Chapter 73: The Sickly Prime Minister Poisoned to Death by Her Beloved

The message crossed plains and mountains to reach the Eldest Princess’s hands in the dead of night, as heavy rain drummed against the window lattice, as if pounding on someone’s heart—or perhaps it was merely an endless dream.

Someone brought a secret letter. The Imperial City was sealed tight; no news escaped from within, and none entered from without. Messengers using carrier pigeons were shot down before they could leave the gates, and later, scraps of paper floated up from the city moat.

Xiao Jinse was gravely ill and on the brink of death, her strength spent like a bow at the end of its tether. The Little Emperor seized this perfect opportunity to strike, clashing with Xiao Jinse’s forces inside the city. Now, only the Prime Minister’s Mansion held firm; everywhere else had fallen.

No one knew if Xiao Jinse was still alive. Rumors outside claimed she had long since passed, and only Xinyi and the others kept her death a secret.

But these were mere rumors, unconfirmed.

Her loyal retainers gathered at her bedside, urging her to strike first and rebel with their troops.

The Eldest Princess furrowed her brows and gazed out at the pouring rain, worry clouding her eyes.

Her retainer pressed on: “Your Highness, whichever side wins, it spells trouble for you. Why not take matters into your own hands? The chance won’t come again!”

If the Prime Minister triumphed, she would return as a caged pet. If His Majesty prevailed, she would remain merely the Eldest Princess—and he still harbored thoughts of marrying her off for peace.

Even the System couldn’t help but sigh: “What troubled waters, what oppression driving the people to revolt!”

But if they truly forced her hand, why had she plotted so meticulously from the start?

The Eldest Princess stood with her hands behind her back, silent. After a long moment, she pushed open the damp wooden door. Outside, veteran ministers of three reigns knelt in the downpour, lifting their official robes as they begged her to march to Shangjing and save the king. Their aged eyes were cloudy, yet their loyalty to the emperor burned unwavering.

She took an umbrella and hurried forward, heedless of the rain, helping the trembling old men to their feet. Her voice was solemn and heavy with sorrow: “Rest assured, gentlemen. If something happened to Ji’er, I, as his aunt, would never stand idly by.”

Her promise weighed a thousand pounds. The old ministers’ hands shook as they clutched her arm. After a long while, they uttered a tearful, “Thank you, Eldest Princess, for your righteousness.”

They wept with gratitude.

The rest of their words drowned in the storm, just like this storm-tossed empire.

In early June, the Eldest Princess gathered her old subordinates and troops from various regions—fifty thousand strong—and marched north, under the banner of aiding the king.

Everyone praised the Eldest Princess for her bold decisiveness and noble heart, daring to turn the tide in such dire straits.

Yet, as she rode day and night without rest, the Eldest Princess—now everyone’s beacon of hope—calculated in her mind: Based on her estimate of the Prime Minister’s Mansion, Xiao Jinse could hold out for at most half a month. Without supplies, it would collapse from within. Her army had to breach the Imperial City’s gates within that time.

The Eldest Princess’s forces arrived at the Imperial City on the evening of the tenth of June. The towering, ancient walls loomed like a beast crouching in the darkness, silently devouring those trapped at the heart of power. The bluestone bricks stretched to the horizon, swallowed by the dusky sky and mountain silhouettes.

The sealed gates were battered open by brute force. This long-silent city finally welcomed its first light in days. A woman in red robes spurred her horse over the barricades, shooting into the fray like an arrow from the string.

In the midnight chaos of screams and slaughter, no one knew what had happened. The invading troops cleared a path for the Eldest Princess. The clip-clop of hooves echoed down the long streets like a blade hanging over every heart.

No one knew whose head that blade would ultimately fall upon. She was an untimely wildcard, injecting a new possibility into the standoff between the two sides.

It was Xinyi’s turn to stand watch that night. At the sound of hooves, her hand gripped her long saber, cold light flickering in her eyes. Someone beside her rose immediately: “I’ll fetch the Prime Minister!”

“No need,” Xinyi blocked him with her hand, her voice hoarse from endless nights without sleep. “She just fell asleep. Don’t disturb her. I’ll go check it out first.”

The reports said the Little Emperor wouldn’t strike today.

The long streets around the Prime Minister’s Mansion bristled with archers, bowstrings drawn taut. The long wind carried the stench of blood, awaiting only the order to loose arrows and splatter the intruders.

The woman wore frost-colored armor, her long hair streaming in the wind. Even caked in filth and gore, she exuded noble pride. Xinyi’s grip on her saber suddenly loosened.

She didn’t know why the Eldest Princess had come—to persuade the Prime Minister to surrender, or to slay her? With the Prime Minister absent, could she seize the moment and kill this woman first, then report later?

To free the Prime Minister from years of torment and pain, sparing her further softness of heart.

“Halt!” In a flash, she shouted hoarsely, “Halt!”

—That was the Prime Minister’s life.

…

As long arrows aimed at the Eldest Princess’s heart, Xinyi suddenly remembered a time when the Eldest Princess had fallen ill. The Prime Minister had held her hand and kept vigil for a full day and night. It was just a minor cold, yet the Prime Minister had whispered obsessively in her ear: We’ll be buried together.

Not a joke—the Prime Minister had even consulted a geomancer for a gravesite.

Killing the Eldest Princess would end the Prime Minister.

She understood clearly in that instant.

The Eldest Princess dismounted and followed Xinyi into the Prime Minister’s Mansion. It was no longer the place she had left; it brimmed with heavy guards and soldiers everywhere, patrolling corridors and courtyards.

Halfway there, the Eldest Princess finally spoke, her voice hoarse and slow: “How is she?”

“Is the illness severe?”

In that moonlit chill, Xinyi felt a pang of sorrow and emotion in her chest, as if something lodged there tightly. She shook her head, and the Eldest Princess froze.

“She’s… not well?”

Clad in silver armor, her brief pause clanged softly. That frost hue stung the eyes, its sheen betraying her unease.

“You’ll see for yourself.” Xinyi said no more. The Prime Minister resided in the innermost courtyard, ringed by experts on high alert. Seeing Xinyi approach, they frowned.

“The Prime Minister just got to sleep. She hasn’t closed her eyes in days. No matter what—”

It shouldn’t be now. The words died as they spotted the figure behind her. Anyone could be stopped—even the Emperor—but not this one.

Before entering, the Eldest Princess paused. Xinyi nearly thought of shoving her if she hesitated. Instead, she unbuckled her saber and sword, handing them to the guards.

The door creaked open softly. Xiao Jinse, who had just closed her eyes, snapped them open again, rasping from her parched throat: “Who?”

The room was dim without lamps, thick with bitter herbal medicine and a strange metallic tang of blood.

Xiao Jinse sensed it wasn’t Xinyi or the servants. Without light, she tried to prop herself up, but her slender hands trembled on the bedding, her back arching futilely.

She couldn’t rise.

The shadow hurried to her side and instinctively steadied her.

Shi Qingyi hadn’t shed her armor, reeking of battlefield slaughter and gunpowder. Fresh blood trickled down the cold silver plates. As she supported Xiao Jinse, red plum blossoms stained her silver nightclothes. Shi Qingyi abruptly tried to pull away, but it was too late.

Xiao Jinse collapsed into her arms. Feeble arms locked around her neck, nearly choking her.

“Your Highness… where did you think you were going?”

Without waiting for a reply, she bit Shi Qingyi’s jaw, then her neck, nipping a bit of flesh as if to devour it bite by bite.

Though it hurt, Shi Qingyi didn’t push her away. She endured the pain, supporting Xiao Jinse’s illness-weakened waist lest she collapse entirely.

She was truly frail to that extent—pathetic, unable even to hold herself up.

“I’m not going anywhere…” The prey’s lashes trembled with the words, steady yet yielding silently. She parted her lips weakly; that bloody hand slid from waist to nape.

“Nowhere at all.”

It took Xiao Jinse a long moment to process. She was answering her question. The response felt dreamlike; thinking she’d misheard, she murmured: “Your Highness, what did you say?”

“I said, I’m not leaving.” The Eldest Princess’s eyes had been closed until now; she slowly opened them, gazing down at the woman before her. Everything clogging her heart seemed to flow away like a river. Her voice was low and hoarse, laced with helpless surrender to fate.

“I’ll stay with you.”

This gilded cage—she had once fled it with all her might for freedom. Now, she returned willingly.

She stepped into the cage alone, becoming its bird by choice.

Xiao Jinse felt as if trapped in a dream, half-crying, half-laughing as she licked and nibbled the wounds on Shi Qingyi’s body—the fine cuts on her neck from the fray.

She lapped the blood around them, then sucked at the injuries, unsure if to make Shi Qingyi hurt or to confirm something urgent. Her fingers spasmed uncontrollably.

Tears suddenly poured from Xiao Jinse’s eyes. Her lips parted and closed soundlessly for a long while before she tugged at Shi Qingyi’s collar: “Did you come to check if I’m dead?”

Still distrustful, half-sobbing, half-smiling: “Or only when I’m dying would you come deceive me?”

“Did you return to see if I’m still alive?”

Finally, Shi Qingyi held her tight and scolded: “Enough.”

Then kissed her eyes, saying: “Don’t say such things.”

Xiao Jinse fell silent. That cherishing tone filled her heart to bursting, leaving her speechless.

That night, Xiao Jinse refused to let go. Even when Shi Qingyi wanted to remove her armor and change, she wouldn’t allow it. In the end, she changed right there on the bed and slipped under the covers with her. Xiao Jinse clung to her, unable to sleep, eyes wide open.

Outside, clashes raged; the empire’s fate seemed to shift in an instant. Firelight spread across the horizon, staining half the sky blood-red. Gunpowder and flames lingered in the dark.

“Your Highness, why…” Xiao Jinse buried her face in Shi Qingyi’s chest, listening to her heartbeat to confirm this person was real, alive, and by her side.

“Why come back?”

Why? Shi Qingyi’s eyelids fluttered. She placed her hand on Xiao Jinse’s heart, cradling it gently: “Because you’re ill.”

“I’m afraid…”

She stopped abruptly.

Xiao Jinse’s throat bobbed. Desperate for the answer, she pressed: “Afraid of what?”

Her gaze burned; for the first time, Shi Qingyi didn’t look away, meeting it squarely. A flush crept over her face and ears. The aloof Eldest Princess muttered awkwardly: “Afraid I’d never see you again.”

Xiao Jinse began to bite her.

Gnawing, tearing—as if to swallow her whole.

Perhaps the mood was too intimate, the darkness hiding much. Shi Qingyi started speaking softly, as if to her or to herself.

“When I was young, I always wanted to wander the world, thinking it a pity not to see its mountains and rivers. My parents were alive then; carefree, I naively believed they’d always be there when I returned. Later, they were gone, but I still wanted to go see it all—for my brother, to witness the vast lands my father had guarded his whole life.”

“So when you held me back, I hated you. I was a kite with a string tying me, reminding me I could return when tired because someone waited. But when I finally broke free, Father, Mother, and my brother were all gone…”

“No mountain or river was worth sharing anymore.”

She seemed to chuckle lightly, the bitterness indescribable.

“During New Year, I returned, and you celebrated with me. Only then did I vaguely feel the string was still there. With you here, I wasn’t homeless.”

“But if you were gone too, what would I do?”

So she returned—for you alone.

She hugged Xiao Jinse wordlessly, sighing in relief: “Luckily, you’re fine.”

Her drifting kite still had a home.

Sleepless into the midnight hours, they entwined tenderly. As sleep neared, Shi Qingyi whispered in her ear: “Jinse, what if we lose?”

“It won’t happen, Your Highness…” Xiao Jinse laboriously loosened her hair. Once Shi Qingyi drifted off, her expression turned sinister and mad, though her voice remained soft and coaxing.

“It’s fine, Your Highness. I’ve prepared everything. As long as you’re back, fear nothing…”

System: “!!!”

“As expected, she still had a backup plan!!!”