CHAPTER THIRTY‑EIGHT — WHOSE BUREAU?
Tang Ke Xin knew perfectly well that if Ye Lan Jue truly wished to kill her, not even Ye Lan Chen—brave as he tried to be—could stop him. She had no illusions about her chances. Hope was a luxury she did not possess.
Yet even so, she would never simply sit and wait for death.
Such passivity did not exist in her vocabulary.
Even cornered, even hopeless, she would fight until the very last breath.
But to her astonishment, when she turned to flee, Ye Lan Jue did nothing.
Not a word.
Not a step.
Not even a flicker of movement.
She did not understand it, but she did not dare question her good fortune. She walked away as quickly as dignity allowed, determined to leave the palace grounds before fate changed its mind.
She walked for a long while. When she finally realised he was not following her, she exhaled shakily. Only then did she notice her palms—cold, damp, trembling.
That man… that storm in human form… was truly terrifying.
As she passed behind a rock garden, her steps slowed. Her mind replayed the scene again and again. His expression, his aura, the suffocating pressure—she had been certain he was the man from that night. If so, he had every reason to kill her.
Yet he had let her go.
Why?
Before she could unravel the thought, a shrill scream pierced the air.
"Ah! Ah! Murder! Murder!"
Tang Ke Xin's brows twitched. She turned sharply toward the sound.
A palace maid stood frozen, staring at her with wide, horrified eyes.
Tang Ke Xin's pupils contracted. Only then did she notice the body lying beside the rock garden—half‑hidden in the shadows.
A corpse.
She had been so consumed by fear of Ye Lan Jue that she had not noticed it at all. The body lay in a position so concealed that, without the maid's scream, she might have walked straight past it.
Within moments, more palace maids and guards rushed over, drawn by the commotion.
"She—she killed her! She killed her!" the screaming maid cried, pointing at Tang Ke Xin with trembling hands.
"That's Qiu Ju, isn't it?" someone whispered, voice shaking. "Why would she kill her?"
A guard stepped forward, eyes narrowing.
"Which palace are you from? What is your name? Why did you kill her?"
His tone was sharp, accusatory, and entirely unyielding.
Tang Ke Xin's gaze darkened.
Was this an accident?
A coincidence?
Or a carefully laid trap?
The Emperor had summoned the Empress away. That might have been arranged by someone else. But her encounter with Ye Lan Jue in the front courtyard had been pure chance.
If she had not met him, Ye Lan Chen would have escorted her back. She would not have been alone. She would not have walked this way. She would not have stumbled into this scene.
Her eyes narrowed.
What if everything began the moment she crossed paths with Ye Lan Jue?
From the courtyard to this rock garden, the path was exposed, sun‑scorched, and empty. But here—here was shade, trees, and seclusion. A perfect place for an ambush. A perfect place for a corpse.
She looked down at the body.
The woman had died only moments ago. Her expression had not even settled into death. Blood still seeped from a wound on her forehead. A blood‑stained stone lay beside her.
This was no accident.
Someone had planned this.
Someone had chosen this place.
Someone had chosen her.
But who?
And why?
"What, silent now?" the guard barked. "Do you think silence will save you? Men! Seize her—"
"What is happening here?"
A calm, elegant voice cut through the tension.
"Xin'er? Why are you here? Did I not ask Chen'er to escort you back?"
The Empress's voice carried surprise—and concern.
She approached swiftly, accompanied by several imperial concubines, the Emperor himself, and even the Crown Prince.
Tang Ke Xin's heart sank.
This was no small trap.
This was a net cast wide—and she had walked straight into it.
The Empress's face paled when she saw the corpse.
"What is the meaning of this?"
The Emperor's expression darkened.
"Reporting to Your Majesty," the palace maid said quickly, "this servant saw her—Miss Tang—strike Qiu Ju with a stone and kill her."
Her voice was steady, fluent, and utterly confident.
Tang Ke Xin almost laughed aloud.
So the maid did know who she was.
That explained her boldness.
"What nonsense!" the Empress snapped, losing her composure for the first time. "How dare you accuse her without proof!"
"That's right," Imperial Concubine Ming added sweetly. "Miss Tang is the Prime Minister's daughter and the Empress's niece. How could you frame her?"
Her tone was gentle, but her words were sharp—reminding everyone of Tang Ke Xin's status.
The Empress stiffened.
"Your Ladyship," the maid insisted, "this servant is not framing her. I saw it with my own eyes."
Her conviction was chilling.
Tang Ke Xin knew the truth:
She was alone.
The maid was the only witness.
And she was a recently recovered fool—her credibility was nonexistent.
The trap was perfect.
If she were condemned, her reputation would be ruined.
The Prime Minister's Estate would suffer.
The Empress's name would be dragged through the mud.
This was not merely an attack on her.
It was an attack on everyone connected to her.
A dead end.
No escape.
Unless she created one.
Tang Ke Xin lifted her head and smiled.
It was a small smile—light, almost careless—but impossible to ignore.
She was a modern doctor.
A psychologist.
A woman who had survived far worse than palace schemes.
Why should she fear this?
The crowd stared at her in disbelief.
Had she gone mad?
How could she laugh at a time like this?
Ye Lan Jue and Ye Lan Chen arrived just then. When Ye Lan Jue saw her smile, something flickered in his eyes.
Her smile reminded him of an ice lotus blooming on a snow‑capped mountain—pure, luminous, untouched by the world.