Chapter Eighty-One: Return to the Capital

In truth, what is love? It is the willingness to give, to care for another, and life seldom offers grand gestures—so such love is perfectly embodied in the smallest acts. Ling Zetian could not recall any extraordinary thing Feng Qiuyi had ever done, but he remembered that whenever mealtime came, she would always call him back to Chaoyun Palace to eat. The feeling was as if Chaoyun Palace were his home, warm and comforting. Over time, he grew used to waiting for Feng Qiuyi to summon him for meals; so much so that in her absence, he often realized he hadn’t eaten only when hunger finally struck him.

Every time they ate together, Feng Qiuyi would chew her food heartily, talking endlessly about all manner of things: complaining that the palace was dull and she had slept the whole day, recounting how a certain maid and a certain guard confessed their feelings somewhere, or, at times, bitterly criticizing Anuo in front of him.

He would quietly eat his meal, listening to her. At first, he found it unsettling—Feng Qiuyi always spoke while eating, scattering bits of rice everywhere, and she ate slowly. As an emperor taught from childhood that one must not speak at the table, Ling Zetian could never understand why the prime minister had raised his daughter this way. Yet gradually, he grew used to it. In fact, if she ever ate in silence, he worried she must be in a foul mood.

Though Feng Qiuyi was a bit eccentric in her ways, every night before bed, she would lay out clothes for him beside the bed. Once, palace maids attended to his dressing, but since she moved into Chaoyun Palace, he no longer called for them—her presence had become his habit.

When he was weary from managing state affairs, she would bring him tea, or, bored, she’d fetch books to read at his side, only to fall fast asleep before he ever looked up at her.

After nearly a year of living together, he had, inevitably, grown accustomed to her presence.

But now, she lay sprawled on the ground, blood flooding from her back, her eyes wide open, as if she hadn’t had time to close them—surprised and unwilling.

Ling Zetian slew the man who had struck Feng Qiuyi with a single blow, then knelt beside her, trembling fingers searching for her breath.

There was none—not even the faintest wisp.

“Feng Qiuyi…” His throat shook as he called her name softly.

He knew that Kimura Xinghen did not have the courage to truly kill her, but he had wanted to spare her even the slightest harm, disregarding the realm or its people, hoping only to keep her safe, swallowing the pill for her sake. Yet now, why had she fallen before his eyes?

Ling Shunuo, Ling Zexin, Lu Wenwen, and Qin Ruyan stood stunned by the gruesome sight. Ling Zexin, together with Anuo, rushed forward; seeing Feng Qiuyi motionless on the ground, Ling Zexin reached out to check her breath.

“Brother Emperor,” he cried out, unable to suppress his shock, “Sister-in-law…is she dead?!”

Ling Zetian heard nothing, his mind in utter chaos. Suddenly, he stood, his gaze blazing with blood-red fury, gripping his blade tightly, and charged into the crowd, unleashing carnage.

With Kimura Xinghen felled, the once orderly and disciplined soldiers descended into chaos. Ling Zetian, now unstoppable, slew several men with ease, scattering the army into a panicked rabble, each fleeing for their lives, forgetting all else. As the ancients said, “Capture the king to subdue the thieves”—in war or in daily affairs, a leader is vital to hold the line. Now, with their commander fallen, defeat came without further resistance.

None of the soldiers’ skills matched Ling Zetian’s, and, fueled by rage, he killed many in just minutes. The others, terrified, abandoned all hope of resistance, dropping weapons and armor, fleeing in terror.

Just as Ling Zetian was about to lose himself completely to violence, a sudden, piercing pain seized him. Cold sweat broke out, and he could barely hold onto his blade.

“Brother Emperor, are you all right?” Ling Zexin, having just carried Feng Qiuyi’s body back to the Lu residence, rushed over to prop him up and bring him inside.

Kimura Xinghen’s men hastily carried his body away from the Lu residence, leaving behind only scattered swords, blood, and corpses, as if the place had just been ravaged by war.

Feng Qiuyi’s body, pierced through from behind, was clearly beyond saving. Ling Zexin and the others had no choice but to lay her to rest and wait for Ling Zetian to recover before deciding what to do.

Anuo checked Ling Zetian’s pulse—his internal energy was in turmoil. Ling Shunuo’s brows furrowed deeply.

“How is it, Anuo? What’s wrong with Brother Emperor?”

“The medicine shouldn’t have taken effect so soon, but just now, because of Little Qiuyi, Father Emperor became too agitated—the rage triggered the poison early, hence his unconsciousness.”

“What shall we do?!” Ling Zexin was anxious at the news. Feng Qiuyi was already dead; if Ling Zetian were to die too, what face could he possibly return to Ling Dynasty with?

Ling Shunuo took a small bottle from his sleeve, poured out a pill, and placed it in Ling Zetian’s mouth. “This will ease his pain for now. Our only option is to procure the antidote as soon as possible.”

“But Kimura Xinghen was stabbed, and who knows if he’s still alive. How are we supposed to get the antidote?”

“A direct confrontation is unlikely to succeed. We’ll have to steal it.”

“But where?!” Ling Zexin was frantic. He knew no martial arts and had no idea if the antidote was in Fusang Palace or Kimura Xinghen’s own residence. Even if he wanted to steal it, he had no clue where to begin.

Qin Ruyan glanced at Lu Wenwen, who understood and nodded. Qin Ruyan stepped forward: “Let me and Mr. Lu go. We’ll first find Kimura Xinghen and see if he survived. If so, we’ll force him to reveal the antidote’s location; if not, we’ll have to find another way.”

“No,” Ling Zexin immediately objected. He didn’t care much for Qin Ruyan and had little affection for her, but he couldn’t let them risk their lives. The antidote, wherever it was, must be heavily guarded. With Kimura Xinghen stabbed, news would spread quickly—if they were caught, things would only worsen. Ling Zetian, upon waking, might well execute him.

“So what do we do now?” Anuo was anxious. Though he was seeing this Flower Burial poison for the first time, he knew its potency—without the antidote soon, not even the gods could save Ling Zetian.

“Anuo, let me ask you—do you know the formula for the antidote?”

“It’s written in the books; my master told me once,” Anuo said, doubting, “but one ingredient was declared extinct centuries ago.”

“In that case, we must pack our things and return to Ling Dynasty,” Ling Zexin declared, standing up. With Ling Zetian unconscious, only he could take charge.

He and Ling Zetian had always been opposites. Ling Zetian was the model child—diligent, accomplished, admired by all. Ling Zexin was the worst—never studied, lived for pleasure. Ling Zetian was the exemplar for princes and princesses; Ling Zexin, the cautionary tale. As adults, favored by their father and close to Ling Zetian, Ling Zexin was granted a carefree princely life in the capital, with no responsibilities, relying on Ling Zetian for everything—including pocket money.

Now, with Feng Qiuyi dead and Ling Zetian’s life in peril, Anuo just a child, and Qin Ruyan and Lu Wenwen largely uninvolved, only Ling Zexin could make decisions.

“But the antidote?” Anuo asked, worried. He knew Ling Zexin planned to return to Ling Dynasty and gather experts to concoct the remedy—but without that extinct herb, it was impossible.

“You said the herb has been extinct for centuries?”

“Yes, that’s what my master told me.”

“If it’s been extinct for so long, Kimura Xinghen certainly doesn’t have the antidote. That means our only option is to leave here at once for Ling Dynasty—better to avoid further trouble. Tonight, with Kimura Xinghen wounded and Brother Emperor’s rampage, their forces are in chaos. If Kimura Xinghen truly dies, Fusang’s people won’t spare us; they’ll seek revenge. Best to depart under cover of night.”

Qin Ruyan and Lu Wenwen agreed, seeing the wisdom in his words. “Then let’s pack and leave immediately.”

“What about my mother?” Anuo asked, gazing sadly at Feng Qiuyi’s body laid out on the bed. He knew the soul within was not truly hers, but seeing the body so wounded, he feared she’d never heal.

He suddenly realized it had been a long time since he’d seen Feng Qiuyi’s spirit drifting about. Given all that had just happened, she should have appeared—why hadn’t she?