Three days later, the heavy snow had not ceased. The gates of Beishuo's imperial city stood wide open, the marriage procession ready to depart.
According to custom, before leaving for marriage, one must enter the inner palace to bid farewell to the emperor.
Murong Zhao, dressed in plain wedding attire, arrived alone outside the emperor's bedchamber.
The doors were tightly shut, sealing off the inside from the outside.
A eunuch bowed and whispered, "Princess, His Majesty is unwell and cannot receive visitors. Please perform your farewell rites here."
Unwell.
Again, unwell.
For ten years, this father had only ever given this one reason to his daughter from the Cold Palace.
Murong Zhao did not insist. She knelt quietly outside the hall, kowtowing three times with proper decorum.
"Your subject daughter bids farewell to Your Majesty."
As soon as her words fell, an extremely faint, cold, and utterly emotionless voice drifted out from behind the heavy wooden doors:
"…Go."
No instructions, no concern, no remorse, no reluctance.
He would not even grant her a final audience.
Murong Zhao bowed forward, performing one last kowtow.
"Your subject daughter obeys the decree."
When she rose, there was not a ripple of emotion on her face, as if she had long grown accustomed to this bone-chilling indifference.
From this moment on, mountains and rivers would lie between them; the bond between father and daughter ended here.
As she walked beyond the palace walls, a figure clad in black was already waiting at the side.
It was Wei Zhao.
Wei Zhao lowered his head, his voice steady: "Princess, the carriage is prepared."
Murong Zhao lifted her gaze, looking toward the distant, vast horizon, and softly uttered a single word:
"Let's go."
The wheels began to turn, carrying her away from the cage that had imprisoned her for ten years.
There was no grand procession, no farewell from the officials, not even a proper red wedding gown—only the coarsest, lowest-grade cloth sewn by the palace. The color was dull and grayish, a red that was neither bright nor vibrant. From afar, it resembled a faded plain garment, exuding a sense of desolation, with not a hint of celebration.
Murong Zhao sat upright in the simple carriage, the ill-fitting wedding gown wrapped around her slender frame. Her long hair was simply tied up, and her face, free of makeup, remained calm.
She did not cry, did not make a scene, and felt not a trace of reluctance.
This imperial city that had imprisoned her for ten years had never been a home to her—only a devouring Cold Palace.
The carriage wheels crunched over the accumulated snow, slowly heading toward the city gates.
Just as they were about to pass through the gates, Murong Zhao suddenly raised her hand and gently lifted a corner of the carriage curtain.
She looked back.
The red walls and glazed tiles appeared cold and unfamiliar amidst the wind and snow. The watchtower above the city gates was empty, without even a single figure to see her off.
Eighteen years.
She was born here, lost her mother here, endured countless dark and endless days and nights here.
Yet at this moment, she felt not a shred of attachment.
As the curtain fell, the corner of her mouth lifted slightly.
Very faint, very light, gone in an instant.
Su Yue did not see it, Wei Zhao did not see it.
Only she herself knew—
It was a smile.
A smile she had never worn in ten years within the Cold Palace.
Finally… she was leaving.
From now on, the sky was high, the sea was vast, and life and death were in her own hands.
Suddenly, the carriage curtain was gently lifted, and a handsome figure bent to enter.
It was the Sixth Prince, Murong Heng.
He was Murong Zhao's only full-blooded elder brother. Over the years, he had struggled step by step in the court, secretly protecting his sister in the Cold Palace, yet never daring to do so openly. A decade's worth of accumulated guilt now turned into a deep redness in his eyes.
Looking at his sister in her wedding gown, his Adam's apple bobbed. A thousand words choked in his chest, finally reduced to a hoarse, soft call: "Zhao'er."
Murong Zhao lifted her gaze to look at her only remaining family.
The man before her was only twenty-five, yet his temples were already lightly frosted with gray, his eyes brimming with exhaustion and helplessness. He was the only person in this world who had ever treated her with genuine sincerity.
Murong Heng took a deep breath and swiftly drew a small but sharp dagger from his sleeve. The hilt was wrapped in fine silk, and the blade gleamed with a cold, piercing light—clearly a weapon capable of slicing through iron as if it were mud.
He pressed the dagger firmly into Murong Zhao’s hand, his voice lowered to a whisper, trembling with anguish: "Take this."
"If anyone in Dayin dares to humiliate or harm you… rather than endure even the slightest grievance, you must… you must choose death to prove your integrity!"
He could not bring himself to tell his sister to cling to life at any cost, yet he feared even more the tragic fate that might befall her.
Murong Zhao’s fingers tightened around the icy dagger. Its chill seeped through her skin into her heart, yet it only sharpened her resolve.
She concealed the dagger securely within the wide sleeve of her wedding gown, then lifted her gaze to meet Murong Heng’s. In her dark eyes, the lifeless emptiness had vanished for the first time, replaced by a faint but unwavering flame.
"Brother, I will not die."
Her voice was soft, yet each word rang with resolute certainty.
"I endured ten years in the Cold Palace. No matter how terrifying Dayin may be, could it possibly be worse than this palace that devours people alive?"
Murong Heng froze, his eyes reddening further. He abruptly turned his head away, tears nearly spilling. "It’s my fault… As a prince, I couldn’t even protect my own sister, sending you into that den of wolves… I don’t deserve to be your brother."
For ten years, he had watched his sister suffer from hunger and cold in the Cold Palace, seen her bullied by palace servants, witnessed her being suppressed by the Empress. All he could do was endure, hide, and secretly deliver meager supplies of clothing and food in the dead of night.
Now, even as he sent her to what might be her death, he could only stand by and watch helplessly.
"It is not your fault, Brother."
Murong Zhao shook her head gently, her tone calm yet piercing. "It is our own powerlessness, our vulnerability in this palace, that has left us at the mercy of others."
"But remember this, Brother."
She raised her eyes, her gaze locking directly with Murong Heng’s astonished stare. In those eyes, there was no trace of the timid, discarded girl from the Cold Palace—only unfathomable calculation and sharp determination. "You must consolidate your position in Beishuo, build your influence, and secure your footing."
"My journey to Dayin is not a march to death, but a search for a path to survival."
"Once I establish myself there, we will work together from within and without. One day, we will drag down every single person who has trampled upon us and wielded power over our heads!"
One day, she would make all those who had abandoned, bullied, and humiliated her pay the price!
Murong Heng stood completely still.
He had never seen his sister like this before.
No longer the silent, submissive little girl from the Cold Palace, her eyes now held vast ambitions, fierce resolve, and a strength and ambition he had never witnessed.
In that moment, he suddenly felt that perhaps his sister truly could carve a bloody path out of this desperate situation.
"Alright… I will wait for you."
Murong Heng nodded heavily, his voice choked with emotion. Without another word, he turned and hurried down from the carriage.
The time had come.
A long, mournful horn cut through the wind and snow as the marriage procession slowly began to move.
The carriage wheels crunched over the accumulated snow, creaking as they gradually passed through the city gates and headed toward the unknown distance.
Murong Zhao leaned against the carriage wall, her fingertips gently stroking the dagger hidden in her sleeve.
The road ahead was uncertain; life and death were unpredictable.
But she knew—
From the moment she stepped through these gates, her life would be hers alone to command.
"Mother, your daughter is leaving."
She whispered silently in her heart, her fingertips tightly clutching the dagger hidden in her sleeve. "The swordsmanship you left for me, I have practiced for ten years, never daring to neglect it for a moment."
"Bless me, that one day I may return with dignity and make all those who have wronged us bow their heads in apology."
The carriage moved farther and farther away, eventually shrinking into a tiny speck amid the wind and snow, vanishing at the horizon.
On the gate tower of the Beishuo imperial city, two figures stood side by side, leaning against each other as they looked down upon the departing procession, their lips curling into identical malicious smiles.
Murong Yan, draped in luxurious fur and adorned with pearls and jade, smiled with eyes curved in delight and satisfaction. "Mother Empress, that wretch is finally gone! From now on, no one in this palace will be able to stand in my way!"
She had long dreamed of kicking that lowborn from the Cold Palace as far away as possible. Now that her wish was fulfilled, she felt an overwhelming sense of relief.
The Empress raised her hand and gently patted her daughter's hand. Her meticulously made-up face bore a sinister and cold gaze. "Rest assured, her journey to Dayin will surely end in death."
"Emperor Xiao Yan of Dayin is cold-blooded and bloodthirsty, and the Dayin court is filled with wolves and tigers lying in wait. A discarded daughter from the Cold Palace will meet her end the moment she arrives."
"From now on, there will no longer be a person named Murong Zhao in this world."
The howling wind and snow muffled the snickers on the gate tower, yet they could not extinguish the sharp edge hidden beneath the wedding gown—a force poised to sweep across the world.
Murong Zhao would never know that her journey to Dayin was no simple marriage alliance but a meticulously laid trap, a death sentence awaiting her life!