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Her family had perished soon after, a tragedy she secretly blamed on him. So, the Empress bore no love for the Emperor, and in truth, he felt nothing for her either. That much was certain.
But one question remained unanswered: why had Mo Tian chosen her at all? What purpose did Feng Ling hold for him?
Qing Yao's fingers curled into her sleeve, her gaze hardening. Feng Ling was nothing but an obstacle—and obstacles were meant to be crushed. Once she fell, the throne of the Demon Empress would belong to her alone.
Feng Ling froze, stunned by Yu Wei's accusations. Her shock only deepened as Yu Wei burst into tears and fled the hall, her maidservants hurrying after her.
Then clarity struck. Yu Wei's pitiful display had not been an accident—it was a scheme, carefully crafted to tarnish her reputation. If the demon people believed that the Empress was jealous and cruel, the already hostile whispers against her would only grow louder.
For a moment, Feng Ling sat in silence, her thoughts racing. What unsettled her most was not the threat to her reputation, but the fact that she had been plotted against so openly. Anger burned in her chest, sharp and unrelenting. Was this to be her life now—an endless web of schemes and deceit, power games she had never been taught to play?
Back in the Witch Kingdom, her father had no concubines, and her family lived in harmony, bound by love and loyalty. There had been no hidden rivalries, no silent schemes. Remembering that simple happiness now only deepened the ache in her heart, the loss cutting sharper than ever.
For the first time, Feng Ling wondered how long she could survive in this palace—where even kindness was nothing more than another weapon.
Now it was Qing Yao's turn to serve the tea. Because of Yu Wei's earlier stunt, Zhǐlán, Xiāngxuě, and the other maidservants watched her with sharp, suspicious eyes, as though she were a thief about to strike. Their unrelenting stares made Qing Yao's heart burn with anger. How she longed to pluck out those eyes that dared to look at her so brazenly.
But outwardly, her expression never wavered. Instead, she lowered her lashes, blinking her soft deer-like eyes, her cheeks tinting with a faint blush. To anyone watching, she appeared the very picture of innocence—gentle, shy, harmless.
Feng Ling smiled absently, her mind elsewhere. She accepted the cup, took a sip, and, as tradition required, rewarded Qing Yao with an exquisite hairpin and a delicate bangle.
At last, the formal greetings came to an end. Rising gracefully, Feng Ling turned and left the hall, her maidservants trailing behind her.
"Your Highness, next you must meet with the Witch Teacher," Zhǐlán reminded her softly.
"Alright," Feng Ling answered, her face calm, her voice expressionless.
But beneath her calm expression, she could not hide the spark of eagerness in her eyes. If she could finally begin learning magic properly, perhaps her powers would grow stronger.
In the Witch Realm, no one had ever forced her to practice. She had been a princess, sheltered and protected, already engaged to her first love, Bai Chen. As the prince of a powerful witch kingdom, his palace guards would have been her shield, sparing her from hardship. There had been no need for her to train day and night, no reason to endure suffering.
But fate had turned cruel. She had not married Bai Chen. Instead, she had been bound to Mo Tian—the monster who slaughtered her family. The memory twisted like a knife in her chest, filling her with silent pain.
This time, however, she vowed things would be different. She would train harder than ever before, sharpen her magic until it was unbreakable, and one day take her revenge on Mo Tian. When that day came, she would escape this accursed Demon Realm and return to Bai Chen's side.
The thought alone warmed her wounded heart, and for a fleeting moment, hope stirred within her once more.
At last, they stopped before a towering crimson door. Power pulsed faintly from within, so rich and concentrated that Feng Ling's breath caught. The magic was pure, far stronger than anything she had ever felt—even greater than her own mother's. A flicker of nervous awe stirred inside her.
Xiāngxuě stepped forward and pushed the door open. Feng Ling entered, her maids trailing close behind. The heavy silence of the chamber pressed against her as two figures immediately rose from their seats and bowed low.
"Your Highness."
Feng Ling paused briefly, then moved forward and took her seat with measured grace. Her voice was calm but carried quiet authority as she spoke:
"At ease."
They obeyed, sitting once more. Feng Ling's gaze swept over them, startled to find not one but two instructors awaiting her. Mo Tian's words resurfaced in her mind: You must learn not only magic, but also the affairs of this palace and the Demon Realm.
So that was it—one teacher for magic, the other for the affairs of the realm. Feng Ling's stomach tightened. This was no longer the sheltered life of the Witch Kingdom; here, every lesson was a test, and every day would demand not just her strength, but her wit and her endurance.
For the first time, she realized just how heavy her new role would be.
The woman in crimson robes rose gracefully and bowed.
"Your Highness, this subject is Huo Yan, appointed as your witch teacher. By His Majesty's command, I will instruct you in magic for three hours each day."
Feng Ling's hands tightened against the armrest. Three hours, dictated without her consent. Once again, Mo Tian had arranged her life without a thought for her will. The weight of his control pressed down on her, stoking a quiet fury in her chest.
But she forced her expression to remain calm. She was in his palace, his realm—here, resistance was useless. For now, she would endure. Learning magic was not just obedience to Mo Tian; it was a weapon she would one day turn against him.
The second figure stepped forward, a tall man with a solemn expression. He bowed low before speaking.
"Your Majesty, this subject is Cang Rui. I have been tasked with teaching you the history of the Demon Realm, as well as the duties of palace and harem management. Your lessons will also last three hours each day."
Unlike Huo Yan, his gaze never met hers. He had been instructed to endure whatever Feng Ling did, but when it came to her lessons, he was not to show mercy.
Cang Rui kept his head bowed, his thoughts sharper than his expression revealed. He remembered Yin Zhin's warning well: if the Empress resisted his lessons, he was to report directly to Mo Tian. And more than that—he was to watch her. Every move. Every word. The weight of that command lingered like a blade pressed to his throat.
Feng Ling, however, only curved her lips into a serene smile, hiding the anger that churned inside her. "It is my fortune to be taught by the two of you," she said softly.