Chapter 73: A Heart Laid Bare

When she opened her eyes again, Feng Qiuji found herself back in the cabin. She was floating in midair, and the person lying on the bed was her own body. She drifted closer, intent on returning to herself, but the moment she approached, an invisible force repelled her.

What was happening? Why couldn't she return?

She tried several more times, only to be bounced away each time, never able to get close to her body.

Then she saw the Feng Qiuji on the bed slowly open her eyes and sit up.

She couldn't help but cover her mouth. What on earth was this? A corpse reanimating? She clearly hadn't returned to her body, so how could it be moving on its own?

At that moment, Ling Zetian heard the attendant’s report and hurried into the cabin, for by all reason, she shouldn’t have awakened so soon.

Feng Qiuji, delighted to see Ling Zetian, waved at him and called his name, but he neither saw nor heard her—he walked straight through her, rushing to the bedside.

The awakened Feng Qiuji, seeing him again, seemed less afraid, but still didn’t dare let him approach. “Where am I? Who are you?”

“Feng Qiuji, do you remember nothing at all?” Ling Zetian’s face darkened at her unchanged demeanor.

“Remember what?” Feng Qiuji looked at him, utterly puzzled, her eyes lost. “Can you let me go home?”

Ling Zetian said nothing. Ling Zexin, watching from the side, couldn’t help but interject, “Sister-in-law, do you truly not remember? He is the Emperor.”

“The Emperor?” Feng Qiuji was even more bewildered. Was the Emperor the one who kidnapped her?

Just then, Lu Wenwen entered. The moment Feng Qiuji saw him, she nearly jumped up and hid behind him in panic.

“Master Lu, why am I here?” Feng Qiuji gazed at him with pitiful eyes. “I want to go home. Will you take me?”

Ling Zetian’s face grew even darker at the scene, nearly unable to stand watching Feng Qiuji act so intimately with another man—he longed to seize her at once.

The Feng Qiuji floating above could only cover her eyes in exasperation. She could hardly bear to watch—this was not her, absolutely not her behavior!

“Miss Feng, have you forgotten? You are the Empress. The Emperor is your husband,” Lu Wenwen gently reassured her.

“Empress? I’m the Empress?” Feng Qiuji repeated his words, then suddenly thought of something dire; her face turned deathly pale. “Does that mean… I am no longer pure?”

Ling Zexin nearly collapsed in shock. Was that what she cared about right now?

“Master Lu, you must despise me now, don’t you?” Feng Qiuji clutched Lu Wenwen’s hand, her eyes brimming with tears. “Now that I am no longer chaste, I am unworthy of you…”

“Miss Feng…” Lu Wenwen tried to comfort her, but she shook her head, interrupting him.

“There’s no need to console me further.” She stood, gazing at Lu Wenwen with deep longing. “Master Lu, you are the love of my life. From the first moment I saw you, I swore I would marry no one but you. Even if I could only be a concubine in your house, I would be content. But now, I have no face to see you again. I only wish that in the next life, we might continue our fate together.”

With those words, spoken with such heartfelt devotion—enough to move heaven and earth—Ling Zexin snuck a glance at Ling Zetian and saw the vein throbbing on his brow, as if he would explode at any moment.

What had that Feng Qiuji just said? Love at first sight? She would marry no one but Lu Wenwen? Even as his concubine? And in the next life, she wished to be with him again?

The real Feng Qiuji felt she might vomit. When had she ever loved Lu Wenwen so deeply? This was utter nonsense! Who on earth had taken over her body, holding another man’s hand and whispering such sweet nothings, ruining her reputation? She was on the brink of madness. Watching Ling Zetian’s grim face, Feng Qiuji floated back and forth before him, wishing more than ever that he could see her and understand—it truly wasn’t her saying those words!

She’d only met Lu Wenwen once—how could she have fallen for him so quickly? Was Ling Zetian an idiot? At this moment, Feng Qiuji utterly despised his intelligence.

Yet, in Ling Zetian’s ears, those words meant something altogether different: She would rather be Lu Wenwen’s concubine than his, the Emperor’s, Empress!

“Miss Feng…” Lu Wenwen was at a loss for words, staring at her tearful, earnest face.

Just then, Feng Qiuji did something even more shocking—she suddenly released Lu Wenwen’s hand and, like a madwoman, dashed toward the corner of the table.

The real Feng Qiuji covered her eyes, unable to watch herself bash her own head to a bloody pulp. Who was this, occupying her body and now trying to mutilate it? Was she the sort to attempt self-harm? What if she gave herself a concussion? How would she live in her next life? And if not a concussion, what if she scarred her face—wouldn’t that ruin her looks?

Ling Zetian reacted first. He seized her by the collar and pulled her into his arms in one smooth, flawless motion, though this was hardly the moment for applause.

He held her tightly, unmoved by her frantic struggles, his voice hoarse and wild with frustration. “Have you had enough?”

Feng Qiuji stopped wandering and stared in shock. She had rarely seen Ling Zetian so angry. She’d always thought him a calm man, almost unshakable. Now, he was truly enraged.

That Feng Qiuji had tried to kill herself simply because she believed they’d consummated their marriage—Ling Zetian found her actions unbearable, almost an insult. How much must she loathe him to do such a thing? It was one thing to call another man’s name in delirium, or even to cling to another man in his presence, but to degrade her own life for this? Did she truly detest his touch so much?

Startled, Feng Qiuji forgot to cry or struggle.

Ling Zexin, meanwhile, quietly tugged Lu Wenwen’s sleeve, signaling him to leave. He knew Ling Zetian seldom lost his temper, but this time, he was truly about to explode. Better to make a quick escape and avoid disaster.

In an instant, only Ling Zetian and Feng Qiuji remained in the cabin. The room was silent, save for Feng Qiuji’s soft, stifled sobs.

Ling Zetian gently stroked her hair in comfort, resting his chin atop her head, his tone helpless. “Are you punishing me?”

Feng Qiuji only sobbed quietly, too frightened by his outburst to protest further.

“Are you punishing me for how I treated you before?” Ling Zetian’s voice was tight. “I can give you anything you want. You hate the palace rules—I let you break them. You wanted to leave—I let you go. You saved Kimura Xingye—I pretended not to know. You agreed to work with the Empress Dowager and took her medicine—I said nothing… Because I knew you wouldn’t harm anyone. But now, why are you doing this?” His embrace tightened, as if to fuse her to his very being.

The real Feng Qiuji, floating above, was stunned. She’d thought Ling Zetian knew nothing of her secret actions, but clearly, he’d known all along and simply indulged her.

Ling Zetian held her, but it was no longer the same. Now, Feng Qiuji trembled in his arms as though facing something terrifying.

Yes—she was afraid of him.

The old Feng Qiuji, even knowing he was the Emperor, had never feared him like this, had never shown such expression.

Ling Zetian abruptly released her, gripping her shoulders and gazing into her eyes—those beautiful eyes now brimming with tears, full of fear and unfamiliarity.

Before this, he had never seen Feng Qiuji cry.

Those eyes no longer sparkled with the freedom and innocence he loved—there was no trace of the smile or purity he cherished.

“Are you Feng Qiuji?” Ling Zetian suddenly faltered, asking as if before a stranger, disbelieving the weeping woman before him.

Hearing his question, Feng Qiuji, still floating in the air, reached out longingly to embrace him, but her hands passed right through his body, unable even to grasp the hem of his robe. Seeing Ling Zetian’s dejected posture, her heart twisted with sorrow. Never had she wished so much to appear before him, but no matter how she tried, she remained as insubstantial as air.

“You… you’re hurting me…” Feng Qiuji whimpered, not answering his question, her voice weak and fragile—nothing like the woman she had been.

Ling Zetian, as if realizing he had mistaken her for someone else, let go, then summoned an attendant to watch over Feng Qiuji before he strode out of the cabin.

He knew then that the woman before him was not Feng Qiuji—not the one he knew. She might wear the same face, but the soul inside was not hers. Though everything else was unchanged, her gaze could not deceive him.