Chapter 89: The True Purpose

“Young Mistress, do you mean that the Blind Empress holds no significant weight in King Ji’s heart, not enough for him to let the Kingdom of Ji lose face over her?” Upon hearing Gongshen Ling’er’s words, Qingshu couldn’t help but voice her question.

She had some understanding of her mistress’s and the ruler’s schemes—it was all to ‘force’ King Ji into handing over the Blind Empress to Wu for them to cure her poison and use it for their own ends. But now, King Ji had turned the tables, capturing their ruler instead, all under a perfectly reasonable pretext. Clearly, his actions had been premeditated.

“I knew it. How could a woman ever be weighed against an entire nation? Besides, Zuo Qiu has been constantly provoking Ji Wu Qing—not only did he inflict the Blood Tear curse upon his queen, but he also spread slander, conspiring with the Empress Dowager. How could an emperor tolerate such open provocation? It seems our cleverness has backfired on us.” She analyzed calmly, growing ever more convinced of Ji Wu Qing’s deep and inscrutable mind.

“What now? Our ruler is being held under such a righteous excuse. Won’t this inevitably lead to war between the two kingdoms?” Feiyi grew anxious; even as a mere maid, she knew a little of their ruler’s ambitions, but now was hardly the right moment for conflict.

“Now that the rumors have spread, it can’t be helped. But Zuo Qiu is the king of Wu; I don’t believe he will simply submit to fate.” Gongshen Ling’er stood by the window, gazing at the upright guards outside. “Besides, I want to see exactly what Ji Wu Qing intends. Is he truly as indifferent to the Blind Empress’s fate as I suspect?”

She gripped the jade flute in her hand so tightly that her very fingers shone with a lustrous, almost translucent pallor.

Now that Zuo Qiu was captured—even if the Blind Empress was the one they sought—at such a critical juncture, her life could not be their priority.

Qingshu glanced at the flute in her mistress’s grasp and suddenly understood.

Of course, she knew that with her mistress’s abilities, controlling the Blood Tear parasite within the Blood Empress would be child’s play.

In the royal palace, Anxue Palace.

Snow blanketed the palace walls in pristine white.

When she awoke, she had no sense of time, day or night. Her body felt weak, her chest throbbed with stabbing pain. Her moist eyes were numb, barely aware of the world, only sensing a damp cloth gently wiping her cheeks, drying her eyes.

Seeing her stirring, Yu Zhi ceased her movements. “Your Majesty, are you awake? Do you feel any better?”

These days, Yu Zhi had felt great pity for her mistress—this torment had rendered her face pale as paper, lacking even her usual snow-white radiance. Such sickly pallor was enough to make anyone’s heart race in dread.

Hearing her voice, Xuexue shifted slightly; lying abed for so long, her body felt as though it might rust away.

“Your Majesty, His Majesty has just been at your side for over an hour, keeping watch. He left only a few moments ago,” Yu Zhi said softly, dabbing at her hands with a cloth, her tone gentle and soothing.

She was aware, of course, of the troubles both inside and outside the palace. Lately, misfortune seemed to dog her mistress: first a mysterious poisoning, then a palace maid feigning madness, and now malicious rumors circulating within and beyond the palace walls.

Fortunately, that purple-robed Daoist, for reasons unknown, was suddenly struck down by divine retribution on the street—right before everyone’s eyes!

The details were thus: the Daoist, having divined the Blood Empress’s identity as the reincarnation of a demon phoenix, was arrested at the king’s command. Yet barely two days later, he was released, boasting that his words had proven true, or why else would the king let him go? Just as he was basking in his triumph, thunder roared and, out of nowhere, flames engulfed his body—flames no water could quench, reducing him to ashes before the crowd.

This caused quite a stir throughout the Kingdom of Ji. A new rumor spread: the Daoist must have been a demon thief, punished by heaven for sowing discord among mortals. Thus, the slander against the empress finally subsided.

Yu Zhi sighed, not knowing when her mistress’s poison might be cured; witnessing such suffering was like enduring blades and fire herself.

As she mused distractedly, the delicate hand she was wiping suddenly seized her own with such force that she started in fright, though she managed not to cry out. The hand’s owner seemed to sense her own impropriety, struggling to release her grip, the pain on her face unmistakable.

A sharp, tearing pain stabbed through Xuexue’s chest, jolting her to her senses, each throb clearing her mind a little more.

She stifled a groan, biting her lip to endure it.

“Your Majesty…” Yu Zhi, alarmed, quickly stuffed the soft cloth prepared on the king’s orders into her mistress’s mouth, lest she bite through her tongue or lips. She then leaned in to restrain Xuexue’s hands, preventing her from harming herself further.

“Don’t worry, Your Majesty, everything will be all right,” she murmured soothingly, hoping her voice would reach her mistress.

Xuexue’s empty, dark red eyes were filled with pain and confusion. She could hear Yu Zhi, but her body felt beyond her control, as if manipulated by some unseen force. A strange melody seemed to curl around her ears, a haunting flute from far away, threading into her mind, making her feel like a puppet on a string, moved at another’s whim.

But how could she allow that?

How insolent, to try to control her without so much as a word—did they think even her thoughts could be invaded by music?

But she was Xuexue; how could her own body ever be commanded by another?

With that thought, she gradually ceased her struggle, and a mysterious glint flickered in her crimson eyes.

Far away, the flute’s melody drifted through the snowy air. Gongshen Ling’er stood at the window, jade flute pressed to her lips, playing a silent tune that seemed almost uncanny.

Watching her mistress, Qingshu felt a pang of sympathy—the Blind Empress was surely being tormented to the edge of death.

What she did not see was the sudden gleam in Gongshen Ling’er’s eyes behind her veil, and the pause in her melody—a strange light flashed through her gaze.

“How could this be…” Ling’er’s eyes shifted to the snowy ground outside, where Ji Wu Qing stood smiling up at her.

“It seems my arrival has surprised you?” His lips curved in a captivating smile, though his deep eyes held no mirth at all. “Shouldn’t the presence of the Young Mistress of Gongshen be well within my expectations?”

“So that’s it. You delayed having me brought back to the palace because you wanted to see if I could control the Blood Tear parasite?” Gongshen Ling’er abruptly understood. She had thought Ji Wu Qing dismissed her as insignificant, never imagining he would have such calculations.

“You are clever. Then you should know what must be done,” Ji Wu Qing nodded with satisfaction, his handsome face tinged with approval.

“If King Ji wishes something of me, he need only say so,” Gongshen Ling’er replied with a hint of defiance.

Ji Wu Qing remained unhurried, seeing no need for haste now that he knew she too could break the Blood Tear curse.

“Do not test my patience, Young Mistress, or I cannot answer for my actions,” he said quietly, his beautiful face wearing that half-smile, half-threat that betrayed an emperor’s capricious moods.

Gongshen Ling’er’s face was cold beneath her black veil, lending her a striking, forbidding allure.

“I never imagined King Ji would go to such lengths for his queen. You act so fearlessly because you already knew I could break the Blood Tear curse,” she said through gritted teeth, recalling her earlier misjudgment. She had been completely wrong about him—Ji Wu Qing was not a heartless emperor; quite the opposite, he was deeply devoted.

“It was your country who set this curse. The one who tied the knot must be the one to untie it, mustn’t they?” Ji Wu Qing replied coolly. “Besides, you were the first to plot evil; I am merely returning the favor in kind.”

With that, he turned away, the guards surrounding the inn also withdrawing.

“Young Mistress, this way, please.” Qinghe approached, voice formal yet brooking no refusal.

“Miss,” Feiyi and Qingshu looked at her, their eyes filled with worry.

Gongshen Ling’er said nothing, clutching her jade flute as she followed the guards out, her expression behind the veil fierce and unsettling. Who would have thought she, Gongshen Ling’er, would one day become a prisoner herself?

She boarded the carriage to find Ji Wu Qing already seated within.

She paused, then sat in silence.

“Don’t think this is unfair or that you’ve fallen into my trap. You’d best consider how to discuss breaking the Blood Tear curse with me,” he said, lounging on the plush cushions, regarding her with a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes, his expression almost ferocious.

“So sure am I to help you save the Blood Empress?” Gongshen Ling’er snorted, her beautiful eyes glinting with some hidden scheme.

“I do not waste words,” he replied.

The implication was clear: did she have any other choice?

“Ji Wu Qing, do you truly love Xuexue that much? Enough to risk everything with Wu for her sake?” Gongshen Ling’er demanded. This emperor before her was nothing like the one she remembered—he was so deeply infatuated with the Blind Empress?

“You and I both know that open conflict was inevitable. But rest assured, until the curse is lifted from Xue’er, I will not harm Zuo Qiu Liye,” he replied, sidestepping her question.

It was a threat, but Gongshen Ling’er had no choice but to compromise.

The carriage rolled on, its wheels carving deep tracks into the heavy, unending snow, winding away into the distance.