Chapter 64: Captured Again

The carriage rolled steadily onward, but Shen Qianmo’s keen senses quickly picked up on something amiss.

This was not the road back to the Duke Guo’s residence.

She lifted the curtain and demanded sternly of the coachman, whose back was to her, “Who are you? Where are you taking me?”

The coachman gave no reply. Instead, he flicked his whip, urging the horses into a swifter gallop, sending dust flying in the narrow mountain path.

Shen Qianmo calmly surveyed her surroundings. This was a mountain road she had never traveled before—sheer cliffs rose to the right, and to the left yawned a dizzying precipice. Jumping from the carriage was out of the question.

She silently cursed her own foolishness. When heading to the Ministry of Justice, she had deliberately sent Xue Hao away so Meng Yuanheng wouldn’t find out, sparing him any displeasure. Now she had well and truly brought disaster upon herself.

But since the circumstances had come to this, she resolved to bide her time and not act rashly.

At that moment, the carriage emerged from the mountain pass and came to a halt on a broad, open plain.

The coachman, an unassuming middle-aged man with a simple, honest face, clambered trembling from his seat and bowed repeatedly to her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, miss. I had no choice. If I didn’t do as he said, he would have killed me.”

“Who is he?” Shen Qianmo demanded, her voice cold and sharp.

“I don’t know, miss. While I was waiting outside the Ministry, a man in a bamboo hat came up, pressed a knife to my side, and ordered me to bring you here. If I refused, he said he’d take my life.” The coachman, recalling the cold blade against his waist, could not suppress a shudder.

A man in a bamboo hat? Who was he, and what was his purpose? Shen Qianmo had no clue. Seeing that the coachman truly knew nothing, she said coolly, “Alright, you may go.”

The man glanced at her in surprise, taken aback to see such a delicate, pitiable young woman showing so little fear. For a moment, he wavered, but the urge to preserve his own life won out. Muttering a hasty, “Take care, miss,” he hastily drove the carriage away.

Now only Shen Qianmo remained, a slender and graceful figure in pale blue robes, standing alone in the wind. Her garments fluttered like the petals of a solitary lotus, standing aloof from the world.

Yet at this moment, this ethereal lotus lifted her face to the sky and could not help but curse aloud.

Damn it! Who could be so idle as to bring her to this inexplicable place? They had gone to the trouble of abducting her, yet had not even shown themselves, leaving her alone atop a mountain, utterly bewildered—what could this possibly mean?

Left with no other choice, Shen Qianmo turned her attention to the terrain. The clearing was surrounded by dense forest on all sides, save for a faint path in the woods to the left, trampled by recent footsteps. It seemed her only option was to follow this path and see where it led.

She proceeded along the trail, wary lest there be traps or enchantments as there had been in the Brahma Melody Woods before. But the way remained clear, and nothing impeded her progress.

After a short while, the sight before her took her breath away.

Before her stretched an immense grove of peach trees. The mountainside was awash in pink blossoms, their petals trembling in the breeze, crowding every branch. Bathed in the gentle afternoon sunlight, the scene resembled a paradise, so beautiful it seemed unreal.

But it was midsummer; by rights, the peach blossoms should have long since fallen. How could there be such a glorious peach grove in full bloom?

Looking closer, Shen Qianmo noticed that every blossom was crafted from pink silk thread.

So this vast grove was an illusion—a forest of artificial flowers!

Yet to Shen Qianmo, the most otherworldly sight of all was the woman seated beneath a peach tree, playing a zither.

She wore a long, trailing gown of moon-white, embroidered with delicate pink flowers. Wisps of purple gauze floated from her arms. Her jet-black hair was loosely coiled, her brows gently arched. Though she wore no makeup, her beauty was impossible to disguise.

The melodious notes from her fingers floated through the air—ancient, mournful, and mysterious, lending her an ethereal, otherworldly presence.

With lowered gaze and graceful hands, she played “Song of Longing”—a piece that spoke of yearning and devotion.

What shocked Shen Qianmo most was that this woman was none other than the Imperial Consort Li.

Shen Qianmo stood quietly nearby, listening, while Consort Li remained immersed in her music, never once raising her head.

At long last, the piece ended, and the consort’s voice drifted softly through the grove. “Miss Shen, your reputation precedes you.”

Her face was cold and reserved, yet her voice was as clear and melodious as an oriole’s song.

That day in the palace, Consort Li had kept her head bowed, and Shen Qianmo had paid her little heed. Now, seeing her clearly, Shen Qianmo realized she was even more beautiful than Leng Aoshuang.

But wasn’t Consort Li supposed to be confined to the deep palace? Why was she here? And why go to such lengths to lure Shen Qianmo to this place?

“Why did you bring me here, Your Grace?” Shen Qianmo dispensed with pleasantries and went straight to the point.

Consort Li finally raised her head, revealing a face of stunning beauty. As she smiled, the mountain of peach blossoms paled in comparison.

“You truly are a forthright woman, Miss Shen.” With those words, her figure blurred; in an instant, she glided like a swallow and landed before Shen Qianmo.

Consort Li knew martial arts! Shen Qianmo was startled yet again.

Standing before her, Consort Li’s beautiful eyes swept slowly over Shen Qianmo from head to toe, a flash of jealousy and malice flickering within.

“Why did I lure you here?” she murmured, tilting her head as if pondering, then, before Shen Qianmo could react, waved a hand before her face.

As her hand passed, a familiar scent tickled Shen Qianmo’s nose. But she had no time to think—her consciousness faded, and she slumped to the ground.

As she slipped into darkness, she seemed to hear Consort Li say softly, “Only to see the one I wish to see.”

When Shen Qianmo awoke and realized her predicament, she could not help but curse again. Consort Li was truly despicable!

Her hands and feet were bound, but worse, she was suspended from the branch of a tall tree, swaying precariously over a bottomless abyss.

“Best not to move, Miss Shen,” Consort Li’s melodious voice drifted up from below. “That branch is rather fragile, and I’d rather not have you fall so soon.”

Shen Qianmo had never been so humiliated. Her eyes grew cold, her voice icy. “The one you wish to see is Meng Yuanheng? What is he to you?”

“Such a clever woman, Miss Shen. No wonder you saw through my ruse so quickly.” Mentioning Meng Yuanheng, the hatred in Consort Li’s eyes deepened.

“The first maid—it was you who killed her. You decapitated her and carved words on her chest as a diversion, to conceal your guilt?”

“That’s right. I never expected you to suspect me so soon. Senior Brother Ding sacrificed himself to protect me, but still, you saw through it at a glance.”

“Why did you kill the maid?” Shen Qianmo had never understood the motive.

Consort Li gave a cold laugh. “She brought it on herself. That night, she caught me by the lotus pond dressed in nightclothes and guessed my identity at once. Naturally, I couldn’t let her live.”

So that was the truth. Should one praise the maid’s cleverness, or lament her folly? Shen Qianmo, at last enlightened, felt both amused and exasperated.

“So Ding Yifei killed the second maid in imitation, just to take the blame for you?” It seemed Ding Yifei’s devotion to Consort Li was deep indeed.

At this, Consort Li’s eyes filled with fury. She raised her voice and spat, “It’s all your fault, you wretched woman! My Senior Brother died for nothing, and I was forced to such desperate measures, just to see Meng—just to see him once more. You deserve to die!”

Meng? Shen Qianmo raised an eyebrow. Such intimacy—clearly, the relationship was not simple. She glanced at the distraught Consort Li, noticing that in her hand was the Linglong Blood Jade Shen Qianmo always wore about her neck.

Consort Li stared at the jade, her gaze growing ever more frenzied, tinged with sorrow. “To think he’d even give you the Linglong Blood Jade. What is it about you that makes him care so deeply?”

Shen Qianmo had no answer. She herself wondered why Meng Yuanheng cared so much for her.

At that moment, a voice thundered from afar: “Enough! How dare you insult Mo’er—you court death!”

Before the words had faded, a tall figure in black swept onto the scene, radiating a mountain-crushing fury.

His robes billowed, his bearing cold and aloof, yet now he stood before Consort Li, murderous and wrathful. When he turned to Shen Qianmo, though, his eyes filled with guilt, pain, and worry.

Seeing him upright as a pine, Shen Qianmo’s heart leaped. Had he finally been cured of his cold poison? But that was impossible—she had yet to draw the blood from Little Bai. Clearly, in his rush to rescue her, he had forcefully suppressed his illness with inner energy.

Did he not realize how much this would hinder his recovery? A mix of anger and concern welled up in Shen Qianmo.

“Forgive me, Mo’er—I came too late.” Meng Yuanheng, desperate at the sight of Shen Qianmo hanging from the tree, prepared to leap up and cut the rope.

“Stop!” Consort Li’s clear voice rang out. “Do you truly want to see her plunge from the cliff?”

She held the other end of the rope. One move from Meng Yuanheng, and she would release it without hesitation. The distance between them was too great; even his supreme agility could not save Shen Qianmo in time.

Meng Yuanheng’s gaze grew colder, his words icy and menacing. “Let her down, and I’ll spare your life.”

Consort Li seemed deaf to his threats. She gazed at him, lost in her own reverie. “Meng, you finally came to see me. Even though you came only for her, I am still happy to see you.”

“If you insult her again, I’ll see you silenced forever,” Meng Yuanheng ground out between clenched teeth. No one would be permitted to slander his Mo’er.

Consort Li, unfazed, continued to indulge her memories. “Doesn’t this place resemble the Ten-Mile Peach Grove at Mo Manor? Do you remember—that’s where we first met. You and your brother were practicing swordplay among the blossoms. I will never forget the way you turned and smiled at me.”

Once again, the Ten-Mile Peach Grove at Mo Manor! Shen Qianmo sighed inwardly—she really must visit that place someday. It seemed the perfect backdrop for love at first sight.

Consort Li’s devotion to Meng Yuanheng was truly astonishing; she had conjured this entire artificial peach grove for him.

Meng Yuanheng frowned slightly in surprise. “You are… Lou Xinyue?”