CHAPTER 137: THE NIGHT HER FATE WAS BROKEN
The man's voice had scarcely faded when he reached out and pulled Feng Qingyan sharply into his arms. Her entire body went rigid, her eyes widening in shock.
"You—what are you doing?"
"I told you," he replied, his tone low and hoarse, "I am helping you."
There was no warmth in his voice, no hint of desire—only a chilling detachment that made her blood run cold.
"No… no, I don't need your help. I can manage it myself."
Her voice trembled as she struggled, fear finally breaking through her earlier bravado.
He gave a soft, mirthless laugh. "You? Manage it yourself? And how, exactly, would you accomplish that?"
His words were laced with implication, yet his tone remained disturbingly devoid of emotion.
"You needn't concern yourself with that," she snapped, though her voice wavered. "You cannot touch me. My body is for His Highness alone. Only he may lay a hand on me."
The man's expression darkened at once. His grip tightened, pulling her closer with a force that made her breath hitch.
"Your body," he repeated softly, dangerously, "is reserved for Ye Lanjue?"
Though he sat and she stood, Feng Qingyan felt as though she were the one being looked down upon—stripped bare by the cold fury in his eyes.
She shivered. But the dream she had clung to all her life—the dream of marrying the Third Prince—was stronger than her fear. She forced herself to nod.
"Yes."
It was a vow spoken with trembling conviction.
A vow that, had she possessed even a shred of insight, she would never have uttered.
"It is only a body," the man said, his voice turning colder still. "It matters little who touches it. And your face… remains intact."
The killing intent beneath his words was unmistakable.
"No—no, I don't want this. Let me go. Don't touch me!"
Her fear finally broke through, raw and desperate.
But her resistance only seemed to provoke him further.
His grip shifted—punishing, merciless, and entirely without compassion.
"No, please—stop! I am to marry His Highness. I am his future wife. You cannot do this to me!"
Pain twisted her features, but she dared not scream. One cry, one servant rushing in, and her reputation would be destroyed beyond repair. She would lose any chance of becoming the Third Prince's consort.
Even now—terrified, cornered—she clung to that hope.
Her words, however, only ignited the man's fury.
"No… no, I beg you," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Please don't do this. I will do anything—anything you ask. Only let me go."
But the man was unmoved.
He had no sympathy to offer.
No mercy to give.
"You speak of usefulness," she pleaded, grasping at reason. "You told me all this because you need me. I will cooperate—I will follow your plan. Only… only stop."
She believed she was negotiating.
She believed she could appeal to logic.
She understood nothing.
The man gave a cold, humourless smile.
"I am merely ensuring my plan proceeds as intended."
What followed happened swiftly—too swiftly for her to fully comprehend. There was no tenderness, no hesitation, no humanity. Only a brutal assertion of power that left her breathless with pain and disbelief.
When it was over, he released her without a backward glance. She collapsed to the floor, trembling, her face drained of colour.
He straightened his clothing with clinical indifference.
To him, it was nothing.
To her, it was the shattering of everything she had ever valued.
He tossed a small box onto the ground beside her.
"This will restore the wound on your shoulder to how it appeared a month ago," he said coldly. "You will need it."
His voice held no trace of what had just transpired.
It was as though he were discussing the weather.
Feng Qingyan stared at the box, her vision blurring.
Her innocence—her most guarded possession—had been taken from her in an instant. And now, even that loss was merely a tool in someone else's scheme.
"If I have further instructions, I will send for you," the man continued. "You may choose not to obey. But if you wish to marry Ye Lanjue… you have no other path."
His gaze swept over her—impassive, cold, utterly unmoved by her state.
Then, without a sound, he vanished.
As suddenly as he had appeared.
Feng Qingyan remained on the floor, unable to rise.
Her body ached, but her heart—her pride—hurt far more.
She had been ruined.
Humiliated.
Used.
And yet… she had no way back.
She had sacrificed too much to retreat now.
If she wished to salvage anything—her future, her dignity, her dream—she would have to seize whatever remained.
Slowly, painfully, she pushed herself upright.
Her eyes, once filled with longing, now burned with something far darker.
Hatred.
It was all because of Tang Kexin.
All because of that woman.
Feng Qingyan's lips twisted into a cold, brittle smile.
She would not let Tang Kexin go.
She would make her suffer—more than she herself had suffered.
Much more.
CHAPTER 138: THE ANTIDOTE HE ALONE COULD GIVE
The arrival of the Northern Envoys sent ripples of astonishment through the Great Yuan Empire. Their visit alone was enough to stir the court, but what shocked the ministers even more was the envoys' refusal to state their purpose. They merely conveyed that the Emperor of the Northern Kingdom wished to "establish friendship" with Great Yuan.
The notion that the Northern Emperor—ruler of the most formidable nation under heaven—sought friendship was almost laughable. Yet the envoys insisted.
More astonishing still, the Northern Prince had accompanied them. Though not the emperor's blood son, he was the emperor's adopted heir. The Northern Emperor had no wife, no concubines, no children. It was widely believed that this prince would one day inherit the throne.
Whispers spread like wildfire:
Had the Northern Kingdom come to choose a bride?
If Great Yuan could marry one of its noble daughters into the Northern royal family, the empire would no longer need to fear invasion. The ministers seized upon the idea eagerly. A grand banquet should be held, they said, to allow the prince to select a consort.
The Emperor, after consulting the Northern Prince, received no objection. Thus, the matter was settled.
A banquet would be held on the third day. All unmarried young ladies of appropriate age from noble families were summoned to the palace.
Tang Kexin, whose engagement to the Mu family had been dissolved, was among them.
---
Upon entering the palace grounds, Tang Kexin had barely walked a few steps when she saw Feng Qingyan approaching. Two maidservants followed her—an unusual sight, for palace rules forbade attendants unless granted special permission.
Even Tang Kexin had been allowed only Dong'er, and that solely due to the Empress's favour.
But Dong'er had fallen ill that morning, struck by a sudden stomach ailment so severe she could barely stand. Tang Kexin had been forced to leave her behind.
Her eyes narrowed.
Meeting Feng Qingyan here, at this precise moment, felt far too convenient.
"Miss Tang," Feng Qingyan greeted her with a smile—beautiful, poised, and utterly insincere. The smile never reached her eyes.
Tang Kexin said nothing. She simply waited. Feng Qingyan had not come to exchange pleasantries.
Seeing Tang Kexin's calm indifference, Feng Qingyan's smile tightened.
"Miss Tang, you must be thirsty after your journey. I prepared a cup of chilled tea especially for you."
She took the cup from her maid and held it out.
Tang Kexin's gaze flicked to the tea. Her expression remained serene.
"Thank you for your kindness, Miss Feng, but I am not thirsty."
She stepped to move past her.
"Tang Kexin," Feng Qingyan said softly, her smile vanishing, "do you truly believe you have a choice today?"
Her voice had turned cold—sharp as a blade.
The two maidservants moved swiftly, blocking Tang Kexin's path. Their movements were too precise, too trained. These were not ordinary maids.
"Oh?" Tang Kexin replied, her tone light. "And what does Miss Feng intend?"
"Drink the tea."
Feng Qingyan's hatred simmered beneath her composed exterior. She wanted Tang Kexin ruined—utterly and irrevocably.
"And if I refuse?" Tang Kexin asked, still smiling faintly.
"If you won't drink it yourself," Feng Qingyan said, "I will have someone help you."
She no longer bothered to hide her malice. She believed her plan foolproof. She believed Tang Kexin's fate was already sealed.
Tang Kexin studied her quietly.
Feng Qingyan was too bold—far too bold—to attempt such a thing in the palace. Which meant she was certain no one would pass this way. Someone had cleared the path.
Feng Qingyan was merely a pawn.
The true mastermind remained hidden.
Tang Kexin thought back to the mastermind man in the palace. Her eyes darkened.
Feng Qingyan continued, her voice dripping with arrogance. "I've already arranged everything. No one will come. No one will save you. Drink it—or be forced."
Tang Kexin's smile faded.
"Very well."
Before Feng Qingyan could react, Tang Kexin took the cup and drank it in one smooth motion.
Feng Qingyan stared, stunned.
She grabbed Tang Kexin's sleeve, checking for hidden moisture. Nothing. The fabric was dry.
"You—you actually drank it? Open your mouth. Let me see."
Tang Kexin ignored her and stepped forward.
Feng Qingyan blocked her again.
"Miss Feng," Tang Kexin said, her voice turning cold, "is there something else?"
Feng Qingyan exhaled in relief. Tang Kexin had swallowed the drug. There was no need to stop her now.
"The tea requires an antidote," Feng Qingyan said sweetly. "And the antidote… is a man."
Her eyes gleamed with vicious triumph.
"So, Miss Tang, you had better find one quickly. A decent one, if you can. Do try not to disgrace yourself."
She stepped aside, allowing Tang Kexin to pass.
Tang Kexin walked on without a word.
Feng Qingyan watched her go, her smile twisting into something cruel.
She could already imagine Tang Kexin's downfall.
She could already taste victory.
---
Tang Kexin followed the path toward Kunning Palace. The road was eerily empty—too empty. Not a single servant, guard, or attendant in sight.
Her steps quickened.
Just as she passed a rockery, a figure emerged from behind it. A hand shot out, seizing her wrist, yanking her into the shadows.
She was pushed back against the stone, a body pressing firmly against hers.