He meant to kill her?
The cold gleam of the dagger’s tip pierced straight into her sight, and Fu Ying’s mind went blank, her spine stiffening, a peal of thunder seeming to crash overhead.
Last December, on that night when she had nearly frozen to death, Wen Zhuo had given up everything to save her life, insisting again and again, almost madly, that she would not die.
Now, looking into those cold, exceptional eyes of his, she realized this was no idle threat.
Wen Zhuo, unleashing slaughter in a devout place of Buddhist worship within the imperial palace, disregarding palace regulations, under the law, this was a crime of the gravest disrespect.
He had granted her the right to leave her last words, this was also her final chance at survival.
Otherwise, she would truly end up like A Mei and A Ling, one more soul claimed by the blade in this empty Xianqing Hall.
Everything had changed since then, and his boiling intent to kill her would not fade in the slightest just because of what had happened between them years ago.
Xuexi’s figure seemed to dissolve before her eyes like mist, and in those tear-clouded pupils of hers, only the cold, unrestrained Prince of Wei of Great Yong remained reflected.
Fu Ying sniffed, wiping the tear tracks from her cheeks with a firm hand.
“Your Highness,” she said, meeting the razor-sharp blade tip, her voice ringing clear and firm, “if you kill this concubine, you will never learn the whereabouts of whoever ordered today’s assassination attempt.”
These words struck exactly what Wen Zhuo wanted to hear. Seeing her deliberately pause, he snapped coldly: “Go on.”
“Doesn’t Your Highness find it curious how assassins managed to slip into the imperial palace at all?”
Fu Ying steadied her mind and analyzed the matter methodically: “Before palace maids and guards are admitted to the palace, candidates undergo layer upon layer of personal investigation, household registries and family records across generations, all without exception, drawn up as a file by the Ministry of Internal Affairs. Not the slightest oversight is permitted.”
“How, then, did these two manage to slip past such strict scrutiny and enter the palace, secretly concealing weapons, to make an attempt on Your Highness’s life?”
Hearing this argument, the cold resolve in Wen Zhuo’s eyes seemed to waver slightly.
He, too, had already sensed that the origins of these two were far from ordinary.
Wen Zhuo despised anyone who sent assassins after his life, wishing he could tear their flesh and drink their blood.
He had endured the darkest moments of his life because of assassination attempts, and had lost the thing he treasured most in this world because of them.
But every assassin was a hired killer resigned to death, and none would ever betray the mastermind behind them after a failed attempt, this frustrated him beyond measure, leaving him no choice but to kill them brutally, venting the resentment in his heart.
Fu Ying steadied her nerves and continued: “This concubine has seen the faces of these two before, in Yunzhou. If Your Highness would spare this concubine’s life for now, I can offer clues. Given even the tip of an iceberg, a way can be found to break it open, in time, the full picture will surely emerge, and I can help Your Highness uncover the mastermind behind all this.”
There was a slight difference in accent between people of the Northern Di and people of Chang’an, and Wen Zhuo had already identified the two assassins as being from the Northern Di.
Over these many years, countless people had sought his life, and given the deep-seated grudge between him and the Northern Di, assassins from there made up nearly eighty percent of the attempts.
This assassination attempt would certainly not be the last simply because it had failed today, since these two had managed to infiltrate the Great Yong palace this time, there was surely a vast, powerful force behind them.
Fu Ying, being a Northern Di princess herself, would surely know the web of connections among the Northern Di people intimately.
Sparing her life, and using her to ferret out the masterminds hiding in the shadows, was not entirely out of the question.
“However—”
Wen Zhuo’s sword-like brow rose sharply, and he demanded coldly: “If I don’t kill you, how am I to know you’ll keep silent about what happened here today? If you carelessly let something slip, or give this prince away……”
He left the rest unsaid, his blade-sharp gaze fixed on Fu Ying.
She understood at once, and said gravely: “This concubine has three matters to put before Your Highness.”
Wen Zhuo’s eyes flickered slightly, gesturing for her to continue.
“First, I ask Your Highness to take this concubine into your household. You and I would then rise or fall together, and there would be no need to worry that this concubine might betray what happened today, this would also allow this concubine to devote herself fully to Your Highness’s service, in searching out the assassins.
“Second, this concubine was just assaulted by the Prince of Wu, and narrowly avoided being violated, escaping through a ruse and hiding in this hall. The Prince of Wu will surely not let this rest, I beg Your Highness to escort this concubine safely back to Chonghua Hall, to preserve my life.
“Third, Your Highness and this concubine are complete strangers, and this arrangement comes purely out of mutual benefit. It would require only the name of husband and wife, not the substance of it, Your Highness need only keep this concubine within your household. This concubine will never intrude upon Your Highness’s life in any way.”
“Ha—”
Hearing this well-ordered proposal from Fu Ying, Wen Zhuo let out a low, cold laugh, as though he had just heard the most absurd joke in the world.
“You currently have nothing to your name, your very survival uncertain from one day to the next, what standing do you have to bargain with this prince? And what makes you think this prince would go to such trouble to marry a mere hostage woman?”
Fu Ying did not shrink back, but raised her chin and met his gaze directly, her amber eyes unusually resolute.
“Because this concubine is the only person of Northern Di birth willing to help Your Highness.”
The corner of her lips curved upward, a smile that was self-mocking, powerless, and full of irony all at once.
“This concubine guesses that Your Highness has long grown weary of a life spent sleepless with worry over assassination attempts, walking on thin ice every day. The Northern Di people can only hate Your Highness to their bones, but this concubine, in order to survive, can no longer afford to care about such things.”
Fu Ying’s words struck straight at Wen Zhuo’s core, and even his usually impulsive, brutal temper cooled at once.
The dagger, gleaming with its cold light, gradually lowered.
Momentarily freed from mortal danger, the string that had been drawn tight in Fu Ying’s heart finally loosened, and she could not help but let out a long breath.
——Forgive me, A Mei, A Ling. I used you both.
Fu Ying cried out silently in her heart, her tear-filled eyes brimming with deep grief and guilt.
She could not die.
If she died, then the truth of her father’s death would sink to the bottom of the sea [1]sink to the bottom of the sea (shi chen da hai, 石沉大海) Idiom, to vanish without a trace or response, never to be resolved jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_3270238_1_1').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_3270238_1_1', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], });, its injustice never brought to light.
Right now, in order to survive, she was willing to do anything at all, even to live in the most unbearable, shameful way.
Wen Zhuo’s gaze lingered on her for a long while, the sinister edge in his eyes fading somewhat.
“You resemble someone this prince once knew. Only——”
His tone turned coldly abrupt: “You don’t compare to even a single strand of her hair.”
Hearing this, Fu Ying did not grow angry, only smiling helplessly.
The person Wen Zhuo referred to was herself, from a year ago, of this, she had no doubt.
But how could she, as she was now, possibly hold onto that same graceful, righteous spirit from back then?
If not for her life hanging by a thread, who would willingly scheme so calculatingly, weighing gains and losses over and over, to do something so far outside the bounds of propriety?
Wen Zhuo had gone from a man of pure, jade-like virtue to today’s violent tyrant, how could she, too, have escaped unscathed, holding fast to her original heart in this chaotic age where fate delighted in tormenting people?
Fu Ying lowered her lashes, a few crystalline tears clinging to her thick lashes, her beautiful peach-blossom eyes filled with despondency and grief.
Looking at her face, Wen Zhuo could not help but feel a pang of admiration.
Even though she had just shown such deep scheming, willing to abandon loyalty for gain, there was no denying that this woman possessed a beauty and bearing unmatched in this world.
His gaze drifted downward without meaning to, and seeing her open collar, he could not help but frown, tapping the wooden cane in his left hand against the floor.
“Fix your clothing at once. This prince has no wish to give anyone grounds for gossip.”
Only then did Fu Ying realize her collar had fallen wide open, and she was instantly flustered.
“My apologies. Please forgive this offense, Your Highness.”
She lowered her head and adjusted her clothing, and once she had fastened her undergarment, she discovered that the outer robe’s collar had been violently torn by the Prince of Wu, leaving her no choice but to hold it closed with one hand.
Recalling her earlier words, Wen Zhuo could not help but ask out of curiosity: “The Prince of Wu assaulted you, what scheme did you use to escape from him?”
That dissolute, unrestrained brother of his was always using his power and status to force himself on women, indulging in countless affairs.
Once the Prince of Wu had gotten what he wanted, it never took long before he cast those women aside, his conduct was truly worse than that of a beast.
For such a sanctimonious man to be defeated by the frail, delicate woman before him now was truly poetic justice, immensely satisfying.
Fu Ying’s ears turned visibly red, and she stammered somewhat, seeming greatly embarrassed.
“This concubine… kicked him in his lower body, and slipped away while he was down on the ground……”
“……”
Wen Zhuo, who had begun to feel some admiration for her, found his expression darkening instantly at these words, unable to stop himself from imagining that same unbearable pain visited upon his own body.
His thick brows knitted, and he said sharply: “Wait, if you’ve kicked him hard enough to leave him without heirs, this prince cannot protect you either.”
The Prince of Wu, dissolute and vile as he was, was still the son of a Noble Consort, deeply favored by the emperor, his power not to be underestimated.
If Fu Ying had maimed him, that would be a capital crime, and Wen Zhuo had absolutely no intention of wading into such murky waters.
Fu Ying grew flustered at once, her face flushing bright red with anxiety, and hurried to explain: “This concubine held back the force of the blow, it will only leave him temporarily unable to move. It won’t have damaged his……”
She hesitated for a long moment, and in the end still could not bring herself to say those two words outright, choosing instead a different phrasing: “It won’t have left him without heirs.”
Wen Zhuo was briefly at a loss for words, secretly marveling at how bold this woman was despite her delicate looks, striking exactly where it counts [2]striking exactly where it counts (da she da qi cun, 打蛇打七寸) Idiom, attack precisely at the opponent’s most vital weak point jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_3270238_1_2').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_3270238_1_2', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], });.
Even a man as sturdy as a mountain, kicked in that spot, would collapse to the ground and take a long while to recover.
His brow relaxed, and he looked up toward the window.
It was already afternoon, waves of heat rolling through the air, and from beneath the lush, dense branches came the ceaseless chirring of cicadas.
“Return to Chonghua Hall for now. This prince will make arrangements for what comes after.”
Receiving his affirmative answer, Fu Ying nodded gladly, relieved that she had finally won a round in her struggle against fate, having escaped the mortal danger posed by two princes in a single day.
She braced a hand against the screen and, with great difficulty, forced her leg to lift, trembling as she rose to her feet.
Having rested for a good while now, the pain in her left knee had finally eased somewhat from before.
Wen Zhuo lowered his eyes, his gaze falling on her stiff legs.
Somewhat embarrassed, Fu Ying explained: “This concubine took a hard fall entering the hall, I’m afraid I won’t be able to walk quickly.”
Wen Zhuo frowned slightly, thinking to himself that a woman who could fall just from walking was truly delicate beyond belief.
Seeing the slender woman before him hobbling along, struggling to move forward, the displeasure in his eyes faded away entirely.
It was fine enough if she could struggle along on her own, he had no wish to lower himself by carrying a woman through the palace in plain view, inviting unnecessary gossip.
Leaning on his cane, Wen Zhuo slowly left Xianqing Hall.
He tossed the dagger away with a flick of his wrist, and it traced an arc through the air.
The crisp clang of metal striking the ground marked the complete end of today’s bloody upheaval.
Fu Ying straightened her neck, her gaze restrained, and followed him forward without once looking back.
She could not bear to look again at those two bodies now cooling in the hall.
……
As the fifth prince, deeply favored by the emperor, Wen Zhuo had lived within the palace since birth, raised personally by the Empress, and had only left the palace once he came of age, naturally, he knew this vast Daming Palace like the back of his hand.
Wen Zhuo walked at a slow pace, and Fu Ying, steadying herself against whatever structure was within reach, found she could just keep pace with him, the two of them making their way forward together under the harsh afternoon sun.
Two quarter-hours later, they finally reached the long street.
A young man stood waiting at the southern end of the street, dressed in a silver robe embroidered with a beast pattern, a snow-white saber, Xuepo, at his waist, handsome and gentle in bearing, a paragon of noble bearing [3]a paragon of noble bearing (ru gui ru zhang, 如圭如璋) Idiom, a person of refined, noble character jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_3270238_1_3').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_3270238_1_3', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], });.
Upon seeing Wen Zhuo, the man bowed in greeting: “Your Highness, you’ve returned.”
Seeing his face, Fu Ying’s eyes went wide with disbelief, utterly astonished.
Jiang Yue!
How could he be here?
She remembered clearly the last time Jiang Yue had appeared, three months ago. At the time, with the Great Yong army bearing down on the Northern Di, he had shown himself as a shadow guard to escort her in her flight from the traveling palace.
Fu Ying studied him, her face full of confusion.
Why was he here in Daming Palace, and how had he become one of Wen Zhuo’s guards……
Wen Zhuo raised his hand slightly, gesturing for the man to rise, then took the saber Longya from his hands and fastened it at his own side.
Wen Zhuo glanced at Fu Ying, then gave the man a look.
Seeing her leaning against the wall, her legs trembling, breathing faintly from exhaustion, the man immediately understood Wen Zhuo’s meaning.
He approached Fu Ying and said gently: “Miss must be tired. Might I carry you?”
His voice, too, closely resembled Jiang Yue’s, but carried a bit more of a nasal quality, sounding deeper and richer.
Judging by appearance alone, she would never have been able to tell the two of them apart, their faces were entirely identical. It was only this slight difference in voice that let Fu Ying be certain he was not Jiang Yue.
She let out a breath of relief, grateful she had not spoken up first and mistaken him for someone else.
Having just heard the man offer to carry him, her, rather, Fu Ying hesitated a moment, glancing around at her surroundings.
Wen Zhuo stood beside her, his expression stern, and a few passing palace maids and eunuchs were bowing in greeting to them.
Fu Ying shook her head hurriedly.
She felt too embarrassed to engage in such an intimate gesture with a man in full public view.
Seeing her hesitation, the man’s brow relaxed, and he smiled faintly. “Then let this one carry miss on his back.”
Fu Ying truly did feel exhausted by now, her knee aching unbearably, longing for a moment’s rest.
Since he had offered her a way to accept gracefully, she no longer refused, and nodded.
Fu Ying asked him: “May I know your name, sir?”
“This one is Yun Chuan, one of His Highness’s personal guards. My name, too, was given to me by His Highness.”
Yun Chuan, another name for the River of Stars in the heavens, vast and flowing, rich with meaning.
It seemed that Wen Zhuo, like herself, favored elegant, poetic names when naming those in his service.
Yun Chuan turned around, preparing to crouch down and carry Fu Ying on his back.
“Stop right there, you shameless wretch!”
A furious, high-pitched curse rang out from behind them, startling the entire long street into echoing silence, scattering birds in every direction.
The three of them turned to look at once.
The Prince of Wu, supported by a personal attendant, was slowly walking toward them.
He glared at Fu Ying with blazing fury, his eyes bloodshot with hatred, as though he meant to tear her to a thousand pieces.
References[+]