Exiting the rear courtyard, the matron led the way.
Gu Qinglu walked at a leisurely pace, her gaze sweeping over Western Zhou as casually as if she were strolling through her Miao Borderlands courtyard.
In contrast, the matron ahead looked tense, uncertain whether the prince had summoned the consort to question her—or merely to send her away.
They passed a pavilion, then a long corridor.
After nearly a quarter of an hour, they finally reached the main hall.
Through the arched gate lay a pebble-paved path. On either side, neatly arranged trees provided a scenic frame. No flowers or shrubs, though there were two archery targets.
“Consort, without the prince’s orders, I cannot accompany you inside,” the matron said, hands clasped, standing at the steps.
Two rows of soft-armored guards flanked the open doors. At her arrival, the lead soldier raised a hand in a formal invitation: “Please, Consort.”
Gu Qinglu inclined her head, lifted her skirts, and ascended the steps, entering the hall.
The spacious main hall was empty. At its center lay a bronze map of mountains and rivers.
“This way,” a faint yet sharp voice came from the side hall.
Gu Qinglu blinked and turned. Without hesitation, she stepped toward the side hall.
The shadowy figure leaned leisurely by a landscape screen, serene and composed.
Neither spoke. Gu Qinglu pondered silently: how should she address him?
“Husband?” Too cheesy.“Prince?” Too familiar.
Finally, she decided on a formal title. Bowing according to central plains etiquette, she said clearly:“Your Highness, loyalist prince, greetings.”
Her voice was crisp, neither subservient nor arrogant. From behind the screen, Xiao Xingcang raised an eyebrow.
Indeed, she was different—no longer the tearful woman from the previous night demanding sweets.
“No need for ceremony. Come, sit,” came the low, cold voice from behind the screen.
Gu Qinglu straightened and stepped inside.
A seat had been set near a small table.
He wore black silk, leaning back, watching her.
Gu Qinglu studied him as well, realizing today that he was far more striking than that first night. Sunlight streaming through the window lit half of his sharp, striking face.
Though his complexion was pale, his royal bearing radiated.
Thick eyebrows framed piercing phoenix-like eyes; his nose was well-shaped, lips thin and slightly pressed.
His black hair was loosely tied at the back with a dark green ribbon.
The gu poison had left it brittle.
“It’s working,” Gu Qinglu noted, glancing at his recovering color as she lowered herself onto the seat.
On a small western table lay prepared tea; she lifted the cup and sipped.
Xiao Xingcang’s lips had regained a faint color, though his face remained pale. When he looked at her, a flicker crossed his dark eyes but vanished instantly.
“I hear from the household servants that the Consort saved me?” His tone was cold, his expression unreadable.
Xiao Xingcang did not believe a simple woman could have healed him—after all, the masters of the Medicine King Valley had no cure for the gu in him. Perhaps she had been sent by that “good nephew” as an assassin, pretending to be foolish.
Yet, by chance, she had pierced a few times, dispelling the pooled black blood in his chest.
Gu Qinglu, seeing his suspicion, met his probing gaze calmly.“Yes,” she replied firmly.
Pausing, she asked, “Any heart pain these past two days? Head still aching?”
Xiao Xingcang scrutinized her.
Truly, the pain had eased.
But unwilling to admit the truth, he said with slight movement of his eyes:“Still as before.”
Gu Qinglu’s lips twitched. The lie was almost amusing—the slightest tell revealed the falseness. If he were truly as before, he would already be dead, sealed in a coffin today.
“Then, Your Highness, why see me today?” She thought: if it wasn’t to treat the gu, what else could it be?
Seeing her smile, Xiao Xingcang frowned slightly.
Calmly facing his doubt, Gu Qinglu continued, “I know you trust no one, especially me. I do not know the nature of the Shigu gu that afflicts you. Had I not intervened, last night the gu would have crawled into your brain, devouring your marrow. Your seven orifices would bleed, and the gu would emerge from them—you would have suffered and died as well.”
She smiled serenely, her innocent face like a mortal-descended fairy sent to save the world.
Xiao Xingcang’s eyes hardened. So cruel. Even death wouldn’t allow him a proper end.
“So… you can remove the gu?” he asked.
That was exactly what she wanted him to ask.
He intended to see what astounding feat she could perform right under his eyes.
Gu Qinglu sipped tea, deciding not to waste words on a scheming man.“Not only can I remove the gu, I can cleanse the poisons that have lingered in the hall for two years.”
Observing her calm composure, he asked, “How can I trust you?”
Gu Qinglu kept her expression neutral, smiling faintly. Internally: Don’t trust me? Fine, you’ll die if I didn’t treat you. Who’s begging who now?
Putting down her cup, she said lightly, “Your Highness, remove your clothing.”
Xiao Xingcang’s expression darkened. He shouted outward: “Bring her away—hang her!”
No sooner had he spoken than a violent cough seized him.
Gu Qinglu rolled her eyes internally: Serves you right.
Threaten to hang her, and you nearly died first.
She wanted him to remove his clothing so she could clearly guide the gu’s path. Besides, a grown man wouldn’t lose any flesh from a glance.
Hearing the prince’s forceful shout, the household scrambled inside.
The matron led the way into the side hall, urgently calling: “Your Highness!”
Seeing him suppress a cough, everyone bustled: pouring water, patting his back, fetching the imperial physician.
Only Gu Qinglu remained poised, seated, unbothered.
After a moment’s calming, and a sip of water, Xiao Xingcang’s condition stabilized.
The matron looked at Gu Qinglu and spoke gently: “On the third day after the wedding, one mustn’t speak unlucky words. The prince is ill; Consort, yield to him.”
Gu Qinglu’s eyes moved slightly. Raising her sleeve to cover her face, she said in a mock-crying tone,“Your Highness refuses to cooperate with treatment. Very well, matron, I’ll go face death outside.”
She rose, slowing at the door, counting silently—ten seconds at most. He would call her back.
At eight, a low, hoarse voice rang behind her:“Stop. Come back.”
Gu Qinglu closed her eyes, taking a deep breath: Patience. Under the roof, one must endure. Step back, the sea will widen, the wind will calm.
Turning, hands folded behind her back, eyes lowered, her tone soft, slightly aggrieved:“Before I die, Your Highness, is there anything else you wish to command?”
The moment she moved, Xiao Xingcang felt his breathing strain, something beneath his skin shifting with his blood.
Steeling himself, he said sincerely:“Cure me.”
A dead horse treated as alive—at this point, if she failed, at worst, he’d die. But at least he wouldn’t face it alone on the road to the underworld.