Chapter Forty-Four: The Departure of the Lord of Pingyi

Time ticked by quietly. Feng Yewu gazed at the scroll of poetry on the desk, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

“Han Yue, what time is it?”

As Han Yue and Eunuch Mingde conversed outside the door, Feng Yewu glanced up, her voice drifting to them.

Upon hearing her inquiry, Han Yue stepped to the threshold, bowed, and answered softly.

“Your Majesty, it is nearly time.”

Feng Yewu responded with a gentle smile, lowering her gaze again to the book in her hands.

“Nearly time?” Eunuch Mingde echoed, puzzled by Han Yue’s words. “Could it be that Her Majesty is expecting someone?”

Han Yue smiled knowingly, and just then, two figures appeared in the distance. She pointed discreetly, nodding toward them. “Look, the ones Her Majesty is waiting for have arrived. Shouldn’t you go announce them?”

Eunuch Mingde followed her gesture, surprise dawning on his face as he recognized the approaching pair. He hurried forward to greet them.

It was the Prince of Pingyi and his consort.

“My lord, you have arrived. Allow me to announce you to Her Majesty. Please wait a moment.”

Eunuch Mingde bowed respectfully, but the prince’s expression was dark, his mood evidently sour. He merely grunted in reply. The princess, seeing this, quickly offered a pleasant smile to smooth things over. “Thank you, Eunuch Mingde.”

After Mingde had made his announcement, Feng Yewu unexpectedly hurried out to meet them, anxiety and concern written across her face. Had she not been so fierce and unbending in the past, the Prince of Pingyi might truly have believed she cared for him at this moment.

“Prince of Pingyi, what brings you here so suddenly?”

She quickly signaled Han Yue to bring a chair from the study.

“Your Majesty has not yet taken her seat; how dare I presume?” The prince bowed hastily as she placed the chair beside him.

“You need not stand on ceremony, my lord. Though I am sovereign, you are, after all, my uncle by blood.” Feng Yewu smiled gently and took his arm, urging him to sit.

This simple act, though outwardly unremarkable, so startled the princess that she fell silent. “My lord, you have been poisoned by traitors; your body is weak and should not be made to stand long.”

Yet the prince felt no warmth from Feng Yewu’s show of concern. Instead, a chill crawled over him. He sat awkwardly, perched on the edge of the chair as if her kindness left him more ill at ease than her coldness would have.

The composure with which she now spoke and laughed was not that of the naive girl she once was.

“My lord’s affliction pains me deeply and fills me with anger,” Feng Yewu said, stepping between the prince and princess, turning slightly as she spoke. Her voice was unchanged, but her expression had grown cold, unseen by the prince.

“That such treachery could befall one of our princes here in the capital speaks to a grave disregard for my authority. When I find the culprit, I shall see them torn limb from limb!”

Each word was cold, and though she spoke of the poisoner, her eyes hinted at another meaning.

“Your Majesty, I thank you for your concern. I am moved beyond measure and would lay down my life in your service,” replied the prince, his tone full of gratitude, but his gaze sharp and venomous.

“However, Your Majesty, I did not come here today to dwell on the matter of the poison.”

He had come to announce his departure, and after a few words of courtesy, went straight to the point.

“Oh? Does my uncle think I have not cared for him properly?” Feng Yewu feigned surprise, her heart quietly rejoicing at his words. She hurried to his side, her every word pleading for him to remain.

But the prince could not play along with her charade. He knew well enough who had poisoned him—her—but was powerless to act.

“Please, Your Majesty, do not blame yourself,” he said, rising and falling to his knees.

The princess, seeing this, knelt as well and helped explain: “Your Majesty, the prince’s illness can only be cured if he returns to his domain, as Doctor Zheng has said.”

With her head bowed, she pleaded in a low voice, “We beg Your Majesty’s permission.”

Looking upon the kneeling couple, Feng Yewu’s face showed deep reluctance and then she sighed. “Since it is for the prince’s recovery, I cannot delay you. I hope you will rest and recover once you return home.”

Within the palace, peach blossoms filled the air with their fragrance, the delicate scent drifting on the breeze. All the beauty of the season seemed to melt into the gentle sunlight.

Several days had passed since the Prince of Pingyi left the capital. In that time, most of his old allies had been swiftly dismissed and investigated by Feng Yewu’s command, her decisive actions restoring a rare peace to the city.

But beneath this calm, Feng Yewu and Lu Jue both sensed that another storm was brewing.

“En garde!” In the palace garden, where the flowers bloomed in profusion, Lu Jue called out with a light cry, leaping forward.

Blades clashed several times. Feng Yewu parried his attacks, moving with the lightness of a dragonfly, spinning aside.

Rare was the occasion for such practice, so she had invited Lu Jue to spar with her. Han Yue stood nearby, watching their graceful exchange, feeling no sense of danger at all.

Lu Jue’s handsome features and bold movements exuded a masculine vigor, while Feng Yewu, though not his match in swordplay, moved with a beauty all her own. Their duel appeared to Han Yue almost like an elegant dance.

Suddenly, a cry broke Han Yue’s reverie.

Lu Jue looked on in shock as Feng Yewu fell, his sword having pierced her chest. With a clang, his weapon dropped to the ground, and Feng Yewu collapsed in a faint.

Han Yue, stunned for only a moment, rushed forward to catch her, calling for help and summoning the imperial physicians.

Lu Jue, who had struck the blow, was at first stunned and unbelieving. Panic and remorse soon overwhelmed him, for this was a turn of events beyond anything he had expected.