Murong Zhao had thought that Empress Dowager's "placement in a side hall" would merely be a somewhat secluded residence.
She never expected that what awaited her was Yong Lane.
Chief Palace Maid Liu Momo led the way with an impassive expression. As the group walked further and further into the depths, the cracks in the blue bricks beneath their feet multiplied, withered vines crawled over the palace walls on both sides, and even the palace lanterns were sparse and scattered, exuding an eerie and dilapidated atmosphere.
Su Yue grew increasingly anxious, tightly clutching Murong Zhao's sleeve: "Princess… where… where are we going…"
Murong Zhao remained silent, calmly following.
Only when Liu Momo stopped before a decrepit courtyard, where the two large characters "Yong Lane" on the lintel were peeling and weathered, did the wooden door creak with the wind, sounding like ghostly weeping.
How could this be a place for a princess sent for marriage?
This was clearly the desperate place within the palace where disgraced concubines and condemned slaves were imprisoned!
Liu Momo crossed her arms, lifted her chin, and spoke in a sarcastic tone: "Princess, don't complain about the remoteness of this place. In the inner palace of our Dayin, rules are strict, and space is precious. There are advantages to being remote—at least one can die quietly, unnoticed and unasked."
A blatant threat.
Su Yue was terrified, her face instantly pale, tears welling in her eyes.
Wei Zhao's gaze suddenly turned cold, his hand resting on his sword sheath, but Murong Zhao stopped him with a glance.
They could not act impulsively.
Impulsiveness meant defeat.
Murong Zhao's expression remained unchanged. She reached out and gently pushed open the worn wooden door, stepping inside.
The courtyard was overgrown with weeds reaching waist-high, spiderwebs clung to the corners of the walls, the tables and chairs inside were crooked, dust thick enough to bury fingertips, and even the bedding was old and moldy.
This place was hardly better than the Cold Palace she had lived in in Beishuo.
Liu Momo had expected this Beishuo princess to cry and complain, to feel aggrieved, but the young girl before her merely calmly surveyed the surroundings and quietly ordered: "Su Yue, fetch water and clean up."
Her tone was as calm as if she were instructing the tidying of a refined palace.
Liu Momo was stunned on the spot, only after a long pause did she sneer harshly and stride away with her people.
Su Yue crouched on the ground, wiping the table while tears fell: "Princess… they are too cruel…"
Murong Zhao gently wiped the tears from her face, her voice calm yet firm: "Don't cry. Save your strength; there will be many more days to cry in the future."
Su Yue bit her lip, swallowing her cries, and began cleaning desperately.
The master and servant silently tidied up this dilapidated courtyard.
However, before they could finish cleaning, a chaotic sound of footsteps suddenly came from outside the courtyard gate.
Liu Momo returned, followed by a team of Imperial Guards and several eunuchs, led by a woman dressed in deep purple palace attire, with exquisite makeup.
The woman was roughly thirty years old, radiant and beautiful, yet her eyes carried a haughty and cold arrogance.
"Oh, this is the… princess from Beishuo?" she drawled, her gaze disdainfully sweeping over Murong Zhao. "I thought she was some golden branch or jade leaf, but it turns out she's nothing special."
Su Yue hid fearfully behind Murong Zhao.
Murong Zhao neither humbled herself nor showed arrogance, slightly bowing: "May I ask, who is Your Highness…"
"Blind your eyes!" Liu Momo immediately shouted, "This is Consort Shu! Kneel!"
Consort Shu.
Murong Zhao's heart tightened.
This name, she had heard Wei Zhao mention on the journey—the most favored consort in the inner palace of Dayin, childless yet ambitious, single-mindedly aiming for the position of empress.
And she was a princess sent for a marriage alliance, a woman destined to marry the Emperor of Dayin.
It was only natural that Consort Shu could not tolerate her.
Murong Zhao slowly knelt, bowing her head in respect: "Your humble servant, Murong Zhao, pays her respects to Consort Shu."
Consort Shu looked down at her from above, a cold smile playing at the corner of her lips: "Rise. I have come today to inform you of one matter."
She paused, drawing a list from her sleeve and leisurely unfolding it: "This is the dowry list you brought from Beishuo. I have just taken people to inventory it—and there are quite a few issues."
Murong Zhao's eyes darkened slightly.
Dowry?
That was prepared by the Ministry of Rites of Beishuo; she had never handled it herself.
Consort Shu continued reading: "One pair of jade Ruyi scepters, of inferior quality, passing off substandard goods as fine; one hundred bolts of silk, half of them mildewed; gold and silver vessels, lacking in purity… tsk tsk, a princess of Beishuo, using such shoddy goods to deceive Dayin?"
She closed the list and sneered: "According to the laws of Dayin, if there is any deception in a marriage alliance dowry, it shall all be confiscated as a warning to others. This has been personally approved by the Empress Dowager. If you are dissatisfied, you may go to Cining Palace and seek clarification."
Confiscated!
Su Yue's face changed dramatically, and she cried out involuntarily: "But those things were not prepared by the princess at all; they were from the Ministry of Rites of Beishuo—"
"Silence!" Liu Momo slapped her across the face, leaving a red mark swelling instantly on Su Yue's cheek as she stumbled and fell to the ground.
Murong Zhao's pupils contracted sharply. She abruptly looked up, a flash of coldness in her eyes.
But she suppressed it fiercely.
She must not act.
If she acted, she would fall into the trap.
Watching Murong Zhao's tightly restrained demeanor, Consort Shu's smile deepened: "Moreover, according to the rules of the inner palace of Dayin, the guards and palace maids brought by a marriage alliance princess are not permitted to remain in the palace. Those you brought—"
She raised her hand, pointing toward the courtyard outside, where Wei Zhao was being firmly restrained by several Imperial Guards, unable to move: "All are to be sent back to Beishuo, departing immediately."
Murong Zhao's heart sank heavily.
Sent back?
Wei Zhao must leave?
She abruptly turned her head to look outside the courtyard. Wei Zhao struggled desperately but was held firmly by the Imperial Guards, his eyes filled with unwillingness and fury.
"Princess! Princess—" he shouted hoarsely.
Murong Zhao's fingertips dug deeply into her palms, her nails almost piercing the skin.
But she could not act.
If she acted, Wei Zhao might immediately be charged with "defying an imperial decree" and die right there.
She clenched her teeth tightly, step by step walking toward the courtyard gate.
Through the gate, her eyes met Wei Zhao's.
Wei Zhao's eyes were red, shaking his head desperately as if to say: Princess, do not worry about this subordinate, let this subordinate stay!
Murong Zhao closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, her gaze was utterly calm.
She spoke softly, her voice so steady it held not a ripple:
"Wei Zhao."
"Your subordinate is here!"
"Return to Beishuo."
Wei Zhao trembled all over: "Princess!"
"Take a message to my brother for me." Murong Zhao spoke word by word, her voice extremely soft yet each syllable clear, "Just say—your sister is safe and well, tell him… not to worry."
It was an order.
And also a farewell.
Wei Zhao stared at her intently, his eyes red, his Adam's apple bobbing. Finally, he kowtowed heavily, his voice hoarse: "Your subordinate… obeys the command."
The Imperial Guards escorted him away, farther and farther.
Murong Zhao stood in place, watching that figure disappear into the depths of the palace walls, motionless.
Consort Shu walked slowly to her side and gave a light laugh. "I am merely acting according to the rules. I hope the princess does not resent me."
"By the way—" she lowered her voice, leaning close to Murong Zhao's ear, her tone as gentle as a serpent's hiss, "it was I who spoke to the Empress Dowager. Guess what Her Majesty said when she heard there were issues with your dowry?"
Murong Zhao did not turn around.
Consort Shu chuckled softly. "The Empress Dowager said—'Indeed, she is nothing more than a lowly thing. Throwing her into Yong Lane suits her perfectly.'"
With that, she turned and strode away, her laughter sharp and grating.
Liu Momo led the others away, and the courtyard gate slammed shut with a loud bang.
Su Yue covered her face, collapsing to the ground as she wept silently.
Murong Zhao remained standing where she was, gazing in the direction where Wei Zhao had disappeared.
The wind was fierce.
It whipped her sleeves and tangled her hair.
Yet she stood motionless, rooted to the spot, unwavering.
After a long while, she slowly raised her hand and pressed it against her chest.
There, hidden close to her heart, was the short sword her mother had left her.
Wei Zhao was gone.
Her dowry was gone.
Su Yue had been beaten.
She was alone, abandoned in the most remote corner of the deep palace, isolated and helpless, her fate uncertain.
But she did not cry.
She merely withdrew her gaze, turned, and walked into the dilapidated room. Picking up a rag, she continued wiping the dust-covered table.
Su Yue crawled up, sobbing. "Your Highness… aren't you… aren't you upset?"
Murong Zhao did not pause her movements, her voice calm to the point of indifference:
"What use is being upset?"
"Wei Zhao is gone. I will find a way to bring him back."
"The dowry is gone. I will find a way to earn it back."
"You were beaten. I will find a way to seek justice for you."
She paused, lifting her eyes to meet Su Yue's. In her dark, deep pupils, a cold, flickering flame burned. "But before that, we must survive."
"Only by surviving can there be a future."
Su Yue stared at her blankly, tears streaming uncontrollably, yet she nodded desperately, scrambled to her feet, and resumed cleaning.
Night fell.
In the small courtyard of Yong Lane, they had finally managed to restore a semblance of order.
Murong Zhao sat by the window, opening the old wooden box her mother had left her by the light of the moon.
The short sword lay quietly inside, its blade gleaming coldly under the moonlight.
She gently traced the length of the sword, suddenly recalling the look in Wei Zhao's eyes when he had left.
Resentment.
Anger.
And… guilt.
He must have blamed himself for failing to protect her.
Murong Zhao tightened her grip on the hilt, her voice so soft only she could hear it:
"Wei Zhao, leave with peace of mind."
"One day, I will bring you back with dignity."
The night wind swept through the broken window lattice, brushing against her thin, pale face.
She lifted her gaze toward the depths of the palace walls, her dark eyes as still and deep as an abyss.
Consort Shu.
The Empress Dowager.
And that unseen Emperor Yin.
In this deep palace, there were many who wished for her death.
But she was determined to live.
Not only to live but to become the very thing they feared most.
Meanwhile, in a derelict pavilion across from Yong Lane, a figure clad in dark robes had been standing silently in the shadows for a long while.
Xiao Yan stood with his hands behind his back, peering through a crack in the window lattice at the slender figure sitting by the window, lost in solitary thought under the moonlight.
From the moment Consort Shu barged in with her entourage, to the guards being taken away, to the young maid being beaten, to everyone striding off triumphantly—
He had seen it all.
He had seen her spine remain straight even as everything was stripped from her.
He had seen her gaze fixed in the direction the guard had left, her eyes clearly reddening, yet she held back stubbornly, not shedding a single tear.
He saw the little maid weeping as she asked if she was suffering, and heard the words she spoke—
“Wei Zhao is gone, I’ll find a way to bring him back.”
“The dowry is lost, I’ll find a way to earn it back.”
“You were beaten, I’ll find a way to avenge you.”
“But before that, we must survive. Only by surviving can there be a future.”
Xiao Yan’s eyes flickered slightly.
An eighteen-year-old girl, thrown into a place like Yong Lane—she didn’t cry, didn’t make a scene, didn’t beg for mercy, not even a hint of resentment or self-pity.
She wasn’t thinking “why me,” but “how to survive, how to take back what’s mine.”
He had seen too many women.
Those who wept, made scenes, knelt, begged, schemed, or flattered.
He had never seen one like this.
In the darkness, the corners of his thin lips lifted slightly.
Interesting.
Just then, Murong Zhao suddenly moved.
She seemed to sense something, abruptly raising her head, her gaze shooting straight toward the abandoned pavilion across the way.
Xiao Yan’s figure stiffened.
That gaze was sharp as a blade, piercing straight through the darkness, landing precisely on his hiding place.
Through layers of night, through the dilapidated window lattice, their eyes met.
Murong Zhao couldn’t make out the person’s face, only a vague silhouette—tall, upright, hidden in the shadows, like a beast lying in wait.
Her heart skipped a beat, her hand instinctively moving toward the short sword concealed in her robes.
But the figure merely stood still for a moment before turning and disappearing silently into the darkness.
As if it had never been there at all.
Murong Zhao stared at the spot for a long time before slowly withdrawing her gaze.
Who was it?
Someone sent by the Empress Dowager?
Someone from Consort Shu?
Or perhaps…
She didn’t know.
But she knew one thing—
In this deep palace, there were more eyes watching her than she had imagined.
She tightened her grip on the short sword, the coldness in her eyes deepening.
Come then.
She wasn’t afraid.
Inside the pavilion, Xiao Yan stepped out of the shadows. The shadow guard beside him whispered, “Your Majesty, that princess seems to have noticed you…”
Xiao Yan’s footsteps didn’t pause, but a faint curve lifted the corner of his lips:
“It’s better that she noticed.”
“If she didn’t even have that much vigilance, she wouldn’t be worth my personal visit.”
He paused, his voice low. “Have someone send a thick quilt over. Say… it’s newly arrived from the Imperial Household Department, distributed according to regulations to each palace.”
The shadow guard was taken aback. “Your Majesty, a place like Yong Lane has never had such ‘regulations’…”
Xiao Yan glanced at him.
The shadow guard immediately lowered his head. “Understood, Your Majesty.”
Xiao Yan clasped his hands behind his back, gazing up at the night sky. A flicker of interest, even he himself hadn’t noticed, passed through his eyes.
A discarded daughter raised in the Cold Palace.
A pawn sent as a substitute bride.
Stripped of everything, yet neither weeping nor making a scene, only thinking of how to survive and how to take back what was hers.
Such a woman, he was seeing for the first time.
He was very curious—
In this devouring deep palace, just how long could she survive?
And how far… could she go.