**“Boom—”**
Wild winds swept across the earth as black clouds pressed down upon the capital. A streak of violet lightning split the heavens, followed by a deafening thunderclap that set the golden bells hanging from the palace eaves trembling with a low hum.
The rain had yet to fall, but the air already carried the scent of scorched earth and damp soil.
“Your Highness! Your Highness, you mustn’t go!”
The palace steps were crowded with kneeling servants. The old eunuch prostrated himself on the ground, forehead pressed against the bricks, his voice shaking.
“Please, Your Highness, follow this old servant through the secret passage and leave the capital before disaster strikes!”
At the top of the steps stood a woman dressed in a crimson palace robe embroidered with golden peonies. Her back was straight, her beauty dazzling, and her catlike eyes tilted slightly upward, blazing with fury.
“Get out of my way! Xie Yun hasn’t even reached the palace gates yet, and all of you are already terrified, running around with your tails tucked between your legs! I want to ask that ungrateful wretch myself whether he fed his conscience to the dogs!”
The moment the urgent report arrived, her mind had gone blank.
Xie Yun had rebelled.
Using the excuse of suppressing bandits to leave the capital, he had secretly rallied the former troops of the Cavalry General and coordinated with allies inside the city, marching straight toward the imperial palace.
That Xie Yun—the one raised within the palace since childhood, who called her brother his brother and had enjoyed every possible favor—had actually chosen to rebel while the Emperor lay gravely ill.
Her chest heaved violently as her nails dug deep into her palms.
Fifteen years ago, the Cavalry General and his wife, General Yunhui, had died together on the battlefield.
Emperor Jiaping and the Cavalry General had once been close friends in their youth. After mourning their deaths, the Emperor brought their only child, Xie Yun, into the palace and granted him honors equal to those of a prince.
In court, he stood second only to the Emperor himself.
What more could he possibly want?
Though she had never liked Xie Yun and had spent years clashing with him, she had never imagined they would one day stand on opposite sides of drawn blades.
“If Your Highness insists on going, then step over this old servant’s corpse first!” the eunuch cried out, red-faced and trembling.
The instant the words left his mouth, he regretted them.
Such threats might stop others.
But this was Princess Kangle—there was nothing she dared not do.
Si Huahuan lowered her eyes to look at Zhang Gonggong, the eunuch who had served beside her father for forty years. A mocking smile curled at her lips as she stepped forward—
And simply walked around him.
Zhang Gonggong sighed deeply, scrambling to his feet in distress. Straightening his crooked official hat, he waved for the hundred Imperial Guards behind him to follow as they hurried after her.
The sound of galloping horses thundered closer and closer, mixed with the metallic clash of armor.
Standing before the palace gates, Si Huahuan watched as a black tide of soldiers surged forward.
At their head rode a man clad in silver armor and a black cloak, charging at full speed. Wind whipped his cloak behind him, the mist no longer able to conceal the face she knew all too well.
Si Huahuan’s breath caught in her chest.
Xie Yun.
The moment he saw the crimson figure standing before the gates, he jerked hard on the reins.
The warhorse reared with a shrill neigh, stopping just a few paces from her.
Dust swirled between them as their eyes met. Si Huahuan clenched her fists within her sleeves.
“What are you doing here?” he shouted from horseback.
“Xie Yun, stop pretending!”
Si Huahuan sneered coldly, utterly fearless as she lifted her chin to glare at him.
“What a fine performance. My father truly raised a tiger that would one day devour him. Fooled by you for fifteen years! How could the Cavalry General have fathered something as hypocritical and heartless as you?”
Xie Yun’s brows knitted tightly together. He drew a deep breath.
“We’ll talk about this later. I don’t have time to argue with you.”
“No time?” She laughed in fury, cutting him off sharply, her voice echoing across the empty palace square. “In such a hurry to murder the emperor and seize the throne?”
“Si Huahuan, you don’t understand—”
“No, I don’t!” she snapped. “I don’t understand why you’d commit such a vile act of ingratitude! My father treated you like his own son for twenty-three years, gave you rank and military power—and this is how you repay him? Leading troops to force your way into the palace? You treacherous wolf!”
Silence fell over the square, broken only by the howling wind.
Xie Yun stared at her reddened eyes, his fingers tightening around the reins until his knuckles turned white.
Just as he was about to speak, his gaze suddenly sharpened past her shoulder. His pupils contracted violently—
A flash of cold light gleamed atop the palace wall.
Seeing the sudden change in his expression, Si Huahuan assumed she had struck his sore spot.
“Ha! History books will remember clearly that you, Xie Yun, are a beast devoid of humanity, cruel and cold-blooded, a monster embodying every vile trait—”
“SI HUAHUAN!”
Xie Yun’s furious roar and the sharp whistle of an arrow tearing through the air split the silence at the same moment.
Her words stopped abruptly.
A strange wetness bloomed in her chest.
She lowered her head in disbelief.
An arrow had pierced straight through her body, the bloodied tip protruding from her chest. Warm blood spread rapidly around the wound, soaking through her robes until the crimson peonies embroidered there darkened into the color of dried blood.
“Princess!”
“Your Highness!”
Si Huahuan slowly lifted her head, eyes wide with disbelief as she looked toward Xie Yun.
She had never realized his heart could be this ruthless.
Though they constantly fought, the worst she had ever wished upon him was that he’d be scolded by her father, burn his tongue drinking tea, slip while walking, or nick his fingers while practicing swordsmanship.
She had never truly wanted him dead.
Watching him leap from his horse and rush toward her in panic, his familiar face suddenly felt unbearably strange.
Who was this performance for?
The numb pain spreading through her chest made her dizzy and nauseous. Her consciousness began to drift as the world spun around her, the stone ground rushing closer.
Her body lost all strength, and she fell forward helplessly.
Suddenly, a powerful arm wrapped around her waist.
Even through the thin fabric of their clothes, she could clearly feel the tension in his muscles and the burning heat of his palm.
The familiar scent of white magnolia mixed with blood filled her senses.
The pain in her chest deepened violently—not the dull ache of illness, nor the sharp pain of bruises, but like a wound freshly scabbed over being ripped open again and ground raw with sandpaper.
Her vision blurred.
She stared at Xie Yun’s face as every memory she had of him flashed before her eyes, all obscured behind a veil she could no longer see through.
Then everything dissolved into darkness.
His face vanished into blackness until she could see nothing at all.
Even though her eyes remained open.
They said hearing was the last sense to fade when a person died.
It was true.
Resting against Xie Yun’s arm, she could hear the chaos around her—the shouting, the pounding footsteps, the clashing armor.
But only Xie Yun’s voice came through clearly.
It trembled with fear and panic she had never heard from him before.
What a convincing act, she thought.
As consciousness slipped away entirely, she clenched the armor at his chest with all her remaining strength and left behind one final thought—
Xie Yun, may you die a horrible death.
Yong’an Palace.
“Hah—!”
Si Huahuan jolted awake in bed, sitting bolt upright as cold sweat soaked through her thin inner robes. She clutched her chest desperately before realizing—
There was no wound there.
And yet the agony of the arrow piercing her heart still seemed to linger.
She froze.
She was alive?
“Your Highness?”
Yaohuang pushed aside the pearl curtain. As soon as she stepped around the screen, she saw her princess pale-faced and trembling, pulling open her collar to frantically search her chest.
Confusion spread across the maid’s round youthful face.
“Your Highness… what are you doing?”
“The arrow…” Si Huahuan murmured, fingers tracing over smooth skin.
No bloody hole.
No horrifying scar.
Only the frantic pounding of a healthy heart beneath her palm.
“Wasn’t I struck by an arrow?” she asked urgently. “Why does it still hurt when there’s not even a mark left?”
Yaohuang blinked in confusion before cautiously asking, “Did Your Highness have a nightmare?”
A dream?
Impossible.
Dreams didn’t feel that real.
She had truly experienced it.
At that moment, Weizi stepped through the doorway and immediately caught the word “pain.” She hurried to the bedside, eyes sharp with concern.
“Where does it hurt, Your Highness? Shall I summon the imperial physician?”
Compared to the younger Yaohuang, who served as a martial maid, Weizi was far steadier. The moment she heard the princess mention pain, alarm bells rang in her mind.
This princess was the treasured jewel of both Emperor and Empress.
Because the Empress had fallen gravely ill late in pregnancy and delivered prematurely, the princess had been born weak and barely breathing. Imperial Physician Jiang had managed to save her life, but she had remained frail ever since.
The Emperor and Empress had repeatedly warned Yaohuang and Weizi that even the slightest illness must never be neglected.
Si Huahuan stared blankly at them for a long moment before raising a hand to stop Weizi.
Barefoot, she stepped onto the spotless floor and cautiously pushed open the window.
Warm sunlight poured in.
The sky was clear and brilliant blue. Tender green leaves swayed gently in the breeze as flower petals drifted lazily from the branches.
The fragrance of blooming peonies from the courtyard floated through the air alongside distant birdsong.
Palace maids sweeping the grounds respectfully bowed when they saw her.
Everything was peaceful.
There was no smoke of war.
No ruined kingdom.
“What year is it now?” Si Huahuan heard her own voice sounding ghostlike and distant.
Yaohuang and Weizi exchanged glances.
“Your Highness, it is the twenty-second year of Jiaping.”
A ringing filled Si Huahuan’s ears. She braced herself against the windowsill and drew a shaky breath.
She had returned to when she was seventeen years old.
Three years before everything that had just happened.
“Your Highness,” Yaohuang said softly, “His Majesty sent word earlier. Once Your Highness wakes from your nap, you are to go to Zichen Hall.”
Zichen Hall—the Emperor’s residence and private council chamber.
She had gone there countless times before.
But now, an ominous feeling suddenly rose within her.
With teary eyes, Si Huahuan turned back and asked weakly, “Zichen Hall? For what?”
“The eunuch didn’t say. Only that His Majesty wanted to see Your Highness.”
She tried desperately to remember what had happened on this exact day three years ago when Weizi suddenly added:
“I heard the court painters delivered many portraits to Zichen Hall yesterday. I wonder what they’re for.”
Si Huahuan’s eyes snapped open in realization.
She remembered now.
Today was the day her father intended for her to choose a consort.