Chapter 109.

As the sound reached his ears, Yin Ciguang turned his head. His gaze seemed distant, unfocused for a few moments before finally settling on the person who had spoken.

“Why have you come, Your Highness?” His tone was slow, his expression wooden. He cast a fleeting glance at Yin Chengyu, then turned back to the bowl of medicine in his hands, resuming his task of feeding it.

On the bed lay Consort Rong, her face pale as gold, lips tinged with blue. Her once-beautiful features had been ravaged by illness, leaving her gaunt and almost unrecognizable.

Yin Chengyu stood frozen, his throat tightening as he stared at Yin Ciguang’s frail back for a long moment. Then, with a subtle signal to the imperial physicians, he left the room quietly. The two physicians followed him into the outer hall.

“Has the First Prince been like this the entire time?” Yin Chengyu asked, his voice low but firm.

The elder physician sighed heavily. “The First Prince shared a deep bond with Consort Rong. Since she fell into a coma after being poisoned, he has been tirelessly caring for her in Yongxi Palace, refusing to sleep or rest. Except for the tasks that require assistance, he won’t let anyone else take over. He only rests for a brief moment, leaning against the bedpost when he’s utterly exhausted. We’ve tried to persuade him many times, but he won’t listen.”

“And what of Consort Rong’s condition?” Yin Chengyu’s brows, already furrowed from the moment he stepped into Yongxi Palace, tightened further.

The two physicians exchanged a hesitant glance before one finally spoke, resigned to honesty. “The poison is severe and has deeply invaded her organs. At this point… she is barely clinging to life.”

The response, though measured, left no room for optimism. If not for the Empress’s decree to spare no effort in her treatment—and the rare medicines provided from Kunning Palace’s stores—Consort Rong might not even have lasted this long.

The physicians' expressions softened with pity.

They knew from past encounters that the First Prince was no novice in medical knowledge. He could see the truth just as clearly as they could. He simply refused to face it.

Yin Chengyu pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling a long, heavy breath. A weight lodged in his chest, too stubborn to rise or fall.

Waving the physicians away, he stood at the doorway to the inner chamber but chose not to enter again.

Memories of the past swept over him. He understood better than anyone just how much Consort Rong meant to Yin Ciguang. No words of comfort could pierce the agony of the current reality.

After lingering for a moment longer, Yin Chengyu called over the stewardess of Yongxi Palace. He instructed her to keep a close eye on Yin Ciguang and to inform him immediately of any changes before leaving with leaden steps.

He did not return to his own quarters at Ciqing Palace but headed instead for Kunning Palace.

The Empress, already informed of his visit to Yongxi Palace, awaited him. Her face was weary; the events of recent days had left her sleepless. Seeing Yin Chengyu arrive, her tense expression finally eased a fraction. She had prepared refreshments and gestured for him to eat, knowing he likely hadn’t had a proper meal since his return to the capital.

Yin Chengyu did not refuse. After quickly eating a few pieces of pastry and sipping some hot tea, he managed to suppress the storm brewing inside him. “Mother, tell me what you’ve uncovered.”

The Empress nodded, her voice measured as she began. “The poisoning, it seems, originated from Jingren Palace. Their target was not me, but Consort Rong.”

Whispers in the palace claimed that Consort Rong had taken a blow meant for the Empress. After all, the poisoned osmanthus cakes had been the Empress’s favorite treat, and the eunuch who had administered the poison had confessed as much before his death.

At first, the Empress had believed this as well. But after the eunuch’s sudden suicide, her own investigations uncovered discrepancies, leading her to suspect that Consort Rong had been the intended victim all along.

“Imperial Physician Hu, who routinely checks my pulse, came to me in private. He told me that someone had tampered with my medical records.”

The Empress suffered from a weak stomach and could not consume rich or sweet foods—something clearly documented in her records. Initially, Imperial Physician Hu had dismissed the tampering as inconsequential, but in light of the poisoning incident, he realized its significance and reported it to the Empress.

“That was the first clue.”

“The second,” she continued, her tone sharp, “is that due to your warning, I am highly vigilant about everything I eat. All meals and snacks in Kunning Palace are meticulously tested. Even when I dine outside, the pastries are brought directly from my own kitchens. Yet, that day, the poisoned cakes were conveniently served when I was not present.”

The pastries from that day were a gift from the Emperor himself—testing them for poison was out of the question. The Empress had two reasons to refuse them: one, her doctor’s orders; and two, her hard-earned caution. She never touched food from outside without due reason.

Such crude methods, like that eunuch poisoning the pastries outright, were laughably amateurish. And yet, rumors in the palace spread far too quickly for it to be a coincidence.

For the past few days, the Empress had been deliberately keeping the servants of Kunning Palace under tight control, letting the gossip swirl unchecked, waiting to see who would fan the flames.

“Mother, are you saying…”

“I fear someone is intentionally stirring trouble between you and the First Prince.” The Empress’s brows furrowed in worry. “Whoever is spreading these whispers isn’t just targeting Jingren Palace—they’ve also dragged Xianfu Palace into this.”

Xianfu Palace—the residence of Consort De.

Hearing this, Yin Chengyu’s expression darkened. “This poisoning plot was meticulous, calculated at every step. It doesn’t seem like something Consort Wen would orchestrate.”

Consort Wen, while cunning, had grown unstable since her son’s death, prone to impulsive, erratic actions.

Quietly scheming, pitting rivals against each other to watch the chaos unfold? That was far more characteristic of Yin Chengjing’s handiwork.

“Regardless of who’s behind it, Consort Wen is the one at the forefront,” the Empress hissed, her voice edged with anger. “It’s infuriating! The eunuch was interrogated by High Eunuch Gao’s men before ours could get to him. By the time we did, he’d confessed and conveniently committed suicide. But the network I’ve had tracking his connections did uncover something—he had a secret relationship with a maid from Jingren Palace. They’d formed a forbidden bond, acting as husband and wife in secret.”

Relationships like these, between eunuchs and palace maids, had long been whispered about in the palace. But the Emperor detested such arrangements, strictly forbidding them.

Discovery meant death.

The eunuch had likely been blackmailed by Consort Wen, his forbidden love turned into leverage. Tragically, the maid didn’t live much longer than him—her body was found days later at the bottom of an abandoned well in the Cold Palace.

“Consort Wen has been planning this for ages, and she came prepared,” the Empress continued. “Your father, as always, is either truly blind or pretending to be. After seeing the eunuch’s signed confession, he dismissed the matter, sending gifts to Yongxi Palace to smooth things over.”

Whether the Emperor’s indifference was genuine or calculated, one thing was clear: he didn’t want to delve deeper.

The Empress, who had endured years of a cold, distant marriage, knew her husband well. This was the first time she dared to openly criticize him, her fury overriding decorum.

“This cannot end here. If Consort Rong truly…” She trailed off, biting her tongue. Speaking ill omens aloud felt wrong.

Yin Chengyu, after listening in silence, finally spoke, his tone calm but chilling. “If Father doesn’t want this to escalate, then we’ll escalate it ourselves.” He paused, a faint, humorless smirk curling his lips. “The living can be silenced. But the dead? They always speak.”

If Xue Shu were here to witness this moment, he would know that Yin Chengyu’s icy calm masked seething rage. The angrier he was, the quieter and more composed he became.

The Empress, catching his meaning, felt a sudden clarity. Though she despised palace intrigue, she was no stranger to its tactics.

“Leave this matter to me,” she said, a new resolve in her voice. Seeing the storm brewing in her son’s expression, she reached out to touch his face, softening her tone. “Go rest. And when you can, visit the First Prince more often. We can’t afford to lose him before Consort Rong recovers.”

At the mention of Consort Rong, she sighed deeply, her frustration evident.

Yin Chengyu nodded. “I understand, Mother.”

He lingered a moment longer before finally leaving at her urging.

The palace had been anything but peaceful since Consort Rong’s incident. First, a maid’s body was discovered in the Cold Palace well. Then, rumors began swirling about Jingren Palace being haunted.

They said shadows appeared at night—two figures weeping softly, one male and one female. At first, the rumors stayed within Jingren Palace. But those who knew more speculated that the female ghost bore a striking resemblance to the deceased maid, Feicui.

Feicui’s secret relationship with the eunuch had not been a tightly held secret. In the stifling loneliness of the palace, forbidden liaisons were inevitable, whispered about in hushed tones.

Some days ago, word spread that Feicui's duishi—the eunuch who served her—had attempted to poison the Empress but failed. Consumed with fear, he took his own life. Not long after, Feicui herself disappeared. When her body was finally found, people were shocked to realize she had died for love, following him into death.

There was a brief stir of pity, but soon enough, they were forgotten.

Who could have predicted that this dead pair of lovers would return from the grave?

As it happened, it was the seventh day since that wretched eunuch's death—a time when spirits were said to linger. Rumors spread like wildfire through Jingren Palace.

Feicui’s acquaintances among the palace servants quietly burned paper offerings, hoping to send the ghostly couple on their way to reincarnation, begging them not to torment the living.

The more people burned paper money, the faster the rumors reached the ears of Noble Consort Wen.

Noble Consort Wen, however, was unimpressed. Stroking her blood-red nails with a faintly amused sneer, she dismissed it. “They were useless in life. As ghosts, do they think they can suddenly cry for justice?”

Her words struck a chord, and the attending court lady relaxed. “Then I’ll order the servants to stop burning offerings,” she said with a bow.

“Go,” Wen said, her voice laced with disdain. “And let it be known—anyone caught playing with these superstitions will be beaten to death and tossed into the paupers' graveyard.”

The court lady scurried off, leaving Noble Consort Wen to her own devices. With a satisfied air, Wen stood and headed for the gardens.

The truth was, the transition between winter and spring left little beauty to enjoy. Melting snow formed muddy patches, and the trees were barren, their branches stark and lifeless. But Consort Wen was in too good a mood to care. Seeing her enemies in disarray brought her a deep sense of triumph. She deliberately dressed in vivid colors, carefully styled her hair, and stepped out into the desolate garden, determined to flaunt her success.

Her mood was so buoyant she decided to enjoy her evening meal outdoors, indulging in a bubbling hot pot amidst the chilly breeze. By the time she returned to Jingren Palace, darkness had fallen. After bathing, she stopped to admire a portrait of her son before retiring to her chambers for the night.

Recently, sleep had come easily to her. But tonight was different. As she lay in bed, an unsettling feeling crept over her—a sense that someone was watching her.

She resisted it for a while, but the sensation grew unbearable. Rising from bed, she searched the room, checking every corner.

Nothing.

The feeling vanished, leaving her with a furrowed brow as she lay back down.

Moments later, it returned.

This time, it was accompanied by a soft, rhythmic thud beneath her bed. The sound was faint but deliberate, as if someone were knocking on the wooden bedframe.

Her mind flashed back to the rumors about ghosts haunting Jingren Palace.

Her skin prickled with fear.

Swallowing her unease, she sat up again, unwilling to look under the bed. Instead, she tugged on the bell to summon her servants, forcing calm into her voice. “I think there’s a rat in my chamber. Search the room.”

The servants turned the chamber inside out, but they found nothing—no rat, no vermin, not even a stray insect. The strange sensations disappeared as well.

Still uneasy, Noble Consort Wen broke her usual habit. She ordered one of the maidservants to stay and sleep on the footstool at the end of her bed.

The rest of the night was quiet, at least at first. But around midnight, a chill seeped into the room. Consort Wen shivered under her blankets, her face itching as if something were brushing against it. Irritated and half-asleep, she swatted at the sensation. When it persisted, she opened her eyes, ready to scold the servant.

And then she froze.

Above her, dangling from the canopy, was a face.

The skin was a ghastly, mottled gray-green, and its eyes gleamed blood-red. From its gaping mouth lolled a grotesquely long tongue, and its tangled black hair hung down, brushing against her face.

For a moment, everything was deathly silent.

And then, a blood-curdling scream erupted from her throat, shattering the stillness and waking half the palace.

The maidservant, startled awake, barely had time to process the sight: Noble Consort Wen tumbling off her bed in sheer terror, while above her, a coil of dark hair slithered back into the canopy. Through the messy strands, a single bloodshot eye glared down at them.

The maid froze, too horrified to move.

Consort Wen scrambled to her feet, shoving the servant aside in her panic. She bolted for the door, her voice breaking as she screamed for help. “Someone! Anyone! Come quickly!”

———TN: "Where’s all the passion, the heat, the fire? Don’t tell me it’s gone—where’s the desire, the hunger for more? Rate, Vote, Comment. "