The Sickly Regent Prince Who Was Abandoned as a Substitute Bride

Chapter 605

In the nick of time, a black figure flashed across the beams like a ghost. The Prince of Zhennan caught a glimpse of that familiar arc of a drawn sword through the smoke, and his heart skipped a beat—it was him! The longsword in the black-clad man's hand gleamed with a chilling blue light; wherever it struck, assassins fell to the ground. The two worked in perfect coordination, their swordplay weaving into an impenetrable net, forcing the last assassin into a corner. When the black-clad man ripped off the other's mask, the Prince of Zhennan was horrified to discover that it was none other than the second-in-command of the rebel faction, who should have been executed!

"You've worked hard." The battle was over, and the Emperor emerged from behind the screen, his eyes filled with satisfaction. He raised his hand and lifted the black-clad man's veil, revealing a cold, scarred face: "Three years ago, I personally sent him to infiltrate the rebels. Even the chief eunuch around me thought he had betrayed us." The black-clad man knelt on one knee, his voice still hoarse: "To protect Your Majesty, I would gladly die a thousand deaths."

The Prince of Zhennan gazed at the other's perfectly intact right shoulder—where he should have personally bandaged the arrow wound, yet now not even a scar remained. He suddenly recalled the man in black's words, "Scars are the badges of honor for those in the martial world," and couldn't help but chuckle. Morning light streamed through the window, illuminating their clasped fists. This treacherous scheme, a game within a game, finally came to a close in the blood-red dawn. Outside the walls of the Forbidden City, a new sun was slowly rising, washing away the carnage of the previous night.

As dusk settled, the inky darkness bathed the carved beams and painted rafters of the Marquis's mansion in a somber silhouette. Dongfang Wan'er leaned against the rosewood couch, her slender fingers unconsciously stroking the celadon medicine bowl on the table. The medicine inside had long since cooled, its surface tinged with a dark reddish-brown rust.

"Qiuqin." She suddenly spoke, her voice seeming to drift from afar. The maidservant who was tidying up her embroidery frame by the window looked up abruptly and saw an unusual blush rise on her mistress's pale face. "Go prepare a carriage and some silver; I need to go to the pharmacy to get some medicinal herbs."

The embroidered handkerchief in Qiuqin's hand fell to the ground with a "thud." Since the sudden cold three months ago, the young lady had not left her room, relying solely on the herbal medicine prepared by the doctor to keep her alive. At this moment, however, two bright lights shone in her phoenix eyes, making the pearls on her earrings tremble slightly.

"But...the doctor said you..." Qiuqin stammered, her words abruptly cut off by Dongfang Wan'er's sudden gaze. Those eyes were still breathtakingly beautiful, yet they were like poisoned daggers, a chill running down her spine. She hurriedly knelt in response, and as she turned, she heard the sound of porcelain shattering behind her, mixed with a suppressed cough.

Half an hour later, the blue cloth carriage rolled across the bluestone road and stopped in front of the "Huichuntang" pharmacy, which was filled with the aroma of medicine. The shopkeeper was wiping the glass medicine cabinet when he caught sight of the Marquis's crest embroidered in gold thread on the carriage curtain. He was so startled that he forgot to put down the cloth he was using to wipe the medicine cabinets and rushed out to greet the carriage: "Oh my, isn't this the eldest daughter of the Marquis's family! Please come in, please come in!"

Dongfang Wan'er, supported by Qiuqin, stepped down from the carriage. As her moon-white skirt swept across the threshold, a faint, bitter medicinal scent wafted through the air. She went straight to the counter and pulled a yellowed prescription from her sleeve. The shopkeeper took it and examined it closely; his pupils contracted sharply—Arisaema, Lobelia chinensis, Paris polyphylla... these antidotes, prepared according to the prescription, were clearly a formula for treating poisoning!

"Young Miss, what's wrong with you..." Before he could finish speaking, he was forced back half a step by a cold glint. Dongfang Wan'er tapped her fingertips on the counter, the gilded nail guards striking the sandalwood with a crisp sound: "Enough nonsense, hurry up and get the medicine." The skin vaguely visible on her neck had an eerie bluish-gray hue, which looked particularly glaring in the candlelight.

The shopkeeper swallowed hard, picked up the steelyard, and began weighing the medicinal herbs. Amidst the pounding of the herbs, he secretly glanced at the young woman sitting upright in the armchair. The once bright and flamboyant young lady of the Marquis's mansion was now emaciated, her wide sleeves hanging loosely on the armrests of the chair, only the cinnabar mole between her eyebrows still stubbornly red.

After the medicine packet was properly tied up, Dongfang Wan'er suddenly reached out and stopped Qiu Qin, who was about to take the change. She dipped her fingertip in the ink on the table, quickly wrote a few strokes on the back of the prescription, folded it up, and stuffed it into the shopkeeper's palm: "Three quarters past Xu hour, dilapidated temple in the west of the city." Before the other party could react, she had already turned around and disappeared into the twilight, enveloped in the fragrance of medicine.

The carriage moved slowly along the moat, and Dongfang Wan'er leaned against the carriage wall, closing her eyes to rest. As the wheels rumbled over the gravel, she recalled the scene she had witnessed three days ago in the back garden—her half-sister, Dongfang Mingzhu, holding a bowl of medicine, her voice sickeningly sweet: "Sister, drink your medicine quickly, and you'll be better." The tiny bubbles rising in the bowl of medicine overlapped with the antidote in the medicine packet she was currently using.

"Miss!" Qiuqin's sudden cry shattered the deathly silence. The carriage jolted violently, and Dongfang Wan'er abruptly opened her eyes to see the carriage curtains stained an eerie crimson by the blood-red sunset. Outside, the clanging of swords clashing mingled with heavy shouts: "Kill! Leave no one alive!"

Qiuqin, her face deathly pale, lifted the curtain. Dozens of masked men in black had appeared on the official road without her noticing, their curved blades gleaming coldly in the twilight. The leader pointed his long sword directly at the carriage, the drops of blood from the tip blooming into dark red flowers on the ground.

The sharp crack of the broken carriage shaft sent shivers down Dongfang Wan'er's spine, and the metallic, bloody stench seeped into the carriage through the cracks. As she braced herself against the side of the carriage wall, her fingertips touched the silk lining soaked with cold sweat, and she realized with a start that her back was already drenched in cold sweat. Amidst the bumps of the wheels rolling over gravel, she heard Qiuqin's suppressed sobs, like those of a dying young animal.

"Don't be afraid." She placed the dagger into Qiuqin's trembling palm; the strips of cloth wrapped around the scabbard were still warm from her body. She had secretly sharpened it in the kitchen yesterday while she was preparing medicine, using a hairpin. At this moment, the blade reflected the blood-red setting sun, illuminating the fluttering hem of black clothing outside the carriage window—the curved blades in those men's hands gleamed with a bluish-green patina of poison, clearly intended to take her life.

Suddenly, Qiuqin gripped her wrist tightly with astonishing force. Dongfang Wan'er followed her terrified gaze and saw that the leader of the men in black had somehow leaped onto the roof of the carriage, his curved blade slashing fiercely at the canopy. In the nick of time, she yanked Qiuqin and rolled to the other side of the carriage, the blade grazing her ear and severing a few strands of her hair, which drifted into the air.

"Young Miss!" Qiu Qin's scream mingled with the clang of metal. Dongfang Wan'er reached into the hidden compartment under the carriage and pulled out the dagger she had kept for three years—it was the one her mother had given her before she died, the hilt wrapped with a faded red rope. The cool metal against her palm brought her a sense of peace more than ever before.

As the thunderous sound of hooves approached from behind, the attacks of the men in black grew increasingly ruthless. Dongfang Wan'er gritted her teeth and swung her dagger, slashing across the face of one of the men in black; warm blood splattered on her pale cheek. Just then, a whooshing sound tore through the twilight, and a silver spear, like a startled swan, pierced through the air, sending the man in black, who was about to swing his sword, flying three zhang away.

The moonlight was obscured by the approaching figure. The rider, dressed in black armor, stood with his spear tassel billowing like flames in the wind. Dongfang Wan'er gazed at the familiar figure, and her hand holding the dagger suddenly began to tremble—it was the Prince of Zhennan! Three years ago, on that snowy night, he had stood like this, spear in hand, atop the high walls of the Prince's mansion, the moonlight casting his shadow before her window, like an insurmountable chasm.

The spear moved like a dragon, spraying blood wherever it went. The Prince of Zhennan deflected the curved swords aimed at the carriage with his spear, and swept the shaft across, felling three men in black. His dismount was swift and graceful, and as his black cloak billowed, Dongfang Wan'er saw the jade pendant engraved with the character "Zhen" at his waist, the very one she had given him years ago.

"Still standing there!" The Prince of Zhennan's voice was laced with the stench of blood as his silver spear pierced precisely at the attacker behind Dongfang Wan'er. Only then did Dongfang Wan'er realize that she had been so engrossed in watching, and she hurriedly pulled Qiuqin out of the carriage. Qiuqin's legs were so weak that she could barely stand, and it was only through a combination of dragging and pulling that she managed to move to the front of the horse.

The warhorse reared up with a neigh, and the Prince of Zhennan swept the two of them onto its back. Dongfang Wan'er crashed into a chest reeking of gunpowder, the violent pounding of the heart making her eardrums ache. He wielded his spear with dazzling flourishes, the cold gleam forcing the man in black back three steps. The horse's hooves shattered the setting sun, and Dongfang Wan'er looked back, only to see a dark red sunset rising in the direction of the Marquis's residence, like the poisoned soup she had drunk.

The wind rushed into her sleeves, scattering stray hairs at her temples. The warmth of the Prince of Zhennan seeped through the fabric, reminding her of the warmth of her mother sheltering her from a downpour in the Marquis's back garden when she was a child. But now, the grass on her mother's grave had grown three times, and the vermilion gates of the Marquis's mansion had become the predatory jaws of a tiger. Gazing at the gradually blurring outline of the city ahead, she remembered the prescription hidden in her sleeve, and the promise at the dilapidated temple in the west of the city. Suddenly, she felt the palm pressed against the Prince of Zhennan's back was even hotter than when she held the dagger.

The horse's hooves pounded the night dew, startling the birds roosting in the woods. The Prince of Zhennan's black warhorse darted through the valley like lightning. Dongfang Wan'er, clinging to his back, could clearly feel his taut spine. The howling night wind, carrying the stench of blood, swept past her ears. She gripped the carved saddle tightly, momentarily disoriented, unaware of the passage of time—the sickly young lady confined to the inner chambers of the Marquis's mansion was now teetering on the edge of life and death.

When the warhorse finally came to a stop in a secluded valley, Dongfang Wan'er's legs were already numb and devoid of feeling. She tried to dismount, but her vision blurred due to the rush of blood to her head. A pair of strong arms caught her waist just in time; the scent of sandalwood mixed with rust wafted towards her, and the warm breath of the Prince of Zhennan brushed against her ear: "Be careful."

Dongfang Wan'er steadied herself by supporting his shoulder. Moonlight fell on his blood-stained clothes, turning the dark red marks into an eerie purple. Three years had passed, and his heroic spirit was even more pronounced, except for a new, thin scar on his jaw, as if inflicted by a sharp weapon. "Why are you here?" She looked up at that familiar yet unfamiliar face, countless questions churning in her mind, but only this one could be uttered.

The Prince of Zhennan removed his cloak and wrapped it around her trembling shoulders, his movements as gentle as if he were transported back to his youth. "Three days ago, I received a secret report," his voice deep as a cello, "that someone has offered a hefty reward for your life." His fingertips inadvertently brushed against the back of her cold hand, and Dongfang Wan'er instinctively pulled her hand away, only to have him hold it tighter. "Wan'er, do you know that the medicine you've been drinking is laced with three-year-old poisonous feathers?"

These words struck like a thunderbolt. Dongfang Wan'er abruptly looked up, meeting his unfathomable eyes. The faint bitterness in the medicine bowls of her memory, her mother's hesitant gaze before her death, and Dongfang Mingzhu's sweet smile as she handed her the medicine—all suddenly coalesced into a clear thread. She pulled the crumpled prescription from her sleeve, the candlelight flickering on the pages: "I'm going to the dilapidated temple in the west of the city. Someone there knows the truth."

The moment the Prince of Zhennan received the prescription, Dongfang Wan'er noticed the scab on the back of his hand. He unfolded the prescription with extreme gentleness, as if handling a priceless treasure, yet his brow furrowed deeper and deeper: "This prescription... is exactly the same as the Princess Consort's symptoms from back then." He suddenly gripped her wrist, his eyes flashing with unprecedented anger, "Do you know that if these herbs are not properly combined, they will not only fail to detoxify, but will instead..."

“I know.” Dongfang Wan’er looked directly at him, the moonlight gilding her pale face with silver. “But I have no choice.” She pulled her hand away from his and turned to look at the deep night beyond the valley. “Since my mother’s death, someone has been pacing outside my window every night at the Marquis’s residence. I’ve been drinking medicine for three years, yet I don’t even know what kind of poison I’ve been given.” Her voice suddenly choked up. “Ache, I’m so tired.”

The Prince of Zhennan stood frozen in place. It had been far too long since anyone had called him "Ache." He gazed at the girl's slender back, recalling the Lantern Festival ten years ago, when she too had stubbornly tilted her head back, determined to climb the highest lantern tower to watch the fireworks. The jasmine scent in her hair then still lingered in his memory; now, only the smell of medicine remained.

A night breeze lifted Dongfang Wan'er's skirt, revealing a sliver of her pale gray ankle. The Prince of Zhennan's Adam's apple bobbed as he removed his outer robe and draped it over her shoulders: "I'll go with you." He held his spear horizontally before him, the tassel fluttering in the wind. "If the person behind this is truly connected to the Princess's death..." His voice was as cold as ice, "I will make them pay for their crimes in blood."

Qiuqin, clutching the medicine packet, timidly approached, breaking the tense atmosphere. The three of them slipped into the west of the city under the cover of night. The dilapidated temple, bathed in moonlight, resembled a colossal beast. The temple door was ajar, and flickering candlelight shone through the cracks onto the moss, casting several blurry figures. The Prince of Zhennan drew his soft sword from his waist, using the tip to part the cobwebs, and turned to Dongfang Wan'er, gesturing for her to be quiet.

A delicate scent of sandalwood mingled with the smell of decaying wood, drifting gently over. Dongfang Wan'er gripped the dagger tightly, beads of blood from her palm flowing merrily down the hilt. Just as they crossed the threshold, the candlelight, as if by magic, playfully went out. From the darkness came the sound of chains dragging on the ground, and a voice that seemed to chuckle: "Young Miss of the Marquis's Mansion, you've finally arrived!"

Dongfang Wan'er's nails dug deeply into her palms, the metallic taste of blood spreading between her teeth. The black cloak of the Prince of Zhennan swept across her ankles, the heat of his body, still carrying the scent of gunpowder, seeping through the fabric. In the darkness, the sound of chains dragging on the ground was like a venomous snake flicking its tongue, echoing between the beams and pillars with a teeth-grinding sound, each note feeling like it was twisting around in her heart.