“Miss is certainly punctual.”
The Prince of Wu stepped into the side hall, shutting the door firmly behind him.
The sound of the door frame slamming struck hard against Fu Ying’s heart. With her only way out now blocked, she instinctively flinched.
Watching the Prince of Wu slowly close in, and mindful of her station, Fu Ying lowered her head and bowed to him: “This concubine greets Your Highness. May Your Highness enjoy good fortune.”
The Prince of Wu commanded: “Raise your head.”
Reluctant as she was, she had no choice but to comply, lifting her chin, forced to look directly at the man before her.
Fu Ying’s beauty was breathtaking.
Her eyes were like peach blossoms, bright as water, her brows like willow leaves, light as the wind. Her lotus-like face was delicately proportioned, her rosy lips as lush and tender as flower petals after rain. Even with only the lightest touch of makeup, she looked like an immortal maiden stepped straight out of poetry and painting.
Anyone who had ever seen the Northern Di’s Princess Huaining would praise her as a peerless beauty of surpassing grace.
Now, seeing her, it was clear this was no mere rumor.
Fu Ying met the Prince of Wu’s greedy gaze without flinching, and instead of showing weakness, projected a cool, unyielding air.
The Prince of Wu was momentarily struck speechless, a flicker passing through his deep-set eyes before the corner of his mouth curled upward.
Every woman in his household, added all together, could not match this single face of hers, radiant beyond measure.
Today, he was determined to make this world-toppling beauty his own.
The Prince of Wu bent down and, with a sudden motion, swept Fu Ying up into his arms.
Her slender body, lifted with great force, lost its balance and fell against him.
“Ngh—Your Highness, what… what are you doing?”
Fu Ying’s head spun for an instant, and coming into contact with an unfamiliar man, she nearly instinctively struggled with all four limbs, shoving at him in a panic, all thought of a woman’s composure and dignity abandoned.
The Prince of Wu, seeming not to feel her thrashing at all, strode into the rear chamber and, without the slightest mercy, flung her down onto the large bed.
Fu Ying landed hard, her head momentarily dazed, feeling as though all her internal organs had shifted out of place.
“What am I doing? Did your sister never mention to you how she humbled herself before me, striking poses to please me, begging for my favor?”
His eyes were deep and dark, his tone icy in the extreme: “Unfortunately, she was all show and no substance, thoroughly boring, this prince has already grown tired of her. That you can take her place in serving me is a tremendous stroke of fortune for you. If you please this prince well enough, perhaps I’ll even grant you a lifetime of wealth and glory.”
Words so laced with humiliation were unbearable to hear, and Fu Ying’s brow trembled as she bit down hard on her lip until droplets of blood seeped through.
“No… I have no wish to submit myself to you.”
“That is not for you to decide. Better to unclench your teeth and save your strength to serve this prince properly.”
The Prince of Wu raised his hand, gently stroking her cherry-red lips, savoring the soft warmth against his fingertips.
He tilted her chin up, bent down, and kissed her plump, powdered earlobe closely, even letting the tip of his tongue brush against it.
“Hiss—don’t touch me!”
Feeling the man’s thick, cloying breath against her ear, Fu Ying sucked in a sharp breath, forcibly suppressing the churning revulsion in her stomach, and hurriedly shrank away.
The Prince of Wu clamped a hand down on her shoulder, holding her in place.
He sneered with contempt, looking down at her from above. “And that’s not all, this prince will also report to the emperor and have you brought into my household as a concubine, waiting on my bed every single day. With such peerless beauty, how could this prince be satisfied without claiming you for himself?”
Fu Ying’s body trembled, her eyes darkening.
To him, a woman was nothing more than an object to vent his desires upon, stripped of all dignity and humanity.
An unprecedented wave of hatred surged up, engulfing her completely.
The Prince of Wu discarded every pretense of noble refinement, roughly yanking off her waist sash and tearing open the collar of her gossamer-thin robe.
His gaze burned with predatory intent as he took in her snow-white skin, breathing in the faint fragrance around her, a wave of exhilaration churning in his heart.
Suddenly, a slender hand pressed over the back of his own, offering faint resistance, stopping his rough advance.
“Your Highness, I’ll undress myself.”
Fu Ying looked as though she had given up any struggle entirely, her eyes glinting with tears like scattered starlight.
“If this concubine were to return to Chonghua Hall in torn, messy robes, it would draw unwanted attention, and might well damage Your Highness’s good reputation.”
Her earlier defiance and dignity seemed to wither before him, like a banana leaf beaten down by rain.
The Prince of Wu was caught off guard for a moment, not expecting her to yield to him so quickly.
“Now that’s more like it.”
He released his grip, sneering as he gave her tender cheek a light pat, his voice growing hoarse, his breathing coarse and heavy.
Fu Ying slowly pulled open the left side of her collar, closed her eyes, and steeling herself, undid the thin silk undergarment beneath.
With the fabric no longer covering her, the silk belly wrap worn innermost, along with a large expanse of skin, was exposed.
Her skin was milk-white, smooth and delicate, clearly that of someone raised in pampered luxury, a golden branch and precious leaf of noble birth.
The Prince of Wu’s eyes widened, drinking in the sight with unrestrained desire, and could not help but slowly reach out his hand, moving toward her body.
In the next instant, an overwhelming, searing pain drained the strength from his entire body, as though every meridian in him had been ripped out at once, and his massive frame crashed heavily to the floor.
The Prince of Wu’s face went deathly pale, his features twisted in agony, veins bulging visibly at his temples, his back curling in on itself like a shrimp.
“How dare you… you……”
Unable to bear this unprecedented, searing pain, cold sweat poured off him, his lips trembling so violently he could not string together a coherent sentence.
This lowly hostage woman had dared, in the very moment he had let his guard down completely, to drive a kick straight into his most vulnerable spot.
As though granted a pardon, Fu Ying scrambled up off the bed in a panic, her palms sweating from the tension.
While undressing a moment ago, she had never stopped thinking through how to save herself and escape.
She had brought the dagger, but stabbing the Prince of Wu was absolutely out of the question.
Harming a member of the imperial family was a grave crime, all ten of them would be unable to escape execution.
The most vulnerable spot was the weakest point on a man’s body, better to disable him first, then flee the hall herself and seek shelter afterward.
“Forgive me, Your Highness.”
While the Prince of Wu was still down and had not yet recovered, Fu Ying, with no time to straighten her clothes, hurriedly leapt off the bed and fled in a panic.
She no longer remembered the way she had come, only that Chenghuan Hall stood in a remote, secluded part of Daming Palace, with no one else around.
Fu Ying ran wherever her feet took her, stumbling and staggering past several palace buildings, cutting through long corridors, running blindly forward.
For now, she could only duck into some deserted hall to hide, thinking of a plan later, surely the Prince of Wu would have no way of finding her hiding place precisely.
“Huff—huff—”
Having run for a long while, her strength gradually gave out, and she began gasping for breath.
Feeling that she had gotten quite far from Chenghuan Hall, she pushed open the door of the hall before her and, with effort, shut the heavy door behind her.
The beams and ceiling of the hall inside were carved with exquisite dragons, phoenixes, and flowers, and at the most prominent spot in the hall stood a massive statue of Guanyin carved from white jade.
By the look of it, this hall was a place of Buddhist worship dedicated to Guanyin.
Fu Ying walked further in, but tripped over something without noticing, her knee slamming hard into the floor.
“Ngh—”
The pain blurred her eyes with tears, and gritting her teeth, she lay on her side on the floor, unable for a moment to ease the searing pain radiating from her kneecap.
“Who’s there?!”
Hearing a sharply alert challenge from ahead, Fu Ying looked up.
A palace maid emerged from behind curtains in the corner, followed by a sword-bearing guard.
Seeing her messy clothing, her breath ragged, looking utterly helpless and bedraggled, the two immediately let their guard down.
Fu Ying looked at the two of them, her mind growing a little dazed, their faces looked so familiar……
“It’s Her Highness the Princess!”
The palace maid was the first to recognize Fu Ying, kneeling halfway before her, saying with excitement: “It’s me, A Mei.”
A Mei……
Fu Ying recognized her at once, and disregarding the pain, hurriedly pushed herself upright, gripping the woman’s hand tight, and turning to the guard said: “Then you must be A Ling. Why are you both in Chang’an?”
A Mei and A Ling had both been attendants protecting Shang Jue, and now, somehow, were disguised as a Daming Palace maid and guard.
When Shang Jue had been naming them, Fu Ying had happened to come by, smiling, to play with him, and so their names had followed hers with the character “mu” (wood).
A Ling’s expression grew grave, and he said in a low voice: “Your Highness, the situation is urgent, it’s a long story. We have important business at hand. Could you hide yourself for now? Once A Mei and I complete our task, we will get you out of this cage!”
Seeing how anxious the two of them looked, Fu Ying could only suppress her joy and nod.
Having fallen so hard a moment ago and injured herself badly, Fu Ying was temporarily unable to walk. The two of them, one on each side, supported her and brought her behind the ink-wash screen on the left side of the main hall.
A Mei helped her sit down, then reminded her once more: “Your Highness, remember, do not make a single sound, no matter what!”
Fu Ying nodded, her breath quickening despite herself.
Although she had no idea what was about to happen, judging from these preparations, some bloody clash was surely about to unfold.
A Mei stepped out from behind the screen, her expression no longer as gentle as before, her face suddenly turning sharp and severe.
A Ling gripped the blade at his waist, every nerve on edge as he scanned the surrounding air for danger.
Fu Ying sat behind the screen, legs curled up, silently enduring the throbbing pain in her knee.
“Crash—”
The door of Xianqing Hall was suddenly flung open, releasing a loud, resounding boom.
A tall figure appeared abruptly in the doorway.
His broad shoulders blocked out most of the harsh afternoon sun, casting a shadow over the white jade statue of Guanyin, blotting out the light that had fallen on A Mei and A Ling.
Around the newcomer seemed to hang an invisible, powerful aura, making everyone present feel an overwhelming sense of pressure, even finding it hard to breathe.
The hall fell instantly into deathly silence. Fu Ying, hiding behind the screen, even covered her mouth with her hand, forcing down the sound of her own breathing.
This uninvited visitor was a young man, wearing a golden crown adorned with kingfisher feathers, dressed in court robes of purple-and-gold brocade patterned with a crimson phoenix, his bearing extraordinary, bold and commanding.
His features were extremely handsome, his nose bridge high and straight, his brow bones deep-set, a pair of striking phoenix eyes captivating beyond words, his light bronze skin proclaiming resolve and wildness, though his brow and eyes carried a deep, sinister cunning.
A Ling gave a soft sneer: “Prince of Wei, coming alone to your death, you have quite some nerve.”
Hearing A Ling’s provocation, a chillingly cold sneer curled at the corner of Wen Zhuo’s lips. Leaning on his cane, he slowly stepped over the threshold and into the hall.
A Ling took a large step forward, drawing his blade and pointing it directly at Wen Zhuo, poised to strike.
A Mei, too, drew a snake-patterned dagger from her sleeve, the sharp blade sliding free, crisp and clean.
“Who sent you here?”
Wen Zhuo spoke slowly, questioning him word by word, his tone carrying a force that struck fear into the heart.
In the depths of his ink-black pupils seemed to lurk a bottomless abyss, sinister and merciless, cold to the utmost extreme.
A Mei and A Ling, well-trained attendants that they were, faced Wen Zhuo, who radiated the aura of a fierce beast, with sharp, hook-like gazes, showing not the slightest trace of cowardice.
“Why would a man about to die need to know!”
With that, A Ling raised his blade with both hands and charged at Wen Zhuo, thrusting straight for his heart.
The attack came with such speed it was like a mighty eagle tearing through the sky, drawing a sharp, shrieking whistle from the air around it.