Chapter Thirty: The Wu Maiden (Part Two)

Her father, who had doted on her, passed away early. Her brother, having inherited their father’s titles and wealth, viewed her as a thorn in his side, eager to sell her off just to be rid of her. As a young lady of the household, she suffered from hunger and cold, possessed not a single piece of jewelry she cherished, and could never taste the sweets she loved.

She had once believed those were the hardest of days. When she was eventually chosen by the Emperor, she hoped that with her beauty, she would win his favor, rise above her station, and finally live a life of comfort and dignity.

Yet, how could she have known that the deep, inner palace was such a place of filth and corruption? It was like a gluttonous beast that consumed people alive, leaving not even their bones behind.

Lady Wu was truly afraid. She feared she would lose the heart that yearned for happiness; she feared she would not survive until the Emperor’s summons; she feared she would die in this sunless, heartless abyss.

Had she known it would be like this, she would never have agreed to enter the palace, even if her brother had beaten her to death. Cruel as her brothers were, they would at least have wrapped her in a straw mat and provided a thin coffin after she died. But here?

She would be discarded like a dead dog, despised by all. They wouldn’t even bother to dig a grave; they would toss her into a night-soil cart, haul her outside the city walls, and throw her onto a mountain of refuse, leaving her without even a burial.

The pain in her heart was far sharper than the pain on her face.

Lady Wu felt she could not stay here for another moment. Every passing second threatened to drive her to madness. When she imagined herself being cast out of the palace, a disheveled, ragged lunatic, a shudder ran through her—she would rather die than suffer that fate.

A profound sorrow welled up within her, and with it, a sudden resolve to die.

Yet, she possessed a resilient spirit. Even in death, she did not wish to vanish without a trace. If she could not achieve a death "heavier than Mount Tai," as the Grand Historian once wrote, she would at least drag someone down with her.

With this thought, she lifted her head, wiped the crimson blood from the corner of her lips, and looked at the savage-looking, stout palace official. She smiled abruptly.

The official raised her hand, but she could not bring herself to strike the blow.

Lady Wu was naturally breathtaking. In that moment of choosing death, her sorrowful, beautiful smile carried a touch of sanctity, like a white plum blossom blooming in the bitter cold. Yet, the strange, flickering light in her cold, piercing eyes sent a jolt of terror through the official.

In the next instant, Lady Wu stood up. Her thin, petite frame darted like a fleeing deer toward the rockery hidden behind the plum trees in the center of the courtyard.

With a dull thud, her forehead struck the stone. Blood bloomed, vivid and tragic...

Lady Wu collapsed softly to the ground, a faint smile lingering on her blood-stained face.

They say the sun always shines after the storm, but how many can endure the tempest that precedes it? Lady Wu did not know if she could survive it, and she no longer wished to try.

And even if she survived, then what?

Past this hurdle lay the next. Endless struggles would only turn her hair white and wither her youth, leaving her forever like a bird in a cage, unable to spread its wings and soar through the clouds.

Death was better. A clean end to all her misery.

At this moment, Lady Wu did not know that life is full of surprises that no mortal can foresee. Even a caged bird may yet find the opportunity to sing aloud and traverse the vast heavens.

The stout official was completely stunned.

Beneath the rockery, the fragile, slender palace maid had expressed her defiance and resentment in the most violent way possible. The red blood against the white snow, vivid as a flower, formed a scene so hauntingly beautiful that it chilled the official to her very core and left her soul trembling.

Could she truly have beaten Lady Wu to death and discarded her in a well?

Of course she could. Had she actually killed her, she might not necessarily have paid with her own life. A few dozen lashes with a cane would be inevitable, but a bribe to the executioner eunuch might have seen her through it.

But this was different.

If she had killed Lady Wu, it would have been because the girl was at fault; at worst, it would have been deemed excessive punishment resulting in death.

But now, Lady Wu had taken her own life. How immense must her grievances have been to drive her to smash her own head against the rocks?

This matter would have to be investigated thoroughly; there would have to be an explanation!

What kind of place did they think the Yeting Palace was? Even if the Emperor were deaf and blind to the affairs of the inner court, there were still rules—rules that everyone had to obey!

The official broke into a cold sweat, pacing in panic, for she realized others had heard the commotion and were coming to investigate.

What to do?

Before she could form a plan, she heard a voice nearby: "Oh, Your Highness the Princess, it looks like someone is lying under the rockery... Ah! Your Highness, don’t look, please don’t look... it’s a dead body, it scared me to death..."

The official screamed internally: *It’s over, I’ve been discovered! How could I have been so stupid not to dispose of the body sooner?*

She turned in terror to see a group of maids surrounding a beautiful noble girl, who was curiously walking over to examine Lady Wu’s body.

The girl was young, barely twelve or thirteen, wearing a snow-white fox fur collar, her face as delicate and lovely as a flower, beautiful enough to transcend the world.

It was Princess Gaoyang!

"You, come here!"

Princess Gaoyang knitted her willow-leaf brows, looking at the dazed and distracted official. "What is going on with this maid?"

Seeing no way out, the official took a gamble and lied, "The maid Wu committed a transgression. I was reprimanding her, but who could have known that this girl was so headstrong and short-tempered that she would dash her head against the rockery and take her own life..."

Princess Gaoyang ignored the rest of her words, raising her voice to ask, "Did you just say she is the one surnamed Wu?"

The official, confused, replied, "Replying to Your Highness, this girl is indeed Lady Wu..."

Princess Gaoyang’s expression shifted instantly. She snapped, "The Emperor just issued a decree granting this girl to the descendant of a meritorious official, and you have forced her to her death? You have truly overstepped your bounds!"

Princess Gaoyang was no fool; on the contrary, she was sharp as ice. She was well-versed in the dark, sordid dealings of the palace.

Forced to suicide after a mere reprimand for a minor fault? Who was she trying to fool?

Upon hearing that Lady Wu had been bestowed by the Emperor to the descendant of a meritorious official, the official felt her heart shatter. *My life is over,* she thought, and collapsed onto the ground like a pile of mud, fainting on the spot.

The only way she could have rectified this was if no one cared about Lady Wu, and if she could have made the girl "disappear" without anyone knowing the cause of death. But now that was impossible. The Emperor had just granted her to someone, and she had died here; the case would be investigated to the very end.

Poor family of hers—this was a crime punishable by the execution of nine generations... It was all her own fault for being blinded by greed; why did she have to push the girl to her death?

In her dizzy, fading consciousness, a heart-rending regret gnawed at her. Suddenly, she heard someone cry out, "Your Highness, she’s still breathing..."

The official felt a surge of wild joy, but the violent swings between despair and hope were too much for her nerves to bear. This time, she truly lost consciousness.