CHAPTER FIFTY — HIS SHOCK
Tang Ke Xin stood calmly amidst the storm, watching with quiet curiosity. She wanted to see just how many tricks they intended to play—how far they dared push their little performance.
"Princess, you must not speak such nonsense."
The Empress's voice trembled with shock and worry. Her expression made it clear that something was gravely amiss.
Only moments earlier, when Xin'er had left to change her clothes, the Empress had been preparing to have Liu Ruyue escorted away. Before she could act, a frantic report arrived: the princess had been injured.
A princess harmed within the palace walls—this was no trivial matter. The news had gone straight to the Emperor, who happened to be in the main hall at the time. Thus, the matter was brought here to be judged publicly.
But why—why—would the princess accuse Xin'er?
Even when Xin'er had been foolish in the past, she had never harmed a princess. And now that she had recovered her senses, she was even less likely to do such a thing. Though Xin'er still behaved oddly at times, the Empress had long observed that she possessed a certain restraint, a sense of measure.
And as for stealing a secret manual?
How could Xin'er possibly know the princess possessed one?
It was obvious—painfully obvious—that someone wished to frame her.
And not merely her.
The accusation of stealing a secret manual was a blade aimed at the Prime Minister's Estate and the Empress herself.
This was no simple matter.
Yet the Empress had always believed Princess Yi to be a good child. Why would she frame Xin'er? The girl was barely twelve—too young, too innocent, too sheltered. No one would suspect her of lying.
Which made the situation all the more dangerous.
"Your Majesty, the Princess speaks no falsehood," the young girl insisted, her voice firm—far too firm for her age. "She truly stole the secret manual. It is the very text my father sought for years—the one concerning the Dragon Fountain. Uncle Wu found it only days ago and brought it back yesterday."
Princess Yi—Xi Ying—was not the Emperor's daughter, but the child of his younger brother, Prince Rong. Prince Rong had been loyal to the Emperor beyond question, supporting him through the turbulent early years of his reign. Five years ago, he had died on the battlefield, leaving behind this daughter. The Emperor had personally granted her the title of Princess Yi.
She did not usually reside in the palace.
The Empress's body stiffened as the girl spoke. Her breath came unevenly.
Stealing a secret manual—especially one tied to the Dragon Fountain—was a crime punishable by the extermination of nine generations.
Even the Emperor's expression darkened.
Tang Ke Xin studied the princess carefully.
The girl was not lying.
She was recounting what she believed she had seen.
But what she had seen… might not have been real.
Someone had disguised themselves as Tang Ke Xin, injured the princess, and stolen the manual—all to frame her.
Tang Ke Xin's eyes flicked to the princess's arm. There was indeed a wound—shallow, no longer bleeding.
"Your Majesty, this humble daughter has something to report. It may be connected to the princess's injury."
Liu Ruyue stepped forward from the crowd.
The Empress's eyes narrowed sharply. She had ordered Liu Ruyue removed—why was she still here?
"Speak," the Emperor said, though displeasure flickered across his face. Since she claimed relevance to the princess's injury, he could not silence her.
Tang Ke Xin's lips curved into a cold, knowing smile.
As expected.
Liu Ruyue bowed, her expression trembling with fear—far too theatrically.
"This humble one noticed Miss Tang's flustered expression earlier, as though something terrible had happened. Out of concern, I approached her. But I did not expect Miss Tang to suddenly stab this daughter with the dagger she held. Many people witnessed it. The Empress, not wishing to disrupt the banquet, ordered that it be kept quiet and had this daughter taken to the infirmary."
Her voice quivered, but her words were clear and deliberate.
The Empress's eyes narrowed further.
"At the time," Liu Ruyue continued, "I believed Miss Tang acted out of anger over Young Master Mu. But now… it seems strange. Miss Tang looked panicked, as though she were discovered. And why—why was there a dagger in her hand?"
Mu Shaoyi shifted in his seat, as though ready to stand, but Old Master Mu pressed him down firmly.
"It was Imperial Physician Song who treated this daughter," Liu Ruyue added. "He removed this dagger from my wound."
She produced the dagger.
Princess Yi's eyes widened.
"That is the dagger! It looks exactly like the one that wounded me. It must be the same!"
The Empress's face paled.
The Prime Minister's expression collapsed entirely.
Ye Lan Chen was sweating through his robes.
The Crown Prince's gaze flickered with something unreadable.
Tang Ke Xin sneered inwardly.
So that is how they intend to play it.
"Your Majesty," Lord Qin of the Ministry of Justice said gravely, "let the imperial physician examine both wounds. We will know if they match."
The Emperor nodded.
"Imperial Physician Liu—examine them."
After a careful inspection, the physician bowed.
"Your Majesty, both wounds were made by the same dagger."
A murmur swept the hall.
"Your Majesty," Old General Li said, "this concerns the princess's safety and the secret manual. We must search immediately. If we delay, the thief may smuggle the manual out of the palace."
The Emperor exhaled heavily.
"Search."
The hall grew suffocatingly tense.
No one dared breathe.
Only Tang Ke Xin remained utterly calm—almost serene.
Before long, guards returned, carrying a book wrapped in black cloth.
Every gaze snapped toward it.
"Your Majesty," the guard said, bowing, "we found this among the clothes Miss Tang Ke Xin changed out of."
Princess Yi stepped forward, relief washing over her face.
"That is the secret manual I was to present to the Emperor today. Thank heavens it was found."
A collective gasp filled the hall.
The evidence was overwhelming.
Witnesses.
Testimony.
The weapon.
The stolen manual.
Even Tang Ke Xin, with all her skill, could not deny that the trap was exquisite—airtight, elegant, and deadly.
She almost admired it.
Almost.
But she would never allow herself to be trampled.
This was only the opening act.
The true performance had yet to begin.
"Tang Ke Xin," the Emperor said, his voice cold and heavy, "what have you to say?"
His tone had changed.
No longer warm.
No longer indulgent.
He believed her guilty.
The Empress's face tightened with panic.
The Prime Minister looked as though he might faint.
Ye Lan Chen was trembling with fury and fear.
Even Ye Lan Jue's eyes had darkened, a storm gathering behind them.
Liu Ruyue's pupils contracted with triumph.
You are finished, her gaze seemed to say.
But Tang Ke Xin stood still—calm, poised, almost ethereal.
As though none of this concerned her.
As though she were merely watching a play.
Her faint smile unsettled the entire hall.
How could she smile now?
How could she remain so composed?
Unless—
Unless she knew something they did not.
Unless she held a card no one had yet seen.
And indeed—
she did.
The most thrilling part of the show was only just beginning.
"Tang Ke Xin, what do you say?"
The Emperor's voice cut through the hall like a blade—cold, hard, and utterly devoid of warmth. Even the way he addressed her had changed. No longer "Xin'er," no longer indulgent. Only Tang Ke Xin—a name spoken as though it were already a crime.
A chill swept through the hall.
The Emperor's expression was dark, his anger barely restrained. It was clear he believed her guilty. And when an emperor believed, the world followed.
This was the most perilous moment of all.
Around her, faces shifted in shock and fear.
The Empress, usually composed and serene, had gone pale. Her fingers trembled slightly as she clutched her sleeves. She had hoped—foolishly, desperately—that the Emperor might trust Xin'er's innocence. That hope shattered the moment he spoke.
The Prime Minister looked as though the ground had vanished beneath him. His face drained of colour, his lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line.
Ye Lan Chen was on the verge of leaping to her defence. If not for the hands of those beside him holding him back, he would have rushed forward already.
Even Ye Lan Jue's eyes—normally calm, unreadable—had darkened, a storm gathering in their depths.
Liu Ruyue's pupils contracted with triumph.
Tang Ke Xin, you are finished, her gaze seemed to say.
And yet—
Tang Ke Xin stood there, serene as moonlight.
Her expression was tranquil, almost ethereal. She looked neither frightened nor flustered. Instead, she carried herself with a quiet grace, as though she were a cloud drifting high above the chaos—untouchable, inscrutable.
Her calm unsettled the entire hall.
How could she remain so composed?
How could she even smile?
Was she frightened senseless?
Had her mind collapsed under pressure?
After all, she had once been a fool. Her recovery was recent. Perhaps she had broken again.
Whispers rippled through the hall.
She is finished.
Even the Empress cannot save her now.
The Prime Minister's Estate will fall with her.
The accusations were too grave—injuring a princess, stealing a secret manual tied to the Dragon Fountain, knocking the princess unconscious. Each crime alone warranted execution. Together, they spelled annihilation.
And the evidence…
The evidence was flawless.
Whoever orchestrated this had crafted a masterpiece of entrapment—airtight, seamless, without a single flaw to grasp.
Even the sharpest minds in the hall could not see a way out.
Liu Ruyue's earlier scheme was now irrelevant. Even if Tang Ke Xin proved she had not harmed Liu Ruyue, it would change nothing. The true danger lay in the princess's accusation and the stolen manual.
Without the manual, the Emperor would not have been so enraged.
Yet even now—even with death looming—Tang Ke Xin did not panic. She stood as though she had already foreseen every step.
Her composure astonished even Ye Lan Jue.
What was she planning?
What would she do next?
A flicker of anticipation lit his eyes.
"Your Majesty, my daughter would never do such a thing," the Prime Minister said, stepping forward despite his trembling voice.
"Your Majesty, it cannot be Xin'er," the Empress added, her tone urgent, pleading.
"Father, this son believes in Xin'er," Ye Lan Chen said firmly.
Their voices overlapped, rising almost in unison.
Tang Ke Xin's heart stirred.
In such a moment—when the entire court stood ready to condemn her—these were the people who dared to speak for her. These were the ones who truly cared.
The Prime Minister, her father, risked everything by stepping forward.
The Empress, who had always protected her, now stood openly against the tide.
And Ye Lan Chen—reckless, loyal, foolishly brave—was ready to throw himself into danger for her sake.
Their voices warmed her heart.
But warmth alone could not save her.
The hall waited.
The Emperor waited.
The trap was set.
And Tang Ke Xin…
Tang Ke Xin finally lifted her gaze.
The faint smile on her lips deepened—cool, enigmatic, and utterly fearless.
The real performance was about to begin.