In the dead of night, Song Yao awoke.
No one was beside her. Voices drifted in from the outer hall—Nangong Yi conversing with his subordinates.
The mad bear incident had been traced back to the Sixth Prince, Nangong Zhe. Though the scheme was covert, it had been uncovered within mere hours.
Song Yao suddenly felt uncertain. If Nangong Yi could investigate a prince so effortlessly, how much did he truly know about her?
The deliberately hushed conversation outside ceased. Song Yao withdrew her wandering thoughts, closed her eyes, and feigned sleep. After a moment’s consideration, she reopened them.
As the bed curtains were drawn aside, their gazes met.
Nangong Yi asked, “Did I wake you?” He lay back down, pulling her into his embrace without inquiring whether she had overheard or how much—perhaps he didn’t mind her knowing.
Song Yao loved being held by him and took the opportunity to kiss his chin. “Will Your Highness take action against the Sixth Prince?”
She marveled at her own audacity for daring to pose such a question.
Through the thin summer nightgown, Nangong Yi’s palm caressed the smooth skin of her back, his expression unreadable. “If I said yes, would Furen then fear me?”
The touch was soothing; Song Yao’s alluring, upturned eyes narrowed drowsily. She nuzzled her cheek against his broad, exposed chest where his robe hung open, murmuring a probing question in her haze.
“If this humble servant said no, would Your Highness then think her a venomous serpent or a poisonous woman?”
Neither answered the other’s question, but their increasingly intimate closeness spoke volumes.
On the second day of the hunt, Nangong Yi participated as usual.
Song Yao chose not to attend. Ruoxue, also weary, stayed behind as well. In full view of everyone, she openly flirted with Nangong Zhe, infuriating his mother, Consort Liang, to the point of chest pain.
Her son keeping an unknown woman by his side without proper status was one thing—after all, Zhe had always been unruly and was now at an impulsive age. A private fling was tolerable.
But to flaunt it so openly? The Emperor already disliked Zhe; now his chances at the throne were surely ruined.
As for the other consorts, they were undoubtedly mocking her behind her back. It was utterly, utterly maddening!
Seated properly beside the Empress, Song Yao observed the scene from the corner of her eye. Lowering her gaze, she adjusted the heavy, ornate golden hairpin in her bun, feigning ignorance of the spectacle.
The Empress was pleased. Not one to gossip herself, she disliked daughters-in-law with such tendencies.
Once the drumbeats ceased and the hunters departed, the Empress took Song Yao’s hand for a heartfelt talk.
“Yao Yao, yesterday’s incident must have frightened you?” Seeing Song Yao nod timidly, the Empress sighed and patted her hand comfortingly.
“Yi’er is the Crown Prince; such matters are unavoidable. I’m sorry you had to endure that. But rest assured—since childhood, Yi’er has been a good son and brother, caring well for Yan’er and Jin’er, and filial to His Majesty and me.
He truly loves you. This mother believes he will also be a good husband. No matter what happens, he will surely protect you.”
Song Yao responded obediently, fully understanding the Empress’s implicit meaning.
The Empress specifically mentioned the Seventh Prince and Ninth Princess to remind her that in Nangong Yi’s heart, only the Ninth Princess and Seventh Prince counted as younger siblings. From now on, when interacting with other princes and princesses, she would need to maintain appropriate boundaries.
As the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law chatted about domestic matters, the Empress maintained a calm expression but sighed inwardly.
This child was indeed obedient—perhaps excessively so. She still couldn’t comprehend why Yi’er had suddenly approached her and the Emperor to request marriage with this fourth daughter of the Song family.
A mother knows her son best, and logically, Yi’er shouldn’t have been drawn to a girl with such a tranquil disposition.
Well, ultimately, she was a girl with no discernible flaws who seemed genuinely fond of Yi’er. If both children were willing and happy in their marriage, that alone would make it a good match.
The sweltering heat made it unbearable for the women to remain outdoors awaiting the hunting party’s return. After a symbolic wait, the Empress dismissed everyone to rest indoors.
The ladies curtseyed and withdrew. Anyone particularly observant might have noticed Ruoxue’s habitual gesture of shielding her abdomen while moving.
Song Yao was precisely that observant person. She had noticed it shortly after meeting Ruoxue yesterday—after all, Ruoxue was the very reason for her visit.
Returning to Qingyun Hall, she waited until the corridors were deserted before slipping out unnoticed. Evading all eyes, she infiltrated Ruoxue’s chambers in the Sixth Prince’s residence.
Inside the lavish hall, Ruoxue lay on a daybed preparing to nap.
Her recent loss of appetite and persistent drowsiness since yesterday made her suspect pregnancy. Yet memories of past health complications left her hesitant to confirm or consult physicians, fearing false hope.
Her hand drifted to her abdomen. Shortly after defecting from the organization, she had consummated her relationship with His Highness the Sixth Prince. Their subsequent nightly encounters had been frequent—surely one must have taken root.
A blissful smile graced Ruoxue’s delicate features at the thought.
It was His Highness the Sixth Prince who made her feel truly alive—a living, breathing woman deserving of tenderness and devotion.
As for the organization…
Their initial rescue hadn’t been altruistic. They’d merely molded her into a lethal blade for their schemes. She owed no debt for abandoning them!
Moreover, His Highness intended to assimilate the organization into his service. If successful, it would eventually serve the imperial family like the Everjoy Bureau—thus repaying any perceived debt.
…
Silence. An almost supernatural stillness permeated the hall.
Though scorching sunlight blazed outside, Ruoxue suddenly sensed a glacial aura spreading through the room. Attributing it to excessive ice placement, she turned to pull over a light quilt from the corner.
“Ghk.”
Warm crimson beads welled from Ruoxue’s slender neck, gradually shifting to purplish-black hues.
The volume was minimal—like morning dew clinging to delicate petals—yet unbearably sinister and grotesque.
Song Yao studied Ruoxue’s wide-eyed corpse, satisfied to see neck wounds resembling venomous snake bites. She retracted the peculiar gold hairpin in her hand.
Wrapping the uniquely tapered hairpin in a clean handkerchief, she departed without a trace.
Back in Qingyun Hall, she summoned Ru Shuang guarding the entrance for fresh chilled tea.
Efficient as ever, Ru Shuang promptly delivered the tea: “Your tea, mistress.”
Song Yao did not drink it, but used it to wash her hands. After washing, she pointed to the plump handkerchief casually left in the corner of the table.
“Take the handkerchief and burn it. Melt the hairpin and exchange it for silver notes—keep them for your own use.”
Ru Shuang was stunned for a long moment before she reacted, replying, “Yes.”
…When did the mistress leave the room?