Chapter 17

As evening approached, Ling Zi finally received the medicine that Consort Jiang had sent someone else to fetch from the physician. She carried it carefully in her arms as she made her way back.  

“Madam, Sister Cui Cui, I’ve brought the medicine.”  

This time, there was a considerable amount of medicine—so much that when Ling Zi tiptoed to place it on the kang table, it landed with a dull thud.  

Cui Cui was still packing their belongings, while Lan Yi reclined on the kang, propping herself up slightly to examine the medicine by the newly lit candlelight.  

As usual, the small medicine packets were bundled together into a large bundle. Whether due to the quantity or the carelessness of those handling it along the way, the wrapping wasn’t as neat as before—the hemp strings were twisted, and some of the paper was crumpled.  

Lan Yi didn’t pay it much mind. For her, the medicine had long become more of a habit than a remedy. The bitterness of life paired well with the bitterness of medicinal herbs; sometimes, she even wished the latter could overpower the former, granting her a moment’s respite. As for whether it could cure her illness, she had long stopped caring.  

Noticing Ling Zi eyeing a plate of pastries on the edge of the kang table, Lan Yi pushed it toward her, signaling for her to take one.  

Ling Zi happily picked up a piece but didn’t immediately eat it. “Madam, I saw Aunt Zhou again. She seemed to be visiting Steward Yang, and she even spoke to me.”  

Lan Yi knew about Yang Sheng’s beating—the main courtyard was right next to the side courtyard, and Cui Cui had gone out to watch, later muttering things like, “Before Madam has even left, Consort Jiang is already throwing her weight around.”  

“What did she say?”  

Ling Zi repeated Aunt Zhou’s exact words, and when Cui Cui heard them from the other side of the room, she immediately bristled. “What does she mean? We just showed her kindness, and now she’s hoping Madam won’t have any medicine to take?”  

Aunt Zhou wasn’t that kind of person.  

Even if she harbored ill intentions, she wouldn’t be foolish enough to reveal them to Ling Zi.  

Lan Yi turned her gaze back to the bundles of medicinal materials.  

This time, she looked at them for a long while—as if studying every crease on the packets.  

Master Yang’s sudden retreat, Yang Wen Xu’s suggestion for her to return to the countryside estate, the complications in procuring the medicine—all of it flashed before her eyes, finally connecting to Aunt Zhou’s seemingly offhand remark:  

*”This medicine… it might be better not to take it.”*  

That was the true meaning behind Aunt Zhou’s words.  

Lan Yi’s expression shifted from surprise to contemplation before settling into calm.  

The night passed, darkness giving way to dawn.  

No one in the main courtyard slept well that night.  

Cui Cui had been busy until midnight, and as soon as the sky lightened, she was up again—checking their luggage, loading the cart, snatching a few bites of breakfast, and then preparing Lan Yi’s medicine. She was so busy she barely had time to catch her breath.  

“Let me do it.”  

Lan Yi untied the hemp strings, sifted through the newly prepared medicine packets, and picked one from the middle. She unfolded it slowly and deliberately.  

Truthfully, there was still some of the previous batch left, but Cui Cui was too preoccupied to remember. She also didn’t notice that the packet Lan Yi had chosen was particularly sloppy—nor could she see, from her angle, the faint traces of powder mixed in with the medicinal herbs. It wasn’t conspicuous; even if seen, an ordinary person wouldn’t be able to distinguish it from crushed herb fragments.  

Still, Cui Cui hesitated. “Madam, maybe I should do it? You should rest.”  

“It’s fine.”  

The stove and medicine pot were always kept ready in the room. Lan Yi slowly poured the contents of the packet into the pot, covered it, and looked up with a faint smile. “There. I’ll watch the fire.”  

Reassured, Cui Cui turned back to her tasks.  

Lan Yi watched her go, sighing silently in her heart.

She felt sorry for the only person in this world who would grieve her death, but she had no intention of changing her mind.

Brewing medicine was a time-consuming task. After two hours, the pot finally yielded a small bowl of dark medicinal liquid. By the time it cooled to a lukewarm temperature, it was Lan Yi’s usual time for taking her medicine.

Lan Yi picked up the small white porcelain spoon and drank it all, sip by sip.

Then, with Ling Zi’s determined support, she stood up. “Let’s go.”

The rented carriage was waiting outside, already packed with many belongings. Cui Cui had arranged everything, placing a large bundle of bedding beside the seat to provide Lan Yi with a soft cushion.

Everyone in the Yang family, except for Master Yang, came out to see her off.

Yang Wen Xu stood by the carriage, his tone firm as he promised, “At most two months, and I’ll come to fetch you.”

Lan Yi leaned against the carriage wall and looked at him.

His tall figure and handsome features still resembled the young scholar she had fallen for at first sight all those years ago.

For a fleeting moment, she wanted to ask him if he knew…

But then she caught sight of Consort Jiang standing slightly behind him, her face fair and serene, her demeanor cautious yet relaxed.

Lan Yi no longer wished to say anything.

She even laughed at her own thoughts. She simply smiled at Yang Wen Xu and said, “Alright.”

Then she urged the coachman to hurry.

The journey from the city to the old residence would take the better part of a day, and the coachman didn’t want to delay either. He flicked the horse’s rump lightly with his whip, and the carriage set off.

Not long after they started moving, Lan Yi felt a faint twinge of pain in her abdomen.

It wasn’t as terrifying as she had imagined.

Perhaps they hadn’t dared to use too strong a dose, or maybe for someone as ill as her, it didn’t need to be too obvious.

Once the carriage left the street where the Yang family lived, the pain in Lan Yi’s abdomen began to intensify.

A drop of cold sweat slid down her temple, but she showed no outward sign of distress. Her left hand dug into the bedding bundle beside her, while her right lifted the small curtain of the carriage window. She instructed Cui Cui, who was walking alongside the carriage, “Head east.”

Cui Cui was puzzled. “But east isn’t the way out of the city?”

Lan Yi had already let the curtain fall. Confused but obedient, Cui Cui quickened her steps to relay the message to the coachman.

The carriage turned onto another street.

This street was closer to the city center, and at this hour, there were already some pedestrians. Listening to the sounds outside, Lan Yi’s fingers dug deeper into the bedding bundle as cold sweat poured down her forehead.

If the carriage hadn’t been so packed with belongings, she would have surely slid to the floor by now. Even Xiao Lingzi, if she had been inside, would have easily noticed something was wrong.

Fortunately, there was no room for a second person in the carriage, so the maids had to walk alongside it.

“Madam, where do you want to go? Did you forget to buy something?” Cui Cui called from outside the carriage.

“…Turn right.”

Lan Yi could no longer answer her properly. Clenching her teeth, she barely managed to squeeze out two words.

Pain of this intensity could be endured with sheer willpower, but her failing body betrayed her. A cough surged up her throat, and before she could cover her mouth with a handkerchief, blood mixed with the medicinal liquid she had just consumed spilled onto her skirt, staining it instantly.

…This was an ugly way to die.

Lan Yi thought, her head splitting with pain.

But it wasn’t entirely bad.

The Yang family wanted her dead, and she herself no longer wished to live. Death was her inevitable, final destination.

But she wouldn’t die as Master Yang had envisioned—quietly, obediently, and easily concealed in the desolate old residence in the countryside!

She was determined to be the thorn in the Yang family’s side, ensuring they would never find peace even after her death. She wanted to plant an irreparable rift between Yang Wen Xu and Prince Yi’s Residence, to sever that path to glory he had once trodden, making sure it could never be mended again!

Yang Wen Xu was truly clever. He never directly clashed with Prince Yi’s Residence, minimizing the negative impact as much as possible. If nothing unexpected happened, time would erase everything as he had planned.

But Lan Yi didn’t have time.

She always felt she wouldn’t live long.

She chose to bring things back into the open, using her own life to shatter Yang Wen Xu’s schemes.

She wanted to die in the bustling streets, to die in a way everyone would know. There was, in fact, an even better location than the marketplace—right before the vermilion gates of Prince Yi’s Residence.

Lan Yi smiled faintly, her lips twisted.

The thick scent of blood and a burning sensation filled her nose and mouth. She knew her face must look ghastly and mad.

Only a lunatic could come up with such a brilliant idea.

Unfortunately, she was half a city away. The poison had taken effect too quickly, and she couldn’t make it there in time.

The carriage turned right into the heart of Qingzhou, far livelier than the previous street. Shops lined the roads, crowds bustled about, and vendors’ cries rose and fell in waves.

“Ugh… gah!”

She surrendered to her agony. As her limbs convulsed in spasms, she kicked a bundle at her feet forward. The coachman happened to tug the reins just then, and the bundle slid out through the carriage curtain.

The curtain was abruptly flung open.

Lan Yi thought it was Cui Cui. She didn’t want to frighten her, so she struggled to compose her expression. But in her blurred, chaotic vision, what appeared was the face of a completely unfamiliar young man.

Lan Yi, too pained to speak, stared in shock: “…”

“You’ve been poisoned.”

The young man acted decisively. Without waiting for her reaction, he reached in, dragged her out, and slung her over his shoulder, sprinting toward a nearby House of pleasure.

“Ah—!”

Cui Cui’s delayed scream rang out behind them.

“Bring water!”

“Boil mung bean soup!”

“Fetch some burnt buns!”

The young man barked orders one after another. The House of pleasure’s manager, after glimpsing the waist token he slapped onto the table, swallowed his refusal and swiftly directed the staff to comply.

“Drink this, now! Then vomit!”

Thwack, thwack—his large hands pounded Lan Yi’s back.

“Again! Drink, then vomit!—Damn it, you’re coughing up blood! You, girl, stop gawking and go fetch a physician!”

Cui Cui, who had followed in a daze, trembled before bolting away.

“Is the mung bean soup ready? Hurry up and bring it!”

“Master, the buns are burnt. Is this charred enough?”

“Stop wasting time, just bring them. Hey, eat this quickly. With how much you’re vomiting, you need to protect your stomach.”

He shoved the bun into Lan Yi’s mouth.

Lan Yi: “…”

Her mouth was stuffed with crumbled bun, most of it choking her throat while the rest was forced down. Her stomach, already scorched as if by fire, felt no relief—only unbearable torment.

Her ability to think had been stolen by the poison and pain. She didn’t understand what was happening.

Even less why she couldn’t even die in peace.

The young man didn’t stop. He kept shoving bun crumbs into her mouth. When the mung bean soup arrived, he poured it down her throat, relentlessly inducing vomiting.

If Lan Yi could speak, she would have told him to stop. She didn’t want to live. She didn’t want to suffer.

But she couldn’t say a word.

Afterwards, it seemed a doctor had arrived. Cui Cui was wailing loudly, and a crowd had gathered inside and outside the House of Pleasure, creating a noisy, chaotic scene with shadowy figures moving about. Lan Yi gradually couldn’t tell whether she was awake or unconscious, nor whether she was still in the mortal world or had already descended to the underworld…

She didn’t know how much time had passed.

Before her eyes stood a lamp.

It was a style of grandeur she had never seen before—standing on the ground with a rosewood frame, carved lacquer borders, and encased in colored glaze. Similar lamps wouldn’t appear in the Yang family until five or six years later, when Yang Wen Xu entered the imperial cabinet as the Emperor’s tutor, and even then, they wouldn’t match the elegance and luxury of the lamp before her now.

This wasn’t the Yang family, nor was it the House of Pleasure. Was this the underworld, then?

After all that torment, had she still died?

Not that it was a bad thing. She should have come here long ago.

Lan Yi instinctively tried to turn her head to get a clearer look at her surroundings, only to find she was so weak she couldn’t even move a finger.

“You’re awake.”

A gentle woman’s voice sounded beside her. Only then did Lan Yi realize someone had been standing silently in the shadows. Before she could make out the woman’s appearance, the speaker had already left.

The door opened and closed, and another, heavier set of footsteps entered.

The figure was tall, with broad shoulders, and carried an air of unquestionable authority as he approached.

Was this the King of Hell?

Lan Yi thought hazily.

Her mind still wasn’t functioning properly; everything felt sluggish, inside and out.

The man approached the rosewood lamp stand, stepping into the light, his cold, stern features finally becoming visible.

Lan Yi’s pupils constricted sharply.

Not the King of Hell.

It was Prince Yi.