In the depths of the grand study, a figure clad in black knelt with his forehead pressed to the floor. He didn't dare to move, his eyes fixed on the hem of the royal robes before him. The room was swallowed by darkness, lit only by the flicker of candlelight casting a long, distorted shadow against the walls.
The person whom he served sat there calmly, his pale hands moving with grace. Each stroke of the brush was a testament to his power—refined, elegant, and unyielding.
Without turning to meet his subordinate, the master spoke, "So he is still alive," he stated, his voice devoid of surprise.
He didn't wait for confirmation; he simply halted his hand and gestured for the eunuch standing nearby to take the brush.
With a nonchalant wave of his hand, Emperor Zhaorui dismissed the shadow. He didn't spare him a second thought, his mind already back on the canvas. He rose from his seat, the golden crown on his head shimmering in the candlelight.
He stepped back to admire his creation. Behind the smile of pure satisfaction, something dark lingered. He breathed in the fresh scent of ink and said, "Xue De," calling his trusted aide.
"Look at this. What do you think?," he asked with a proud tilt of his chin.
Xue De bowed low, handing over a cloth of pure white silk for his Majesty to wipe his ink-stained hands. "Truly magnificent, Your Majesty," he murmured, even though his eyes never once took in the person on the canvas. He didn't need to, as he had seen this same ghost haunting the white board countless times over the years.
Had anyone else looked upon the canvas, their soul might have recoiled in shock. The Emperor, the supreme ruler of Yan, a person of peerless upbringing, wasting his nights on a portrait of a woman who no longer lingered in the living world. A single whisper of this scandal would bring a shame no crown could cover.
Yet Xue De, a veteran of the palace's darkest corners, didn't show a hint of aversion, his heart long hardened to the nature of this truth.
With a heavy sigh, Emperor Zhaorui walked to the painting, his fingers tracing the cheek on the canvas with obsessive tenderness. "Would things have been different if she married me?" he whispered.
Before the eunuch could answer, the Emperor's face contorted with dark fury. "That Yue Zhenting!"
"He promised her the world but filled her halls with concubines and bastards! He didn't deserve her shadow, let alone her heart."
His anger peaked with a thunderous shout that made the lone candle flicker. "She should have been my Queen! The only woman who sits beside me to rule over Yan!"
In his blind rage, his fist struck the table. The impact sent a tray of ink flying, splattering across the freshly painted canvas. Seeing the black droplets stain the woman's eyes, he panicked and rushed to the painting.
He fell to his knees, heedless of his heavy robes, trying to wipe the ink away with his bare palms. But the more he tried, the more he obscured it, turning the beautiful woman into a faceless dark blur.
"Lian'er…" he whispered, his voice cracking as he watched the face dissolve, just as it had begun to fade from his memory.
His strength gave way, and he collapsed onto the cold floor. The eunuch's eyes widened as he rushed forward to support him. "Your Majesty, please gather yourself!"
Bracing the Emperor's weight, he helped him to the couch and handed him a glass of water.
Emperor Zhaorui took the glass with trembling hands, his eyes fixed on the ruined canvas. "Jingyuan… he inherited her beauty and mind," he murmured. But the warmth soon vanished, replaced by a cold register. "But he carries the blood of Yue Zhenting. How good it would have been if he were born to me and Lian'er."
He clicked his tongue in displeasure at the turn of events.
The Emperor drained the cup and smashed it onto the floor, watching the shards with detached interest. "How is the investigation going?" he asked coldly.
The eunuch hurried to explain, "It was a maid in the Yue household. She acted on Lord Wenxiu's orders to infect the bath water. But…" he hesitated, but the piercing glare of the Emperor prompted him to continue.
"It was the second young master who sharpened the blade. He colluded with the physician to turn the rot into a death sentence for Lord Jingyuan."
The Emperor's expression did not change, but a dangerous hum vibrated in his chest.
"Send word to the Yue household. Order Wenxiu to join the Imperial commander in dealing with the bandits in the north. And for Chengyi…" a cold smile touched his lips, "in his brother's absence, have him carry the duties of Prime Minister. Let him taste the power he lusted for."
Emperor Zhaorui turned back to the ruined painting, his cruel smirk fading into a hollow sadness. "I let them touch the only piece of you left in this world," he murmured, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.
"They made me seal my Jingyuan alive in a coffin. So I shall turn their lives into a walking death. Let them know the weight of that coffin every day they breathe."