While waiting for the other abdominal insects to feed, Gu Qinglu played with the ones in the porcelain jar using her floating needles.
“Are those insects still useful?” Xiao Xingcang asked tentatively, seeing her handle them as if they were delicate treasures.
Once an insect was sent to feed, Gu Qinglu looked up and gave him a faint smile, her face impossibly beautiful.“Of course. Once I refine them, I’ll give them to you. Feed them to your enemies.”
“And then?” he asked, curiosity piqued.
Leaning back lazily, Gu Qinglu replied, “Then your enemies will suffer immensely, their internal organs slowly corroding until death.”
Xiao Xingcang’s expression darkened.
He glanced down at his chest, crisscrossed with needles.
The blood feeding the abdominal insects came from him.
If she hadn’t died and returned, he shuddered to think what tortures he might have endured.
Noticing his concern, Gu Qinglu explained, “Relax. Your blood is only one ingredient in the poison. The insects are fed the toxic herbs you provided. Mixed with your blood, they achieve the effect of corroding the heart and lungs.”
At that moment, another insect finished feeding.
Gu Qinglu withdrew it into its jar, repeating the process three times and removing the needles.
Blood seeped from the puncture points. Xiao Xingcang smelled the familiar acrid scent.
Suddenly, the acupoints she had pressed a few days ago throbbed sharply.
Pain surged in his chest, and he vomited black blood.
The pungent stench spread through the room.
These past days, after acupuncture, Gu Qinglu had pressed his acupoints to expel the residual toxins.
“Poison that has accumulated for two years can’t be removed in a day or two. Take it slow. Practice sword and spear half an hour a day,” she said lightly, rising to cleanse her hands.
The men of the house weren’t allowed in while she worked; Xiao Xingcang was attended only by the matron.
Dressed in a deep blue robe, he leaned back, watching her nibble on a snack.
For some reason, a faint, almost imperceptible smile curved his lips.
His personality had softened, though his love of food remained.
“I am healthy now, thanks to the Consort,” he said lazily from the soft couch.
“Mm, no trouble at all,” Gu Qinglu replied, head lowered, waving her hand grandly.
The matron tidied up and washed her hands, smiling at the scene.
Then she suddenly remembered:“Consort, prepare the evening meal here. The prince should have company.”
Gu Qinglu paused mid-bite.
She didn’t want to sit at the same table as someone so cunning: “He’s picky; I fear he’ll drool over the food. I’ll eat later in private.”
His perception was sharp.
In the past half-month, she had extracted poisons, refined powders for defense, and inserted needles to clear his meridians.
Her body was strengthening, and she feared he’d notice.
Most importantly, she didn’t want him discovering that she was Gu Qinglu of the Miao Borderlands, dead for two years—mistaking her for a demon and burning her alive.
The thought of the fire, the flames, and being roasted alive made her shiver.
Having finally survived, she would not die again.
She had youth, freedom, and a life to pursue.
Most importantly, she no longer needed to adhere to the constraints of her former saintly identity.
She could go wherever she wished.
Xiao Xingcang noticed the fleeting change in her expression and suddenly said, “Bring the meal.”
Click. Gu Qinglu tossed the half-eaten snack aside and turned to him: “Don’t forget our three rules.”
Adjusting his posture, he looked at her. “Our rules don’t forbid eating at the same table.”
“Consider this added,” she raised an eyebrow. After a pause, she continued, “And don’t forget—your life is because I saved you. Without me, you’d already be in the ground.”
With that, she put away her rolled needles, took her tray, and left.
Xiao Xingcang had nothing to say.
Respect and gratitude were owed to the one who had saved his life.
He had noticed how, over these two weeks, she had gone from cautious to capable of dodging Yuan Ziheng’s attacks with precision.
He was simply curious.
..
The next day.
By midday, guests arrived at the Prince’s Mansion.
The steward at the front, seeing a swollen, bruised man, didn’t recognize him at first.
Only after spotting the attendants behind did he allow entry.
Raising a hand in greeting, he asked, concerned: “My lord, what happened? Fell from your horse again? Disturbed a beehive?”
The man ignored him and shouted, “Call the mansion physician at once.”
Yuan Ziheng had no options.
Waking up, his throat was dry and scratchy, his eyes barely functional.
His entire face was swollen and painful, itchy too.
The palace doctors’ prescribed medicine had worsened the condition.
He had no choice but to seek the Medicine King Valley doctors at the Prince’s Mansion.
The steward led him to the hall and quickly sent a messenger to summon the doctors.
Two doctors arrived and examined him for half an hour, still at a loss.
One remembered the mistress of the mansion and suggested, “Why not invite the Consort?”
“That fool?” Yuan Ziheng was stunned.
Seeing her yesterday, he hadn’t noticed anything impressive.
Except for her appearance, she seemed capable of nothing.
The steward informed Xiao Xingcang, who thought it must be some court matter.
Entering the hall, he saw Yuan Ziheng’s battered face.
Swollen, tender, every touch seeming like it would burst the skin.
Recalling the woman’s smile yesterday, he guessed who was responsible for this mess.“I suggest you stop calling her a fool. Go to the Consort and apologize sincerely.”
Hearing Xiao Xingcang defend the “fool,” Yuan Ziheng nearly jumped:“Apologize to a fool? Are you insane? That woman was sent by your nephew to humiliate me!”
Excited, his mouth hurt when he spoke.
Xiao Xingcang, seeing his sausage-like swollen lips, restrained a smile: “No denying it—she saved my life.”
Yuan Ziheng froze.
No one had told him that the “fool” saved him.
What had he missed during the mansion lockdown?
Seeing his confusion, Xiao Xingcang tilted his head and walked toward the back courtyard.
Yuan Ziheng remained, but a doctor reminded him: “Sir, follow the prince. The Consort might know a way.”
Hearing “a way,” Yuan Ziheng abandoned dignity and hurried after him.
“Can that little fool really cure me?” he asked, voice unclear as he followed.
Seeing his face, Xiao Xingcang couldn’t help but chuckle softly:“If she could just happen to cure me, she can probably cure you too.”
He didn’t reveal that Gu Qinglu had returned from the dead with exceptional medical skills—he didn’t want to frighten the pig-headed man.
More importantly, he wanted to avoid drawing attention to the mansion.
It was already embroiled in enough chaos; another unexpected variable could bring disaster.