Sun Yun’guang’s body suddenly went rigid. The unfinished syllable “prince” in his throat twisted into a strange rasping “hho~ hho” sound. His eyes bulged to their limits, pupils dilating rapidly, filled with disbelief and a surge of unbearable pain— as though something had exploded inside him. His head lolled to the side, his body convulsed violently a few times, foam spilling from his mouth, and then he lost consciousness completely. He collapsed against the torture rack, breathing out but no longer breathing in.
The change happened too fast—from the guard’s approach to Sun Yun’guang’s collapse was but the blink of an eye.
“What happened?!” Jiang Hui barked, leaping to his feet, eyes sharp as blades fixed on the prison guard.
The guard dropped to his knees with a thud, face full of terror and confusion. “Sir… I only meant to wipe his blood and cool him down… He… he suddenly went like this! I did nothing, sir!”
Jiang Hui ignored him, striding quickly to Sun Yun’guang’s side. He checked his breath—faint. He lifted an eyelid—pupils already unfocused.
With his experience, he immediately recognized the signs of poisoning.
Someone had silenced Sun Yun’guang before he could speak.
“Take him away! Guard him closely!” Jiang Hui’s voice was cold as steel, pointing at the guard.
Two officers seized the man, dragging him off despite his cries of innocence.
“Call the physician! Quickly! At all costs, keep him alive!” Jiang Hui shouted.
Sun Yun’guang was now a burning coal in his hands.
Dead, the trail ended completely. Alive, he became the target of every faction desperate to silence him.
Jiang Hui’s gaze darkened as he looked at the unconscious man, hanging between life and death.
The Crown Prince is so fast! His hand had already reached into the Northern Guard Bureau’s prison. Poisoning to silence—such ruthless means!
This was a direct challenge to the Bureau’s authority and to the Emperor’s bottom line.
“Triple the guards—seal this place inside and out. Without my order, not even a fly enters! If there’s another slip, bring me your heads!” Jiang Hui commanded grimly. In his heart, he was certain: the secret Sun Yun’guang had been about to reveal pointed straight at the Crown Prince—and it was weighty.
Otherwise, the Crown Prince would never risk exposing his spies here just to silence him.
The interrogation had hit a deadlock.
The only living witness hovered at death’s edge, vulnerable to another attempt on his life.
Jiang Hui felt unprecedented pressure and danger closing in.
…
By evening, the sunset cast a dim yellow glow over the capital, the day’s bustle fading.
But in teahouses and taverns, in alleys and shadows, another kind of disturbance quietly spread.
“Have you heard? Princess Zhaohua is not human!”
In a teahouse, a customer lowered his voice, face a mix of fear and morbid curiosity, whispering to his companion: “Shh! Quiet! Do you want to die?”
The companion glanced nervously around but leaned closer. “What do you mean? Didn’t she just kill the consort? He was a traitor—deserved it…”
“Tch! You don’t know the inside story!” The man gulped tea as if to steady himself.
“My cousin’s nephew works at the Princess’s residence—just a menial servant, but well-informed. He said the consort’s death was strange—not a simple assassination!”
“How so?”
“On the wedding night!” The man’s voice dropped to a whisper. “In the bridal chamber, they say that Princess Zhaohua suddenly changed. Her eyes turned blood-red, fangs grew from her mouth, black demonic patterns spread across her face—she became a man-eating monster!”
His companion gasped, nearly spilling his tea.
“And then?” Another table leaned in, unable to resist.
“And then?” Emboldened by the growing audience, the man painted the scene vividly. “She tore open the consort’s chest with her bare hands. Ji Huai’an didn’t even have time to scream. She dug out his still-beating heart and ate it before the terrified servants!”
A chorus of sharp intakes of breath. Faces around the room turned pale.
“Is that true? That’s too…”
“Absolutely true!” The man swore. “Several servants went mad with fright. The rest were burned alive when she set the mansion ablaze! That’s why the palace claims he was a traitor executed by the princess—to cover up the truth. Her confinement isn’t punishment—it’s because His Majesty fears she’ll harm more people, so he suppresses her with the dragon aura of the capital!”
…
Scenes like this played out across taverns, teahouses, and restaurants.
The rumors varied little, always circling around the same chilling themes: “wedding night,” “demonic transformation,” “eating a human heart.”
The storytellers were often ordinary idlers, failed scholars, or mysterious figures claiming “inside knowledge.”
The rumors spread like ink in water, quickly staining the city.
“Hey, heard about Princess Zhaohua?” A pancake vendor muttered to the vegetable seller next to him.
“Heard, heard! They say she’s a fox demon—feeds on the hearts of faithless men!” The old woman shuddered. “No wonder the consort died so horribly. Retribution!”
“I think so too. A royal daughter turning into that, sigh, the palace is full of strange evils.” The vendor hurried off, as if afraid of contamination.
Even children’s rhymes changed:
“Zhaohua, Zhaohua, marries her consort, Red veil hides her fangs of doom, The consort’s heart pounds, then is gone, His heart ripped out, forever withdrawn…”
A mother overheard, horrified. She clapped her hand over her child’s mouth. “Don’t sing that! Keep it up and the monster will come for you tonight!”
The child burst into tears, the terror only fueling the rumor’s power.
Some citizens who had once admired Princess Zhaohua for exposing corruption now wavered.
Fear replaced respect. Suspicion smothered truth.
Eyes turned toward her residence with dread and distance.
“No wonder she found so much evidence—must be sorcery…”
“Yes, what normal woman kills her husband and storms the court?”
“His Majesty was wise to confine her. Such a demoness should be locked away!”
Though whispered, these voices gathered into a dark, malicious current flowing through the capital’s streets.