CHAPTER 69 — THE PRINCE WHO SAW THROUGH HER AGAIN
"Utter nonsense!" Ye Lan Chen snapped, glaring fiercely at Chun'er. "Mindless drivel from a frightened servant."
"Mindless?" Imperial Concubine Ming let out a cold laugh. "With so many people present—His Majesty included—do you truly think she would dare speak recklessly? The Empress is her greatest rival. If there is a chance to expose her, why should she hold back?"
Her voice dripped with venom. She had waited years for such an opportunity. Now that it had arrived, she would not let it slip through her fingers.
"This matter is already painfully clear," she continued, her tone sharp as a blade. "The Empress came here, questioned Wan Yi, and received no answer. Fearing the matter would spread, she ordered Aunt Xi to silence her. No one in the palace may carry weapons—not even daggers. Only the Empress possesses the Golden Phoenix Dagger bestowed by His Majesty. Only she could have used it."
Her reasoning was viciously precise.
And in this moment, no one could refute her.
The situation was dire. Clearing the Empress's name would be extraordinarily difficult.
---
Tang Ke Xin stepped quietly behind Ye Lan Chen, her expression calm but her eyes sharp. She leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper—meant for him alone.
"The wound on her chest is not what killed her," she murmured swiftly. "If someone were stabbed directly in the heart, even the fastest strike would leave shock or fear on their face. But she is calm—too calm. No expression at all. That only happens if the dagger was inserted after death."
Ye Lan Chen stiffened, instinctively turning his head toward her.
"Don't move," she hissed softly. "Don't look at me. Just listen."
She could not reveal her knowledge openly. The former Tang Ke Xin had been a simpleton—she could not suddenly display the expertise of a seasoned forensic physician. Only Ye Lan Chen could speak for her.
He froze, obeying her without hesitation.
Tang Ke Xin continued, her words rapid and precise.
"First—the blood on her chest is fake. If she were stabbed while standing, the blood would flow downward. If lying down, it would flow to the left. But the blood is smeared all around—above, below, to the right. Too little, too scattered. It's unnatural."
She paused only long enough to ensure he followed.
"Have someone wipe the blood clean. Then let Imperial Physician Liu examine the wound. If the skin and muscle do not roll outward, it means the wound was inflicted after death. A living body reacts. A dead one does not. And a dagger thrust into a corpse—even into the heart—produces almost no blood. That is why fake blood was used."
Ye Lan Chen's eyes widened slightly.
Tang Ke Xin pressed on.
"The true fatal wound is at the back of her head. A single, precise blow to the brain. That is why she looks peaceful—no pain, no struggle. Tell Imperial Physician Liu to examine the concealed area behind her skull. He will find it."
She had already checked the rest of the body. No poison. No other injuries. Only the back of the head remained.
"And one more thing," she added quickly. "Wan Yi has been dead for at least four hours. The Empress arrived at noon—less than two hours ago. When I walked past, I nudged her body. Her limbs are stiff. If she had died recently, only her face and eyes would be stiff. This is advanced rigor mortis."
She finished in a rush, then gave Ye Lan Chen a firm push—sending him stumbling forward into the crowd.
Tang Ke Xin exhaled quietly.
But when she lifted her gaze, she met the eyes of the Third Prince.
Ye Lan Jue.
Her heart lurched.
He had seen her.
He had noticed everything.
Of course he had.
He always did.
---
"Chen'er, what are you doing?" the Empress asked anxiously as Ye Lan Chen stepped forward.
The others glanced at him, assuming he had simply moved by accident.
"The wound on her chest is not the cause of death," Ye Lan Chen declared.
A ripple of shock swept through the hall.
"Chen'er, what do you mean?" the Emperor demanded, frowning.
Only Ye Lan Jue's lips curved faintly, his gaze drifting toward Tang Ke Xin. He knew she had told Ye Lan Chen something. But how? How could she know such things?
"What is the Fourth Prince implying?" Imperial Concubine Ming snapped. "That the wound on her chest is fake? Even if you wish to defend the Empress, you cannot spout such absurdities."
Tang Ke Xin stepped forward, her voice cool and steady.
"Since when does a concubine have the authority to interrupt and contradict a prince in public?"
Imperial Concubine Ming's face flushed crimson. She opened her mouth, but the Emperor's icy glare silenced her instantly.
"Let Chen'er speak," His Majesty commanded.
Imperial Concubine Ming lowered her head, trembling.
Ye Lan Chen took a breath and repeated Tang Ke Xin's words almost verbatim—his memory surprisingly sharp.
"If someone were stabbed in the heart, their face would show fear or shock. But she is calm. Too calm. That only happens if the dagger was inserted after death."
Gasps echoed around the hall.
"And the blood is fake," he continued, voice gaining confidence. "It was applied later."
The Emperor's brows knitted. "Fake?"
"Someone," Ye Lan Chen ordered, "remove the dagger and wipe the blood."
The imperial guards stepped forward. No maid dared touch the body. Soon, the wound was exposed—clean and unmistakable.
"Imperial Physician Liu," Ye Lan Chen said, "examine it."
The physician knelt, inspecting the wound with utmost care.
After a long moment, he rose.
"Reporting to Your Majesty… His Highness is correct. There is no blood within the wound. The edges are flat—no eversion. This is indeed a wound inflicted after death."
A collective gasp filled the hall.
Even the Emperor looked stunned.
"I did not expect Chen'er to know such things," he murmured.
Nor did anyone else.
But the Third Prince's eyes narrowed.
He knew Ye Lan Chen too well.
Chen'er had never studied medicine.
He had never studied anything.
So how did he suddenly know this?
His gaze slid once more to Tang Ke Xin.
Could it be… her?
But how could she know?
Ye Lan Chen released a slow, almost imperceptible breath. He did not truly believe he possessed such knowledge—how could he? How could he possibly understand matters of wounds, blood flow, and post‑mortem stiffness? Yet the words had come from his mouth with startling clarity.
All because of her.
"Her Highness claims the wound on the chest is not the cause of death," Imperial Concubine Ming said sharply, unable to restrain herself any longer. "Then how, pray tell, did she die?"
Her tone was laced with impatience and venom. Even she could see that the chest wound was staged—at the very least, it proved the Empress's innocence. But that only made the next question more pressing:
Who was the true murderer?
Ye Lan Chen straightened, his earlier uncertainty replaced by a newfound confidence—borrowed, unknowingly, from Tang Ke Xin.
"The true fatal wound," he declared, "is at the back of her head. A single, decisive blow that pierced directly into the brain. That is why the deceased appears so peaceful—no pain, no fear, no struggle."
A murmur rippled through the hall.
"If Imperial Physician Liu examines the back of her skull," Ye Lan Chen continued, his voice firm and unwavering, "he will find the wound."
His words rang with conviction—so much so that even the Emperor's expression shifted.
Imperial Concubine Ming's lips parted, but no sound emerged. For the first time, she seemed at a loss.
Tang Ke Xin watched silently from behind the crowd, her gaze steady, her expression unreadable. She had given him the truth, and he had spoken it flawlessly.
But as she glanced sideways, her eyes met the Third Prince's again.
Ye Lan Jue was watching her. Been watching her…
Not Ye Lan Chen.
Her.
His gaze was cool, sharp, and far too perceptive.
He had seen through her again.