The coffin was locked within the secret chamber, and once the door was shut, not the slightest sound could penetrate.
The silence around her was as deep as Shiba Nili, and A-Pan could hear nothing but her own heart pounding like a war drum.
A-Pan was afraid of the dark.
Terrified of it.
She was also afraid of silence.
Afraid of this deathly stillness.
No one came to bring her water, and no one came to speak with her.
Her soaked robes had frozen into ice, but not long after she entered the coffin, the ice melted. At some point she broke out in a cold sweat, which quickly turned ice-cold again, leaving her shivering violently—then fever set in, burning hot to the touch.
She was held in solitary confinement, unaware of day or night, waiting for the Sect Master to give the order for her release.
She spent the New Year in that coffin.
She passed the New Year’s Eve of Huai Wang’s third year, and arrived at the first day of Huai Wang’s fourth year.
She did not know exactly how long she had been locked in there—perhaps two days and nights, perhaps three, perhaps even longer.
All she knew was that when she was carried out, she felt as though she had already died once.
Her face was so pale she was already half a ghost.
She lay sprawled on the cold stone floor of the secret chamber like a pool of mud, before her the Sect Master of Qianjimen, Xiao Yannian.
He stood above her, looking down, his brow and eyes distant and cold, not a trace of emotion in them. He only asked, “Have you thought it through?”
A-Pan’s mouth was parched and dry. When she parted her cracked lips, a hoarse, grating sound emerged from her throat. “I have…”
“And now you know what you must do?”
“I do…”
The man standing above her spoke in a low voice, still as gentle as he had been at the very beginning. “What must you do?”
“Be my master’s blade, and atone for my father’s sins…”
“It is to atone for Zhongshan.”
His voice was low, yet each word was like the long nails hammered into the coffin, piercing straight into her lungs.
She answered in a low voice, “Yes… to atone for Zhongshan…”
Yet in her heart, she still tried to seek some sliver of warmth behind those cold words, and so she asked, “Why did my master choose A-Pan?”
In the years to come, she would always think back to her time at Qianjimen. And when she thought of those days, there would always be a warm memory to hold onto.
Then she would not fear walking alone through fire and blades, nor fear the day she would end her own life.
Among the girls who had come with her, there had been so many outstanding spies. But in the end, he had chosen her—there had to be a reason.
Perhaps it was because of her natural talent, her sharp intuition, her keen powers of observation.
Perhaps it was because she stayed calm under pressure, obedient and well-behaved.
Because aside from killing and seduction, whether it was dancing or the use of poisons, she was the best among the new recruits of Qianjimen.
She hoped Xiao Yannian would praise her as he once had, saying “Because your talent is extraordinary,” or perhaps—perhaps he would say something else…
But she could not help letting out a deep sigh. What exactly was she hoping Xiao Yannian would say?
She should have known that a man who had once been a king would have no mercy in his heart.
And sure enough, the Sect Master of Qianjimen replied, “Nothing more than this—I took a liking to this face.”
She could hear her own heart shatter with a crack, breaking into pieces scattered every which way.
In an instant, everything was emptied out. The fragments, the shards—she did not know where they drifted, nor where they fell.
She had thought that Xiao Yannian treated her at least a little differently from the others.
A man who personally taught her the great principles of state and the rites, music, poetry, and books. A man who personally checked her lessons every time, who even personally came to her bed to test her. All those “personally”s—it turned out they were only because he had taken a liking to her face, only because this face could serve as a sharp blade for his restoration.
That was all.
Nothing more.
A-Pan’s face was deathly pale as she murmured to herself, “Everything my master did for A-Pan… it was all a lie…”
Lu Shang cut in with a cold laugh. “Otherwise, how could a waste like you ever have caught my master’s eye?”
For a moment, no one spoke, and the secret chamber fell into a terrifying silence.
A-Pan let out a feeble sigh, closed her eyes, and lay weakly, as though her Sanhun Liupo had been drained from her body. The excessive cold and stillness of the chamber made her curl up involuntarily.
Her body would not obey her, trembling and shaking uncontrollably, shivering without end. In a moment of absent-mindedness, she grew dazed and hazy.
As she drifted into unconsciousness, she thought everyone in the chamber had left, but she vaguely heard voices speaking. “Master, she doesn’t look well.”
Her head felt heavy and her feet light, a bitter taste in her throat. Between waking and sleeping, it seemed someone was taking her pulse, saying, “Master, she is with child.”
She was still thinking—who is with child?
She forced her eyes open, and through blurred vision she saw Xiao Yannian.
But he had already risen to his feet. Before she could make out his expression, he had turned and walked away.
Her thin fingertips trembled slightly, trying to lift themselves with all her strength, to grasp at the footsteps that would not stay. That faint cry of “Master” was ultimately swallowed back into her heart.
The people around her dispersed one by one. She seemed to remain in the secret chamber, and it was not long before someone came again.
That person crouched down beside her, and the unpleasant smell of medicinal herbs quickly filled her nostrils.
“I told my master long ago that you were nothing but a whore, and not worth the effort…”
It was Lu Shang.
Her words were as sharp and piercing as ever.
Her hand rubbed A-Pan’s lower abdomen, rubbing on its own accord, and she spoke on her own accord as well, “But the master won’t listen.”
Lu Shang let out a snicker, and her hand suddenly tightened, gripping A-Pan until it hurt. A-Pan couldn’t help but let out a low cry, instinctively curling her body inward.
The woman beside her continued speaking, “Look, look, isn’t this just the bastard seed of a Weiren?”
Ah, so it was the child of that Noble.
In a daze, she recalled a time long ago.
Long ago, when she had first served the Noble of Wei Guo, she remembered that at dawn, the general surnamed Guan had asked, “Shall the Zhujun be given a medicinal draught?”
She remembered the Noble saying lightly, “Forget it.”
Back then, those words had stirred a faint warmth in her heart.
The Noble had not ordered anyone to force Bizi Tang down her throat. He likely never knew that because of a single moment of kindness, a child had truly been left behind.
Lost in memories of the past, the acerbic words continued to ring in her ears, “There’s no one else here. Tell me quietly—how many Weiren have you served? One? Ten? A hundred?”
The woman before her raised an eyebrow and laughed heartily, rocking back and forth, almost unable to stop, and taunted, “Or too many—can’t even count them all?”
A-Pan’s eyes stung with tears. She knew that Lu Shang looked down on her from the bottom of her heart—looked down on her origins, looked down on her past, and looked down on her present.
But among the people here, how many truly thought well of her?
Even Xiao Yannian looked down on her.
Just listen to her say, “This is the master’s order. Drink it.”
The pitch-black medicinal brew sat nearby, still emitting wisps of white steam. Lu Shang kicked it over with the tip of her foot. “Save me the trouble of doing it myself.”