Wu Lang ignored the pain wracking his body, not daring to slack off for even a moment. He scrambled unsteadily to his feet from the ground and kowtowed fearfully toward Xue Yunyi. “This base slave greets the Eldest Princess.”
The young man’s voice was numb, the product of long and grueling torment that had beaten obedience into him. He had never even seen Xue Yunyi before and had no idea who she was. He was simply following instinct, obeying Xue Qingzhi’s orders by addressing her as the Eldest Princess.
“Get up.”
Xue Yunyi glanced at the dark iron chain around the young man’s neck. It was the sort of thing used in the Heavenly Prison to restrain condemned prisoners. The heavy links dragged on his overly frail frame, making it a struggle just for him to stand.
So this was the boy Xue Qingzhi had brought back from outside the palace?
Since she had brought him into the palace, she must like him a great deal. Then why treat him so cruelly?
While Xue Yunyi was lost in thought, Wu Lang lifted his face. Pale light like thin snow filtered in through the slightly open carved window behind her, catching on the simple silver hairpin in her dark hair before trickling down like water droplets.
Their eyes met, and Wu Lang’s breath caught.
She wore a plain dress the color of mourning white, and even her eyes were clear as if infused with snow, reflecting his own wretched, disheveled state.
Instinctively, Wu Lang lowered his head, not daring to look any longer.
Xue Yunyi’s brow furrowed slightly. She raised her eyes to Xue Qingzhi. “What did he do wrong?”
Xue Qingzhi sneered. “Imperial Sister is in such a state herself, yet she still has the leisure to pity others.”
She sauntered toward Xue Yunyi. Seeing Wu Lang kneeling in her path, she frowned and roughly yanked the iron chain around his neck, dragging him aside.
Xue Yunyi watched as the coarse links scraped a deep red gash across the young man’s pale, slender neck. He knelt there with downcast eyes, not even daring to make a sound, silently swallowing his pain and humiliation.
Xue Yunyi gripped the armrests of her wheelchair tightly. It was a long moment before she could tear her gaze away from Wu Lang.
Xue Qingzhi spoke lazily. “Imperial Sister rarely visits me. Don’t let this base slave ruin the mood. Qingdai, brew some of the Emerald Snow Green that Father Emperor bestowed yesterday. Entertain Imperial Sister properly.”
“No need.” Xue Yunyi’s voice was flat. “You know I came for the antidote today. Why not just get on with it?”
“Has Imperial Sister come around?” Xue Qingzhi feigned surprise. “I thought she was content to be a cripple for life.”
Xue Yunyi’s eyes cooled.
Xue Qingzhi shrugged innocently. “Don’t blame me, Imperial Sister. It’s just that you’re so capable—so many courtiers in the capital are rooting for you, urging Father Emperor to name you Crown Princess. Only if you’re a cripple will the position of Crown Princess be mine. Isn’t that right, Imperial Sister?”
Her fingertips idly traced the sandalwood armrest before lightly tapping Xue Yunyi’s knee, as if in regret.
“The Southern Frontier Ancestral Laws state that a disabled body is inauspicious, unfit to inherit the nation’s foundation. But we’re sisters, after all. I can’t bear to see Imperial Sister confined to that wheelchair forever.” Xue Qingzhi straightened, her lips curving meaningfully. “Imperial Sister hasn’t heard? Father Emperor discussed it with Mother Consort some days ago. He’s decided to bestow on me the title of Anyang Princess, with the investiture ceremony on my birthday. I know you’re skilled with brush and ink. Why not paint my portrait as a gift for the occasion? Then I’ll give you the antidote.”
Xue Yunyi understood the boast in Xue Qingzhi’s words. She herself, as the Eldest Princess, had yet to receive a title, which showed how much the Emperor favored Xue Qingzhi and Consort Jiang. But over these years, Xue Yunyi had grown accustomed to the Emperor’s bias and paid it no mind.
As for painting—
She had studied under the imperial painter Feng Xianzhi since childhood. At fourteen, she had gained fame in the capital with her Wild Geese Returning Painting. The man, who never praised lightly even in his old age, had stroked his white beard and acclaimed her: “A master’s touch brings mountains and rivers to life in every stroke.”
A single portrait was no trouble at all for Xue Yunyi.
But she had her pride. Her paintings were gifts only for those close to her.
“What, Imperial Sister refuses?” Xue Qingzhi seemed to have anticipated her hesitation and teased, “I know you’re always so proud, never giving away your work lightly. But now that your legs are useless, all you have left are those hands. Isn’t that right, Imperial Sister?”
Mo Ying clenched her fists in fury beside her. “Second Princess, please show Her Highness some respect!”
“Mo Ying.”
Xue Yunyi shook her head, signaling Mo Ying to say no more. She met Xue Qingzhi’s mocking gaze calmly. “I agree.”
She knew full well that Xue Qingzhi meant to humiliate her. But her pride had shattered the day her body was crippled.
What use was a straight spine for someone who couldn’t even stand?
“Then please come to my palace tomorrow at mid-morning, Imperial Sister. I’ll have the brushes and ink ready.” Xue Qingzhi beamed.
Xue Yunyi murmured her assent and instructed Mo Ying to wheel her away.
The wild pear incense in the censer was thick, irritating her throat.
As the wheelchair crossed the threshold, she covered her mouth and coughed lightly. A thought stirred in her mind, and she couldn’t help turning back for another look at Wu Lang.
The young man was still kneeling with his head bowed, his slender neck bent in a fragile arc, his disheveled black hair scattered over his shoulders, making him seem even more gaunt.
Xue Yunyi couldn’t help recalling the fear in the young man’s eyes. In a daze, she felt a strange sense of familiarity.
The moment she had realized her legs were numb, she had lifted her face in panic. The bronze mirror had reflected eyes just as full of terror.
“Your Highness, are you really going to paint for the Second Princess? She doesn’t seem to have good intentions. You must be careful.”
Mo Ying’s worried voice broke Xue Yunyi’s reverie. She withdrew her gaze and closed her eyes slightly, feeling the wheelchair roll slowly over the wooden ramp on the stone steps before bumping gently onto the gravel path.
“It’s just a painting. No need to take it to heart with her.”
“But with the Second Princess’s temperament, she might not give you the antidote even then.”
“No matter. I know what I’m doing.”
Seeing that Xue Yunyi didn’t wish to discuss it further, Mo Ying fell silent and pushed her onward.
After resting with her eyes closed for a while, Xue Yunyi suddenly spoke. “Look into that young man who attends the Second Princess. Find out who he is.”
Mo Ying paused before replying, “Yes, this servant will see to it.”
The incense in the silver censer had yet to burn out.
The cloying pear scent filled his throat, mingling with the metallic tang of blood and making Wu Lang’s vision blur.
He tilted his face up, his pale cheeks flushed red from asphyxiation. His clear black eyes pleaded silently, but he received not a shred of mercy.
Xue Qingzhi gripped Wu Lang’s throat firmly with one hand, looking down at him imperiously.
Her nails, tipped with crimson dye, dug sharply into his flesh, drawing beads of blood like flower petals. She watched with fascination as he trembled in agony beneath her touch, her lips curving in delight. Only when he was on the verge of passing out did she mercifully release him.
She kicked at the boy, who lay gasping on the floor. Bending down, she pinched his jaw and rubbed her thumb over his pale, dry lips, toying with him idly.
“Imperial Sister is beautiful. You like her, don’t you?” Her tone was unusually gentle, coaxing patiently.
But the young man only grew more terrified, afraid of saying the wrong thing. He shook his head frantically.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice. You looked at Imperial Sister several times.” Xue Qingzhi’s fingers tightened, bruising his pale lips with a red mark.
“This base slave wouldn’t dare…”
Wu Lang coughed violently, his voice hoarse.
Slap.
A sharp slap landed across Wu Lang’s face.
His head snapped to the side, but he didn’t dare evade it. Carefully, he turned his cheek—now bearing a vivid red handprint—back toward Xue Qingzhi, offering it in hopes of forgiveness, though he had done nothing wrong.
Xue Qingzhi saw the fawning look in Wu Lang’s eyes and scoffed in disdain.
The aloof young man who had once treated her coldly now groveled obediently at her feet, reduced to a lowly plaything.
She patted his face—a casual gesture that still terrified him. She laughed, her voice even gentler. “You mustn’t like Imperial Sister. Remember that?”
From her earliest memories, Xue Qingzhi had known she had an elder sister who excelled at everything. While she struggled with her lessons, fumbling through the brief Pingyang Ode after ten recitations, Xue Yunyi had memorized classics effortlessly, mastering poetry, calligraphy, chess, and painting. Their tutor always praised her sister’s brilliance.
If only she could best Xue Yunyi in some way—
But Xue Yunyi had inherited Empress Jiang’s beauty: skin like snow, features like flowers, a face to topple cities. In looks, Xue Qingzhi paled in comparison.
She knew she couldn’t match her sister in anything, so she absolutely could not tolerate Wu Lang—who had once rejected her—lingering on Xue Yunyi with his gaze.
Even for half a moment, it fueled her groundless jealousy.
“This base slave remembers.”
Wu Lang didn’t dare refuse. He knew the consequences of defying Xue Qingzhi all too well. This spoiled and willful Second Princess needed only a word to end his life.
Wu Lang lowered his eyes, and an image of Xue Yunyi involuntarily rose in his mind. Though it had been only a fleeting glimpse, he had already committed her appearance to memory with striking clarity. It was all because of that snow-white robe of unadorned silk, so utterly at odds with the palace’s lavish splendor—like the goddess of mercy seated upon her lotus throne, untouched by a speck of worldly dust.
The iron chain around his neck suddenly yanked tight. Wu Lang dared not dwell on the thought any longer. He bowed his head and crawled after Xue Qingzhi, stumbling forward on his knees.
When Xue Qingzhi halted before the curio shelf, Wu Lang’s body went rigid. A tidal wave of terror crashed over him. In a panic, he clutched at the hem of her skirt, his face drained of all color.
“Please… please forgive this base slave just this once,” he pleaded. “This base slave will obey…”
Xue Qingzhi gently stroked Wu Lang’s head, but the words that followed sent a chill racing down the spine. “A mistake demands punishment, of course. If there is a next time, This Palace will dig out those eyes of yours.”
She let out a faint, wistful sigh, as if pitying Wu Lang—or perhaps murmuring to herself. “Tell me, in what way does This Palace fall short of Imperial Sister? Back then, you wouldn’t even grant This Palace a single glance.”
“That was… that was because this base slave did not know of the Princess’s identity…”
Wu Lang tried to defend himself, but Xue Qingzhi had no patience for his words. She dragged him straight to the curio shelf and twisted the hidden mechanism.
The secret door slid open with a low grind, revealing the cramped, suffocating chamber concealed behind the stone wall.
Agonizing memories flooded Wu Lang’s mind in an instant. His entire body shook as he gazed up at Xue Qingzhi in desperate entreaty. The young man’s slender fingers clenched her skirt hem like a drowning man grasping his one slender reed of hope.
Xue Qingzhi’s patience snapped. She wrenched her hand free with a sharp flick and issued her command in an icy tone. “Crawl inside like a good dog. This Palace has no wish to bandy words with a beast.”