Inside the secret treasury, the stale air seemed almost solid.
Shen Qingzhu didn’t light a lamp. Instead, she pulled out a modern, high-powered flashlight from her space.
“Whoosh!”
A blinding beam tore through the darkness. Even she, accustomed to worldly spectacles, felt her breath catch.
Rows of shelves made from yellow rosewood weren’t holding boxes but stacks of gold bars piled like walls! The beam swept across them, and the dazzling gleam made her eyes almost water. Nearby, massive open wooden chests contained a chaotic mix of gemstones, pearls, and jade—like worthless glass beads to the untrained eye, yet radiating brilliance, nearly spilling out.
This was the accumulation of centuries for a noble family!
Shen Qingzhu didn’t hesitate. She had come for a “zero-cost purchase.”
She stretched out her hand toward the wall of gold bars, fingers splayed, and clenched sharply!
The gold wall, heavy enough to crush a dozen people, vanished in an instant before her eyes.
She repeated the action: wherever her beam swept, entire chests of jewels and rolled-up scrolls were consumed by her space.
The whole process was so fast it felt like a hallucination. In less than a single incense stick’s burning, the most valuable items in the treasury were swept clean.
She deliberately left the heavy ceramics and furniture, even kicking over a few empty boxes, scattering a handful of low-quality silver coins casually on the floor.
Looting? Sure. But she wanted the raiding officials to witness a scene of frantic plunder—explaining the missing gold and silver without leaving the treasury so pristine that it would draw more trouble.
“Creak—”
The stone door opened. The Old Madam, hunched, entered holding an austere rosewood box.
She glanced at the half-empty treasury. Her expression showed no disturbance; instead, it was as if a thousand-pound burden had lifted. Her eyes toward Shen Qingzhu reflected absolute reverence.
“Zhu’er…” her voice hoarse, “these yellow-and-white things, you can’t take them to life or death. The true root of the Shen family is here.”
She placed the rosewood box on an empty shelf with a pious look.
“Inside are the medical journals of three generations of Shen family imperial doctors, as well as more than a dozen ancient medical prescriptions long thought lost.”
The Old Madam looked up, her clouded eyes reflecting Shen Qingzhu’s calm face.
“You already possess divine-level skills, far beyond ordinary people. These medical books, in the hands of mere mortals, are death tokens. Grandmother now entrusts the Shen family medical lineage… formally, to you!”
“No matter where you go, carrying these, the Shen family will not lose its roots!”
She trembled as she drew out a small brass key and reverently placed it on the box.
Shen Qingzhu’s heart stirred.
In her previous life, she had been a student of Chinese herbal medicine. These were the true treasures in her eyes.
She said nothing, waved her hand, and the rosewood box along with the key vanished into her space.
Seeing this, the Old Madam’s clouded old eyes shone with relief, finally at ease.
“Let’s go,” Shen Qingzhu turned.
“The items for fleeing…”
“I know what to do,” she interrupted. “You go rest. From here on, leave it to me.”
Returning to the courtyard, she first checked on her second sister, Shen Qingdai.
The special anti-inflammatory medicine had taken effect. The high fever had subsided, and breathing was stable. But the injuries from the twenty court lashes would still require rest.
She tucked in the covers, returned to her room, pulled out an alarm clock from her space, and set it for three quarters past midnight.
Closing her eyes, she rapidly ran through the plans in her mind.
The “grand gift” prepared for His Majesty the Emperor was ready.
Tonight, he would receive a “surprise” he would never forget.
…
Meanwhile, in the capital, the Dali Temple’s Heavenly Prison.
A nondescript green-curtained sedan chair, hidden by night, stopped at the side entrance.
The Deputy Minister of the Dali Temple, Fang Benzhong, had long bowed in waiting. When the curtain lifted, a slender youth in a brocade robe stepped out. Fang immediately put on a fawning smile and greeted him.
“Your servant pays respects, Your Highness.”
The visitor was the emperor’s eldest grandson, Zhao Yi.
“Minister Fang, where is he?” Zhao Yi’s voice was gentle, but the smile on his face couldn’t hide the coldness in his eyes.
“All arranged, Your Highness!” Fang Benzhong bowed repeatedly. “Prince Zhan… is confined alone in the innermost ‘Quiet Room,’ no one will disturb him.”
Zhao Yi nodded slightly, a strange curve forming at the corner of his lips, as he followed Fang into the damp, foul-smelling corridor.
“Has His Majesty not decreed yet?”
Fang hurriedly replied, “The emperor’s mind is unfathomable. Prince An, though a principal conspirator, is still the son of His Majesty’s only brother. Had old Prince An not suddenly died, this throne… alas.”
“Now Prince An has committed suicide, leaving only Prince Zhan as the sole heir. The emperor must calm public opinion while considering fraternal ties. It’s indeed difficult. But if I dare to speculate, Prince Zhan’s life… may not be spared.”
Zhao Yi’s steps faltered slightly.
May not be spared?
Of course he knew.
More than anyone, he understood that the proud emperor would never allow a nephew with treasonous blood to live.
A cup of poisoned wine, a strip of white silk—this was the final fate of his arrogant cousin.
In Zhao Yi’s mind flashed the image of that cold, distant figure from his youth.
The capital’s first young master, Zhao Jingzhan.
He had followed him obsessively as a boy, calling him “Brother Jingzhan,” only to receive constant coldness and indifference.
His overflowing affection poured into letters, only to be burned by Zhao Jingzhan, leaving behind a single icy word: “Absurd.”
Love unrequited, passion turned madness.
Since he could not have your heart, he decided that before your death, he would take your body and crush it utterly—thinking this would complete the cycle.
This twisted thought had long taken root in his heart.
“Creak—”
The heavy prison door was pushed open.
Zhao Yi dismissed Fang Benzhong and entered alone.
Inside the Quiet Room, oil lamps flickered dimly.
Zhao Jingzhan, wearing tattered prison clothes, sat against a wall atop a pile of straw. Even as a prisoner, his back remained straight, like a solitary bamboo refusing to bend.
Hearing footsteps, he slowly lifted his head.
On his stunningly handsome face, upon seeing Zhao Yi, flashed the utmost, unhidden disgust.
“Cousin,” Zhao Yi stood before him, voice trembling with barely suppressed excitement, “you’ve suffered here.”
Zhao Jingzhan turned away in disgust, not even sparing a glance.
This utter disregard ignited Zhao Yi’s madness further.
“Don’t worry. I’ve petitioned Grandfather. Out of respect for Father, he will spare you a whole body.” Zhao Yi spoke to himself, stepping closer.
“We grew up together. I love you. You know that.”
His voice was as soft as a lover’s whisper, yet carried an eerie obsession.
“Why… have you never looked at me?”
Zhao Jingzhan finally spoke, hoarse, each word like ice: “Zhao Yi, get out.”
“Get out?” Zhao Yi laughed, the smile tinged with a crazy sorrow.
“Cousin, someone of your lofty status cannot understand the pleasures of mortals like us.”
“If we cannot have it, we destroy it.”
“Before your grandfather grants your death, let me taste… the flavor of this bright moon!”
Before finishing, he hesitated no longer and lunged forward.