Jing Miaoyi had just kicked someone into the space under the bed when she was pushed aside. She took a deep breath, hastily hiding the dagger beneath her pillow inside her sleeve.
The man’s footsteps stopped in front of the folding screen. He drew his waist sword and lifted the cloth covering it.
A spark of anger flared in his eyes, and the blade hovered before the screen for a second.
“Duke Zhen’guo, if you like this screen, I can give it to you. No need to break in at midnight.”
Jing Miaoyi didn’t speak further; today would be wasted again.
She disliked doing things repeatedly in vain.
Ruan Xi let out a cold laugh. With his sword, he parted the gauze curtains separating the inner and outer chambers. Inside, she wore a light green blouse, over it a faint peach-pink outer gauze, and her hair, previously tied up, fell in three thousand strands down to her waist.
Suddenly, he remembered last night—the drunk girl had fallen into his arms unguarded.
The faint orchid fragrance seemed still lingering at his fingertips.
“Jing Miaoyi, staying up this late… you expected I would come.”
She faced the intruder, drawing her dagger toward him. Two traps lay hidden in her room now, ready to explode at the slightest mistake.
Jing Miaoyi seriously suspected these three had conspired to deliberately mess with her.
Ruan Xi, observing her clumsy grip on the dagger, folded his arms with interest, leaning against a pillar.
“If I could be hurt by your little knife, I would have died countless times on the battlefield.”
“Jing Miaoyi, I told you I will never let you get your way in this life.”
She could not afford to entangle with him too much now. Shen Jueming could endure, but the Emperor could not.
Taking a deep breath, she pressed the dagger to her neck. “I, a weak woman, cannot harm you, but I can decide my own life and death.”
Ruan Xi’s eyes flickered, his brows tensed, body straightening, a fierce gleam in his gaze. “Jing Miaoyi, is that how you wish to die?”
“Even if I want to live, Duke Zhen’guo, you will not grant me a chance.”
“You forced Shen Lang to divorce me, then repeatedly broke into my room. If this is revenge for my harsh words in Qingzhou, shouldn’t you be satisfied now?”
She slowly moved to the window, which looked out on an artificial small lake her father had specially made, laid with Si Shui stones, so she could gaze at Qingzhou even from afar.
“Not enough!”
Ruan Xi’s long-suppressed anger erupted. “Jing Miaoyi, everything you have now is your retribution.
You want to die? Not so easy—this is just the beginning.” He stepped forward.
In the quiet room, every step sounded dangerous and terrifying.
Her heart felt like a taut string.
“Duke Zhen’guo, though I am the daughter of a condemned minister, I am still a Jing. If you step closer, even from faraway Qingzhou, the Jing family will file a complaint to the capital.”
“You think I’m afraid?”
Jing Miaoyi’s hand holding the dagger trembled slightly, from fear or nervousness. Her body struck the window corner, her elbow pushed open the tightly shut window, producing a crisp sound in the silent night.
Stumbling, she thrust the dagger straight toward her neck.
Ruan Xi’s expression changed in alarm. Faster than thought, his body reacted—blood dropped from his palm before the dagger could pierce her neck.
The pale, translucent cheek was streaked with red, glaringly obvious.
Sacred Buddha was stained with the blood of the lowly.
Unable to tolerate it, Ruan Xi’s eyes gleamed with madness, and he snatched the dagger from her hand. “Who allowed you to defile what should not be defiled?”
He scolded sharply, grabbing her by the neck. “Who permitted you to do this?”
Madman!
Jing Miaoyi cursed silently, stepped on his foot, used the backward momentum to dodge, and kicked his waist.
A loud “thud.”
He fell into the lake behind the house.
Jing Miaoyi, without a moment to think, hurriedly closed the window, wedging the dagger to prevent anyone else from entering.
“Shen Lang.” She didn’t dare waste time and pulled him from under the bed. “Shen Lang, listen to me—leave immediately. If Duke Zhen’guo knows you are here, he won’t spare you.”
Tears fell like pearls from a broken string, heart-wrenching to see.
“Miaoyi, you’ve suffered.” Shen Jueming cupped her face, pressing a kiss on her forehead as a sign of indebtedness.
Before Jing Miaoyi could feign emotion, he had already fled.
His ingrained callousness, selfishness—perfectly displayed.
He never considered whether the Duke would rise from the lake to seek her trouble.
He never thought what she would face if left alone.
Jing Miaoyi stood in place for a long time. Silence filled the room, oppressive and eerie.
“Cried? Feeling sad?”
Emperor Linhui finally witnessed a spectacle. No wonder the morning magpie chirped so loudly—there must have been something interesting.
He smoothed his wrinkled clothes, sitting upright on the bed, amused by the beauty before him.
“Jing Miaoyi, I really can’t figure you out. What is it about Shen Jueming that moves your heart so?”
The emperor had seen fools but never someone this foolish. His interest in her grew.
Jing Miaoyi’s gaze was vacant. The tear hiding in her eyes slid down, mixing with a drop of blood—a tear of blood, the unspeakable pain of collapse.
“Your Majesty… Duke Zhen’guo, he…” Jing Miaoyi hurried forward.
“Jing Miaoyi, you are the first person in history to dare stuff me into a wardrobe.”
The emperor smiled, but no one would mistake it for casual banter.
She knelt anxiously. “Your Majesty, I am at fault, punish me, but Duke Zhen’guo will not let me go easily. Please grant me mercy.”
Emperor Linhui raised a brow and beckoned.
Jing Miaoyi hesitated, then approached.
“I am the Son of Heaven. If I must avoid, he is the one avoiding me.” A faint, unsettling smile curved his lips.
When the emperor did not smile, there was still some chance of survival. When he did, all that remained was the chance to say farewell.
Jing Miaoyi pressed her lips, realizing the emperor’s mind could never be fathomed.
She hesitated, then extended her hand. When it met the emperor’s palm, he pulled her into his arms.
He rested his head on her shoulder. “Jing Miaoyi, you tricked my Left Guard General on purpose, didn’t you?”
“Your Ma—” She had no chance to explain; his fingertip lightly touched her lips.
“Soft and weak in front of me, but if provoked, your heart is harder than anyone’s.”
Jing Miaoyi froze. The emperor had taken power at sixteen, ruthless in tactics. To deceive him was like hitting stone with an egg.
Feeling her tense body, he still smiled and mischievously bit her earlobe.
“Jing Miaoyi, around me, the queens and consorts all scheme. I dislike the harem, yet I am willing to watch you scheme. Know why?”
“I am but a floating duckweed, powerless, yet never deceived Your Majesty.”
She knelt, trembling, sobbing, fragile, as if a gust of wind could crush her.
“Three years ago, my father was executed. As the daughter of a condemned minister, I should have been exiled. Shen Lang insisted on marrying me regardless of his career.
No matter what Shen Lang does, I will be grateful my whole life.
My father taught me righteousness: a drop of kindness must be repaid with a spring. Even more so for a life-saving grace.”
“As a woman, if I cannot preserve my honor, it will not only harm me but also my unmarried sisters.
If Duke Zhen’guo were to act tonight, I could only die to protect myself. I did not intend to harm the Left Guard General; I was simply too afraid.”
Tears fell like rain, but her back remained straight, preserving her last dignity.
“I was only joking,” Emperor Linhui said, holding her tightly and patting her back.
Her fragile frame seemed as if even wind could blow her away; her white, delicate neck was smaller than his palm. Weak, helpless.
The emperor sighed. If she weren’t clever, she might have been devoured completely.
A trace of cold flashed in Jing Miaoyi’s eyes.
Your Majesty, forcing a deceiver to admit deception is like forcing a spy to admit being a spy.
“Are none of your Jing family in the capital?”
She nodded slightly. “My uncle served in the capital as Assistant Minister of the Ministry of Rites. After my father’s incident, he was sent to Jixi as a minor county officer.”
From a fourth-rank official to ninth-rank minor official.
The Jing family carried pride. His father-in-law truly knew how to handle matters.
“I am sleepy,” Emperor Linhui suddenly said.
“?”
Jing Miaoyi didn’t understand, rolled onto the bed with him.
“Your Ma—Your Majesty…”
“I am sleepy. I must rise early tomorrow. Are you trying to delay morning court?”
Jing Miaoyi pressed her lips, not daring to move.
The next day, at dawn, the emperor, used to rising early, opened his eyes. A soft head burrowed into his arms, rosy lips teasing him.
The faint orchid scent mingled with his own musk, like the lingering presence of his mother on his father.
He seemed to understand why his father braved the court to bring his mother out of the imperial tomb.
This time, he dressed without attendants, considering she had been frightened last night and not woken anyone.
Outside, Wei Wuyan waited.
“Your Majesty should return to the palace.”
The emperor smiled and waved.
Wei Wuyan’s heart raced.
The next moment, a firm kick landed on his rear.
“You watched me get stuffed into the wardrobe yesterday?”
Wei Wuyan muttered softly, “Your Majesty, didn’t you want to experience what a flower thief feels? Besides, if I hadn’t cleaned up, how could the Duke have left so easily?”
Emperor Linhui laughed, tugging his ear. “Then I owe you thanks.”
“Go, move the folding screen from that room to my Hall of Longevity.”
“Ah?”
Your Majesty, taking both food and plate—isn’t that a bit much?
Emperor Linhui looked at the magpie on the tree, raising a brow. “Another bit of good news?”