Chapter Ninety-Nine: Confessions of the Heart

As Lu Jue spoke these words, Feng Yewu too fell silent. Indeed, their lives were not in immediate danger. If the two officials from the capital were truly released, once they returned to the capital, their vengeance would be inescapable, and the county magistrate would suffer a fate worse than death.

Meanwhile, Chen Pingwu and Wang Jia, fearing that Yang Guang might still be alive, pursued him along the road. The two ran into the forest, following the edge of a steep cliff. Along the way, Chen Pingwu was filled with sorrow. The four of them had set out together with laughter and cheer, yet now they found themselves in such dire straits.

As they reached the base of a sheer cliff, footsteps sounded behind them. Despairing, Chen Pingwu and Wang Jia turned to see Yang Guang approaching, his head tilted unnaturally. A cold light flashed in Yang Guang’s eyes, and a wicked smile played about his lips—he looked like a wolf that had found its prey.

“My lord, I once taught you how to cover your tracks. Pity, you still fall a little short.” Yang Guang now seemed a different man, suddenly more talkative. Chen Pingwu’s heart sank.

“You... you are...” Before Chen Pingwu could finish, a vicious glint flared in Yang Guang’s eyes. He lunged, stabbing with his blade.

With a sickening sound, hot blood spattered through the air. Chen Pingwu froze, feeling the warmth of blood on his cheek and, to his shock, on Wang Jia standing before him. Wang Jia had thrown herself forward, taking the blow meant for him; her frail back was pierced through by Yang Guang’s blade.

Chen Pingwu hurriedly caught the collapsing Wang Jia, his hands trembling, his face twisted with disbelief. “Why did you shield me from that blow?” he asked in anguish, tears slipping down his cheek as he gazed at Wang Jia’s bloodied lips.

Wang Jia managed a faint smile, her slender fingers gently brushing his face. That single cold tear made everything worthwhile to her. “Brother Wu, I waited for you so long. I searched every tavern in the East City. Ping’er said you must be out seeking pleasure, but I didn’t believe it, I...”

A fit of violent coughing overtook her, interrupting her words. Chen Pingwu stared at her in astonishment, suddenly understanding her heart at last. Tears streamed down his face as he choked out, “Don’t speak, don’t say anything, you’ll be all right.”

Wang Jia shook her head, insisting on speaking, her gaze clinging to his as though afraid to miss a single glance. “When I learned my father meant you harm, I hesitated as well. I didn’t want you in danger; I just wanted you to return safely. But now I fear I cannot wait for you any longer, nor show you the spring blossoms of the capital again...”

Her eyes closed, and her hand, which had been caressing Chen Pingwu’s cheek, slid away and fell limp.

“No!” Chen Pingwu cried out, his voice echoing between the steep cliffs.

Yang Guang, standing to the side, regarded them with a mocking gaze and interrupted, “My lord, don’t shout. She’s only fainted from blood loss. Now, let me send you both on your way.”

Chen Pingwu gently laid Wang Jia down, his face ashen, eyes fixed coldly on Yang Guang, his grip tightening on his sword until his knuckles cracked. This Yang Guang was utterly unlike his usual self. Chen Pingwu remembered hearing Lord Changwu speak of this before, but he had never believed it. Now, confronted with such a drastic change, he understood at last.

Once, when surrounded by wolves, Lord Changwu had witnessed Yang Guang’s other nature for the first time. Whenever he was gravely wounded, the reclusive and taciturn Yang Guang would disappear, replaced by a strange, emotionless monster—bloodthirsty, insane. That was Lord Changwu’s judgment.

Yang Guang raised his blade, regarding the furious Chen Pingwu with a beast’s icy smile, running his tongue slowly along the spine of the blade. A dreadful, guttural laughter welled up from deep within his throat, growing louder and more monstrous, like the howl of some inhuman creature.

For the first time, Chen Pingwu felt terror—terror that gripped him to his very soul. Lord Changwu’s warning echoed in his ears: if you ever see Yang Guang like this, run as far and as fast as you can. Even death is better than falling into his hands.

...

In the iron prison of Yanwu County, the stench and damp cold enveloped Feng Yewu and Lu Jue. The two sat in silence. Feng Yewu gazed at the bleak window, the moonlight unchanged. Now all hope rested on Wang Jia bringing help; otherwise, in three days’ time, death would be certain.

A violent coughing fit from Lu Jue broke Feng Yewu’s thoughts. Turning hastily, she held Lu Jue’s cold body more tightly. “Your Majesty... I fear Miss Wang’s life is in peril as well,” Lu Jue said weakly.

Feng Yewu looked at him in surprise and softly asked, “Why?”

Lu Jue panted heavily, his gaze complicated as he replied, “It was Yang Guang who struck me. Miss Wang has no skill in arms—how could she possibly escape his grasp?”

Lu Jue had not wanted to speak of this, for Wang Jia was their last hope. Yet reality was as chilling and oppressive as the prison itself. Seeing Feng Yewu’s silence, Lu Jue sighed softly and began to speak, his voice gentle and reminiscent.

“Your Majesty has often asked me why I am always at odds with Chen Pingwu, have you not?” Feng Yewu was taken aback by this sudden change of topic, but nodded faintly.

Lu Jue laughed at himself and explained, “I know my status is lowly and I should not harbor feelings for Your Majesty, but my affection swells like a tide—growing in absence, overflowing when we meet.”

Hearing Lu Jue suddenly confess, Feng Yewu blushed, her voice trembling as she asked, “When did it begin?”

Lu Jue gazed up at the peeling roof, lost in memory. “It was our first meeting, I think. Your Majesty sat in the carriage, terrified. After I stopped the runaway horses, I found myself unable to let go.”

Feng Yewu recalled with surprise that she had been a child then, traveling to the capital with her father to see the late emperor. By chance, her carriage had lost control, only to be stopped by a young man—Lu Jue himself.

She did not know how to respond, but saw Lu Jue raise his left hand, showing the scar on his wrist. “Your Majesty, in three days’ time, I will face execution. There is one thing I beg of you,” Lu Jue said earnestly.

Feng Yewu looked at him, puzzled. Lu Jue smiled slightly, his tone calm. “Though wounded, I still have strength for one last fight. When the chaos arises, I beg you to seize the chance and escape without hesitation.”

Feng Yewu’s heart clenched at his words, a tear tracing down her cheek as she shook her head.

Seeing her refusal, Lu Jue grew anxious, his tone grave. “Your Majesty, you are the sovereign of a nation; to lose your life here would be a crime for which I could never atone.”

With tears in her eyes, Feng Yewu gently caressed Lu Jue’s cheek and whispered, “To have the heart of the one I love, what matter bitterness or sweetness? With one, I have the world.”