Another scheme takes root in his mind.

Yan’er clutched her chest tightly as Xiaoyuan’s words pierced her like a blade. She truly was a harbinger of misfortune—abducted on her wedding day, losing her child, Fenghe meeting an unjust death, and now even Pin’er, who barely had any connection to her, abandoned and left to rot in the wilderness. So many lives weighed upon her shoulders—how could she still face the world and live in peace?

“My lady…” Xiaoyuan gazed at Yan’er, heart aching at her forced composure.

“Xiaoyuan, just let me be, let me fend for myself. Don’t let me see you again!” Yan’er gripped her clothes tighter, feeling as if every drop of blood in her body had become a blade, spreading pain with every beat.

“My lady, how can you say that? I like serving you,” Xiaoyuan replied, surprised at her mistress’s insistence that she leave.

“You don’t understand, Xiaoyuan. Everyone close to me meets a tragic end. Just look at what happened to Fenghe…” Yan’er’s eyes closed in agony.

Xiaoyuan said nothing more. Indeed, Fenghe had been such a good person, yet met an inexplicable death at the bottom of the well. But that didn’t mean her mistress was truly cursed. “My lady, I’m not afraid,” she whispered, hugging Yan’er tightly as she felt her trembling uncontrollably.

That evening, Panyuê Yang slipped quietly into Yan’er’s room. Seeing her asleep, he signaled to Xiaoyuan not to wake her. He took a military treatise from his sleeve, sat in the chair by Yan’er’s bed, and read in silence.

Sensible enough, Xiaoyuan left and closed the door behind her, smiling innocently—clearly, the general still cared for her mistress.

Yan’er didn’t know how long she had slept before she woke to the shadowy outline of a man. There sat Panyuê Yang, quietly reading by her bedside. She sneered faintly.

“Since you’re awake, get up and have something to eat,” Panyuê Yang said, eyes never leaving his book, voice calm and colorless.

Yan’er turned her back to him. She had barely moved—how had he known she was awake? Wanting to avoid him, she simply turned away.

“Xiaoyuan, bring in the food. My lady is awake,” Panyuê Yang called out in a neutral tone.

Soon after, Xiaoyuan entered carrying a tray of steaming dishes, uncertain what to do. One lay feigning sleep, the other reading. She quietly set the tray on the table and slipped out, closing the door behind her.

“From today on, if you refuse to eat, then I won’t, either,” Panyuê Yang said, turning another page. Who knew how much he was actually reading? His manner—half absorbed in the book, half all-seeing—left Yan’er feeling lost.

“Don’t bother with me,” Yan’er replied, back to him, still lying as if asleep.

He said nothing more, the quiet stretching between them as the food cooled. Eventually, Yan’er couldn’t stand it any longer; she tried to sit up, but her weakness and the sudden movement made her collapse back onto the bed.

“What do you want from me?” she asked, exasperated.

“I want you to eat. I want you to get well,” Panyuê Yang replied, setting the book aside and regarding the frail woman on the bed with seriousness.

Yan’er averted her gaze. She could not endure his gentle concern, afraid she might fall for him again.

Panyuê Yang knew he was halfway to succeeding. Yan’er was soft-hearted, never one to assert herself, and he could easily control such a simple woman. “Enough, Yan’er. Stop hurting yourself. So many things… are beyond my control.” His voice faltered—he understood much, but what could he do? Would he dare defy the Emperor?

Yan’er bowed her head, tears streaming down her face. Panyuê Yang gathered her into his arms, letting her half-recline against him. He stroked her hair as if comforting an abandoned kitten, murmuring, “I’m sorry. I truly am. So many things…”

His confession shattered Yan’er’s defenses. She threw herself into his arms and wept openly. “I hate it. I hate it all…”

Panyuê Yang simply held her, silent, his feelings unreadable.

In the days that followed, Yan’er began to eat again, if only a little. It was better than starving herself. Panyuê Yang stayed by her side day and night, sharing meals, sharing a bed. The small room felt warmer, cozier, for the love that now filled it. Yan’er was touched by his constant care, and the burdens in her heart, heavy or light, eased a little. Ever since that day, Ou Ruolan had not reappeared, and the household seemed to have returned to its former peace.

Every day, Xiaoyuan cheerfully prepared Yan’er’s meals. Occasionally, she overheard gossip among the servants and learned that Ou Ruolan had not returned from the palace since that day. She thought to herself, good—let her stay away. How happy the general and his lady seemed now.

“My lady, I heard that the princess hasn’t returned from the palace,” Xiaoyuan relayed her news with delight.

Yan’er set down her spoon. “Just because she hasn’t come back doesn’t mean she never will. She is the true mistress of this house. Don’t go prying into these matters anymore.” She didn’t want this little maid to suffer the same fate as Fenghe.

“Yes, my lady,” Xiaoyuan replied meekly, tidying up the medicine bowl just as Panyuê Yang, fresh from practicing his sword, entered the room.

“Change into something warmer. The weather’s turning cold,” Yan’er said, glancing outside at the last leaves clinging to the branches. Since that incident, the two of them addressed each other simply as “you.” She never called him by name, nor as general, and he never objected.

“All right,” Panyuê Yang answered, rubbing her small hand. “You’ve put on some weight lately.”

Yan’er pulled her hand back, a little embarrassed. Though he held her every night, it was, she assured herself, only because of the cold.

He said nothing more, instructing Xiaoyuan to bring in pastries—his Yan’er needed nourishing.

Back at the palace, Ou Ruolan refused to leave her chambers. Emperor Jing sent for her several times, but she dismissed his envoys. Restlessly, she plucked grapes from their stems and tossed them onto a fruit platter. Beside her, Cuizhu withdrew, sensing her mistress’s foul mood.

“Princess, about Mu Qianxue…” Cuizhu began, but before she could finish, Ou Ruolan hurled the fruit platter to the floor, sending grapes scattering.

“I don’t want to see her!” Ou Ruolan snapped, climbing onto her bed. Panyuê Yang had neglected her for days. Now, in the palace, he still hadn’t come, and Mu Qianxue—another woman who shared her husband—was the last person she wished to see.

“Well, Ruolan, are you really so heartless as to refuse your elder sister?” Mu Qianxue swept into the room without waiting for permission, just as she had calculated.

“Hmph, sit down,” Ou Ruolan retorted, returning to her seat at the table.

“Brew some tea, then wait outside. No need to serve us further,” Mu Qianxue ordered Cuizhu, taking charge.

Cuizhu glanced from one princess to the other. Both were her mistresses; she could only serve them tea, then withdraw with the other maids.

“If you have something to say, say it,” Ou Ruolan said impatiently.

Mu Qianxue was not angered by her arrogance; instead, she smiled. “Why speak so harshly, little sister? Do you think I’m here to laugh at your misfortune?” She drew out the last words deliberately.

Of course you are, Ou Ruolan thought bitterly, lips pressed tight. Mu Qianxue’s visit was nothing short of an insult.

Mu Qianxue sipped her tea, unhurried. She knew Ou Ruolan lacked her patience and had predicted she would never handle Yan’er as Mu Qianxue would have. That was why things had come to this. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re in a bind, aren’t you?”

Ou Ruolan regarded her warily. For a moment, she felt like a clown, forever the butt of someone’s joke. “My affairs need no meddling from outsiders.”

“Not so,” Mu Qianxue replied, having anticipated that this highborn princess would not easily bow to anyone. “If you had followed my advice that day, things would be very different now.”

“Get out,” Ou Ruolan snapped, unable to contain her fury.

“I’m here to help you. If you don’t believe me, suit yourself. Go on as you are,” Mu Qianxue said with a smirk, heading for the door. She knew Ou Ruolan would eventually accept her proposal.

“Wait,” Ou Ruolan called out before Mu Qianxue could leave the chamber, her voice betraying her lack of confidence.

Mu Qianxue turned, ignoring Ou Ruolan’s indecision, and affectionately took her hand. “If only you’d listened to my strategy from the start… but it’s not too late. All you need is to accept my help this time.” She smiled. Back at Panyuê Yang’s birthday celebration, she had warned Ou Ruolan, but the princess had overestimated her own abilities. That had been deliberate. She knew Ou Ruolan would never humble herself before Yan’er. Once she resorted to force, she was doomed to fail at love. But a failed woman was more useful to her anyway.

“Do you remember the last time, in the throne hall…”

Mu Qianxue’s words brought back memories. Last time, during the imperial talent showcase, she had been poised to shine—until that wretched woman stole her glory. How could she forget?

Mu Qianxue saw her nod, and her smile turned cold. “Don’t you think, though it seemed impressive at the time, there were many flaws?”

“What do you mean?” Ou Ruolan frowned, not grasping the implication.

“Everyone else was enthralled, but I saw something different.”

“Stop beating around the bush,” Ou Ruolan said impatiently.

“The lyrics that woman sang were a grave offense, punishable by death!” Mu Qianxue declared, her gaze hard as she looked out the window.