CHAPTER FIFTY‑SIX — HIS HIGHNESS INTERVENES AGAIN
Had the little princess not interrupted Mu Shaoyi, no one knew what further absurdities he might have uttered. His temper had already run away with him; his tongue would surely have followed.
Tang Ke Xin, however, remained perfectly composed. She turned to the princess with the serene air of a scholar explaining a natural phenomenon.
"You must have seen turtles before, Your Highness? Yet it is exceedingly rare to witness a proud, spirited turtle wearing a green hat, swimming upstream with its eyes tightly shut. There is a saying that rare things should be cherished. One must learn to observe, discover, and appreciate such unique creatures."
Her tone was gentle, earnest—almost instructional.
The hall erupted into barely contained tremors. Lips twitched violently. Shoulders shook. Several officials nearly choked on their own breath.
Her words were devastatingly elegant.
She had, with perfect composure, declared Mu Shaoyi a proud cuckold—one who marched forward with passion and dignity.
It was an insult so refined, so exquisitely phrased, that it left the earlier vulgarities of Mu Shaoyi sounding crude and childish by comparison.
The princess nodded solemnly.
"Oh, I see. So that is how it is."
That was the final blow.
Someone snorted aloud.
Then another.
And suddenly the hall was filled with laughter—stifled, strangled, but irrepressible.
Ye Lan Chen laughed the loudest, his shoulders shaking. His delight was unrestrained; his family member had struck back with flawless precision.
Ye Lan Jue, by contrast, merely blinked. A faint, almost weary amusement flickered across his features—yet deep within his eyes, something softer glimmered.
Indulgence.
"Tang Ke Xin, you—!"
Mu Shaoyi's face had turned a mottled shade of green. His chest heaved violently, as though he might burst from sheer indignation.
"Isn't he your future husband?" the princess asked innocently, glancing at Mu Shaoyi as though examining a curious insect.
"Ah?" Tang Ke Xin blinked. "Is that so? My apologies—I forgot."
Forgot.
The hall fell silent.
To forget one's own engagement—especially an imperial match—was the ultimate dismissal. It meant she did not care. Not even a little.
The crowd exchanged glances.
So it was true—Miss Tang no longer liked Mu Shaoyi. The girl who once chased him with reckless devotion now regarded him as nothing more than a passing breeze.
Ye Lan Jue's eyes flickered again—this time with unmistakable satisfaction.
Ye Lan Chen muttered under his breath, "Does he still think Ke Xin likes him? She hasn't liked him for ages. She's long since fallen for—"
He stopped himself just in time.
But the Third Prince, seated beside him, heard every word.
The faint smile in his eyes vanished.
His expression cooled, darkened—like frost settling over steel.
"Tang Ke Xin, stop playing tricks on me!"
Mu Shaoyi roared, his voice echoing through the hall.
The crowd winced.
Anyone with functioning eyes could see Tang Ke Xin was not trying to win him back—she was trying to rid herself of him.
Tang Ke Xin ignored him entirely. She turned instead to Liu Ruyue, her voice smooth and unhurried.
"Miss Liu, you know how to draw, do you not?"
Mu Shaoyi's face twisted. He had been dismissed again—completely, effortlessly.
Liu Ruyue blinked, startled.
"Ah? Yes…"
"Do you think Yue'er knows nothing?" Mu Shaoyi snapped, seizing the chance to defend her. "Her drawing skills are excellent."
Tang Ke Xin did not even spare him a glance.
"Bring brush and paper," she instructed the palace maid.
"Yes, Miss Tang."
Mu Shaoyi spluttered.
"Tang Ke Xin, what are you doing now? What tricks are you—"
A voice cut through the hall like a blade of ice.
"Sir Qin. During an official inquiry, what is the punishment for disturbing the court?"
The Third Prince's voice was low, deep, and cold enough to freeze the marrow.
The hall fell utterly silent.
All eyes turned to him.
The Third Prince—who rarely spoke—had intervened again. And once more, he had done so to shield Tang Ke Xin.
The Empress stiffened, her gaze darting to her son. Worry and confusion flickered in her eyes.
The Crown Prince's expression darkened.
Tang Ke Xin's heart gave a small jolt.
He is helping me again? Why?
She forced herself to reason.
Earlier, he had intervened to uncover the mastermind.
Perhaps this was the same—merely to maintain order.
Yes. That must be it.
Lord Qin rose at once, trembling.
"To answer Your Highness… the punishment ranges from expulsion to caning."
The Third Prince said nothing further.
He simply looked at Lord Qin.
That single glance was enough to crush the man's breath.
Everyone understood.
The Third Prince wanted Mu Shaoyi silenced.
Immediately.
No one dared speak.
Not even the Emperor.
Mu Shaoyi's face drained of colour.
Why was the Third Prince interfering?
Why was he protecting Tang Ke Xin?
What was their relationship?
"Miss Tang, the brush and paper are here," the palace maid announced timidly.
Tang Ke Xin gestured toward Liu Ruyue.
"For Miss Liu."
She turned to the trembling girl.
"Would Miss Liu be so kind as to draw a portrait of the man?"
Liu Ruyue froze.
She wanted to refuse.
She wanted to lie.
She wanted to protect him.
But she had already admitted she could draw.
And now, it was far too late.
"If Miss Liu does not wish to lose a hand… or a leg," Tang Ke Xin murmured, her tone gentle yet edged with unmistakable steel, "then I strongly advise her to draw."
The softness of her voice only made the threat more chilling.
Liu Ruyue's entire body stiffened. A shiver ran down her spine, and she instinctively shrank back, trembling like a leaf in a storm.
She knew—everyone knew—that Tang Ke Xin was not speaking idly.
In the present circumstances, if Tang Ke Xin so much as hinted at wanting Liu Ruyue's limbs removed, the Emperor would not hesitate. One word from her, and Liu Ruyue's fate would be sealed.
Realising this, Liu Ruyue exhaled shakily and reached for the brush and paper with trembling fingers.
Tang Ke Xin's eyes glinted.
"I want the true likeness," she said softly. "Not a fabrication. Miss Liu, do not attempt any tricks. Do not rely on luck. Do not imagine you can deceive me."
She paused, then leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper meant for Liu Ruyue alone.
"No matter what you draw, you cannot fool me. I can read minds."
Of course, she meant micro‑expressions, not literal mind‑reading. But Liu Ruyue, already terrified, could no longer distinguish between truth and suggestion.
Her eyes widened in horror.
She believed her.
Truly believed her.
And fear—pure, unfiltered fear—settled into her bones.
With a deep, trembling breath, Liu Ruyue lowered her head and began to draw.
Tang Ke Xin's whisper had been quiet, but the little princess beside her had heard every word. A strange, fascinated light flickered in the child's eyes.
The hall fell into a tense, expectant silence.
The banquet was long ruined; no one cared for food or music now.
All eyes were fixed on Liu Ruyue's shaking hand as she sketched the face of the mysterious man.
At last, she finished.
Tang Ke Xin stepped forward and took the portrait. She lifted it just enough for Ye Lan Jue to see—only for a heartbeat, but long enough for him to memorise the features.
After all, this had been his idea. He, too, wished to uncover the mastermind.
In this setting, she could not hand the portrait to him directly. The Emperor must see it first. But she could give Ye Lan Jue that fleeting glimpse.
Naturally, he understood her intention at once.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
She understood me.
"Bring the portrait to me."
The Emperor's voice cut through the silence before Tang Ke Xin could turn.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
She immediately passed the portrait to Eunuch Liu.
The Emperor studied it, his expression darkening.
Then he handed it to the imperial guards.
"Investigate. Find this man—no matter what."
His voice was cold, decisive, and absolute.
Then he turned to Tang Ke Xin.
"Xin'er," he said, his tone noticeably gentler, "how do you wish to deal with Liu Ruyue?"
The hall froze.
Shock rippled through the crowd.
The Emperor—asking Tang Ke Xin for her opinion?
It was an honour of the highest order…
and a trap of the most dangerous kind.
Everyone understood this instantly.
The Emperor's question was a gesture of respect in public, but it did not mean he would follow her wishes.
Nor did it mean he intended to kill Liu Ruyue.
On the contrary—his tone suggested he had other plans for her.
If Tang Ke Xin demanded something that contradicted the Emperor's intentions, she might offend him.
And offending the Emperor—even unintentionally—was a perilous thing.
Even seasoned officials struggled to read the Emperor's mind.
How could a young woman possibly guess his intentions?
Yet here she stood, placed squarely in the centre of imperial scrutiny.
Liu Ruyue had framed her, humiliated her, and nearly cost her life.
Any ordinary person would demand blood.
But the Emperor's mood was unpredictable.
And the wrong answer could turn this moment of favour into a blade at her throat.
The hall held its breath.
Waiting.
Watching.
Wondering how Tang Ke Xin would navigate this impossible question.