Chapter Twenty-Two: When the Last Petals Fall

Before he arrived, Ke Li had already sent someone to notify Hu Guangshen. Usually, when it came to Ye Qianling, it was only minor injuries or small illnesses—rarely a matter for Hu Guangshen. Her fourth brother, Ye Qinge, with his exceptional medical skills, was more than capable of handling such things.

Ke Li was a man of remarkable ability. Rising from an obscure White Robe to the current leader of the Southern Courtyard in the Western Suburbs, he had earned Emperor Guangde’s favor not merely for his extraordinary martial arts, but, more importantly, for his integrity and cultivation. The Emperor had promoted him with his own hand in his youth. The Ye siblings and Bai Hanhai had all studied martial arts under his tutelage. Upon hearing of this incident, Ke Li immediately sent for Hu Guangshen, for the way Bai Hanhai had kicked—drawing blood with a single blow—was no minor scuffle; summoning Hu Guangshen was the safest course.

Ke Li was well aware of the ill reputation that dogged the Southern Courtyard of the Western Suburbs. For years, he had wanted to reform the place, but with the shadow of the secret guard cast over them, society would never hold these youths in high regard. Coming from the White Robes himself, Ke Li was a lone reformer, relying only on the Emperor’s trust, always at odds with the pedantic nobles entrenched in the Southern Courtyard.

But there was little he could do. He longed for change, tormented by the sight of the young men here, crushed until they lost all sense of self. The pain of his impotence gnawed at him, especially when he thought of Bai Hanhai—once his own apprentice, a youth of impeccable character and skill—now reduced to such a state. It was this that steeled Ke Li’s resolve to reform the Southern Courtyard.

Since Bai Hanhai’s graduation, Ke Li had worked ceaselessly, helping him claw back some semblance of human feeling, when once he had been incapable of speech.

In the first year at the Southern Courtyard, if you excelled in either martial arts or scholarship, life was sweet. Aside from some mandatory assessments, there was little to trouble you. Every new arrival was convinced the outside rumors were nothing but lies. But by the second year, you felt the world’s cruelty in full—here, ruthlessness was laid bare. Life became a living hell, and you walked on a knife’s edge, until you became a soulless killer. To leave this place, you needed not just ability, but an unbreakable will; otherwise, you would be devoured, leaving nothing behind.

On the stretcher, Ye Qianling’s bleeding was quickly stemmed with a hemostatic agent—something unique to the Southern Courtyard, used only when the wounds were so severe that death was a real possibility. The method was brutal: the agent stopped the bleeding instantly, but left the body stiff, paralyzed, every nerve ending concentrated on the wound. It would not kill you, but the pain was enough to wish for death.

Watching Ye Qianling bleed, Ke Li knew there was no other choice. He took the vial from his pocket and, with a heavy heart, warned her softly, “Fifth Princess, bear with it.” Before Ye Qianling could respond, bewildered, the agent was poured directly onto the wound left by the splintered bone.

She didn’t even have time to whimper. Her eyes flew wide open with terror, her body convulsing as the icy liquid seeped in through her skin, flooding every pore with agony. The drug seemed to burrow deeper, greedy to invade every layer. It was as if hundreds of needles stabbed into her at once, the liqui