Chapter Thirty-Nine: Nothing Else Matters

Throwing a tantrum? Did he just imply that she was acting petulant?

“Your Majesty, I would never dare to throw a tantrum in your presence,” she answered honestly, her expression earnest. She had never been one for such outbursts.

“Very well, whatever Xue’er says, so it shall be,” the King replied, indulgence and affection evident in his manner.

Xuexue found herself at a loss for words. From the looks of it, Ji Wuqing was indeed exceptionally tolerant of her—at least, that was probably how Cao Xingyu and Qi Wanliang perceived it. “It feels as though there are others present in this side hall, does it not?”

“Your humble concubine greets the Queen.”

“Your maidservant pays her respects to the Queen.”

The two who had been ignored finally offered their respectful greetings. Qi Wanliang stood there, bowing, a hint of timidity and guilt—or perhaps self-reproach—on her young face. Her emotions were complicated.

“Has something happened? Both Attendant Qi and Lady Cao are here,” Xuexue asked, feigning ignorance.

From Ji Wuqing’s earlier words, she could guess that Lady Cao’s scheme had not only aroused her own suspicion but had also been noticed by Attendant Qi, who had come to intervene.

“It is indeed an interesting affair; who would have thought such things could happen in this royal palace,” Ji Wuqing remarked with a gentle smile, though his expression, soft though it was, somehow made both Attendant Qi and Cao Xingyu uneasy.

“…Your Majesty, please don’t be so enigmatic,” Xuexue said, knowing this man preferred to conceal his anger. No, more accurately, he simply didn’t care enough about trivial matters to be angry at all.

“Attendant Qi, since you came here uninvited, why don’t you tell the Queen what you know?” Ji Wuqing’s words left no room for courtesy, directly exposing the flaw in Qi Wanliang’s story.

Qi Wanliang, who had always presented herself as timid, was visibly unsettled by the King’s blunt dismissal.

“Replying to Your Majesty and the Queen,” she began in a small, fearful voice, “I discovered the matter by chance. I was fetching lunch from the Imperial Kitchen with my maid when I happened upon Lady Cao there. I saw with my own eyes that she put something into the osmanthus fish. I couldn’t help but grow suspicious. But as it was only my own conjecture, I dared not speak out. I discreetly made inquiries at the kitchen and, once it was confirmed, I came straight to Your Majesty.”

“So, Attendant Qi, you have rendered great service,” Xuexue nodded seriously.

“But what I find strange,” Ji Wuqing interjected, showing no leniency, “is that if you discovered such a thing, why didn’t you first report it to the Queen, who has always cared for you since your entrance to the palace, and instead came straight to my study?”

This pointed out an undeniable fact: Qi Wanliang was not inherently meek. She was, in truth, calculating.

“…It was my own lack of foresight. The incident happened so suddenly that I didn’t have time to inform Her Majesty. I acted on my own initiative. I beg the Queen’s forgiveness…” Qi Wanliang fell to her knees, her voice trembling with panic and fear.

Yet, though the King’s words had struck home, she pleaded for mercy from Xuexue instead.

“The King was only trying to scare you. You may rise,” Xuexue said coolly.

She didn’t find anything particularly wrong with such little schemes; after all, she had no desire to form alliances or foster sisterly bonds among the concubines, so there was no need for others to curry favor with her.

“If you are so timid, one day this deep palace will swallow you whole, bones and all,” Ji Wuqing muttered with evident boredom. “You may withdraw.”

Qi Wanliang accepted the order and retreated, her posture hunched. The subtle change on her timid face, prompted by Ji Wuqing’s words, was hard to read—though, in truth, who would bother to notice such a frail girl?

Now only Cao Xingyu remained, kneeling and awaiting Ji Wuqing’s judgment. She did not protest her innocence; rather, she accepted it all with surprising calm.

“I thought you were clever—why would you do something so foolish?” Xuexue asked, her tone tinged with regret.

“What wrong have I done? I entered the palace to be a concubine. If not for you, Your Majesty, would I have ended up as a maid?!” Lifting her head to meet Xuexue’s gaze, she showed no fear now that her secret was exposed.

“Regardless, you will pay the price for your folly,” Xuexue replied coldly, not wishing to argue.

“How is it foolish? Once, a palace maid used such methods to win the emperor’s favor and became a beloved consort. If she could succeed, why couldn’t I? Besides, she was but a maid, while I am the legitimate daughter of a noble house. Why shouldn’t I become a royal concubine? Moreover, weren’t you, Blood Empress, once a commoner yourself?” Her last question was laced with resentment and sarcasm.

“You said it yourself—she was truly a palace maid, but you are not. That is precisely why a noble daughter’s fall is all the more disgraceful. How could it lead to success?” Xuexue could not comprehend why these women all longed to become palace concubines. Wasn’t the world outside far freer than these gilded walls?

Cao Xingyu was struck as if awakening from a dream. Perhaps she had chosen the wrong path from the very start.

But she was unwilling to accept it. She knew what fate awaited her: for such an outrageous offense as attempting to drug the King, her entire family might suffer.

“This was not solely my idea. The woman from Xiliang advised me,” she declared, determined not to bear disgrace alone.

So the matter involved someone from Xiliang as well? That woman who had left such a faint impression on her.

“This matter ends here,” Ji Wuqing declared, decisively cutting off Cao Xingyu’s hopes. He remained as elegant as ever, his handsome features exuding a bewitching gentleness. “As for you, since you so wish to stay in the palace, I shall grant your wish. Send out the order: Lady Cao, for disregarding palace rules and plotting harm against the King, is to be immediately confined to the Cold Palace. She shall remain there until there is no trace of her left in this world.”

The implication was clear: Cao Xingyu was to die, forgotten, in the Cold Palace.

A once-confident noble daughter had now come to such a tragic end—a pitiful fate indeed.

When Cao Xingyu, heartbroken and despairing, had been taken away, Xuexue let out a faint sigh.

Ji Wuqing sat at the table as if nothing had happened, gracefully picking up a piece of osmanthus fish with his chopsticks. His every movement radiated aristocratic elegance. “To think that our midday meal was so rudely interrupted—truly, it’s rather excessive,” he remarked, his light tone tinged with displeasure.

“In that case, I shall take my leave and not disturb Your Majesty’s meal,” Xuexue said, rising to her feet, feeling she shouldn’t have come in the first place.

A shrewd man like Ji Wuqing would never allow anyone to plot under his very nose, especially not if he himself were the target. She bowed and turned to go, but his voice called her back.

“Xue’er.” Gently, he stopped her. “What’s wrong with you?”

What’s wrong with me?

“Why do you ask, Your Majesty?” She frowned, momentarily baffled by his question.

“You know very well,” the King replied, inscrutable as ever, watching the straight line of her back.

“…If you have something to say, Your Majesty, please say it plainly. There’s no need to be so roundabout,” she said, finding his behavior odd—he had never spoken to her like this before.

Silence was his only response; she heard not the slightest movement.

Xuexue tilted her head curiously, only to find that Ji Wuqing had already approached her side. He held a piece of osmanthus fish with his chopsticks and brought it to her lips. The aroma of the fish wafted close, and as something brushed her lips, she instinctively stepped back, inadvertently pressing herself against his chest and almost stepping on his foot.

“So careless,” he chided, wrapping one arm around her shoulders while eating the fish with the other hand, sounding utterly content.

Xuexue was stunned. She blinked, her face serene. She stood motionless as Ji Wuqing gently drew her into his embrace. The two appeared very close, their intimacy pure and untainted.

“Your Majesty seems to be in quite a good mood?” she asked.

“When have I ever been out of sorts?”

“Today, you seem especially cheerful.”

“Perhaps it’s because the osmanthus fish is particularly delicious,” he mused, nodding thoughtfully.

“No matter how much you love it, one tires of anything with time. Would you agree, Your Majesty?” Just as his feelings for her had shifted from curiosity and amusement to habit—what would the future hold for them?

“My fondness has nothing to do with anything else. Were it any other fish, I might not care for it, but I love osmanthus fish precisely because it is osmanthus fish,” Ji Wuqing replied nonchalantly. “And is Xue’er likening herself to the fish?”

“It was just a casual question. Your Majesty is reading too much into it,” she said, shaking her head.

“I rather hope I am,” he replied.

Xuexue said no more. She lowered her gaze, her lashes trembling slightly, an odd feeling stirring within her. It was a feeling she always experienced when facing Ji Wuqing—a sensation so familiar it was almost ordinary.

In the palace, only eight of the candidate concubines had safely secured their titles. The two noble daughters of prominent families met with misfortune: one was flogged, the other banished for life to the Cold Palace. And at the root of it all seemed to be the handiwork of the Blood Empress herself. Thus, intrigues within the palace once again surged and swayed.