Chapter 5

I had gambled.

On his hidden ambition. On his unwillingness to remain in a wheelchair forever.

On the prince I had seen gather my family’s remains in the previous life—a man who was no ordinary creature of shallow waters.

I didn’t sleep.

Before dawn, an imperial decree summoned Father to the palace.

Mother knelt all night in the Buddhist chapel. Her eyes swelled red.

Gloom hung over the minister’s residence.

Servants looked at me with fear and distance, as though I were no longer a daughter about to marry a prince but a calamity.

I didn’t care.

Those looks were kinder than the gloating faces that had kicked us when we were down before.

Yunzhou brought breakfast.

I had no appetite. As I put down my chopsticks, someone reported, “Miss Wanrou is here.”

Qin Wanrou.

She couldn’t wait.

I smiled coldly.

“Let her in.”

She entered quickly.

Plain, elegant clothes. No makeup. Red eyes and obvious exhaustion, as though worrying about my marriage had worn her out.

Seeing me, she hurried over and took my hand.

“You’re confused, Sister!”

Tears came on command, hot drops on my hand that chilled my heart.

“How could you do that publicly? Where does it leave the crown prince? Our family?”

“If you didn’t want the marriage, you could have told Aunt and Uncle privately. Why throw the whole capital into uproar?”

Every word seemed to be for my sake.

Such a caring sister.

Such a hypocrite.

I withdrew my hand.

“My affairs needn’t trouble you. Worry about the crown prince. Aren’t you the happiest person now I’ve stepped aside?”

Her face stiffened. Panic flickered, quickly concealed by deeper grief.

“How can you think that? We grew up together. How could I…”

“Enough.”

I didn’t want more of her performance.

“I’m tired. I need rest. Please leave.”

I dismissed her outright.

Her face changed color. She had probably never imagined the girl who once obeyed her could be so cold.

She bit her lip, seeming to want more words.

They became a sigh.

“Rest well.”

“Come to me if you need anything.”

At the door, she stopped and looked back.

No false concern now.

A cold warning, a scrutiny.

“Don’t force things that aren’t yours. You’ll only hurt yourself.”

Then she left.

I slowly clenched my fist.

Yes. I wouldn’t force what wasn’t mine.

But the blood debt owed me—I would collect every bit.

Father returned at dusk, exhausted, seemingly ten years older.

He called me to his study and silently gave me an unmarked envelope.

Inside was a sheet in Zhao Heng’s hand.

Fewer words. Colder.

[On what grounds?]

He was asking why he should let me help him take the succession. What benefit could I offer?

Prepared, I went to the desk and wrote on the reverse:

[Vice Minister of Revenue Zhang Kainian keeps a secret illicit-salt warehouse in the west of the city. Thirty thousand taels in monthly profit go to the Eastern Palace.]

A crucial purse for Zhao Yi’s private troops and court connections.

In the previous life, Zhao Heng had removed it only in the third year after Zhao Yi’s accession.

This time, I wanted it rotten sooner.