The sky poured down torrents of rain, the pitch‑black night torn open by lightning into jagged, deathly pale cracks. Thunder rumbled, shaking hearts into a faster, uneasy rhythm.
The entire Prince Consort’s residence lay shrouded in an eerie silence. Inside the bridal chamber, dragon‑and‑phoenix candles burned quietly on the desk, their wax dripping like blood, congealing into dark red scabs upon the stand.
The wavering candlelight cast the chamber in a crimson glow.
Princess Zhaohua, dressed in a phoenix crown and scarlet robes, lay on the bed. The red veil had long been lifted, revealing a face of breathtaking beauty, drained of all color. Her eyes were shut, as though lost in unconsciousness.
Prince Consort Ji Huai’an stood silently before the bed, gently wiping the ruby‑hilted dagger in his hand. A flash of lightning lit half his face, the cold gleam of the blade reflecting his indifferent expression—no trace of the tenderness he once showed.
“Your Highness, the auspicious hour has come.”
The dagger pressed against the princess’s chest, slicing through layers of silk. The tip pierced her skin, and as blood welled forth, thunder exploded outside.
“Boom!”
Ji Huai’an’s hand faltered—his wrist suddenly seized in a tight grip.
“You court death!” The princess, who should have been unconscious, snapped her eyes open, cold light flashing within. Her right hand shot like lightning toward his throat.
Baili Jun, trained in martial arts since childhood, possessed formidable inner strength. One strike could crush his windpipe. Yet just as her fingers brushed his skin, a sudden weakness swept through her body. Her arm trembled—she could summon no strength at all. Her pupils contracted violently, disbelief flooding her gaze.
She tried to channel her inner force, but her dantian was empty. Her meridians felt shackled, even the strength to lift her hand gone. She had been drugged?
“You… you gave me medicine?” Her voice rasped with fury and unwillingness, every word bitten out through clenched teeth.
Ji Huai’an seemed to see through her rage. His lips curved faintly, though no warmth reached his eyes. “Your Highness’s martial skill and inner power are formidable. Without a little medicine, I could never restrain you.”
Baili Jun glared at him, her eyes burning with fire, as though to reduce him to ashes. Her secret training was known only to her master, Aunt Yun, her uncle and cousin stationed at the northern frontier, and her four personal maids—loyal shadow guards raised by her mother’s clan since childhood. Betrayal was impossible. How had Ji Huai’an discovered it? When had he drugged her?
He seemed to anticipate her thoughts. With a low laugh, his fingers brushed her jaw, taut with anger.
“When Your Highness writes, your wrist is steady as stone. When you walk swiftly, your breath never falters…”
“Such small details others might overlook. But I have watched for five years.”
“The habits of one trained in martial arts cannot be hidden.”
A chill swept through Baili Jun. So he had known all along!
Every touch, every tender gesture—nothing but calculation. And the cruelest irony: this man was the consort she herself had chosen, the one she had defended before her father the emperor.
“Why…?” she forced out, each word trembling with pain, yet carrying the unyielding authority of Princess Zhaohua. Her lips bled from biting down, her chest heaving violently.
The dagger pierced half an inch above her heart. It was not fatal, yet the pain made her whole body tremble.
More terrifying still—she had no strength even to lift her hand. She could only stare helplessly as Ji Huai’an looked down at her from above, as though watching a beast trapped in a cage.
His gaze darkened. After a moment of silence, he bent close to her ear.
“Because…” his voice was soft, almost a sigh, “this heart of yours was never meant to beat.” His warm breath brushed her icy earlobe, but his words plunged her into a frozen abyss.
Before Baili Jun could think further, Ji Huai’an easily freed himself from her grip. The dagger drove down without hesitation, striking true into her heart. Scarlet beads of blood spilled from the wound, winding down her chest, turning the golden embroidery of her wedding robes into grotesque symbols.
“Boom!” Thunder roared outside, drowning the faint groan that escaped the bridal chamber.
“Don’t be afraid, Your Highness. Soon, it won’t hurt anymore.” His voice was tender, like a lover’s whisper, yet his eyes held no warmth.
Seeing the coldness in his gaze, Baili Jun’s fury and unwillingness were swallowed by waves of agony. She opened her mouth, desperate to call out the names Qingwu and Qingluan—but her throat felt blocked, and no sound could escape.
Qingwu… Qingluan… save me…
She screamed inwardly, but only endless darkness and pain answered.
Had Qingwu and Qingluan already met with disaster? The thought flashed through her mind, deepening her despair.
Just then—*creak*—the door was pushed open from outside, a gust of cold wind rushing in.
The fragile candle flames flickered violently, casting twisted shadows on the walls, like countless hands clawing in the dark.
With great effort, Baili Jun turned her head. Her blurred vision fixed on the doorway, a faint spark of hope rising in her chest.
Were it Qingwu and Qingluan who came to save her? Or had her father the Emperor discovered the plot?
Light footsteps approached.
A figure in a blue gown appeared beyond the beaded curtain, carrying a jade box.
“Brother Huai’an, have you taken it out yet?”
“Almost.” Ji Huai’an did not even look up, his dagger still moving without pause.
It was her!
Baili Jun’s pupils shrank violently, her chest struck harder than any blade. She opened her mouth, but only a hoarse gasp escaped, the taste of blood rising in her throat.
Unlike the other princes and princesses, Baili Yue had always followed her, sweetly calling her “sister.” She would sneak her pastries when Baili Jun was punished with copying texts, crawl into her bed during stormy nights to comfort her. Yet now, the sister she had protected since childhood was a co‑conspirator in carving out her heart.
Baili Yue lifted the curtain and stepped to the bedside, looking down at Baili Jun’s pale face.
Meeting her poisoned gaze, Baili Yue smiled with pride.
“Such eyes, dear sister—you look as though you’d devour me alive.” She leaned close, whispering words only the two of them could hear.
“Sister, do you know how jealous I’ve always been of you?”
“Do you remember when I was six, and you gave me osmanthus candy? I fed it to a stray cat the moment I turned away.”
Her fingers suddenly dug into Baili Jun’s wound. “Because the candy box was carved with ‘For Princess Zhaohua Only.’ Even a sweet had to remind me I was born of a concubine!”
Baili Jun trembled—not from pain, but from the memory of that little girl clutching the candy box, saying she couldn’t bear to eat it. Now those same nails clawed mercilessly at her wound.
“I waited and waited…” Baili Yue yanked her sister’s disheveled hair. “Until the day the late Empress dropped dead. Do you know how happy I was?”
She pressed her lips to Baili Jun’s ear. “I danced all night in my chambers!”
Through the haze of agony, Baili Jun seemed to see eight‑year‑old Baili Yue kneeling before their mother’s coffin, crying until she fainted—while Baili Jun had tenderly wiped away her tears.