CHAPTER 211 — THE REAL CAVE ROOM
The Emperor lifted the bowl of porridge with steady hands, though his eyes were hollow with exhaustion. He stirred it once with the spoon, watching the pale grains swirl in the broth.
"Rongfei… thank you," he said quietly.
His tone was flat — polite, distant, unreadable.
Imperial Consort Rong lowered her gaze with a soft smile. "Caring for Your Majesty is this concubine's duty."
The Emperor took a spoonful, tasted it, swallowed. He even paused, as if savouring it.
Tang Kexin, had she been present, would have recognised it instantly — he was testing her. If Imperial Concubine Rong truly intended harm, she would never deliver the poison herself. She would never risk being seen.
He was waiting for her next move.
And she delivered it.
"Can the Empress's poison be cured?" she asked, voice trembling with carefully crafted concern.
The Emperor didn't blink. "We've already found the medicine. It will arrive in a few days. Fortunately, the imperial physician prepared something to slow the poison. The Empress can endure."
Imperial Concubine Rong's lashes fluttered. She had prepared herself for this answer, but hearing it aloud still made her stomach twist.
"Then concubine congratulates Your Majesty," she said softly. "May the Empress recover soon."
The Emperor set the bowl aside. He had eaten most of it — enough to reassure her, enough to lull her into false confidence.
"This concubine will take her leave."
He didn't look at her again.
The moment Imperial Concubine Rong stepped out of Kunning Palace, her expression shifted — the gentle mask slipping away, replaced by something dark and sharp.
They had found the medicine. They had found it.
She had no time left. No room to retreat.
She returned to Rongxi Palace, shut the doors, and scanned the room with frantic eyes. She opened her jewellery box, tipped out the ornaments, and pulled out a small packet of white powder.
Her last resort.
Her hands trembled as she clutched it.
Tonight… or tomorrow at the latest. She had to act.
She didn't know — couldn't know — that eyes had been watching her since dawn.
Night fell like a blade.
The palace sank into a tense, breathless silence — the kind that came before a storm. Shadows clung to every corner, every corridor, every rooftop.
In Prince Rui's manor, Ye Lanjue unfolded a slip of paper, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"Xin," he said, "it seems Imperial Concubine Rong will make her move soon."
Tang Kexin looked up. "Hmm?"
"She's taken out another poison. It'll be within the next two days — most likely tomorrow. She won't wait any longer."
Tang Kexin nodded. "Then we'll go to the palace tomorrow and wait."
Her expression was calm, almost serene — but her eyes gleamed with sharp intelligence. Ye Lanjue found himself staring.
She looked like a fox — soft on the outside, claws hidden beneath the fur. Adorable. Dangerous. His.
"Xin," he said suddenly, "come play chess with me."
She blinked. "Alright."
They had never played seriously before.
Ye Lanjue took the white stones. Tang Kexin took black — the advantage. But she knew it wouldn't matter. He was too skilled.
The first moves fell quickly. Then slower. Then painfully slow.
Tang Kexin felt like she was being tortured. Every move required deep thought — not because she wanted to win, but because she wanted to avoid falling into one of his traps.
Ye Lanjue, on the other hand, was enjoying himself immensely.
He watched her under the warm lantern light — her brows furrowed, her lips pursed, her fingers tapping the table as she thought.
She was beautiful. Utterly, devastatingly beautiful.
"Xin," he murmured, voice suddenly hoarse.
She looked up — and the world seemed to tilt.
Under the lantern's glow, his eyes were molten, dark, impossibly tender. She felt her breath catch.
Don't look at women under the moon. Don't look at men under the lamp.
For the first time, she understood those words.
Ye Lanjue stood, leaned over the table, and kissed her.
Her mind blanked. Her hand froze mid‑air.
He cupped her chin, deepening the kiss, then slid an arm around her waist and lifted her effortlessly. The chessboard clattered to the floor, pieces scattering like raindrops.
She didn't even notice.
"Xin…" he whispered against her lips, kissing her again — slow, reverent, intoxicating.
Her heart pounded wildly. She felt as though she were drowning — not in fear, but in him.
"Lan... Jue…" she breathed, trembling. "This is… too fast…"
"But Xin," he murmured, lips brushing her neck, "you're mine."
His voice was low, coaxing, unbearably gentle.
"I won't force you. But don't push me away."
He didn't want her fear. He wanted her acceptance.
And she… She couldn't resist him anymore.
Not his sincerity. Not his tenderness. Not the way he held her as if she were the only thing he wanted in the world.
The third time he kissed her, she responded — instinctively, helplessly.
And Ye Lanjue's restraint snapped.
Outside, Lei Ying stiffened.
He had been standing guard — and now he heard… sounds.
He immediately retreated several steps, face burning despite himself.
The young Princess… accepting the Third Prince? So quickly?
He didn't understand love. He didn't understand how quickly it could ignite when the moment was right.
But he understood danger.
A flicker of movement caught his eye — a shadow slipping across the rooftops.
Lei Ying's expression hardened.
He chased.
The figure was slight, cloaked in black, moving with a strange, fluid grace — not Central Plains martial arts. Something else. Something foreign.
Western Regions.
Lei Ying's heart dropped.
If the Western Regions were involved… If they were the ones poisoning the Empress…
Then this was far more dangerous than they had imagined.
And without the princess here, things were about to become very, very complicated.
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CHAPTER 212 — THE SECRET OF THAT YEAR
Lei Ying followed the shadowy figure through the winding palace grounds, his steps silent, his breath controlled. The man in black moved with uncanny fluidity, slipping through the night like smoke. Eventually, he stopped at a secluded courtyard — one so forgotten that even the moonlight seemed reluctant to touch it.
The man slipped inside.
No candlelight. No movement. No sound.
Lei Ying approached cautiously, every sense sharpened. He pressed himself against the wall, listening.
Nothing.
He pushed the door open a fraction—
Swish—!
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
Lei Ying jerked back, flattening himself against the wall as darts embedded themselves in the wood beside him. He waited, counting the seconds, until silence settled again.
Then he stepped inside.
The room was empty.
A single table. A single chair. No windows open. No footprints. No breathing.
It was as if the man had vanished into thin air.
Lei Ying's brows knitted. Impossible. No one disappeared without a trace — not even the most skilled assassins.
He examined the walls, the floorboards, the furniture. Nothing. No hidden panels. No trapdoors. No secret passages.
Then he noticed the windows.
Closed. But not naturally. Forced shut — from the outside.
He stepped back outside and crouched beside the darts scattered on the ground. Using a cloth, he picked one up.
A faint blue sheen glimmered along the edge. A strange crescent‑shaped mark was carved into the metal.
Lei Ying's eyes darkened.
The Western Regions.
A cold, murderous intent flickered through him. This was no ordinary assassin. This was a message — one the princess would be very interested in.
And one that would complicate everything.
He pocketed several darts, ordered men to keep watch over the courtyard, and headed straight for the Northern King's residence.
"Lei Ying?"
Ling Yan looked up from the courtyard she was sweeping. She rarely saw anyone here — she handled most tasks herself, quietly and without complaint.
"Where is Master?" Lei Ying asked, his expression unusually grim.
Ling Yan poured him a cup of tea and gestured toward the inner room. "He's inside. He's been troubled these past few days… I think he's torn about whether he should bring the Queen and Princess back."
Her tone was gentle, but her eyes held a quiet understanding. She admired Tang Kexin, but she didn't know her well enough to call her "Young Mistress" as Lei Ying did.
Lei Ying nodded once, set down the cup, and entered the room.
"Master."
The Northern King didn't look up immediately. He sat before a Go board, the black and white stones locked in a deadlock — neither side able to advance.
A perfect reflection of his heart.
"How is Xin'er?" he asked at last.
"She is well," Lei Ying replied. He hesitated, then placed the dart on the table. "Master, please look."
The Northern King picked it up, eyes narrowing. "Western Regions."
"Most likely."
Lei Ying's voice dropped. "I recognised the pattern. I could never forget it."
And then — the memories surged.
It had been eleven years ago. The coldest winter he had ever known.
They had been returning to the Northern Kingdom after a year in Dayuan. Snow had fallen so heavily it reached their knees. The world was white, silent, frozen.
Until they saw the blood.
It stained the snow in long, broken trails. Too much blood for a single person. Too fresh to be old.
The Northern King had stopped the carriage immediately.
They followed the trail.
More blood. More bodies. Men in black — but not from the Central Plains. Their clothing was strange, foreign.
Then they reached the cliff.
Below, two children were surrounded by assassins.
A boy in red — older, but barely standing. A girl in blue — younger, but fierce, her eyes burning with defiance.
They fought like cornered wolves. There were already corpses at their feet.
But they were losing.
A dart struck the girl's back. The boy threw himself in front of her — and collapsed.
The girl screamed, a sound filled with rage and despair. She fought wildly, recklessly, her small body covered in wounds.
The assassins closed in.
"Let's go," the Northern King said — and leapt down the cliff.
Lei Ying followed.
The Northern King reached the children first. Lei Ying cut down the assassins with ruthless efficiency.
But when he turned back—
He froze.
The girl had a dagger pressed to the Northern King's chest.
Her eyes were terrifying — cold, merciless, filled with killing intent far beyond her years. She looked like a demon child dragged from the depths of hell.
Lei Ying had never been afraid of a child before.
The dagger had only cut the King's clothes, but the message was clear: She would rather die than trust anyone.
The Northern King didn't flinch.
He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "It's alright."
"Why did you save us?" the girl demanded. "What do you want?"
Her voice was icy, guarded, far too mature.
The Northern King paused — then touched her cheek.
"I have no children," he said softly. "From today onwards… you will be my children. Both of you."
The girl stared at him for a long moment.
Then she whispered, "Save my brother."
"Yes."
She withdrew the dagger, placed her small hand in his — and fainted.
Her brother survived. He was now the Northern Prince, Bei Chengyuan.
And the girl… The girl was Princess Bei Chengyao.
Lei Ying returned to the present, jaw tight.
"Why have these darts appeared again after eleven years?" he murmured.
The Northern King's expression darkened. "We'll wait for Yao'er. She must know something."
Yao'er had always been secretive about that year. Yuan'er remembered nothing after his illness. The Western Regions had sealed all information.
"Master," Lei Ying said quietly, "should we warn the Young Lord?"
"No." The Northern King shook his head. "Xin'er is strong. What worries me is how she and Yao'er will get along."
Yao'er's personality was… a storm. Xin'er would be tested.
And the Jadeblood Heart Grass required the blood of the Northern King's child. Yao'er's arrival would reveal everything.
"Lei Ying," the Northern King said at last, "invite Xin'er tomorrow."
He needed to prepare her.