Returning to Yong Lane, Su Yue immediately helped Murong Zhao sit down by the bed, then hurriedly went to fetch clean water and a cloth towel.
“Your Highness, please sit down. Let this servant apply medicine for you!” Her voice trembled, her eyes still red, and her hands shook uncontrollably.
Murong Zhao did not speak, only quietly extended her hand, revealing the red and swollen back of it.
Su Yue crouched before her, carefully soaking the cloth towel in cool water and gently placing it over the scalded skin.
“Hiss—”
The coolness pierced the burning pain, and Murong Zhao’s fingertips twitched slightly.
Su Yue immediately stopped in fright. “Your Highness! Did I hurt you?”
“It’s fine. Continue,” Murong Zhao replied calmly.
Biting her lip, Su Yue resumed her task, but the tears in her eyes could no longer be held back.
One drop, then another, fell onto the back of Murong Zhao’s hand, mingling with the cool water—warm yet scalding.
Murong Zhao looked down at her.
This young girl had followed her all the way from Beishuo to this day. She had trembled with fear when they were ambushed on the road, secretly wiped away tears when they were banished to Yong Lane, shook with anger on the wedding night, and nearly rushed forward to confront Liu Momo outside Cining Palace earlier that day.
Yet every time she finished crying, she gritted her teeth, picked herself up, and continued with her duties, never daring to complain in front of her.
“Why are you crying?” Murong Zhao asked softly.
Su Yue sobbed, “This servant… this servant feels heartbroken for Your Highness… Your hand is burned so badly, yet you… you still have to endure it without crying out in pain…”
Murong Zhao fell silent for a moment, then suddenly raised her hand and gently placed it on Su Yue’s head.
Su Yue stiffened all over, looking up at her with tear-blurred eyes.
“Su Yue,” Murong Zhao’s voice was soft yet exceptionally clear, “in this palace, crying is useless. If I cry, the Empress Dowager will only laugh; if you cry, those who bully us will only grow more pleased with themselves.”
Su Yue listened in a daze.
“But I don’t blame you for crying,” Murong Zhao withdrew her hand, a hint of warmth entering her tone. “After crying, wipe away your tears and continue with your work. You’ve already done very well.”
Su Yue’s tears flowed even more fiercely, but this time, she nodded vigorously even as she cried, her movements becoming more careful and gentle.
After applying the medicine, she dried her tears, took a deep breath, and stood up. “Your Highness, this servant will fetch you a cup of hot water. Please rest. Call for me if you need anything.”
Watching her straight-backed figure, Murong Zhao’s lips curved slightly upward.
This young girl was growing up bit by bit.
In the following days, Murong Zhao kept to herself, never engaging in disputes or wandering about. She spent her days in the dilapidated courtyard, polishing her sword, sitting in meditation, and recuperating from her injuries.
Wei Zhao could not show himself during the day and only slipped into Yong Lane at night, patrolling around the courtyard to ensure everything was safe before quietly departing. His wounds had not fully healed, yet he never allowed himself to slack off. Murong Zhao urged him several times, and though he agreed verbally, he continued his nightly vigil as usual.
Su Yue, however, could not stay idle.
Every morning after serving Murong Zhao breakfast, she would tuck away some snacks and pastries and head out, befriending the young eunuchs and palace maids. Upon returning, she would always be brimming with news, chattering away to Murong Zhao like a little sparrow.
“Your Highness, your hand hasn’t fully healed yet. Don’t touch that sword—let this servant polish it!” That evening, as soon as Su Yue entered the room and saw Murong Zhao polishing her sword, she hurried forward.
Murong Zhao watched her bustling demeanor and, without a word, handed the sword to her.
Su Yue took the sword, carefully wiping it while lowering her voice, "Your Highness, I've gathered quite a bit of information today!"
Murong Zhao looked up at her.
Su Yue leaned closer and whispered, "The Empress Dowager's surname is Xiao. The Xiao clan, her maternal family, holds military power. Half of the court officials are from their family—their influence is immense!"
"Consort Shu is the Empress Dowager's own niece. She holds the highest favor in the palace, enjoying the finest food, clothing, and luxuries! Originally, everyone in the palace speculated that the position of Empress would surely be hers. But then you arrived and took the position. Consort Shu is seething with anger!"
Murong Zhao listened quietly without interrupting.
Su Yue continued, "Also, in the Emperor's inner palace, there are Consort De, Consort Xian, and Consort Hui, all daughters of powerful ministers. But the Emperor favors none of them. He stays in the imperial study every day. The Empress Dowager has urged him several times to visit the inner palace more often, but he acts as if he doesn't hear her!"
"Most importantly, the Empress Dowager has been controlling the court for a full twenty years! The Emperor has long been of age, yet major court affairs are still decided by the Empress Dowager. The Emperor is like a puppet…"
Murong Zhao tapped the table lightly with her fingertips, deep in thought.
The Xiao clan held immense power, the Emperor and Empress were at odds, and the inner palace was watching with covetous eyes.
Each of these could serve as a useful tool in the future.
After wiping the sword, Su Yue carefully placed it back in its sheath and leaned close to Murong Zhao's ear again, her expression mysterious. "Your Highness, I've also uncovered a huge secret—the Emperor is not the Empress Dowager's biological son!"
Murong Zhao looked up, her dark eyes gleaming. "Tell me in detail."
"It's true!" Su Yue whispered, glancing around to confirm no one was nearby before lowering her voice further. "I heard this from an old eunuch who serves in Cining Palace. He was drunk and rambled on for a long time. I poured him another jug of wine, and only then did he spill these secrets."
"He said the Empress Dowager was the late Emperor's legitimate Empress but never bore any children. The Emperor was born to the late Emperor and a low-ranking palace maid. That maid died suddenly right after giving birth to the Emperor, so the Empress Dowager took him in and raised him as her own, publicly declaring him her legitimate son."
"So… the Emperor and the Empress Dowager are only mother and son in name, with no blood relation at all!"
Murong Zhao's fingers paused.
So that was it.
No wonder the Emperor and Empress Dowager appeared harmonious on the surface but were actually distant and cold.
No wonder Xiao Yan had endured for so many years without confronting the Empress Dowager directly.
An adopted son as Emperor, a powerful Empress Dowager holding great authority, and a group of scheming consorts in the inner palace.
The Dayin palace was even more intriguing than she had imagined.
Su Yue hesitated for a moment before lowering her voice again. "There's one more thing… I heard that Consort Shu has been visiting the Empress Dowager's palace frequently lately, staying for hours at a time. I wonder what she's plotting."
A cold glint flashed in Murong Zhao's eyes.
Consort Shu.
The one who had trampled her into Yong Lane.
She said nothing, only picked up her teacup and took a small sip.
Su Yue looked at her, hesitating for a moment before suddenly speaking up. "Your Highness, I… I want to tell you something."
Murong Zhao looked up. "Speak."
Su Yue lowered her head, twisting the hem of her clothes with her fingers, her voice trembling slightly. "Before… I always thought that coming to Dayin with you was a death sentence. When we were ambushed on the road, I was so scared my legs went weak. I thought, 'It's over, it's over. We're definitely going to die this time.'"
"When we were thrown into Yong Lane, I cried every day, thinking my life was over—trapped in this wretched place, never to leave again."
"On the wedding night, when His Majesty did not come, this servant trembled with anger, feeling wronged and unworthy on your behalf."
She raised her head, her eyes rimmed red, yet her gaze seemed brighter than before:
"But these past days, watching you, my lady… watching you endure scalding without crying out in pain, withstand oppression without weeping or making a scene, suffer humiliation without begging for mercy, yet still sitting steadily, still thinking of the future, still sending this servant to gather information…"
"This servant suddenly feels that following you, my lady, doesn’t seem so frightening anymore."
Murong Zhao looked at her without interrupting.
Su Yue took a deep breath and spoke each word clearly: "If my lady can endure, this servant can endure too. If my lady is not afraid, this servant will not be afraid either."
"From now on, this servant will not cry. This servant will help my lady with tasks, keep watch on those villains for my lady, and walk out of this door alive together with my lady!"
After her words fell, the room fell silent for a moment.
Murong Zhao looked at her, the corners of her lips slowly curving into a faint arc.
"Good."
She said softly, just one word.
Yet this single word, to Su Yue’s ears, carried more weight than anything else.
Late at night, Yong Lane was silent and still.
Murong Zhao lay in bed, the cold moonlight outside the window casting a pale glow as she repeatedly sorted through all the information in her mind.
A puppet emperor, a regent Empress Dowager, a treacherous inner palace, every step fraught with danger.
She slightly curved the corners of her lips, a fleeting smile passing by.
"Interesting."
This deadlocked game—she wanted to see who would have the last laugh.
Unbeknownst to her, at this moment in the imperial study, Xiao Yan was looking at a secret report delivered by a shadow guard, which read:
Consort Zhao resides in Yong Lane, does not leave her quarters, does not complain, listens daily to palace maids recounting inner palace affairs. Palace maid Su Yue has recently been frequently entering and leaving various palaces to gather information.
Xiao Yan’s thin lips curved slightly, a flicker of amusement flashing in his eyes.
"Neither making a fuss nor causing trouble, and even knows how to collect intelligence…"
"Murong Zhao, just how much are you hiding?"
He paused, tossed the secret report into the charcoal brazier, watched the flames devour the words, and said in a low voice, "Continue watching. I must know her every move."
The night was deep, and the wind in Yong Lane felt colder than in previous years.
Yet in that dilapidated little room, a faint lamp light burned through the night, never extinguished.
Su Yue curled up in the corner, covered by that thick cotton quilt of unknown origin, watching the slender figure by the window, and suddenly felt—it truly didn’t seem so frightening anymore.