Chapter 80: The First Signs of Conspiracy

The Prince Xuan’s residence was shrouded in the usual quiet of the night. Outside the study, a tall, middle-aged man dressed in black stood respectfully and reported in a low voice, “My lord, it is Wenren Yuan.”

“Come in,” responded Meng Yuanheng’s cold, clear voice from within.

Wenren Yuan entered, lifting his gaze to meet Meng Yuanheng’s anxious inquiry. “Uncle Wenren, where is Yan Mo now?”

Wenren Yuan sighed inwardly. Yan Mo had only departed a few hours ago—where could he be? Yet, he betrayed nothing on his face, offering a solemn report instead: “Rest assured, my lord. Yan Mo set out several hours ago. Riding the Wind Chaser, he covers a thousand miles a day. I believe he’ll reach the Mo Sect in just a few days.”

Meng Yuanheng’s expression remained grim.

Even if Yan Mo drove the Wind Chaser restlessly, the journey to and from Shandong would take days. The thought of Mo’er languishing, all alone, in that sunless cell left him restless and sleepless.

Noticing his master’s unease, Wenren Yuan sighed almost imperceptibly. The Prince had always been wise and decisive, but when it came to matters concerning his consort, all rationality seemed to desert him.

But there was another matter at hand. Wenren Yuan had to break into Meng Yuanheng’s thoughts and continued, “My lord, we have just confirmed that Meng Tianluo had nothing to do with the incident at Ghost Rage River.”

A fleeting trace of disappointment crossed Meng Yuanheng’s icy face, but his voice remained level as he gave a calm order: “Keep investigating. If it wasn’t Meng Tianluo, there must be someone else.”

“Yes, my lord,” Wenren Yuan replied gravely. “Although Meng Tianluo was uninvolved at Ghost Rage River, he has long harbored ill will towards you, and his recent activities have been frequent. We must remain vigilant.”

“Meng Tianluo is not difficult to deal with. However, now is not the time to act against him. I still need him to lure the real culprit out. Stick to the original plan—begin with Prince Rong’s residence.”

Meng Yuanheng’s command was crisp as he looked at Wenren Yuan’s strong, resolute face, knowing his loyalty and concern.

“Uncle Wenren, in a few days it will be the death anniversary of the soldiers who fell at Ghost Rage River. Prepare well for the memorial.”

At this, Meng Yuanheng’s tone grew even more somber, his expression grave.

Wenren Yuan’s face darkened as well, a cold light flickering in his eyes. The memory of the Ghost Rage Gorge aflame seven years ago, the charred corpses scattered everywhere, remained vivid in his mind. As commander of the Flying Cloud Riders, he had been forced to watch helplessly as countless brothers perished in the inferno. Every recollection brought a pain that pierced his heart.

He had vowed to uncover, one by one, the masterminds behind the Ghost Rage River tragedy, to avenge the souls of the more than a hundred thousand fallen soldiers.

Elsewhere, veiled in the night, a shadow flashed like a ghost beside a derelict hut on the outskirts of the city. Clad in black, face hidden behind a dark veil, the figure’s slender, graceful form betrayed her as a woman.

After confirming no one was near, she tapped a nearby tree trunk—three short, two long—an obvious code.

Soon, another figure, also dressed in black, emerged from the depths of the forest, blending seamlessly into the night. Only the silver mask on his face flickered with a cold, elusive gleam.

At the sight of the man, the woman bowed respectfully. “Greetings, my lord,” she said, her voice clear and melodious, like an oriole singing at dawn.

“Mm.” The man’s voice was low and hoarse, as if deliberately suppressed. “You did well this time. When my plans come to fruition, you shall be richly rewarded.”

Evidently pleased, the woman’s voice rose. “Thank you, my lord. I will do my utmost to fulfill every task.”

He sneered derisively. “As long as you do your duty, there will be no shortage of rewards. Now, why have you come tonight?”

She bowed her head. “My lord, Prince Xuan has sent someone to the Mo Sect in Shandong overnight. I wish to seek your instructions on our next move.”

“This was within my expectations,” he said with authority. “Attend to your assigned tasks. When I require you, you will be informed. Do not act on your own initiative—understood?”

“Yes, my lord. I take my leave.” Startled by his rebuke, she hurriedly withdrew.

As the night deepened, a breeze stirred the leaves, and in moments, tranquility once again cloaked the deserted hut.

The Imperial Prison was perpetually dim, with no sense of day or night. Shen Qianmo had lost track of how many days she had stayed there. Yet, with Meng Tianlin occasionally for company, the days had not been unbearable.

Every day, Meng Tianlin would come to the cell, bringing news from Meng Yuanheng and carrying her messages back, much like a diligent messenger goose.

Of course, Shen Qianmo also instructed him to send word to the Duke's residence. Whether Shen Yian and the Dowager truly cared for her or not, at least it would reassure Madam Xu and Green Bamboo.

Still, this messenger goose was rather clingy. Ever since she had once told him the story of Havoc in Heaven, Meng Tianlin clung to her for more tales each visit, leaving her both amused and exasperated.

Thanks to Meng Tianlin’s protection, the jailer and guards treated her with a measure of respect. Partly, this was due to the rumors that she was a sorceress.

It was said that a mere glance from her would rob one of their will, placing them under her control—a terrifying magic indeed. Thus, whenever a guard delivered her meals, he would set the tray down in haste and dash away, terrified that a stray glance might have him unlock the cell and let her walk free, his own fate sealed in the process.

Shen Qianmo found this endlessly amusing. Never had she imagined she would one day be branded a sorceress. In her previous life, she was nothing more than a workaholic, monotonous and methodical, who could spend an entire day examining a cold corpse without complaint. How had she ended up associated with a femme fatale, feared and shunned by all?

Evidently, her journey through time had been a remarkable one.

Seated on the stone bed, Shen Qianmo watched as a young guard entered, head lowered, quickly placed the food on the small stone table, and retreated as if fleeing a monster.

Just as she was quietly amused, a waft of perfumed powder drifted in from outside the cell.

Looking up, she saw Princess Anping approaching.

Shen Qianmo frowned. For a princess of such noble rank to humble herself by coming to the Imperial Prison—this could hardly bode well. Was she here to gloat over her misery?

As Princess Anping drew nearer, Shen Qianmo made no move to rise. The princess bore her no goodwill; there was no reason to show any courtesy in return.

Today, Princess Anping was evidently dressed with particular care—her attire and makeup perfectly refined. To be fair, the princess was indeed beautiful, her cold arrogance lending her a striking allure. By comparison, Shen Qianmo, unkempt after days in prison, was almost pitiful to behold.

A thought dawned on her. This aloof, proud demeanor—was it not reminiscent of Meng Yuanheng? Could Princess Anping be imitating him, seeking his favor?

“Open the door,” Princess Anping ordered the guard behind her, her voice melodious.

Once the cell was unlocked, she stepped inside, casting a sidelong glance at Shen Qianmo, who sat calmly on the stone bed, her beautiful eyes flashing with a hint of hostility.

“Miss Shen, are you comfortable here in the Imperial Prison? Does the food suit your taste?” She glanced at the solitary meal on the table, her tone laced with ridicule.

“So long as one’s conscience is clear, any place is home,” Shen Qianmo replied coolly, rising to sit at the table with an air of serenity. “It’s mealtime now. If Your Highness does not mind, I shall eat.”

She ignored the princess, picking up her chopsticks with graceful composure.

Seeing Shen Qianmo so unruffled, Princess Anping fumed, her eyes blazing with hate. In birth, in looks, in talent—how was she in any way inferior? Was this woman mocking her, implying she had a guilty conscience?

“Is Miss Shen so at ease because she expects Prince Xuan to save her?” Princess Anping sneered. “But I assure you, escaping this time will not be so easy. The entire capital is awash with rumors that the Duke's eldest daughter is possessed by evil spirits. Even if you leave this cell, the world will see you as a monster—a sorceress.”

“Even if she is a sorceress, she remains my princess. Who dares speak against her?”

A cold, familiar voice sounded from behind. Shen Qianmo smiled, set down her chopsticks, and turned.

Meng Yuanheng sat upright in his wheelchair, his jade-like face frosted over, his icy gaze sweeping past Princess Anping without emotion. She felt as if plunged into an ice cellar, a chill rising unbidden in her heart.

Yet, as his gaze fell beyond her, toward Shen Qianmo, it softened instantly with boundless affection.

Changdong pushed the wheelchair into the cell, making the small room feel even more cramped.

Princess Anping gazed yearningly at the man she had long admired, only to find he spared her not a single glance. He wheeled himself past her to Shen Qianmo’s side, gently took her hand, and said tenderly, “Mo’er, let’s go home.”

His hand was as cool as ever, yet to Shen Qianmo, it felt incomparably warm. Lost in his gentle gaze, she smiled softly and replied, “Alright.”

Let’s go home. She realized she loved hearing those words from him.

She trusted him. If he had come to take her home, it meant he had already unraveled this predicament for her. All she needed to do was cooperate.

She rose, pushed his wheelchair, and slowly left the prison. Changdong fell in behind them, following closely.

The three of them moved as if no one else existed, paying no heed to Princess Anping, whose face was twisted with rage and humiliation.