An Lanxin watched the Empress leave with venomous resentment, her entire body trembling with rage.
“Your Highness, this…” a nearby maid hesitated, trying to speak.
An Lanxin slapped her without warning, sending the girl sprawling to the ground. “Useless trash!” she spat.
The Murong family… all of them deserved to die.
Last time, her brother’s leg had been broken by Prince Ye simply because she had caused Murong Qiuyun a minor sprain. And now the Empress dared to slap her? And that Murong Qiufeng—let’s see if she really has the power to bewitch the Emperor. “Get the carriage. We’re going to Zhaohua Palace,” she ordered.
Fueled by anger, An Lanxin stormed toward Zhaohua Palace, only to find the doors firmly shut in her face. The humiliation only added fuel to the fire.
She returned to her own quarters, seething with rage. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. Finally, unable to suppress her fury any longer, a dark plan formed in her mind. “Summon Imperial Physician Wang,” she commanded.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Greetings, Noble Consort An. May Your Highness live long and well,” said an elderly imperial physician as he entered, clutching his medicine box and kneeling before her. His body quaked with fear; after all, he’d suffered greatly under An Lanxin’s tyranny over the past year. No one in the Imperial Medical Bureau dared to cross her.
“Rise,” she said lazily, reclining on a chaise lounge and idly twirling a small paper packet between her fingers.
“Thank you, Your Highness. How may this humble servant be of service?”
“Service?” An Lanxin sneered. “Tell me, Physician Wang, has Zhaohua Palace ordered any medicinal concoctions recently?”
The physician hesitated, then answered carefully, “Yes, Your Highness. Prince Ye ordered medicinal dishes to be prepared regularly these past two days. The medical storeroom was practically taken over for it yesterday.”
“Excellent,” she purred, eyes glinting with malice. “Now, Physician Wang, I have a task for you. If you succeed, I will reward you handsomely—perhaps even secure an official position for your grandson. If you fail…”
“What… what does Your Highness command?” the physician stammered, breaking into a cold sweat.
She flicked the packet toward him. It landed at his feet. “Add this powder to the medicinal dishes sent to Zhaohua Palace.”
The physician’s face turned ashen. He looked up, eyes wide with horror. “But, Your Highness… those dishes are for Prince Ye…”
“I know,” she said coldly. “Relax. It’s not poison. It’s colorless and tasteless; no one will notice. Besides, the effects take time to manifest. You’ve done this before—just treat it like usual.”
“But…”
“No ‘but’s,” she snapped. “Do it, or don’t. Decide now.”
The old man’s hands trembled violently as he stared at the packet, his heart at war with his conscience. After a long, agonizing pause, he clenched his jaw and picked it up with trembling fingers. “I will do as Your Highness commands. Please… spare my family. My life is yours to take.”
“Hmph. What would I want with your miserable life?” She waved dismissively. “Just do as you’re told, and your family will be fine. Now leave. No need to report back.”
The physician bowed deeply and left, his soul weighed down by despair. The powder in his hand felt like a death sentence for his family.
Meanwhile, in Zhaohua Palace, Murong Qiufeng sat across from Shangguan Ye, discussing the tense situation between Yan and Zhao. Given the current circumstances, war seemed inevitable unless they could stop Zhao Xiru from further meddling.
“How can you be certain Zhao Xiru will come to the palace?” Qiufeng asked, puzzled by Ye’s confident prediction.
“You’ll see,” Ye said cryptically. “But before that, there’s something else.”
“What is it?”
“Zhao Xiru hasn’t remained hidden this long without help. Your brother might just be a decoy,” Ye said, tapping a list of names on the table.
“Could it be the Du Gu family?” Qiufeng frowned. Two of the bodies found at the Xiang Mansion bore the signature tattoos of Du Gu’s private assassins. If Du Gu was compromised, the threat was far greater than they’d realized.
“Possibly. But I suspect there’s an even deeper hand behind this,” Ye said, eyes glinting.
Qiufeng followed his gaze to the list of suspects. She couldn’t help but admire his meticulousness. He had only recently returned to politics, yet had already mapped out the intricate web of potential traitors.
“I almost forgot,” Ye said, snapping his fingers. “I have two people for you to meet.”
At his signal, two figures leapt in from the courtyard.
“Greetings, Your Highness,” they said in unison, kneeling.
Qiufeng’s eyes widened with curiosity. Anyone Ye handpicked was sure to be extraordinary.
The first figure wore a white tunic under a crimson outer robe. His long black hair cascaded freely down his back, with two strands framing his face, and a ruby hairpin with dangling jade beads perched jauntily atop his head. His attire was oddly feminine, yet his sharp, chiseled features were unmistakably masculine, creating a strange but compelling contrast.
The second figure, dressed in a yellow outfit adorned with chrysanthemum patterns, was slender and sported a cherubic, childlike face.
“From now on, these two will follow your orders,” Ye said. “They are skilled and trustworthy.”
“Rise,” Qiufeng said, nodding at them. “I already have Ah Si and Youxiang; why add more?”
“Ah Si excels at reconnaissance and Youxiang is an expert in poisons,” Ye explained. “But these two bring different strengths: Chiyan here is a master of disguise and counter-hypnosis, while Baihuan’s martial skills are unmatched.”
“Wait,” Qiufeng interjected, eyes narrowing. “Chiyan? Wasn’t it you who broke Zhao Xiru’s hypnotic influence last time?”
The crimson-clad man smiled faintly, giving her a sidelong glance. “Yes, that was me,” he confirmed.
Qiufeng arched a brow. It seemed this battle was about to become far more interesting.
