Chapter 4

I stared into his eyes. They held anger, heartache, even a son’s concern for his mother—every emotion was rendered with impeccable precision.

So precise… it felt like watching a performance.

But the newborn in my arms let out a tiny whimper and clutched at my robe, as if begging for help.

“Take her away.” I withdrew my gaze and ordered the Imperial Guards, “Confine Consort Wei to the Cold Palace. No visitors.”

I didn’t look at the Emperor again. Cradling my best friend, I turned and walked out.

With every step, I could feel the fragile soul in my arms fading away. The dark spell was still eating at her, devouring her spirit with every passing moment.

The instant I stepped into Cining Palace, a ghostly shadow coalesced from a dark corner.

“My liege,” it whispered, “I examined the sorcery mark on the Consort. Its source isn’t in her. She is merely a vessel. The one who truly cast the spell… is of an extremely high rank.”

I stopped.

Tampering with the Book of Life and Death, burying a soul in a borrowed body—Consort Wei was only mortal. She truly couldn’t have managed it herself.

Then who had given her that power?

Cining Palace, secret chamber.

I laid my best friend on a jade bed and formed hand seals. My Ghost King power became a pale-blue light of the nether realm, enveloping her whole body.

The threads of dark magic were deeply rooted, like poisonous vines wrapped around the core of her soul. Each time I pulled one free, her tiny body jerked.

I gritted my teeth and slowly drew them out one by one.

My merit was draining rapidly. This body needed merit to stay alive; every time I used a portion of my Ghost King power, my reserves dwindled. But I had no choice.

“Hold on,” I murmured, gently stroking her forehead with my fingertip. “I’m here now. You won’t die here.”

Her brows knitted as if she were trapped in a nightmare.

The pale-blue light seeped into her soul. I touched the fragments of memory that remained—broken and chaotic memories of the spell being cast on her, like a bronze mirror shattered to pieces.

The first fragment: In the darkness, someone lifted her from her cradle. Those hands were pale and slender, their nails painted with ornamental nail guards—it was Wei Changning.

The second fragment: A dim secret chamber. Wei Changning knelt and kowtowed before someone standing in the shadows. Only half a robe was visible. Bright yellow, embroidered with a five-clawed golden dragon.

The third fragment: A voice, low and calm, as if giving an inconsequential instruction—

“Make it clean.”

The memories cut off.

My eyes flew open. My fingers trembled, and the pale-blue light nearly faded away.

A dragon robe. In this palace, only one person had the right to wear one.

My heart pounded wildly. It wasn’t fear—but rage. Pure, blazing rage that seared me to the bone.

But I took a deep breath and forced it down.

Fragments of memory were no ironclad proof. The remnants of a soul remembered hazily; if I brought this before the court, they would dismiss it as a hallucination. Besides, my merit was nearly exhausted, my mortal body was weak, and he had just publicly called me the “Deposed Empress Dowager” in court.

If I struck now, it would be like throwing an egg against a rock.

The Nine Netherworlds Ghost King never acted without certainty.

After another full two hours, I completely purified the dark sorcery inside my best friend. Her complexion finally changed from bluish-purple to rosy. Her breathing steadied, and her tiny hand relaxed its tight fist.

She had survived.

I wrapped her snugly in blankets and leaned against the edge of the bed, closing my eyes to rest. This body had spent its vitality to the limit.

“Your Majesty the Empress Dowager,” came an announcement from outside. “His Majesty has sent an imperial physician to pay his respects and ask after Your Majesty’s health.”

Pay his respects? He was probing me—testing how badly I had been weakened.

“Let the physician in.”

I straightened my collar and sat upright by the bed, my expression unchanged. The physician took my pulse and greeted me. I handled him naturally, leaving not a single opening.

When he withdrew, his steps were a little hurried. He would report my condition to the Emperor word for word.

That was fine. Let him see.

Night fell. The ghostly shadow slipped through the wall, its aura in disarray.

“My liege! The Consort—she’s dead.”

I sat bolt upright.

“The guards at the Cold Palace say she swallowed gold in fear of punishment. But I investigated in secret. Her face was peaceful before she died, with a smile at the corner of her mouth. Her three souls had already been locked in place; she could not have taken her own life.”

She had been silenced.

Someone had acted before me, sealing her lips forever.

“A smile at the corner of her mouth?”

“Yes. As if someone had promised her something. She died willingly.”

Hmph. What sort of promise could make someone smile as they walked to their death?