In the original plot of Contending for the Nine Provinces, Pei Ji was the Sixth Prince of Great Zhou, and this position of Crown Prince originally should not have fallen to him.
It was simply because his mother, Consort Rong, had died blocking a blade for the emperor during a palace assassination attempt that the emperor felt both gratitude and guilt, prompting him to exceptionally elevate Pei Ji to the position of Crown Prince.
Therefore, Pei Ji’s position as Crown Prince was not completely secure, and he lacked capable ministers under his command. The struggle for succession among the five princes of Great Zhou was exceptionally fierce, which was why Pei Ji had been searching for a brilliant strategist—Peng Yu.
Peng Yu possessed remarkable strategic acumen, but due to his upright and unyielding personality, his official rank had always remained low. Falsely accused by corrupt officials, he was subsequently exiled to the borderlands by the emperor. Harboring deep disappointment toward Great Zhou, he seized an opportunity midway to flee and go into hiding.
Pei Ji had spent a full four years tracking him down, which ultimately allowed him to emerge victorious in the final struggle for the throne.
When consciousness gradually returned to him, Song Beiyao first caught the scent of a heavy medicinal brew. Beneath him was no longer the hard, withered straw of the dungeon, and a soft, substantial quilt was draped over his body.
Opening his eyes slowly, he caught sight of the cyan bed canopy overhead and the grey numbers in the lower-left corner of his vision: -195.
His physical condition was slightly better than it had been in the dungeon; it seemed that his final parting words had taken effect.
Song Beiyao had no interest in meddling with Pei Ji’s political career path for the throne, but when forced into a tight spot, it served as an excellent life-saving card. At the present moment, it was the third year of Pei Ji’s search for Peng Yu, and the battle for succession had already entered its white-hot stage. The magnitude of his desire to find this man measured the sheer weight of the bargaining chip Song Beiyao held in his hands.
This round, he had won.
“You’re awake.” The door was pushed open as Ling Shuang walked inside.
Subconsciously glancing toward the doorway, Song Beiyao realized that this room was not the Yanwennuan Pavilion where he had stayed previously. It was noticeably smaller, and the interior decor was extremely simple.
Ling Shuang walked over and sat down beside the bed. His fresh, youthful face looked considerably more haggard, carrying clear traces of annoyance.
“What’s wrong?” Song Beiyao asked with a smile in his voice.
“That Pei Ji is simply the worst kind of scoundrel,” Ling Shuang vented all at once, spilling his words like beans pouring from a jar. “Yesterday, when he let you out, I was happy for a moment, but I didn’t expect him to lock both of us directly into this rundown courtyard while posting several guards to watch us. There’s only this single room in the entire courtyard, and with weather this freezing, he didn’t even provide any charcoal. Last night you slept on the bed while I slept in the chair, and I nearly froze to death!” As he spoke, he even sniffled.
Staring at him for a moment, Song Beiyao let out a chuckle from the back of his throat.
Glar-ing at Song Beiyao, Ling Shuang noticed that despite this person’s pale complexion, the corners of his eyes curved upward as he smiled, looking exceptionally striking. Taken aback once more, he abruptly snapped his gaze away: “What are you laughing at!”
“Nothing.” Supporting himself with his hands, Song Beiyao propped himself up into a half-sitting position on the couch, unable to suppress his inner wonder: how on earth could someone who couldn’t hide his emotions so easily be sent to execute a spy mission?
“Ling Shuang, how old are you?” He looked at Ling Shuang with a smiling gaze.
“Sixteen. I’ll be seventeen in two months,” Ling Shuang answered honestly, wrinkling his nose right after. “Wait, why am I telling you this?!”
Song Beiyao raised an eyebrow slightly. Ling Shuang’s temperament actually bore a resemblance to Jiang Ran’s, which strangely gave him a fleeting sense of familiarity in this unfamiliar world.
His gaze drifted to the low table beside the bed, where a bowl of pitch-black medicinal broth was emitting curls of white steam, accompanied by a few candies placed right beside the bowl. A wave of softness stirred in Song Beiyao’s heart.
“You can share the bed with me tonight,” he said gently.
“I…” Ling Shuang glanced a few times at the bed and sneezed in disdain, “Such a small bed, I’m not going to squeeze in with you.”
Song Beiyao chuckled twice: “Then I’ll get out of bed right now and let you lie down for a bit. You can take the bed tonight, and I’ll take the chair.”
Ling Shuang reached out and shoved him back down impatiently, “You’d better focus on recovering properly instead of tossing yourself around. Who knows what kind of pill you took to suppress your martial arts, but the side effects are so severe—coughing and vomiting blood like this, anyone passing by would think you didn’t have many days left to live!”
Song Beiyao blinked at him: “Alright, I’ll listen to you.”
Ling Shuang was momentarily stunned once more. The person before him, clad in white underclothes with long, raven hair draped softly across his shoulders, possessed a complexion set off as white as snow and lustrous as jade. His eyes were so bright, and when he looked at someone, he appeared both gentle and… and possessed an indescribable quality, drawing people in involuntarily like a whirlpool.
No wonder Zhao had been in such a rush to arrange a political marriage and plant this person beside Pei Ji.
Hastily averting his gaze, Ling Shuang muttered in a muffled voice, “Besides, Pei Ji’s people are keeping a constant eye on your condition; by now, he probably already knows you’re awake.”
“Understood, I know.”
Song Beiyao knew inwardly that Pei Ji had spared his life solely because he coveted Peng Yu’s whereabouts. Barring any accidents, this man would appear today. The most crucial task right now was to dispel any remaining doubts Pei Ji held regarding his identity.
“I’ve heard that the guards by Pei Ji’s side are first-rate experts. I wonder how many moves you could exchange with them,” Song Beiyao probed softly in a light tone.
Instantly, Ling Shuang’s brows shot up as a look of utter disdain filled his eyes: “You should be asking whether they can survive even a single move under my hands.”
“If a dozen or so guards were to surround and attack you, could you still make a clean getaway?” Song Beiyao’s eyes danced with deeper amusement.
“Naturally. Without that little bit of skill, how could I survive out there?” The moment Ling Shuang finished speaking, he realized something was amiss and glared at Song Beiyao, “Why would a dozen guards surround and attack me?! Why are you asking this?!”
“I want to ask you for a favor,” Song Beiyao’s outer eye corners lifted slightly as he smiled radiantly, “To be exact, to help us.”
“What favor?”
“I want you to assassinate Pei Ji.”
“Ah???”
Just as Ling Shuang had predicted, night had barely fallen when Pei Ji arrived.
When Pei Ji stepped into the room, Song Beiyao was half-reclining on the bed, flipping through a book in his hands. He was reading with intense concentration, frowning from time to time or bringing a hand up to muffle a few soft coughs, as though completely unaware that someone had entered.
The candlelight inside the room was not particularly bright, casting a soft, warm yellow glow across that area, lending the person on the bed a hazy, ethereal beauty.
Pei Ji’s gaze locked in place for a fraction of a second. He had seen too many beauties, but Song Beiyao’s appearance was the most extraordinary of all. Beyond that, his poise and unique temperament were top-tier across the entire continent of the Nine Provinces. Yet, his expression cleared instantly as he stated coldly in a detached tone, “This king spared your life not for you to indulge in leisurely relaxation here.”
The fingertip turning the page paused. Lifting his gaze to look at Pei Ji, Song Beiyao wore an expression mixed with mild surprise, bewilderment, and dismay as if suddenly interrupted, before quickly forcing himself to regain his composure and offering a pale smile: “Your Royal Highness, I haven’t done anything wrong. Why can’t I enjoy a moment of leisure?”
Pei Ji narrowed his eyes slightly. The youth’s expression was entirely natural, revealing not the slightest trace of a flaw. If this wasn’t a genuine reaction, then this person’s disguise capabilities were terrifyingly formidable.
Thus far, he had interrogated countless assassins and spies; no matter how formidable they were, there always came a time when they broke down and exposed themselves. This time, he needed a bit more patience to quietly spar with his prey, awaiting the right opportunity to tear away his true mask.
“You should know why this king is here.” Standing at a distance slightly removed from the bed, Pei Ji did not approach any closer.
His gaze resembled that of a wolf calm, ruthless, restrained, and detached, as though he thoroughly comprehended every single move of his prey.
Song Beiyao had worked in the entertainment industry for four or five years and encountered all sorts of people, yet he had never met anyone quite like Pei Ji. Pei Ji was a true top-tier authority figure, wielding not only endless power but also holding absolute sway over the lives and deaths of others.
If possible, Song Beiyao would prefer to avoid dealing with such a person altogether.
Therefore, this time, he required greater patience and heightened vigilance to extract a piece of meat from the jaws of this wolf.
The grey numbers in the bottom-left corner dropped once more to -196. Automatic deductions occurred every morning and evening, meaning adding or subtracting 1 point day by day was definitely not a sustainable long-term solution.
Lowering his lashes without a sound, Song Beiyao got up from the bed and walked over to Pei Ji.
The man stood a full head taller than him, radiating the chill of the outdoor ice and snow. Possessing a rugged, athletic, and robust physique, he clearly practiced martial arts long-term, maintaining a nimble and upright posture that carried the commanding aura of a border general.
Under the scrutiny of those cold eyes, Song Beiyao could clearly feel Pei Ji’s unmasked sense of oppression, razor-sharp killing intent, and probing hostility permeating every direction.
Under such overwhelming pressure, very few people could maintain their composure.
Pei Ji’s frigid gaze stared fixedly at Song Beiyao. Before him, people either surrendered or met their end, but this person was different.
A faint smile consistently lingered at the corners of Song Beiyao’s lips, his brows and eyes as gentle as water while his complexion maintained a precisely measured pale fragility. Bowing gracefully in a light salute, he spoke slowly and methodically: “In Zhao, those who become husband and wife should drink the wedding wine together. Since Your Royal Highness is now my husband, we might as well share this cup of wine today to clear up the misunderstandings between us over the past two days.”
Gesturing with his hand, he pointed toward a flask of wine placed on the table.
Pei Ji let out a cold snort: “Song Beiyao, this king has no time to play these games with you. Now you have two choices: reveal Peng Yu’s whereabouts, or return to the dungeon. This king doesn’t mind letting you keep a Gu worm company for fun.”
Acting as though he were completely unfazed by those threatening words, Song Beiyao walked over to the table and poured wine into two cups.
Holding one cup in his left hand and another in his right, he walked back to Pei Ji, extended a cup toward him, and smiled gently, “Your Highness, let’s drink the wedding wine before discussing these matters.”
Without even glancing at the wine, Pei Ji swept his palm outward and knocked it over: “This political marriage was not my wish; this king will never treat you as a wife, let alone drink with you.”
During that instantaneous movement, Song Beiyao’s fingertip brushed against the back of Pei Ji’s hand, causing the numbers in the bottom-left corner to immediately shift to -195.
Curving his lips ever so slightly, he quickly adopted an expression of deep hurt. Just as he was about to speak, a dark shadow suddenly shattered through the window holding a sharpened sword, stabbing straight toward Pei Ji’s back.
Pei Ji reacted with lightning speed, turning around to counterattack, but Song Beiyao had already anticipated the move, instantly embracing him to pivot his body while letting out a startled cry: “Your Highness, watch out!!”
The sharp blade pierced directly through his left rear shoulder, leaving Song Beiyao collapsing limply into Pei Ji’s arms. The black-clad assassin pulled the sword free, and several guards drawn by the commotion arrived just in time. Realizing the unfavorable situation, the assassin leaped agilely outward and vanished into the dark night.
As the body in his arms began to slide downward, Pei Ji stood frozen for a split second before reaching out to support him. Possessing supreme martial arts, dealing with such an assassination attempt posed no challenge whatsoever; yet this visibly frail youth had thrown himself in the way to block a sword for him without a second thought for his own life.
Warm blood immediately gushed freely from the wound on Song Beiyao’s left shoulder. Upon seeing this, a guard dropped to his knees and asked anxiously, “Your Highness, shall we summon Physician Tan?”
Lowering his gaze in silence, Pei Ji watched the youth in his arms: his brows were tightly furrowed, his eyes half-closed, and his raven-like eyelashes trembled uncontrollably from pain. His lips were completely drained of color, and large beads of cold sweat rolled down his forehead.
“Why do this?” Pei Ji’s voice was low and deep.
Hurting so intensely that his breathing turned ragged, Song Beiyao gazed deeply up at Pei Ji, his pale fingers clutching desperately at the fabric of the man’s sleeve: “Because… I didn’t want Your Highness to be in danger.”
Pei Ji’s pitch-black eyes stared unwaveringly at Song Beiyao, his palm continuously moistened by the warm, flowing blood.
He had no desire to dissect the underlying meaning behind those words; instead, he simply stated, “Song Beiyao, tell this king where Peng Yu is, and this king will summon someone to save you.”
The youth forced out a bitterly strained smile: “It’s fine… isn’t it great if Your Highness doesn’t save me? You suspect I’m an assassin, so if I die like this, I won’t be a nuisance to Your Highness anymore, and there will be an explanation to give back in Zhao.”
The moment the final syllable left his lips, his eyes closed powerlessly, and his hand dropped limply to his side.
At that exact instant, for reasons unknown, Pei Ji was reminded of his own imperial concubine mother that gentle, soft-hearted woman who would feel distressed even upon seeing a dead bird on ordinary days. When she unflinchingly blocked a blade for the emperor and died, what on earth had been going through her mind?
Wasn’t she afraid?
After a brief pause, his throat bobbed up and down as he issued a deep command to the guard: “Go, summon Tan Tian here.”