her horse and fled southwest.
Looking back at her former Ningren Mansion, her emotions were conflicted.
She had thought Meng Xizhao’s “go west” meant merely escaping the palace. Now she realized he had meant more: she was to relinquish most of Nanzhao’s territory, retreat to the west, and cautiously guard the western flank—against Dali.
Heh.
Luosahua wanted to laugh, but no laughter would come.
Meng Xizhao had given her a path to survival and even planned her future. Yet knowing all this, she could only follow his plan. He understood her tendency for hope: until facing utter peril, she would not abandon Nanzhao. She must now remain immovable, like a statue, defending the boundary between Qi and Dali.
She knew Meng Xizhao intended for her to be the first line of defense against Dali. But she could not be angry—after all, Nanzhao still had hope.
Through the night, her horse galloped across the vast, foreboding wilderness. Only when Ningren Mansion disappeared from view did she turn her head back.
Facing the broad, terrifying expanse, she bit her lip tightly.
One day, she would see Meng Xizhao again.
And she would show him that she was no puppet. Her fate would never be decided by him.
Meng Xizhao slept through the night. The next morning, he was roused in a daze.
Half-awake, he opened one eye to see Cui Ye watching him: “What is it?”
Cui Ye, dressed neatly, sat beside him: “Luosahua has escaped.”
Upon hearing this, Meng Xizhao’s mood soured immediately: “She escaped, fine… but you still had to tell me?”
With that, he buried his head back into the pillow.
Cui Ye: “…………”
After a pause, he had no choice but to handle the aftermath himself.
It was mostly for show—punish the guards who had been watching Luosahua, make them strike each other with rods, wailing and crying out. How badly they were beaten… only they themselves would know.
When news reached General Zhan Buxiu that Luosahua had fled, he rushed back, hoping for an imperial edict to authorize her capture.
For some reason, Cui Ye smiled with satisfaction after hearing this: “General Zhan, you’ve worked hard. Rest a few days—this matter, I’ll assign someone else. No need to trouble you.”
Zhan Buxiu: “……”
Since the Crown Prince had personally led the campaign, Zhan Buxiu’s prejudice against him had lessened somewhat, but occasionally, he still felt this prince might not be entirely sane.
…
The surrounding areas of Ningren Mansion had been mostly cleared, and the court had dispatched people to take over. By all accounts, the matter here was nearly settled, and they could return.
Along with the official appointment documents came an imperial edict from Emperor Tianshou.
It commanded the Crown Prince to immediately bring Bei’an Luo back to Yingtian Prefecture without delay. As for Meng Xizhao, who had performed great deeds and been rescued, not a word was mentioned.
Receiving the edict, Meng Xizhao and Cui Ye exchanged a glance, both wearing smiles tinged with unreadable meaning.
The eunuch delivering the edict saw that the prince, claiming illness, would not appear, and did not leave. After all, Emperor Tianshou was unusually anxious this time; had court ministers not intervened, he might have come in person just to see how his adversary fared.
Hearing that the eunuch had lingered, Meng Xizhao waved him off.
Inside the closed palace, a bowl of medicinal decoction sat before Cui Ye and Meng Xizhao. Zhang Shuogong and Yu Fulan stood nearby, eager to watch him drink it.
Cui Ye remained calm, but the other three were visibly tense.
Zhang Shuogong said nothing; Yu Fulan’s face was stern. Meng Xizhao examined the bowl, turning it left and right: “Just one bowl, enough?”
Yu Fulan nodded: “That’s what the doctor prescribed.”
Meng Xizhao: “…How soon will it take effect?”
Yu Fulan: “In the time it takes to drink a cup of tea.”
Meng Xizhao muttered: “That fast, huh…”
If it took longer, he might have suffered less.
Cui Ye, unwilling to wait, lifted the bowl and drank it in one gulp.
He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief and saw the three onlookers staring in shock.
Cui Ye: “…What?”
The three quickly shook their heads: “Nothing.”
Cui Ye: “…………”
Once you’ve decided to undergo treatment, there’s no need to overthink. The result was set the moment the medicine was swallowed.
But the medicine was bitter—extremely so.
Cui Ye frowned, trying to suppress the bitterness over time. At that moment, a piece of sugar was handed to him.
Yu Fulan opened his mouth to warn Meng Xizhao that it was best not to eat sugar immediately after medicine. Before he could speak, Zhang Shuogong kicked him, silencing him.
Cui Ye took the sugar from Meng Xizhao, placed it in his mouth, and smiled at him.
Zhang Shuogong paused, then gestured to Yu Fulan: “Your Highness, we will take our leave.”
Cui Ye nodded, and Zhang Shuogong led Yu Fulan out.
Outside, Yu Fulan’s dissatisfaction emerged: “Why drag me out? I wanted to stay. This is your first time taking the medicine—what if—”
Zhang Shuogong, exasperated by his wooden-headedness, opened a small gap in the palace door and said impatiently: “See for yourself.”
Yu Fulan, still clueless, peeked through the gap. He saw the Crown Prince, who had just sat up straight, now slumping onto Meng Xizhao’s shoulder. Meng Xizhao did not push him away; his lips pursed as he gently arranged the fallen hair back.
At first, Yu Fulan saw nothing unusual, wondering why Zhang Shuogong had insisted he look. But after a moment, realization hit, and his face drained of color.
Zhang Shuogong, observing his stiff reaction, sneered: “Understand now?” He scanned him up and down, showing no effort to hide his disdain: “Wooden-headed fool.”
Yu Fulan: “…………”
Inside, Meng Xizhao and Cui Ye remained silent.
Cui Ye waited for the medicine to take effect; Meng Xizhao nervously watched him.
When anxious, he liked to fidget. Without objects, he pinched his own fingers; now, with something to grasp, he held onto Cui Ye’s sleeve.
Cui Ye, looking down, suddenly said: “Like you, I was once a short-lived spirit.”
Meng Xizhao paused in his sleeve-pinch, then resumed, voice calm: “That’s not true. With or without me, Your Highness will live a long life.”
Cui Ye: “Oh? And why is that?”
Meng Xizhao: “Because of fate. Even if I did not exist, you would encounter a divine physician, heal your old ailment, and thereafter, the seas wide for fish to leap, the skies high for birds to fly. Every breath from that day on would be light and free.”
Cui Ye considered his words, then slowly blinked: “Perhaps.”
“Perhaps, without meeting you, I would have ended as you predicted. But now that I have met you, the rivers and seas cannot compare to the small reflection I see in your gaze when you look at me.”
Cui Ye’s head rested on Meng Xizhao’s shoulder. Every word he spoke was like a hook, winding through Meng Xizhao’s ears straight into his mind, leaving him simultaneously comfortable and unsettled.
Meng Xizhao gazed ahead, a faint curve tugging at his lips, and whispered, “Have I ever told you… your words are always so sticky and muddled?”
Cui Ye: “…No.”
After a pause, he added, “But now that I think about it, there were a few times your eyes said exactly that.”
This time Meng Xizhao couldn’t hold back. Smiling behind pursed lips, his shoulders trembled slightly.
Cui Ye lifted his head. Meng Xizhao, thinking he was uncomfortable from the movement, looked at him with amusement—but saw Cui Ye’s face pale, his hands pressed firmly to the sides for support.
Meng Xizhao froze. Instinctively, he reached out his hand, only to realize he could do nothing.
……
The eunuch delivering the imperial edict was named Wan Huaixin.
He was no ordinary eunuch; he was the Deputy Director of the Imperial City Office, second in command under Qin Feimang.
His rank was just below Qin Feimang’s, and because Qin Feimang accompanied Emperor Tianshou daily, much of the office’s business fell to Wan Huaixin.
The fact that someone of his stature was sent to deliver the edict showed just how much Emperor Tianshou valued Bei’an Luo, his deadliest rival.
Used to barking orders at the Imperial City Office, Wan Huaixin grew somewhat arrogant. At first, he hesitated to push the prince, but after a full day and night with no response, he grew restless. If he returned without results, he would be in trouble.
The prince had remained in the Western Palace, guarded by his men. Wan Huaixin could not enter to see him.
Others might not realize it, but as the de facto head of the Imperial City Office, Wan Huaixin certainly did: of the ten days, the prince feigned illness for five, and of those five, three were entirely fake.
“Good heavens… now’s not the time to pretend!”
Convinced Cui Ye was faking, Wan Huaixin began causing a scene outside the Western Palace.
Even Emperor Tianshou was brought into the matter indirectly; if the prince refused the edict, he could not escape blame.
Relying on his position and the emperor’s orders, Wan Huaixin made a ruckus with impunity.
Zhang Shuogong’s forehead veins bulged, wishing he could tear him apart on the spot.
But Yu Fulan restrained him. After all, Wan Huaixin had influence with the emperor—better to offend a gentleman than a scoundrel, especially one of the worst kind.
Yu Fulan tried to reason with him gently, but Wan Huaixin, emboldened, knelt dramatically, shouting that he wished to see the Crown Prince, lamenting that he was blocked by “monsters and demons,” and begged for mercy.
The “monsters and demons”: Yu Fulan and Zhang Shuogong.
Both were stunned; never had they seen such shameless audacity.
Suddenly, the palace door swung open.
Wan Huaixin rejoiced. The other two were shocked. And they saw Meng Xizhao emerge.
Wait—look closer—it was Meng Xizhao, his face darkened with fury.
……
Meng Xizhao’s gaze locked on Wan Huaixin’s wrinkled face. He strode forward, and before anyone could react, he grabbed a slender plum vase hidden behind him and smashed it onto Wan Huaixin’s head.
He struck with full force. The vase shattered on impact. Wan Huaixin’s forehead bulged visibly, though his thick skin prevented bleeding.
Stunned, Wan Huaixin stared blankly at Meng Xizhao, momentarily forgetting who he was.
Meng Xizhao roared: “You filthy bastard!!”
Wan Huaixin: “…………”
You hit me and you still shout at me?!
Fortunately, Meng Xizhao didn’t know what he was thinking—otherwise, he might have said, “Yes, I’m shouting at you!”
“Your Highness is still recovering, and here you are, spouting nonsense! Do you want to worsen his condition?!” Meng Xizhao grabbed him by the collar. “Come here, you want to see? Fine, look!”
He tried to pull him—but couldn’t budge him.
Meng Xizhao: “…What is this eunuch made of, so heavy?”
Seeing his face strain, Yu Fulan stepped forward with others to help lift Wan Huaixin.
The previously hesitant guards, now emboldened, surged forward. Those aware that they were here to see the prince; others thinking they were taking Wan Huaixin to the slaughterhouse.
With them handling it, Meng Xizhao simply led the way. Reaching a point about three meters from Cui Ye, he stopped, kicked Wan Huaixin, and hissed: “Look! See for yourself!”
Wan Huaixin straightened, craning his neck. At this distance, he could even see the beads of sweat rolling down Cui Ye’s face.
Wan Huaixin had been working in the imperial palace for thirty years. He could tell a person’s condition at a glance. He had seen Cui Ye when he was just born, but he swore he had never seen the Crown Prince in such a state before—frankly, he looked as if he were already facing death.
Panic instantly gripped Wan Huaixin. Meng Xizhao observed his reaction, allowed himself a silent, cold smile, then directed the guards to drag Wan Huaixin out.
Once outside the palace gates, Meng Xizhao closed the door, turned, and slapped Wan Huaixin again, who was still flustered and disoriented.
Wan Huaixin: “…………”
“Are you done yet?!”
He had always been the one to strike others; when had it become his turn to be hit? Wan Huaixin could barely bear it. “Why are you still hitting me?!”
Meng Xizhao: “How dare you act arrogantly! If it weren’t for you causing all this chaos and disturbing His Highness, would I even bother coming out to hit you? Do you know what time it is? Who has the luxury to waste it on beating you?!”
Wan Huaixin: “……”
With that said, Meng Xizhao instantly reined in his fury, leaving only concern etched across his face. “This illness is fierce, and His Highness’s health declines by the day. If anything were to happen to him…”
He glanced at Wan Huaixin. “Deputy Director Wan, I think it’s best you do not return.”
Indeed.
It was well-known that if the emperor or crown prince met with an accident, especially death, everyone around would be executed without trial—from ministers to maidservants who did laundry. The principle was simple: kill first, see if the successor wishes to investigate later.
Luckily, this was a rule unique to the centralized power of the Central Plains. If the Xiongnu had such a custom, Meng Xizhao would have needed another strategy back then.
Wan Huaixin: “…………”
After enduring so many years to finally reach the rank of Deputy Director, he had no desire to die alongside the Crown Prince.
He strongly suspected Meng Xizhao was bluffing—but after seeing the prince’s condition with his own eyes, he dared not jump to conclusions or linger. If the prince’s illness were real, he needed to leave immediately to report it.
That night, Wan Huaixin hurried back to Tianfu, forgetting even to mention Bei’an Luo. Meng Xizhao watched him leave, snorted coldly, and returned to the palace.
＊
During the day, Cui Ye had indeed fallen asleep. Word of his illness spread quickly, but Meng Xizhao allowed no one inside, staying alone to watch over him.
Most had no objections—after all, everyone was busy. Caring for the sick was not something these rough men could help with.
Only Zhan Buxiu had investigated in detail. Learning that Cui Ye ate and slept in the same quarters as the prince, he shot a curious glance at the palace gate.
Meng Xizhao, of course, was unaware of his visit.
Sitting beside Cui Ye’s bed, he did not idle his hands, constantly tinkering with powders and liquids. Fortunately, Yu Fulan and Zhang Shuogong trusted him; otherwise, they might have suspected he intended to poison the prince again.
The medicine was most potent on the first day. Cui Ye struggled even to sleep, the pain too great. By the second day, it eased somewhat; he sometimes remained lucid, sometimes dozing, but always furrowing his brows.
On the third day, after a short nap, Cui Ye awoke. Outside, night had fallen. Meng Xizhao stopped preparing medicines and leaned half-reclined beside him, holding a damp handkerchief, body tilted toward him, eyes staring at the distant palace lamps, lost in thought.
Noticing Cui Ye stir, he returned his gaze.
Sitting up, he asked, “Do you want something to eat?”
Cui Ye shook his head. “What time is it now?”
Meng Xizhao replied, “Second watch.”
Hearing this, Cui Ye propped himself up. Meng Xizhao helped him, feeling the cold, damp fabric on his back and frowning.
Cui Ye seemed unaware, smiling faintly after sitting up. “I feel better. You should sleep; I’ll sit and read for a while.”
Meng Xizhao looked at him. “I won’t sleep. I can’t.”
Cui Ye frowned. “How can you not sleep? You haven’t rested for days.”
Leaning against the headboard, Meng Xizhao murmured, “Because I keep thinking… I can’t find the answer, so I can’t sleep.”
Cui Ye stared at him, puzzled. “What is it?”
Meng Xizhao heard the question but remained silent, only glancing at him.
Waiting longer seemed pointless. He thought, as Yu Fulan suggested, he might as well ask directly.
Whether he would receive a truthful answer… Meng Xizhao was unsure. All he knew was that every day without one left his heart closed, because he always felt Cui Ye held something back—that his sincerity was not fully genuine.
He admitted to himself he was being a bit excessive; after all, he could not share all his secrets with Cui Ye. Yet… he could not help it.
To him, his past had become just that—the past, unable to influence the present. But Cui Ye’s poisoning existed in the present, constantly, and though Meng Xizhao knew his worry was warranted, Cui Ye had never told him the so-called chronic illness was really poisoning.
In a relationship, the worst fear was a crack, and cracks often began with trivial matters. Meng Xizhao wanted to nurture their relationship and avoid leaving any hidden fissures.
Pressing his lips together, he finally spoke, “Cui Ye.”
Cui Ye paused.
The last time Meng Xizhao had called his name, it had been very serious; this time, he was likely about to ask something equally important.
Prepared mentally, Cui Ye was not so surprised when he heard Meng Xizhao’s question.
Meng Xizhao asked him, “Your so-called chronic illness… was it really a chronic illness?”
The atmosphere was utterly still. Cui Ye looked at Meng Xizhao, and Meng Xizhao met his gaze squarely—neither yielding nor flinching.
After a moment, Cui Ye gave a faint smile. “No, it wasn’t.”
Meng Xizhao received the answer but was momentarily stunned. He turned his head, feeling that this was enough.
“If it’s not, then it’s not. In any case, it can be cured.”
He didn’t want to press further. Yet Cui Ye didn’t let it go.
With a light laugh, he glanced at the side of Meng Xizhao’s face. “How long have you wanted to ask me this?”
Meng Xizhao: “……I mean, from the first time your ‘illness’ appeared until now, do you believe me?”
Cui Ye looked at him curiously. “Why wouldn’t I? My Erlang is the cleverest of all. To notice such a minor thing—what’s impossible about that?”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Seeing him fall silent again, Cui Ye turned upright and sighed softly. “Still, I am somewhat surprised—both that Erlang noticed so early, and that you actually wanted to know.”
Meng Xizhao, who had intended not to respond further, immediately turned to him. “Why would I not want to know?”
Cui Ye was silent for a moment, then said, “With your intelligence, you wouldn’t fail to guess that this matter carries great weight. Once involved, it could be deadly.”
Meng Xizhao understood. “So you thought I should just tacitly understand, and even knowing, not mention it to you?”
Cui Ye blinked, smiling in a self-deprecating way. “I measured the noble mind with a petty heart. Erlang cares about me far more than I imagined.”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
Irritated, he decided to ignore him.
In truth, Cui Ye was right—Meng Xizhao was exactly this kind of person. If he had no feelings for Cui Ye, he would never have asked these things. Cui Ye clearly understood him, yet not entirely.
Seeing Meng Xizhao’s pouty expression, Cui Ye found him difficult to soothe, so he changed the topic to divert his attention.
“Do you know how Consort Gan died back then?”
Meng Xizhao could not help but turn to look at him, stunned.
Often, the answer lies in the question itself.
Shock overtook Meng Xizhao. He struggled to speak, finally forcing out, “…You did it?”
Cui Ye tilted his head, studying him, then after a long pause, smiled and nodded. “Yes, I did.”