Chapter 67: The Sickly Prime Minister Poisoned to Death by Her Beloved

The Eldest Princess left the Imperial City in autumn. In early winter, the Prime Minister received word that she had arrived in Qing Province. In the eleventh or twelfth lunar month, she lifted her gaze to the window, where biting cold winds howled. Her frail body had already been wrapped in winter clothes ahead of time, and she wondered what the weather must be like in Qing Province at that moment.

The spy boldly guessed at his mistress’s thoughts and continued, “Qing Province has been bitterly cold this year. Snow fell as early as the eleventh or twelfth month, and now it’s the coldest time.”

Xiao Jinse’s hand paused as she flipped through the documents, ink spreading darkly across the paper. After a long moment, she asked casually, “And the Eldest Princess?”

The spy faltered. “The Eldest Princess went fox hunting.”

A thousand li away, the Eldest Princess stood atop her horse in dark winter garb, drawing her bowstring taut like a full moon. The world was a vast white expanse, snowflakes swirling everywhere, save for a single red fox poking its head from the withered grass, warily scanning its surroundings.

The System spoke up quickly, “Southeast direction, a bit more to the left! Loose the arrow!”

A mournful cry echoed across the endless wilds. Shi Qingyi led Jade Shadow to collect the fox, slung it over the horse’s back, and ambled leisurely toward the market, leaving only sparse hoofprints in the snow.

The fox’s red tail swayed gently behind the horse’s tail.

Thus, the hidden guard crouched in the brush diligently noted: December 16th, clear skies. The Eldest Princess ventured into the woods and returned with a bountiful haul—her spirits high.

This intelligence report soon landed on the Prime Minister’s desk, followed closely by tales of nighttime tippling, getting tipsy, and rising at midnight to admire the snow.

The Prime Minister pressed the report to her heart, where pain seized her so fiercely she gasped for breath.

Look at her—she was thriving without me, free and unrestrained, settling scores with relish. How right my decision had been. Yet she couldn’t help the ache.

Longing tormented her day and night, like ten thousand ants gnawing at her heart, days dragging like years. Even if they harbored mutual resentment and shared a bed but dreamed apart, at least the Princess had stayed by her side. This was their first time separated by ten thousand li.

Qing Province’s liquor was fiery and potent. Shi Qingyi drank half a pot and burned so hot she couldn’t sleep through the night, rising instead to watch the snow. Finding it dull, she found two lads to set up a grill and roast the deer meat she’d hunted the day before.

The System got a taste too. Lacking a body, it still gnawed at a deer leg, sighing midway through, “It’s pretty good having left. I don’t know why Chancellor Xiao’s blackening value is still high but she let you roam free anyway. As long as she’s not making moves on men or women right now, that’s fine.”

Its standards were so low. May the Lord God ensure Chancellor Xiao turned back from the brink.

As it chewed, something felt off. “Where’s the deer hoof?”

A deer leg without a hoof lacked soul!

Shi Qingyi deftly flipped the leg, roasting it golden. Fat rendered in the crisp winter air, dripping into the fire with a sizzle.

The aroma wafted everywhere, making even the hidden guard on the rooftop swallow hard.

“Eat yours. Can’t you shut up for once?”

Her tone was fierce. The System didn’t dare ask more and silently devoured its deer leg.

As winter waned, the Eldest Princess packed her belongings and headed to Jiangnan. A hunting companion she’d met in Qing Province asked why. She stowed her bow and arrow neatly, lips curving in a smile.

“To see Jiangnan’s peach blossoms.”

Jiangnan’s peach blossoms bloomed around mid-March. She traveled leisurely, hurrying and dawdling, arriving in early April—just barely catching them. In April, grasses grew tall and orioles sang amid drizzling spring rain. She arrived by boat on a rainy day; Jade Shadow got drenched miserably at the prow, while she sat beside it, gazing at the spring waters, soaked through herself.

Fresh off the boat, she collided with a hurrying girl in pale yellow skirts. Uneasy about the bump, the girl thrust her oiled-paper umbrella into Shi Qingyi’s hands.

—Just like last winter, when she and the System wandered aimlessly through the snow and met a kind hunter who mistook her for lost and led them back.

The System tsked, “Chancellor Xiao’s people aren’t too bright. That one’s clearly a martial artist—running so fast with such a steady stance. How could she ‘just happen’ to bump into you?”

“Be tolerant.” Shi Qingyi shook out the umbrella—brand new, painted with a few gnarled white plums that seemed to quiver in the breeze, as if meticulously rendered rather than grabbed in haste.

Rain slid off the umbrella like a curtain. Shi Qingyi’s voice was faint. “She’s a battlefield-hardened expert playing a harried passerby. Of course her acting’s off.”

Jade Shadow, the mighty steed, pitifully ducked its head to squeeze under the umbrella but failed. Shi Qingyi led it along, bought a courtyard with a peach tree, and settled in Jiangnan.

That spring passed quite pleasantly. Xiao Jinse’s reports noted that Shi Qingyi’s neighbor kept a tabby cat that often hopped the wall, drawn to beauties—it particularly loved rubbing against the Eldest Princess.

The cat must have been adorable; even the vigilant hidden guards wrote extra lines about it. Xiao Jinse’s face darkened as she read, silencing everyone around her.

Perhaps it was wishful thinking by day breeding dreams by night, but that very evening, Xiao Jinse dreamed of Shi Qingyi brewing tea under a peach tree, a tabby cat curled obediently on her lap, tail wagging.

She jolted awake at midnight. It was spring; a wild cat’s shrill yowl pierced from outside. Clutching her twitching forehead, she ground her teeth.

The next day, the Prime Minister’s Mansion forked out every wild cat, claiming they disturbed her peace.

Yet only she knew whether it was the cats or the person truly unsettling her heart.

Spring yielded to summer, the weather turning sweltering. Jiangnan suffered ill fortune that year with massive floods. Torrential rains lasted half a month, submerging most fields. During those fifteen days, the Prime Minister scarcely slept, nearly relocating her household to the Ministry of Works. She coughed blood several times from exhaustion.

The Vice Minister of Works wailed with a long face, begging her to rest lest she die on duty and saddle him with the blame.

The Prime Minister refused. By the time the waters receded, relief efforts were fully arranged. As disaster relief reached Jiangnan’s heartland and river dikes urgently needed reinforcement, she finally caught her breath—only for refugees to flee southward, northward to the capital with grievances, exposing massive corruption.

Relief grain from court turned to stones; dike materials became rubble. Dikes reinforced yearly, yet floods breached them annually. Officials protected each other, leaving people destitute, families shattered, lifetimes’ savings drowned.

Even capital-reaching refugees struggled for justice. The woman kneeling before her had lost parents, children, husband, brothers, hobbling on one leg as she tearfully recounted her hardships. Beside her sat a girl sold at twelve for a bowl of porridge.

Xiao Jinse sat despondent in the mansion for a day. Xinyi served tea at her side; confidants urged her not to intervene—Jiangnan’s roots ran deep, centuries-old clans immovable.

The twelve-year-old sold girl nibbled her bun, chewing meticulously, and whispered, “We had an old peach tree decades old at home. When it fruited, we’d sell them. Then the lord’s young master took a fancy, and they uprooted every peach tree in our village.”

Xiao Jinse’s eyelids twitched. Xinyi offered the girl water, but she neither drank nor set down her bun.

—

Post-flood Jiangnan looked ragged and grueling. Shops shuttered, leaving few open, rain still pattering relentlessly though lighter.

A girl in goose-yellow skirts bought pastries to head home when she encountered begging elders and children. She gave half her osmanthus cakes away. Misery lined the roads, but she couldn’t save them all—hardening her heart, she pressed on.

The System comforted her, “The male lead will subdue the Barbarians first, then clean house. He’ll be a good emperor later.”

Shi Qingyi handed a piece of osmanthus cake to a child gasping in an alley corner, too weak to hold it steady. “How long until then?”

The System faltered. “Maybe ten or twenty years?”

“Ten or twenty years—of infighting to wear down Xiao Jinse, then repelling foreigners. Decades of militarism to expand borders, fame etched in history before benevolence toward the people. Who knows how many here will live to see that so-called golden age?”

The System wanted to retort but fell silent facing the child who gulped the cake without chewing. Ten or twenty years wasn’t long, but for many, it was a lifetime.

Before, unseen, it treated all as data. Now witnessing firsthand, even a heart of stone stirred.

Passing an alley, several scholars clutched scrolls, emerging with mixed joy and worry, murmuring.

They started on hurrying paintings to the attic to dry and waterproof, then shifted to Xiao Jinse’s name.

Shi Qingyi frowned and glanced back. A scholar bowed protectively over his books, proceeding slowly. “Sigh, I hope Chancellor Xiao can truly clear this mess…”

—

The second month after the floods, word came from the Capital: Chancellor Xiao, now gripping the court, accepted the petition and would soon descend personally to investigate the graft.

Emperors toured south; a Prime Minister set precedent. But in these times, folk knew Chancellor Xiao if not the Emperor.

The Little Emperor chafed inwardly but gloated. Xiao Jinse threatened entrenched clans’ interests—centuries-old powers wouldn’t spare her. Her haste courted death.

Xiao Jinse’s journey south brimmed with perils: bandits, poisonings, landslides. Yet fate favored her; she evaded each. Days of relentless travel brought her near Jiangnan, panicking the clans like ants on a hot pan. She camped outside for the night.

Summer nights buzzed with cicadas; Jiangnan’s dampness aggravated her leg wound, aching from arrival. Nights demanded hot compresses for sleep—this one eluded her.

The hidden guards accompanied her, confirming the Eldest Princess knew of her coming.

News blanketed the city.

She granted her one night—to see if she’d flee.

She ought to—why else refuse to stay before?

In bone-deep longing, near madness with yearning, regret gnawed: why release her? Was lifelong shelter under her wing insufficient?

No. No matter her love, she remained free.

Sleepless through the night, come dawn, a teardrop—or dew?—clung to her eye corner. Curled in her deerskin recliner, she awaited the answer stubbornly.

A pigeon winged from Jiangnan’s depths, bearing long-awaited fair skies and the delayed reply.