The eldest princess, Feng Yao, sat on a long couch. Her eyes were cold as winter ice as she looked at Xiao Lan. The cell was silent except for the sound of the wind outside.
"No matter how loud you scream," she said, her lips curving slightly, "my husband will not come to save you."
Xiao Lan bit her lip, hatred burning in her chest. Her plan had been almost perfect—if only Lang Ruhua hadn't saved the princess.
Feng Yao rose, her silk robe flowing behind her like water. "You are very bold," she continued. "For the sake of stealing my husband, you killed the emperor and ruined my plans for the throne." Her voice was calm, yet laced with mockery. "In the end, it was useless. Lang Huan never loved you."
Xiao Lan lifted her chin. "Maybe he doesn't care about me now, but just wait. Two or three years from now, when he grows tired of you… After all, men love young, pretty girls."
Fury burned in Feng Yao's chest and her cold smile disappeared. She grabbed the heavy whip on the table, wanting nothing more than to destroy Xiao Lan's pretty face.
Xiao Lan's eyes widened in fear. "Wait... what are you doing? Please... please don't kill me! This is unfair! I helped you!" she cried. "I helped you get rid of Lang Ruhua! Do you know she tried to seduce your husband?"
Feng Yao would hear no more. With a sharp swing the whip lashed across Xiao Lan's body. Again and again it cracked through the air—striking skin, tearing cloth, drawing blood.
Xiao Lan screamed; her voice echoed through the cold prison. Feng Yao's rage poured out with every strike until her arms trembled, her breath grew heavy, and she could no longer lift the whip.
Finally the whip slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor with a dull thud. Feng Yao stared at her own hands—her skin red and shaking.
Wu Ming and A Li rushed in when they heard the whipping sound. They saw the princess sweating, her chest rising and falling, while Xiao Lan hung limply from the chains. Blood dripped from the torn welts on her body; she had already lost consciousness.
Wu Ming gripped her sword. "Let me kill her," she said.
"Do not let her die. Throw hundreds of snakes on her body. Let her feel the bites."
Wu Ming's face went pale; she bowed. "Yes, Your Highness."
---
Feng Yao returned to her chamber with anger still burning in her chest.
"Your Highness… your hand…" A Li followed behind her and tried to treat her injured hands.
"Leave," she said coldly.
She turned her eyes toward the bed. Lang Huan was sleeping quietly. Xiao Lan's words still echoed in Feng Yao's ears. Was Lang Huan pretending not to know? Or was she simply foolish? Her master clearly had intentions toward her. The more she thought about it, the more the anger twisted inside her heart.
Unable to hold it back, Feng Yao leaned down and bit her shoulder. Her teeth sank into smooth, pale skin until it bled. The sleeping incense she had used earlier was strong. Lang Huan slept like a mountain and didn't even frown.
Feng Yao pulled back and looked at the angry mark she had left. Only then had her anger finally found a place to go. She wiped her mouth, lay down beside her, and closed her eyes.
The next morning, Lang Huan woke up with a dull, throbbing pain in her shoulder. Her fingers traced the source, finding a faint bite mark, and the memories of last night came flooding back.
Beside her, the princess was still deep in sleep. Lang Huan leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. As she pulled away, her gaze drifted downward. The princess still wore her sheer pink nightgown. The transparent silk revealed the red buds beneath.
Lang Huan dipped her head and gently nipped the bud. The princess stirred with a soft murmur, her hand rising to pinch Lang Huan's ear. "What are you doing, big baby? No more… I'm tired…"
The little brat gently held her hand and immediately noticed the small scrapes and bruises on her palm. Her eyes widened with worry. "What happened? Why is your hand injured?" she asked.
But Feng Yao pulled her hand away before she could say more. "It's your fault, last night, you gripped my hand too tightly."
Lang Huan blinked in confusion. Then her eyes moved to the bite mark on her own shoulder. She remembered that last night, in the middle of making love, she had fallen asleep.
That was not a wild night at all. So how did the bite mark appear? And how did Feng Yao's hand end up scraped and bruised?
Feng Yao watched her with calm expression but saying nothing.
Without asking further, Lang Huan got out of bed, dressed herself, and took a small medicine box. She returned to Feng Yao's side and gently applied medicine to her injured palm.
As Lang Huan treated her carefully, the irritation in her heart from the night before slowly faded away, and she closed her eyes.
---
Lang Huan stepped out into the courtyard and breathed in the fresh morning air. The sky was clear, and the gentle wind helped clear her thoughts. She heard hurried footsteps behind her and turned to see Wu Ming approaching.
Lang Huan let out a small chuckle. "Did Her Highness send you to watch me?" she asked. Ever since the incident with Lang Ruhua, Feng Yao's jealousy had seemed to grow stronger day by day.
Wu Ming quickly shook her head. "No, My Lord," she said respectfully. "I came to accompany you for training. I was worried you might feel bored."
Lang Huan nodded, adjusting the sword at her waist. "Very well," she said. "Let's train together, then."
Wu Ming bowed slightly, and the two moved toward the practice grounds.
"By the way… where is Qiu Yue?" Lang Huan asked as they walked. "I haven't seen her lately. Did Her Highness give her a special mission?" She looked around the courtyard, but Qiu Yue's familiar figure was nowhere to be seen.
If Qiu Yue truly wasn't the culprit, then she had wronged her. A quiet guilt lingered in her chest.
Wu Ming shook her head and grinned. "I'm sorry, My Lord. Every mission is confidential. We cannot reveal any details. It would be better if you asked Her Highness directly."
Lang Huan sighed. She understood—everyone around Feng Yao was loyal, and their mouths were sealed like iron.
"Then… what about my master's ashes?"
"You don't need to worry, My Lord," Wu Ming replied with respect. "Everything has been arranged properly. Her Highness ordered that everything be handled with the utmost care, so that Miss Lang can rest peacefully."
---
When Lang Huan returned to the room, Feng Yao was sitting reading a book. She walked over, leaned down, and kissed her cheek before wrapping her arms around her from behind. "Let me help you hold the book," she said softly. "Your hand is still hurt, isn't it?"
Feng Yao paused, then smiled faintly. She leaned back into Lang Huan's embrace, letting that familiar warmth melt into her. Lang Huan took the book and adjusted her posture so she could read comfortably in her arms.
Each time they finished a page, Feng Yao would nudge her lightly, and Lang Huan would turn it for her. It was quiet and peaceful, the only sound the soft rustle of paper.
Lang Huan's gaze fell upon Feng Yao's hand—the faint scrapes, the bruises—something in her chest tightened. Those marks didn't look like they came from being held. Her fingers hesitated before she turned the next page.
When night fell, Lang Huan climbed into bed early, pretending to sleep. By the time Feng Yao returned to the room, her breathing was already calm and steady, just like someone who had fallen asleep long ago.
Feng Yao leaned close, her voice barely above a whisper. "Little brat…"
There was no reply. She brushed a kiss across Lang Huan's cheek, but still, no movement. When she finally turned away, the corner of Lang Huan's lips curled.
To make sure the little brat would remain asleep, eldest princess lit the sleep incense again, letting the fragrance spread throughout the room. However, Lang Huan guided her qi, neutralizing the scent's effect in her body.
A while later, the door creaked open. Feng Yao stepped out and gave soft instructions to the shadow guards standing outside. When her footsteps faded and silence returned, Lang Huan slowly opened her eyes and pressed her lips together.