(One)
When Qi Min was still the carefree imperial grandson of the Eastern Palace, his daily thoughts revolved only around completing the lessons left by his father, and his worries extended no further than how to coax his mother into letting him play a little longer with the kickball.
The fall of Jinzhou and the battle report announcing his father’s death shattered the fragile peace the Eastern Palace had maintained.
His father was dead. He was heartbroken, but his mother’s grief seemed far deeper than his own.
The Eastern Palace was slowly but steadily losing its people.
His father’s honored guests often came to the Eastern Palace in secret to discuss important matters with his mother. Each time they left, the look in her eyes when she gazed at him grew heavier.
He was still young and did not understand what it meant, but at night, when his mother stayed by his side, she often lay awake for hours.
Even when she dozed off, the slightest movement from him would startle her awake. She would hold him tightly, murmuring something like, “I will make sure he lives,” her face streaked with silent tears.
He was only four or five years old at the time. Thinking her sorrow was solely for his father’s death, he patted her shoulder and promised he would protect her when he grew up. But his words only made her weep harder.
It wasn’t until the fire swept through the Eastern Palace that he finally understood what his mother had been planning all along.
The distant glow of the burning palace dyed his vision red. His mother pressed him into a brazier herself, the searing heat of the coals sending spasms of pain through his bones. He screamed until his voice gave out.
His mother wept into his ear, begging him to “live, no matter what,” but the only thought in his mind was: It hurts too much. Living hurts too much. Just let me die.
The agony nearly drove him unconscious. The scorching heat on his face seemed to seep into his skull, burning his very brain.
When the Shadow Guard his father had left behind carried him to safety, he clung to the man’s shoulders and watched as his mother overturned the brazier. The flames quickly licked up the silk tablecloth, and his mother took a candle to the layers of drapes hanging in the main hall.
The fire slowly devoured the entire palace. By then, he was too broken to make a sound. Instinctively, he reached out toward his mother, wanting to save her—but she only smiled gently at him through the flames. Too far to hear her words, he barely made out the shape of her lips: Live.
(Two)
When he woke again, it was in a completely unfamiliar place. The pain was still there—his whole body ached, but his face and head burned as if fire still smoldered beneath his skin. The agony was so unbearable he wished he could bash his head against a pillar until it split open. His vision swam, blurred.
His mind was hazy, and he weakly called out, “Mother…”
But this time, there was no warm embrace, no gentle hand to comfort him.
Amid the clamor of unfamiliar voices, he heard someone sob, “Poor Huaige… the Crown Princess is already gone…”
Later, when the others had left, only one person remained by his bedside, holding his hand. She whispered to him, “Your Highness, this servant is Lan Shi, once a close attendant of the Crown Princess. Her Highness entrusted you to my care. From now on, your mother is no longer the Crown Princess, but the Princess of Changxin. In this Changxin Prince Manor, trust no one but me. I will protect you.”He was still in pain, tears like molten lava rolled from the corners of his eyes, slipping into his temples. Wherever the wet trails passed, his skin burned with a searing agony.
He heard that voice continue to speak softly to him, "Don't cry."
Qi Min didn’t know whether he was crying from the pain or from the grief of remembering his mother had perished in the fire. He only felt an overwhelming, all-consuming pain—inside and out...
The hand holding his was warm, but nothing like his mother’s.
From then on, he had neither a father nor a mother.
(3)
Due to the burns and the memory of his mother dying in the flames, Qi Min developed an extreme fear of fire after his vision returned.
At night, even the flicker of a candle would send him into hysterical screams, smashing anything within reach.
From then on, his courtyard plunged into darkness as soon as night fell. The servants, afraid of disturbing him, walked in utter silence, turning his residence into a lifeless tomb.
Anything hot triggered his terror. He would only eat cold meals and drink cold medicine, even insisting on cold water for washing and bathing.
He would rather suffer from chills than touch anything warm.
In the countless days and nights after losing his mother, he became just as she had been in the Eastern Palace—unable to sleep, startled awake by the slightest rustle of wind outside.
His nerves were always on edge, and for a time, he was even afraid to sleep—terrified he might reveal something in his nightmares.
Later, as his wounds healed slightly, the layers of white bandages wrapped around him were removed. When a maid entered to bring water for his washing, she screamed in fright and dropped the basin.
An elderly matron came to see what had happened, but upon seeing him, her legs gave way in fear.
In the end, it was Aunt Lan who scolded the others away and personally fetched water to tend to him.
Every reflective surface in the room had been removed, so he couldn’t see his own appearance. But the burn scars on his arms—uneven, fleshy red patches—were undeniably hideous and repulsive.
His stepmother—his "mother’s" younger sister, who had married into the manor—visited him once. She was so horrified she didn’t even step inside, paling at the doorway. Rumor had it she couldn’t eat for days afterward.
He remained silent throughout, until one day when Aunt Lan forgot to take away the washbasin after tending to him. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the water.
The reflection was blurry, but it still terrified him enough to kick the bronze basin over.
Having not spoken for so long, his voice emerged as a hoarse, grating scream.
That wasn’t him. He remembered what he used to look like—his father had even commissioned a portrait of him and his mother. He had been delicate-featured, with rosy lips and pearly teeth. He wasn’t the grotesque thing in that basin!
Aunt Lan rushed in at the sound and held him, comforting him for a long time.
But his temperament grew increasingly dark, solitary, and volatile. The slightest look of fear from a serving maid could send him into a rage, ordering her beaten to death with sticks.
He became sensitive, irritable, and quick to anger, afraid to see people and terrified of their shocked or horrified gazes.
Qi Min felt he wasn’t even like a rat scurrying across the street—but a diseased rat covered in mange, its fur patchy and revolting.
The only benefit of those burns was that Prince Changxin and his wife no longer visited him so easily.The new princess consort, whether out of genuine sisterly affection for the late princess consort or because she recognized that although he was the "legitimate eldest son" of Changxin Wang, he was already a cripple who posed no threat to her or the child in her womb, was willing to build a reputation for herself as virtuous. Even though she never visited him again, she never shortchanged him in terms of daily necessities for his courtyard.
Aunt Lan's husband was a merchant with extensive connections, and she soon found him a renowned physician from the martial world.
The physician said that fortunately, he was still young, and the burned skin could be replaced and would heal properly.
The pain of skinning, known as one of the ten most brutal tortures, was cruel and bloody. The extent of his burns was vast, making it impossible to replace all at once.
The dead skin on his body was gradually replaced over several years.
The agony of flesh being cut away could only be understood by those who had experienced it firsthand.
His hands and feet were tightly bound to the bed, and the wooden gag in his mouth was bitten out of shape.
It was excruciating.
Countless times, he thought it would be better to just die, but death eluded him.
Then revenge it was. All this pain was bestowed upon him by his enemies, and his mother had died for his sake. He had to take revenge!
(4)
By the time Qi Min had completely replaced all his burned skin, the new princess consort's son was already running around.
Over the years, the household had grown accustomed to his unpredictable moods. Because of the burns on his face, he had worn a mask for years. Even after his facial skin had healed, he never removed the mask in front of anyone at Changxin Prince Manor.
The household assumed the physician had failed to cure him and, fearing his displeasure, never dared to gossip about it.
The new princess consort was shrewd enough not to mention it either. Her son had already been named heir. Perhaps out of pity for this "orphan of her sister," she occasionally showed him some compassion, often urging her healthy, lively son to befriend him.
Qi Min felt nothing but disgust.
The entire Changxin Prince Manor was his enemy!
Her healthy, adorable son only reminded him of his own monstrous appearance, filling him with envy and hatred.
Sui Yuanqing could practice martial arts, ride horses, and shoot arrows, while he was plagued with chronic illnesses, relying on medicine day after day.
He wanted to learn martial arts too, but even Aunt Lan, who usually sided with him, refused, saying his body was too weak.
Only Fu Qing, the Shadow Guard left by his father, was willing to teach him in secret.
From then on, he vaguely understood that only Fu Qing would obey his commands unconditionally. Aunt Lan was loyal to him, but she could still refuse him.
(5)
Qi Min truly began to doubt Lan Shi's loyalty when he was seventeen. After secretly practicing martial arts, he overexerted himself and triggered his chronic illness again.
Illness struck like a collapsing mountain, and the physician said his condition was dire.
Though delirious, his mind was clear. He overheard the servants telling Lan Shi that they shouldn't have let him undergo skin replacement, as the immense suffering had further ruined his health.
He had always believed Lan Shi found the physician for him out of pity, but he heard her say, "If we hadn't replaced his skin, with his face burned beyond recognition, how could he ever sit on that throne?"
So it wasn't for him—it was for the throne.
Lan Shi also said that while his health was still manageable, they should select a few women for him to leave behind an heir. If anything happened to him, there wouldn't be chaos.
Qi Min had never felt such bitter irony. His heart turned cold, so cold it terrified him.
So Lan Shi wasn't loyal to him at all. Her loyalty was only to his identity as the bloodline of Chengde Crown Prince.Even if it wasn't him, but another person with his father's bloodline, Lan Shi would have served with the same dedication.
When his health improved slightly, a bevy of beauties—some plump, some slender—were sent to his courtyard.
He flew into a rage, and though Lan Shi seemed to respect him, she never wavered in her determination to ensure he left behind an heir.
Lan Shi always claimed it was for the sake of their grand revenge. He sneered and asked if she was hoping for his death. Lan Shi knelt and tearfully denied it, even citing numerous examples of noble houses vying for power, insisting that an heir was the greatest assurance for their cause.
In the end, he relented—not because he was convinced by Lan Shi’s arguments.
It was simply that his power had not yet reached the point where he could fully control the Zhao Family. The forces his mother had left him all obeyed Lan Shi’s orders.
The only ones he could truly rely on were the Shadow Guards his father had left in the Eastern Palace. But if he killed Lan Shi and her son, the Zhao Family’s intricate game would collapse. So he had to keep them alive, letting them continue to work for him—for now.
Filled with disgust, he chose the most timid and docile woman from the selection Lan Shi had sent.
Perhaps due to his notorious reputation for cruelty, the woman was terrified of him. When she came to his chambers, she trembled uncontrollably, never daring to look at him.
Qi Min felt sick—not just at the thought of siring an heir, but suddenly, even his own identity disgusted him.
The stepmother of the household kept a Persian cat, a tribute from foreign lands. She adored it so much that, to preserve its noble bloodline, she had specially arranged for it to mate with several beautiful white cats.
Qi Min felt like that Persian cat, dragged away for breeding.
He didn’t even get a clear look at the woman who came to serve him. Lan Shi, fearing his poor health, had even drugged him—so he had almost no memory of what happened.
When he woke, the bed was stained with blood, the woman lying pale and unconscious beside him. He didn’t know whether she had fainted from fear or pain.
The world spun before his eyes, the nausea overwhelming, making him wish he could peel off his own skin.
He truly was nothing more than livestock, drugged just to get the job done.
He unleashed the worst fury he had ever known, ordering everything in that room burned to ashes. He submerged himself in the icy lake until his skin wrinkled, yet still felt tainted, unable to wash away the filth clinging to him.
The woman who had served him fell gravely ill afterward, her mind dulled, as if she had turned into a simpleton.
The servants whispered that she had been frightened into madness, making them fear him even more.
Qi Min felt nothing but revulsion. There wasn’t a moment when he didn’t want to kill that woman—she had seen him reduced to a drugged beast.
Every time he remembered, his violent impulses surged uncontrollably. Only killing could ease it slightly.
After this incident, Lan Shi seemed to realize she had crossed a line. She became more restrained, adopting a pained expression in his presence—as if she were the loyal servant misunderstood in her devotion to their cause.
But Qi Min only wanted to grind that saintly face of hers into the mud, to drug her too and make her understand what it felt like to be treated as breeding stock.
When he decided to kill the woman who had served him, the servants assumed she had failed to please him and dared not question it.
Lan Shi didn’t interfere this time—a small concession on her part.However, that woman was truly fortunate. Her monthly cycle had stopped, and she was diagnosed with Pregnancy Pulse.
He could no longer kill her.
He knew that Lan Shi would soon have other options.
From this moment on, he grew increasingly wary of Lan Shi and her son.
As long as that woman gave birth to a male child, his position could be replaced at any time.
Upon learning that one of his concubines was pregnant, the stepmother Consort also began to guard against him, using the pretext of adding more servants to his courtyard to plant spies around him.
His health was poor, and he could no longer compete with Sui Yuanqing. But if he had a son, things might be different.
The stepmother Consort appeared magnanimous—Changxin Prince Manor was filled with countless concubines, yet she never showed jealousy. But while Changxin Wang’s concubines bore him many daughters, not a single one had given him a son.
Changxin Wang might have suspected something, but without evidence, he had once kept a group of women outside the manor. Among them, some had borne him sons.
The descendants of the Prince’s household naturally could not be raised by disreputable outsiders. They would all be brought back to the manor, just like his "good younger brother" Sui Yuanqing, and trained from childhood by martial instructors.
However, those children who were brought back always died young from various causes—or, like him, grew up sickly and weak.
Qi Min believed Changxin Wang must have known something, but the reason he hadn’t broken with the Consort was likely due to the influence of her family.
With Sui Yuanqing as his only capable son, Changxin Wang naturally had to raise him well. Whatever Xie Zheng, the son of Xie Linshan—who was raised by Wei Yan—studied, Changxin Wang would immediately arrange for Sui Yuanqing to learn the same.
Qi Min knew full well that his father’s death had been orchestrated by Wei Yan and Changxin Wang, those two great villains. He loathed them to the core, but one held overwhelming power at court, overshadowing the emperor’s authority, while the other ruled as a virtual king in the northwest. For now, he could do nothing against them.
Yet Qi Min keenly sensed that Wei Yan and Changxin Wang must have fallen out. However, since they had once colluded, each held damning evidence against the other, maintaining a facade of peace.
Changxin Wang had raised Sui Yuanqing in Xie Zheng’s mold precisely so that Sui Yuanqing could understand his opponent and, in the future, counter the blade Wei Yan had forged on the battlefield.
Qi Min bided his time, but a vague plan for revenge began to take shape.
He needed to escalate the conflict between Changxin Wang and Wei Yan, let them tear each other apart first, then uncover evidence of their collusion and expose them both.
At court, the Li family, known as the leaders of the upright faction, held a reputation for virtue and opposed the factions of Wei and Sui.
Unfortunately, the puppet emperor on the throne also had ambitions. He had long married a daughter of the Li family, and Grand Tutor Li served as the emperor’s teacher.
If Qi Min rashly approached the Li family, compared to the puppet emperor who already had ties of mentorship and marriage with Grand Tutor Li, he would merely be an outsider.
Thus, to secure the Li family as an ally, he first had to dismantle their alliance with the young emperor.
(6)
Qi Min crossed paths with the woman carrying his child again on a moonlit night, three months after her Pregnancy Pulse diagnosis.
During this time, he had to guard against Lan Shi and her son, as well as the stepmother Consort, while beginning to lay the groundwork to further inflame the conflict between the Sui and Wei families and drive a wedge between the puppet emperor and the Li family. It was truly a web of schemes.He understood that he could no longer rely on Lan Shi or the Zhao Family. He had to expand his own power to avoid being treated as nothing more than breeding stock.
Despite his fear of fire, he forced himself to confront it—though his methods were undeniably cruel.
His way of overcoming fear was to personally burn alive those who betrayed him or exposed themselves as spies.
The piercing, agonized screams assaulted his eardrums. The faces twisted by flames, shifting from tearful pleas for mercy to curses and condemnations against him. The scent of burning flesh in the air gradually turned from something almost fragrant to the acrid stench of char.
Even though the fire was far from him, the old burns on his body seemed to sear with pain anew. In such moments, he allowed no one to witness his wretched state.
He dismissed everyone, locking himself inside a stone chamber. Outside the iron bars, he left a bonfire—the very thing that terrified him—and curled up in a corner like a beast, alone in facing the nightmares born from the great fire of his childhood in the Eastern Palace.
In his memories, the face of his mother, burned alive in the Eastern Palace, sometimes morphed into the blurred yet horrifying reflection of his own burned visage he had once seen in a basin of water. Other times, it became the faces of those he had burned to death.
Day after day, he shut himself inside the stone chamber, struggling awake from nightmares filled with flames and the scars of charcoal burns. Each time, he emerged pale, his clothes soaked in cold sweat. His temperament grew visibly more paranoid, violent, and brooding.
Once, while confronting his fear of fire alone, he was driven to madness.
The old burns ached unbearably at the sight of flames, as though he were back in that moment when he had nearly been burned to death.
Even the renowned physician who examined him could offer no cure.
Having secretly trained in martial arts with the Shadow Guard for years, in his frenzy, he broke through the stone chamber’s door. The guards outside, fearing they might harm him, hesitated to stop him, and in that moment, he seized a blade and gravely wounded one of them.
Phantom pain wracked his entire body. Convinced he was burning alive, he leaped into the frozen pond without a second thought. In his agony, he even forgot to hold his breath, and icy water rushed into his nose.
Too weak to struggle or save himself, he believed he would truly die there.
But then, a slender yet warm hand grasped him as he sank deeper into the frigid depths.
At first, he didn’t know who the woman saving him was—only that she was so frail, yet still fought to pull him toward the pond’s edge.
After dragging him ashore, she pressed on his chest and abdomen, thinking he had drowned. Then, for some reason, she bent down and kissed him.
Qi Min had no memory of ever being this close to anyone. His only experience with intimacy had been under the influence of drugs, and the aftermath—a room reeking of blood and cloying incense—still sickened him to recall.
Since then, he had even despised contact with women.
But this person was different. Her lips were soft and warm, and her scent was not unpleasant.
After kissing him for a while, she pressed on his chest again, her soaked hair dripping cold droplets onto his face. Her voice was urgent: "Wake up! Don’t die here like this!"
Qi Min lay there for a long time before finally regaining some strength. He coughed up water and opened his eyes, catching a glimpse of his rescuer under the moonlight.
She looked gentle and obedient.This was his first impression of that woman—from the arch of her brows to the contours of her features, there was a hint of docile obedience, yet her eyes held an audacious boldness and unrestrained freedom, as if she had never been bound by any rules.
For the first time, Qi Min understood what it felt like to be hooked by someone's gaze, right in the depths of his heart.
She just looked at him like that, and he felt an itch in his chest.
Realizing he was awake, she sighed in relief and plopped down on the ground without hesitation, wringing out her soaked skirt and hair while muttering, "Thank goodness you're awake. Buddha above, saving a life counts as a good deed. I hope the Bodhisattva blesses me and everything goes smoothly..."
Listening to her rambling, Qi Min struggled to ask, "Who are you?"
She had seen him in such a wretched state—by all rights, he should kill her.
Yet, at this moment, his heart was unexpectedly calm. Even her audacious act of kissing him for so long didn’t stir much disgust in him.
Perhaps it was because she had just saved him, or perhaps she was the first person in years who looked at him without the fear one would show a monster.
Or maybe he was just too weak right now.
In any case, Qi Min’s mind hadn’t yet conjured the thought of killing her.
The girl rolled her eyes and countered, "And who are you? What are you doing jumping into this pond in the middle of the night?"
She looked sweet and soft, but she had some wits about her.
Qi Min’s courtyard was built in the quietest part of the prince’s estate, with the Frozen Pond and the purple bamboo grove connecting to the back mountain.
Assuming she was a low-ranking maid from his own courtyard—given her attire and her presence here at night—he lied, "I’m a guard from the estate. The young master craved fish and ordered me to catch some from the pond."
The girl’s eyes widened in shock. "He wants fish in the middle of the night?"
A mocking smile tugged at his lips. "Yes. If I don’t catch any, I probably won’t live to see tomorrow."
The servants in the estate trembled at the mention of him, fearing him like a demon. This story should coax plenty of curses from her.
But the girl only frowned and muttered, "This damned place eats people alive."
She said nothing more, picking up a large bundle she had set aside before entering the water and saying, "It’s pitch black out here. Don’t go fishing anymore. I’m leaving. Since I saved your life, do me a favor—pretend you never saw me tonight."
Qi Min finally understood why she was here so late at night when he noticed the bundle in her hands.
Sitting up halfway, he leaned against a bamboo stalk and said, "Servants who flee the estate are beaten to death as a warning to others."
Her bold steps faltered slightly, and she turned to eye him suspiciously. "I saved you. You’re not thinking of reporting me, are you?"
Uncharacteristically patient, he even smiled slightly. "No. I’m just reminding you of the rules."
The girl stood still for a moment before suddenly walking back toward him. Her bundle had no rope, so after rummaging, she pulled out belts from a few sets of clothes. She used them to tie his hands to the bamboo behind him, then stuffed a robe into his mouth.
Qi Min was stunned by her actions. Had he not just endured a bout of phantom pain and weakened from nearly drowning, he would’ve snapped her neck the moment she tried to touch him.
After finishing, she crouched in front of him and said, "Thanks for the reminder. I don’t know you, and I can’t take you with me. To keep you from snitching, I’ll tie you up. That way, when you’re found tomorrow, you can explain yourself and avoid being accused as my accomplice."He was gagged, his eyes cold as ice yet burning with fury, letting out two muffled groans.
The woman pointed at herself. "Me? Don't you worry about that. By the time the household realizes I'm gone tomorrow, I should already be beyond Chongzhou's city gates!"
She hoisted her bundle again and walked deeper into the bamboo grove, waving her hand behind her with remarkable nonchalance.
Qi Min stared blankly at her retreating figure. For the first time in his life, he had been treated this way. He ought to have been furious, but for some reason, he couldn't muster any anger at all.
The woman bore him no malice, and there was something inexplicably compelling about her.
Naturally, she didn't succeed in escaping the prince's estate either.
Not long after she left, the Shadow Guards, having discovered the disturbance in the stone chamber, followed the trail and found him. Horrified, they quickly untied him.
Uncharacteristically, Qi Min didn't fly into a rage. Instead, he ordered them to take the estate's guards and bring back unharmed the maidservant who had fled from the back mountain.
The Shadow Guards worked with great efficiency. By the time he had changed his clothes in his room, the woman had already been captured.
And they brought back another piece of news: she wasn't some lowly servant girl, but the woman who carried his bloodline.
This answer left Qi Min stunned for a long time.
His first thought was, that woman didn't recognize him either?
This realization displeased him.
He had been disgusted by the woman who drugged him to consummate their union and loathed the unborn child in her womb—even though it was his own flesh and blood.
No one would like someone who could threaten their life and status at any moment.
A young tiger, once grown, would be driven from its territory before it could challenge the Tiger King.
Before this night, he had only thought about when to kill the woman and the child in her womb.
But after this night, he suddenly felt a flicker of interest in her.
She was already pregnant, yet she dared to run. It seemed she didn't want to be confined here either?
In her, he saw something he himself yearned for: freedom.
(7)
Qi Min wasn't in a hurry to see the woman, nor did he order any punishment for her.
To be precise, he hadn't yet decided how to deal with her.
Lan Shi couldn't quite grasp his feelings toward the woman, but seeing that he didn't seem to despise her as much as before, she took the initiative to share more information. For instance, the woman's surname was Yu, she had no given name, and her family was so poor that her parents had sold her.
Qi Min paid little attention to these details. He was methodically escalating the friction between Wei Yan and the Prince of Changxin.
Only occasionally, in the dead of night, after solitary martial practice, when he soaked in the frozen pond to soothe the bruises from training, would he inexplicably recall the woman's kiss.
She was his first woman, and perhaps he didn't find her as repulsive as he thought?
A month later, Qi Min finally inquired about the woman's recent condition.
His subordinates wore slightly odd expressions, only saying that she was "doing well."
Qi Min didn't understand what "doing well" meant, so he went to see for himself in the courtyard where she lived—and finally understood.
She was always quietly and leisurely going about her own business. Finding the nourishing meals from the kitchen unpalatable, yet unwilling to deal with cooking fumes during her pregnancy, she even instructed the cooks on how to prepare the dishes.
As if she weren't the same person who had once slung a bundle over her shoulder and tried to flee in the dead of night.
Hmm, she had become obedient.
Or perhaps, she was always trying to make herself as comfortable as possible.When she learned he was the legendary "Eldest Young Master," she was indeed surprised for quite some time, but soon calmed down. She promptly admitted her mistakes when necessary and never missed a bite of her meals.
Qi Min felt as though he had punched cotton—his force met with no resistance.
Still, it was rather amusing.
She was the only person in the manor who truly wasn’t afraid of him. Even when he sat right across from her, she could eat and drink heartily, completely disregarding him.
It was precisely this casualness that made Qi Min enjoy her company more and more.
She was respectful toward him, yet not overly so.
Like a cat that always wanted to puff up in defiance but had no choice but to suppress its temper, letting itself be molded however others pleased.
At times, he even began to think that having his eldest son born to a woman like her wasn’t so hard to accept after all.
Because of the peace and tranquility he found in her presence, the humiliation and loathing he once felt from being drugged gradually faded.
But soon, he tasted the bitterness of betrayal.
That woman had fled.
She took all the gold and silver jewelry he had bestowed upon her, along with her personal attendants and a Shadow Guard from Changxin Prince Manor who often ran errands for her, vanishing without a trace.
He sent Shadow Guards to search for her, but they only traced her as far as a merchant caravan that had left the border, heading toward the Western Regions.
Qi Min was furious, grinding his teeth in anger.
For five full years, he used the Zhao Family’s connections to search for her beyond the border.
During this time, Lan Shi did urge him to select a few more concubines to his liking.
But by then, he had already built up his own power and was no longer as helpless as before, forced to obey Lan Shi’s every arrangement.
How could he tolerate being treated like a puppet again?
Lan Shi hit a hard wall and sensed his growing dissatisfaction with both her and the Zhao Family, so she dared not push further.
(8)
News of that woman surfaced again in Qingping County.
When Qi Min received Zhao Xun’s letter, he nearly laughed in anger. He had always assumed she had fled beyond the border—never expecting that the trail she deliberately left behind years ago had been a decoy. All this time, she had been hiding in Jizhou.
That woman had even borne him a son.
While Lan Shi and her son were overjoyed, Qi Min, as he set off for Jizhou, only thought indifferently—should that little bastard be killed or spared?
At the time, Sui Yuanqing was disguised as an official sent to collect grain taxes, deliberately stirring chaos in Jizhou to incite public outrage. Once the enraged populace rose up, they would collaborate from within to help Changxin Wang seize control of Jizhou.
Upon learning that his runaway concubine had opened a tavern in Qingping County, Sui Yuanqing immediately took control of the local magistrate, arrested everyone in the tavern, and threw them into prison before sending word to him.
He saw that woman again on the night of the Qingping County uprising.
His men secretly brought her to a manor.
Only then did he learn she had taken a name for herself—Yu Qianqian.
When he asked about their son’s whereabouts, she refused to speak.
Five years later, he touched her for the second time, driven by an inexplicable mix of anger and the joy of reclaiming what was lost.
He suddenly realized that he didn’t actually despise the act between men and women—as long as it was with her.
She remained bound to his bed all night, and by the next day, news of Sui Yuanqing’s defeat and uncertain fate reached the estate.
Though he had already sent Zhao Xun to investigate her thoroughly in secret, she had once perfectly deceived him and escaped. This time, he had no intention of taking her back directly.One was that the son she bore him had yet to be found, and the other was his desire to uncover what other forces she had hidden over the years.
So he deliberately left an opening, feigning the appearance that after Sui Yuanqing's defeat, they too had to hastily withdraw from Jizhou, giving her the opportunity to flee.
His men secretly followed her, watching as she hurriedly sold her tavern at a discount, dismissed its staff, and fled with only a few loyal maids and guards.
She had indeed hidden her son well—entrusting him to a lone butcher's daughter in the town.
Only after confirming that Yu Qianqian had no more hidden cards did he lead his troops to intercept her on the main route to Jiangnan.
Watching the hope in her eyes fade into resigned despair was rather amusing.
He thought he needed to punish her—only then would she learn her lesson and abandon any further thoughts of escape.
Knowing how much she valued the child, he ordered his men to separate them in confinement.
At first, he had found her pleasing because she asked nothing of him. She had never sought to take anything from him.
Being with her made him feel relaxed and safe.
But now, precisely because she still asked nothing of him, his agitation grew worse by the day.
—Her lack of demands meant there was nothing about him that could make her stay.
Except for the child. Only that child.
Qi Min despised Yu Bao'er—not only because he was the humiliating product of being drugged like livestock, but also because he was healthy, lively, and cherished by his mother.
Most importantly, he seemed to monopolize all of Yu Qianqian's love.
He was, in truth, bitterly jealous of his own child.
(9)
Soon, he tasted the sweetness of leverage.
He left an empty city in Chongzhou, and when his troops marched on Lucheng, Yu Qianqian softened toward him for the first time.
Meng Shuyuan's granddaughter fought desperately outside the city, holding the line. He knew she was buying time—initially, he had intended for his Shadow Guards to capture her alive, as she could serve as a bargaining chip against the Wu'an Marquis. But as the delay dragged on and Lucheng remained unconquered, his patience wore thin, and he truly considered killing her.
It was Yu Qianqian who deliberately drew his attention, luring him forward.
She begged him to spare the Meng girl's life.
Heaven knew how delighted he felt at that moment, yet an inexplicable fury also gripped him, burning in his chest.
To her, it seemed, everyone was more important than him.
Suddenly, he wanted to know—what it would feel like to be the one she held dearest.
Just the thought made his chest burn with warmth, filling him with pleasure.
A pity he never got the chance.
The plan to seize Lucheng ultimately failed. No one had expected Xie Zheng, who had been stationed in Kangcheng, to suddenly appear in Lucheng.
Just as, seventeen years ago, his mother had ensured his survival by making him Sui Yuanhuai.
With a single move—the golden cicada shedding its shell—he shed the identity of the rebel's son.
He took her into hiding at a location the Li Family had long prepared, successfully evading the Wu'an Marquis's repeated searches.
During this time, something happened that infuriated Qi Min—Zhao Xun had betrayed him.
He thought he should have dealt with Lan Shi and her son long ago. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been powerless against the Zhao Family after Zhao Xun secured the Wu'an Marquis's backing.
All the efforts he had made in earlier years to dismantle the puppet emperor's alliance with the Li Family had ultimately paved the way for the Wu'an Marquis instead.Although the Zhao Family were mere merchants, they indeed had some capabilities—even managing to establish connections with the chief eunuch serving the puppet emperor.
With the decline of imperial authority, the eunuchs working in the palace had all begun seeking alternative paths for themselves.
Years earlier, the Zhao Family had already uncovered some information. For instance, the young woman the Li Family had sent into the palace had not conceived a child for years. It was clear that after Wei Yan stripped him of his power, the puppet emperor, while outwardly submitting to the Li Family, secretly guarded against them.
The puppet emperor also feared that the Li Family might one day become a second Wei Family.
Qi Min had once mocked himself, saying that the puppet emperor on the throne was in a situation eerily similar to his own.
Neither of them dared to have their own heirs, afraid they would be easily replaced.
What could completely shatter the alliance between the puppet emperor and the Li Family were the dozen or so urgent reports about the severe droughts and floods in Guanzhong and Jiangnan, held by the chief eunuch.
The officials Wei Yan had sent were responsible for disaster relief, while the Li faction dispatched overseers to accompany them. The lower-ranking officials embezzled relief funds, and the Li faction’s overseers turned a blind eye, even helping to cover up the severity of the disaster.
This had been part of the puppet emperor and the Li Family’s plan from the start—to let more people die in the disaster, then pin the blame on Wei Yan and sever another of his limbs.
However, Grand Tutor Li was cautious. Fearing that the puppet emperor might later turn the tables and accuse the Li Family of dereliction of duty, he had written over a dozen urgent reports and sent them to the capital.
The chief eunuch was a shrewd man. Of course, he knew the emperor did not want to see those reports. If they were brought to light, either the original plan would collapse, or the emperor would have to swallow this bitter pill for the Li Family, bearing the stain of imperial misconduct—but in that case, the chief eunuch’s career would also be over.
So the chief eunuch had no choice but to risk his life and act as the middleman, suppressing all the urgent reports.
Obtaining those reports meant obtaining evidence of imperial misconduct—and also seizing one of the Li Family’s vital weaknesses.
Qi Min had long coveted this evidence of wrongdoing from the chief eunuch, but in the end, it was Zhao Xun who presented it to Xie Zheng.
Later, when Lan Shi died under the swords of the Blood-Clad Cavalry to protect him, he felt not the slightest ripple of emotion in his heart.
—Her loyalty was not to him, but only to the bloodline of the Chengde Crown Prince.
Qi Min even mocked himself with the thought that if Yu Bao’er hadn’t still been in Xie Zheng’s hands, Lan Shi probably wouldn’t have risked her life to protect him.
During the assassination attempt at the ruined temple, he had also killed Sui Yuanqing.
Sui Yuanqing had hated him to the very end. He could have revealed the whole truth—told him what Changxin Wang Sui Tuo and Wei Yan had done, those unspeakable atrocities. He could have told him how his mother, to ensure his survival, had burned herself alive in the Eastern Palace, suffering no less than the true Changxin Wang’s wife and child.
But he said nothing. He was too stingy to give that answer.
If he revealed the truth, he would seem like nothing more than a pitiful worm who had lurked in Changxin Prince Manor all these years just for revenge.
Wasn’t it more satisfying to let Sui Yuanqing die consumed by hatred and resentment?
(10)
After clashing with the Blood-Clad Cavalry, Qi Min finally managed to seize Yu Qianqian back through a scheme, though he failed to kill Yu Bao’er, who remained in Xie Zheng’s hands.
Yu Qianqian was severely injured. In a fit of rage, he ordered the Shadow Guard who had harmed her to be punished.
Yu Qianqian was colder toward him than ever before. She still couldn’t understand why he insisted on killing her child.She threw a tantrum, refusing to take her medicine or treat her wounds, as if she knew he no longer had Yu Bao'er in his grasp and could do nothing to her.
It was then that Qi Min suddenly realized Yu Qianqian had no attachment to this world at all.
Apart from those she cared about, she despised everything here.
When she refused to cooperate with her treatment, he touched her.
Between the two of them, she was the one who truly loathed intimacy.
Under such coercion, she finally agreed to take her medicine and treat her wounds. Back then, she would always calmly tell him, "If you don't let me die, one day, I will kill you."
Qi Min remembered the sunlight that day was particularly warm. Sitting by the bed with the medicine bowl in hand, even his perpetually pale fingertips felt a rare warmth under the sun's rays.
He smiled and replied, "Everyone dies eventually. Compared to dying by someone else's hand, dying by yours doesn't seem so bad."
Stirring the spoon idly, he continued casually, "When the time comes, make me some soup and poison it."
At the time, Yu Qianqian simply looked at him as if he were insane.
Later, she truly came with her homemade soup to send him off on his final journey.
(11)
The failure of the palace coup didn't affect Qi Min as much as one might expect.
When the dust finally settled, he actually felt a sense of relief.
His life had been too exhausting. As a child, he had to burn his entire face and half his body's flesh, watching his mother perish in the flames, just to steal a few decades of survival.
For over a decade, he endured the phantom pain of those burns, treading on thin ice every day... What difference was there between this and death?
Yet he dared not speak of death, nor could he show even a hint of vulnerability before anyone.
He was the descendant of the Chengde Crown Prince, destined to reclaim the throne. A crown prince must maintain his dignity—how could he show weakness?
He couldn't die either. His mother had sacrificed her life to give him this slim chance at survival. He had to drag each of his enemies down to hell and seize that dragon throne in the capital.
Now, he was finally free.
The arrow wound in his chest tormented him. Though he knew Xie Zheng was deliberately keeping him alive, he never considered ending it himself. He wanted to see Yu Qianqian one last time.
They had made a promise—he had to drink her soup before departing.
When she arrived, he answered the old questions she wanted to ask on behalf of others, and he drank the soup she had prepared.
He wanted to ask her who she really was, but she avoided the question.
When he realized she had never harbored even a shred of sincerity toward him, he couldn't understand why he was suddenly overwhelmed with immense bitterness and rage.
He was about to die, yet she couldn't even bother to pretend or lie to him!
At the peak of his hatred, he even thought of taking her with him.
This was what she owed him!
But in the end, he was too weak. He couldn't harm her.
Later, when she knelt before him and calmly told him he didn't deserve to be loved, he felt a pang of sorrow in his daze.
He wanted to say that his mother had left too soon. His entire childhood and adolescence had been spent in pain. Those around him revered him, feared him, and spoke endlessly of revenge. No one taught him what love was, nor how to show compassion to subordinates.
A child who threatened his position and his life—of course, he couldn't let them live.
He had spent these years like a rat in the gutter, constantly on edge. He could never become the kind of upright person she spoke of.In this world, apart from his mother, truly no one had ever treated him with genuine kindness.
She seemed startled for a moment when she saw the tears in his eyes, then turned and left without looking back.
Qi Min lay alone in the vast, empty hall, feeling the poison slowly corrode his organs, thick streams of blood spilling from the corners of his mouth.
Perhaps because he had endured the pain of fire since childhood and had been tormented by phantom pain all these years, when the poison coursed through his limbs and slowly devoured his life, he didn’t feel much discomfort.
His consciousness grew hazy, his body falling endlessly into the darkness, dragging him into a dream from which he would never wake.
Just like when he had nearly drowned in the frozen pond all those years ago.
Only this time, there was no warm hand to pull him back.
The corners of his eyes stung, and his chest felt unbearably hollow.
In his daze, he heard her voice outside the hall.
“Changyu, I have a secret.”
“I came here from a place very, very far away, and I can never go back.”
Her voice was heavy, as if she were speaking to someone outside—or perhaps, taking the chance to speak to him: “From now on, it would take thousands of years of walking to return there.”
The hollow ache in his chest seemed to ease a little.
Qi Min’s bloodstained lips twitched with effort, his already fading eyes slowly closing.
The answer he had sought—he had finally received it.
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