Chapter Four: Dust Along the Road

The entire hall was shrouded in utter silence, not a single sound to be heard. Even the faint, recovering breaths of Wan Feng, who lay collapsed on the ground, drifted clearly through the air. The meaning behind Xun Xun’s words was now unmistakable—the one he referred to was the Fifth Princess, Ye Qianling.

No one dared believe it. No one wanted to. Ye Qianling was only fifteen, just a child. True, she had long since joined the battlefield and taken countless lives there, but that was war. Killing in battle was wholly unlike cold-blooded murder in the realm of peace—especially when the victim was her own younger brother. What kind of heart, venomous as a scorpion’s, could wield such ruthless force? It was utterly at odds with the innocent, easygoing princess they all knew.

Yet what choice was there? Even if no one believed it, even if all wished to excuse themselves, now all the blame must be shouldered alone. Otherwise, how could the Emperor and Empress face each other in the days to come? How could they face their children? Thus, when the time to pronounce guilt arrived, all consequences had already been weighed. Having witnessed so much death, she herself was afraid, was tormented, but if suffering alone could let everyone else return to their former peace, why not embrace it?

Ye Qianling met Xun Xun’s silent accusation with silence of her own. Wan Feng, now awake, wore an expression too complex to decipher, his eyes clouded with unreadable emotion.

What reason could she offer? Should she claim she hated the newborn child for stealing her father’s affection? Or that she resented Consort Lu for intruding between her parents’ love? Or invent some other far-fetched pretext? The more she dwelled on these absurd, laughable justifications, the more bitterly ridiculous they seemed.

Never had she imagined a day would come when she would deceive everyone who cared for her, watching as their faces filled with confusion and disappointment. Deceiving them so thoroughly, even she began to believe herself a monster. She truly did not know how to face them. The moment this truth surfaced, the harem would be thrown into chaos. But she had come this far, with no path left to retreat.

"What?" The Emperor Guangde’s composure shattered at Xun Xun’s implicit accusation. Sorrow was quickly replaced by bewilderment. "Xun Xun, are you saying you found another earring in Ling’er’s chambers?" He could not believe it—how could his most cherished, innocent, and beloved daughter have slain her own brother? Anyone would search for excuses.

Xun Xun himself had not expected this answer. Seeing Xun Xun remain silent, the Emperor, growing agitated, turned to Ye Qianling. "Who have you quarreled with lately? Who would dare lay such a crime at your feet?"

Ye Qianling was taken aback by the Emperor’s question. Indeed, in the Emperor’s eyes, she was still the good child—kind, innocent, loyal.

But the more he trusted her, the more unbearable it felt. She knew how devastating this would be for him: a daughter cruelly killing his son—how could a father bear it?

She looked at her father, who believed in her so deeply, and found herself at a loss for words. She truly did not know how to speak the truth. Still she remained silent.

The Emperor, growing impatient and still reeling from his son’s death, allowed his grief to harden into severity. "Ling’er, now is not the time for silence. The criminal has pointed the blame at you. You must speak, give us another explanation!"

Ye Qianling remained speechless, standing quietly apart. At last, the Emperor sensed something amiss. His expression darkened, voice turning cold. "Don’t tell me you had anything to do with this."

She lifted her head, meeting her father’s icy gaze, her body trembling, all her usual charm gone. After a moment, she looked away, her answer clear without words.

The Emperor’s pupils widened in shock, then narrowed as he forced himself calm. "If you have a reason, tell your father. I know you well." He could not believe his lively, gentle daughter capable of such a deed.

The silence deepened, broken only when the Emperor strode forward. Ye Qianling looked up, panic flickering in her eyes. Never before had her father spoken to her in such a level yet ominous tone. Now she knew—he was truly angry.

Without warning, he seized her collar, tightening his grip until she could barely breathe. His eyes flashed with disbelief, then settled into dangerous calm—the kind that precedes a storm. "Have you lost your voice? When did you learn to ignore your father’s questions?"

Her breath was choked off, her face flushed red from lack of air. Unaccustomed to such violence, fear overwhelmed her. Instinctively, she clawed at his arm and gasped out, "Father… Father… I can’t breathe…"

The Emperor came to himself and released her at once. Ye Qianling collapsed, clutching her bruised neck, gasping and coughing.

He watched her struggle on the ground, a flicker of pain crossing his face. He almost stepped forward to comfort her, but the case was not yet resolved—he could not afford to show mercy. He dared not imagine—if she truly was guilty—how he could bear to punish her. Would he have to kill her?

He did not press her further. Instead, he waited for her to catch her breath. "Speak. You know I cannot bear to treat you this way."

Hearing this, Ye Qianling could not hold back her tears. She had disappointed her father. But she had no choice. She blamed herself for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, for being unable to protect her mother and brother.

"Forgive me, Father. I have let you down." She looked up, eyes brimming with tears, unable to meet his gaze, and knelt. "It was I who did it."

"Impossible," the Emperor declared, even her confession failing to sway him. "What happened? Why claim responsibility? Do you not realize this is a crime punishable by death—and by the destruction of your entire clan? Who would make you value your life so little?" He knelt before her, grasping her arms, his words tumbling out in distress. "Your life is not yours alone. If you throw it away for someone else, how will your parents ever forgive you?"

"Father, it was truly I," Ye Qianling replied, suppressing her grief, forcing herself to meet his eyes. "I know I was wrong. I didn’t want to do it, but I had no choice."

"What do you mean?" The Emperor was stunned. Perhaps, he thought, his children had grown up without his noticing—grown up, learned to hide, so that even their parents could no longer read their hearts. He let go, and after a minute’s silence, sighed. "You still won’t speak? If you did this, you would never be foolish enough to incriminate yourself. I’ll give you one more chance—tell me the truth. If you refuse, do not think I will spare you pain."

Hearing those words, Ye Qianling’s body stiffened. She knew this moment was inevitable—there was no escaping it. Her father had always loved her dearly, never scolding her harshly. Perhaps, in front of others now, he must uphold the Emperor’s dignity and not show favoritism. He was giving her a way out: all she needed to do was say she was not involved, and he would surely lift her up and send her back to the palace. Of this, she was certain.

Ye Qianling thought for a moment, then shook her head gently and let a cold smile curl her lips. Her eyes, icy, met the Emperor’s and made him start. "Father, I despise Consort Lu. She drove a wedge between you and Mother, and since giving birth to her son, she has built her own network of power without a thought for Mother. I cannot understand why Mother tolerates her so generously. What she refuses to do, I will do for her as her daughter. Only by cutting off Consort Lu’s future, by making her suffer the agony of losing a child from which she will never recover, can I truly punish that wretch."

"Monster!" The Emperor, unable to believe his ears, struck her with all his might. Ye Qianling did not dodge, but took the full force of his blow.

She was hurled a meter across the floor, crashing into a pillar. Blood burst from her lips and she lost consciousness.

"Bring cold water. Wake her," the Emperor commanded in a flat tone. As he turned to the girl on the ground, her mouth bloodied, her cheek swelling instantly to a mottled purple, his face betrayed nothing.

A bucket of ice water was poured over her. Ye Qianling convulsed violently, still dazed, and looked up in confusion—only to receive a kick to her chest that lifted her off the ground and sent her flying five meters away.

Another mouthful of blood spilled forth, and she heard the crack of breaking bones. For ten seconds she could not breathe, pounding her chest desperately, struggling for air. In that instant, she thought perhaps this was the end. If it were, she would feel no pain, know nothing more—and in the decade that followed, she would yearn every day for it to have ended there, sparing herself so much torment, still harboring hope for the world.

She could not claim she was unafraid. The Emperor, watching her struggle to breathe and pound her chest, knew how much force he had used. To endure such agony in silence required unimaginable strength.