Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Pei Zhaoye had lived for far too long.

As he approached, I saw a red line on the side of his neck as well. However, that red line was so old it had turned black, concealed beneath layers of powder like a snake hidden under the skin.

“Do you think the Painted Skin Art grants immortality?” he asked, as if reading my thoughts. “It doesn’t. The skin grows old, the life force thins, and memories rot. With every change, you lose a little bit of yourself. By now, I can no longer remember what my first face looked like.”

When he said this, his tone held a trace of genuine weariness.

“Until you were born.”

Pei Zhaoye looked at me, a light that bordered on greed igniting in his eyes.

“You aren’t just borrowing life to extend your own; you are a stillborn who carries the fate of the living. You can contain things that don’t belong to you without collapsing. Shen Yuan used her life to turn you into an Empty Vessel, and Qin Wujiu used his paintings to seal the rim. Shen Yan, you are the vessel Wuxiang Tower has been waiting a century for.”

Empress Jiang finally realized what was happening. “You lied to me?”

Pei Zhaoye said indifferently, “Your Majesty wants the Phoenix Bone, and I want The Door. We each get what we need; it can hardly be called a lie.”

“Kill him!”

The Imperial Guard drew their blades, but they were intercepted by the people from Wuxiang Tower first. The hall instantly dissolved into chaos.

Taking advantage of the turmoil, I supported Xiao Lingyi. Her body was icy cold and her lips were blue; that single strike earlier had exhausted her remaining strength.

“Shen Yan,” she whispered against my ear, “under the table.”

I looked down and saw a small copper key hidden at the base of the painting table. It was the key to the secret chamber in Zhaoming Palace. She had shown it to me ten years ago, saying it contained things the princesses of every generation had to keep hidden.

I clenched the key in my palm.

Xie Wanning suddenly rushed over, blocking my path. She held no blade; she had only that staggeringly beautiful face.

“Mr. Shen,” she said, “my name is not Xie Wanning. I am Liu Ah Ruan.”

I looked at her.

Her eyes brimmed with tears. “After I woke up, I had Miss Xie’s memories. I knew what incense she liked, which cousin she hated, and whether she was afraid of the dark. But I also remember my mother washing clothes by the river, and my younger brother coughing up blood in the winter. Two people are arguing inside one skin, fighting so much that I want to tear my face off every night.”

She turned to face Pei Zhaoye, her voice trembling yet clear. “You say changing fates is a blessing, but none of us have lived as ourselves.”

Pei Zhaoye frowned. “Ah Ruan, step back.”

She let out a laugh and raised her hand to rip open a red line from behind her ear.

A corner of Xie Wanning’s face was violently peeled back by her own hand.

Every member of Wuxiang Tower in the hall screamed in agony at the same time. Fine red cracks surfaced on all their faces, as if a single thread in a vast web had been snapped.

“Mr. Shen, go to the secret chamber!” Liu Ah Ruan shouted. “The original manuscripts are all there!”

I helped Xiao Lingyi up and sprinted toward the rear palace.

Behind me, for the first time, Pei Zhaoye’s expression shifted.