Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Qi Chong did not die.

The Old King personally ordered that his military power be stripped and that he be confined to the Western Estate.

Qi Yan returned near dawn, his fox fur cloak covered in snow. He was coughing violently, going through one handkerchief after another.

I stood at the door, holding his medicine.

When he saw me, he seemed somewhat surprised. “Is the Princess not afraid of me today?”

“I am,” I said, handing him the medicine. “I’m afraid you’ll die too early, and there will be no one left to cut down the rest.”

He let out a laugh, which ended in another fit of coughing.

I frowned. “What exactly is this illness of yours?”

Qi Yan did not answer.

After finishing the medicine, he reached under his pillow and pulled out a scroll of parchment-a map. It was densely marked with the grain routes, iron mines, and troop garrisons of Northern Yan, along with thirty-seven villages and towns beyond Changyuan Pass.

Seventeen of those locations were circled in cinnabar.

“Over the past three years, the Royal Court Army has abducted people from these places,” he said. “The Northern Yan nobles rely on plundering southerners for slaves, while the Nanliang border armies rely on selling grain to them to make their fortunes. Neither side is clean.”

My face turned pale.

Because among those circled in cinnabar was a village called Taoxi.

That was my mother’s hometown.

Seven years ago, Taoxi was razed to the ground by Northern Yan light cavalry. After receiving the news, my mother fell ill and never recovered. My father petitioned the imperial court to go to war. Xiao Chengxu had not yet ascended the throne then; he knelt before the late Emperor’s couch to plead for troops on behalf of the Shen family.

I once thought he understood my pain.

Qi Yan flipped the map over.

Tucked behind it were several copies of account books.

I recognized the seal of the Minister of Revenue at a glance.

Someone in Great Liang was selling border grain routes to Northern Yan, and someone in Northern Yan was intentionally letting soldiers pillage. They had raised hatred into a beast, one that grew fatter and stronger every year by devouring people.

“Why are you showing me this?” I asked.

Qi Yan said, “Because I want you to know that if you only kill me, you cannot save Taoxi.”

I gripped the account books tightly. “Then how many people must be killed?”

“Many.”

He looked up.

“So many that you will think I am not human.”

I began reviewing the accounts for Qi Yan.

The Shen family had managed the Ministry of Revenue for three generations; I had grown up in my father’s study. I was more familiar with regional taxes, grain losses, and official seal regulations than many court officials.

Qi Yan’s men piled the copied account books into half a room. I flipped through them page by page until my fingers were stained with ink.

The accounts of corrupt Northern Yan officials were linked to the names of Great Liang’s border generals.

A single salt route from Wuxu to Changyuan Pass had to pass through six checkpoints. At every single one, someone took silver, and someone paid with their life.

I smashed an inkstone in a fit of rage.

Qi Yan leaned against the doorframe and asked, “Do you regret coming to Northern Yan?”

“I regret not coming sooner,” I said.

He watched me for a long time.

After that night, it was as if a crack had formed in the layer of ice between us.

He still did not allow me to leave the manor, but every day he sent over secret reports from the court. While he reviewed memorials, I audited accounts beside him. When he coughed up blood, I changed his handkerchiefs. Occasionally, when he drifted into a stupor, his fingers would still be pressed against an unfinished execution order.

Once, when his fever was high, he murmured in his delirium, “Mother.”

It was only then that I learned from the old physician that his mother was also a southerner.

She was not a Great Liang Noble Lady, but a woman from Taoxi who had been abducted by the Northern Yan iron cavalry.

After she gave birth to Qi Yan, the royal court viewed her as ‘foul blood.’ Qi Yan had been bullied by his brothers and loathed by his father since childhood. When he was twelve, his mother burned herself alive in front of the Altar of Heaven, leaving behind one sentence:

“I pray that one day, my son will not be a king who devours people.”

From then on, Qi Yan dreamed of fire every night.

The Cold Poison in his body had been gifted to him by the Old King.

The Old King feared his southern bloodline would make him disloyal, yet he could not bear to lose his brilliance and utility. So, he had the imperial physician feed him poison every month. The poison was not immediately fatal; it simply ground away at his bones and eroded his heart bit by bit, ensuring he remained forever weak and forever dependent on the royal court’s pharmacy.

I remained silent for a long time after hearing this.

When Qi Yan woke that night, he saw me sitting by his bed.

His voice was incredibly hoarse. “Why are you crying?”

I touched my face, only to find my hands wet and cold.

I said, “I’m not crying.”

He didn’t expose the lie, but simply placed that old ginkgo red string into my palm.

“Shen Zhaoxue, I am not a good person,” he said. “Do not pity me.”

I gripped the red string and whispered, “Neither am I.”