Between the layers of gauzy bed curtains, Jiang Mu lay curled on her side, her body still, but her mind far from rest.

The night air pressed close, thick with tension despite the silence of her pavilion. No footsteps. No wind. No servants. She was watched, of course there were guards stationed at every exit, and a maid appointed to serve her and report her behavior.

She couldn't sleep.

The warmth of the sheets offered no comfort, and the silk pillows beneath her head might as well have been stone. Her mind twisted and turned just as her body wanted to, but she forced herself to lie still, breathing evenly, eyes wide open into the darkness.

She had betrayed Bai Jing.

Openly, publicly. The moment he was seized and the tide turned against him, she had turned the dagger he once gave her in the other direction. She had spun her words like thread, offered the emperor cooperation, claimed to be misled, manipulated, used.

But now... now she lay alone, vulnerable, in this cold pavilion. And fear crept up her spine like a slow-moving shadow.

What if Bai Jing had planned something in advance?

She knew how he operated. He didn't like uncertainty. He prepared for failure almost as well as he prepared for success. What if one of his men had orders to silence her, should the rebellion fail? What if someone had already slipped past the guards? What if the poison was already in her cup? Or the knife already beneath her bed?

Her fingers instinctively pressed to her womb.

The child. The only real leverage she had now. And the very reason her situation was all the more fragile.

The emperor had already asked questions, subtle ones. But the look in his eyes had been clear. He wanted to know whose blood ran in that unborn child's veins. She had denied nothing. But she hadn't confirmed anything either. Not yet.

She had hoped her father would come.

He had to come.

It had been his plan from the start. It was his idea to use Bai Jing's ambition, to manipulate him into making a move while staying just far enough away to avoid getting burned himself. Now that it had failed, he owed it to her to pull her out before the fire turned her to ash.

But he hadn't sent word. No letter. No visit. No guard with a whispered message.

She clenched her jaw and forced her eyes shut.

If she didn't sleep soon, she would lose her edge by morning.

But her heart continued to race, and every faint creak in the wooden floorboards made her grip the blankets tighter.

The thick velvet curtains of her bed were suddenly ripped open with a gust of air, followed by a shadow that fell over her like death itself.

Jiang Mu barely had time to gasp before a hand clamped tightly over her mouth.

Her eyes widened in horror.

He loomed above her, disheveled, eyes bloodshot, face cast in darkness but filled with unmistakable rage. Her hands shot up instinctively to push him away, but his grip was unshakable.

"Mmmh!" she struggled beneath him, her muffled cries useless.

He leaned closer, his face inches from hers, breath burning with a hatred that had festered long before this night.

"You thought you were clever," he hissed in a voice so low it sounded almost like a growl. "You thought I'd rot while you crawled your way to the throne... carrying his bastard."

His eyes dark, unblinking, glared at her with that familiar, bone-deep hatred. The same look he had given her once before, when rage clouded reason. But this time... it was different. This time, he looked more possessed than the other time.

She tried to shake her head, tried to twist her face away from his palm, but his grip only tightened.

She whimpered beneath his hand, muffled and useless.

He said nothing. And that silence, more than anything, told her what he had come for.

There would be no yelling. No questioning. No pleading. He hadn't come to talk.

Jiang Mu's thoughts raced in a thousand directions but led nowhere. Her father's protection, Bai Jing's failed coup, her betrayal, none of that could save her now. Not when Bai Shengli stood there, breathing heavily, watching her like a predator deciding where to sink its teeth.

Her hands were trembling.

He leaned in, face close enough that she could see the dark circles under his eyes, the red veins in the whites. His skin was pale, drawn tight, as if fury had replaced blood in his veins.

And in his silence, her own fear deepened.

What if he really was here to kill her?

He knew about the child. He knew it wasn't his. And now that everything had fallen apart, Bai Jing imprisoned, the Emperor aware, her father held at bay, she had no protection left.

She was truly alone. And he knew it.

Bai Shengli's hand remained pressed against her lips, but his eyes spoke loud enough. She would not be walking away this time.

For once in her life, Jiang Mu could not summon words. Could not summon the venom. She simply stared back, barely breathing.

Her throat tightened.

Her mind screamed.

And her body went cold with the realization that she might not live through this night.

With the other hand, he reached into the wide sleeve of his robe and drew out a slender blade, its surface catching the dim candlelight with a soft, menacing gleam.

Jiang Mu's eyes widened in terror.

She thrashed now, but her limbs were weak, clumsy with fear. Her body was slow, dulled by the sleepless nights, the stress, and the dread that had been building like a fever. Her hands clawed at his wrist, nails digging into flesh, but he didn't flinch.

His stare was fixed, hollow with fury.

In a movement so controlled it felt almost ritualistic, he lowered the blade between them, angling it downward.

And then, he plunged it into her.

The pain came sharp and slow, an explosion of agony deep in her abdomen. Her scream was strangled beneath his hand, a garbled cry that echoed only in her skull. Her body jerked upward in shock, every nerve flaring. The taste of blood rose in her throat from the force of it.

But still, no one came.

No footsteps. No creaking door. No guards bursting in.

It was as if the world outside her bedchamber no longer existed.

And then, again, the blade sank in. A second time slowly, cruel and deliberate. His wrist twisted slightly. Her legs spasmed under the sheets. Blood, warm and thick, spilled beneath her, soaking the silk of her nightdress, trailing in streams over Bai Shengli's hand.

Her eyes rolled back, then returned, blinking desperately, vision hazing over.

And then, a third time.

He struck.

The blade slipped in slower now. Her hands dropped from his wrist. Her strength was gone.

Bai Shengli didn't blink. He simply watched her. The collapse of her will, the dimming of her light. The blood. The pain. The terror.

Her mouth moved faintly beneath his palm now. No fight left. Just breath. Faint, fading breath.

Tears blurred her eyes as the weight of death settled on her chest like a final, unrelenting pressure. Her limbs went numb. Her heartbeat, rapid, then slower, thudded dully in her ears.

Bai Shengli pulled the blade free at last.

And he kept looking at her. He wanted her to see him.

Wanted her to know it was him that ended her.

Her head lolled slightly to the side. Her eyes, once sharp and calculating, stared at him still, but without focus. No more words. No more schemes. Just silence.

Blood dripped from his fingers.

And Jiang Mu, finally, stopped moving.

Bai Shengli let go. Jiang Mu's body collapsed into the sheets like a discarded puppet, limbs twisted unnaturally, hair matted with sweat and blood. Her lifeless form lay crumpled across the silken bedding, eyes half-lidded, lips slightly parted. The once-elegant nightdress was soaked in crimson, clinging to her stomach in a dark, blooming stain.

He stood above her, chest rising and falling, yet not with satisfaction. Not triumph.

Just breath. Heavy, almost hollow.

The silence in the room pressed against him. He had imagined this moment so many times. Had fantasized about the justice of it, the revenge he was owed. The twisted satisfaction of watching her fall just as she made everyone else around her crumble.

But now that it had happened, now that she was truly gone, it didn't feel like victory.

It felt... flat.

As if killing her had only emptied him further.

He stared a moment longer, his hand still sticky, the scent of blood thick in the air.

Then he turned and walked out.

The two guards standing just outside the pavilion doorway didn't look at him. Didn't speak. As if nothing had happened. As if they hadn't heard Jiang Mu's screams moments before.

Bai Shengli didn't glance at them. His steps were slow but steady, his bloodstained robes brushing against the floor of the corridor as he made his way back through the palace's cold, echoing halls. The scent of the gardens, the soft murmur of distant servants, it all passed by him without meaning.

He entered his chambers without lighting a candle. Didn't undress. Didn't even wipe the blood off his hands.

He collapsed onto the edge of the bed, the blood smearing across the silk sheets, his body sinking into the mattress like stone. The stiffness in his limbs, the ache in his chest, it all blended into one dull, numbing throb.

His eyes remained open a long time in the darkness.

And finally, sleep took him, heavily, like drowning.

✤

With the pale morning sun stretched over the palace rooftops, light barely broke through the veil of tension hanging in the imperial court.

Inside the imperial bedchamber, the scent of medicine lingered strong in the air, a scent that no incense could hide. Nothing could also ease the thundercloud of rage that darkened his features when Pei Fan knelt before him.

The Minister's voice was low, as he started to report back to the Emperor.

"Your Majesty... Lady Jiang Mu was found dead in her pavilion this morning. Her wounds were deep. The imperial physician says... she bled to death during the night."

A cold silence followed and the Emperor's hand clenched on the edge of the couch, his knuckles pale beneath the silk sleeves. Every breath he took rattled with strain, and Shen Wei, standing silently in the shadows nearby, took a slow step forward.

Pei Fan continued grimly.

"There were bloodstains on the corridor's floor... leading all the way to the Crown Prince's quarters. Meng Yu was standing guard at his door when we arrived. He refused to let us in and said His Highness was resting. But..."

He paused.

"But the blade used matches a ceremonial dagger gifted by Your Majesty to Bai Shengli years ago. There was no sign of forced entry. And given the nature of the wounds, it was a personal, angry act."

The Emperor let out a long exhale, heavy with fury and weariness. He tried to sit straighter, but his coughing overtook him before he could speak. Shen Wei quietly poured tea and set it beside him, waiting.

When he finally spoke, his voice hoarse and bitter.

"That foolish boy... So even after all that's happened, he still thinks himself untouchable because he got out of his first murder accusation?"

Pei Fan lowered his head.

"Shall I open an official investigation, Your Majesty?"

The Emperor did not answer immediately. He looked toward Shen Wei, as if gauging something unspoken between them. Shen Wei's gaze remained steady.

"It's clear what happened. Jiang Mu betrayed both Bai Shengli and Bai Jing, and in doing so, she helped restore peace to the court, even if for her own survival. Perhaps Bai Shengli had trouble accepting the fact that she could stay alive because she was bearing a child of royal blood and that it was not his."

Pei Fan looked between them, frowning.

"So this was rage."

The Emperor closed his eyes briefly.

"I want Shengli brought to me...

— Yes, Your Majesty."

Pei Fan bowed low and left without delay. Shen Wei lingered behind, watching the trembling hands of the Emperor as he reached for his medicine cup. A storm had been averted with Bai Jing's downfall, but now another had risen—more silent, more senseless.

"How many more sons will I loose, Luochen?" the Emperor asked suddenly. "Are the heavens... punishing me?"

Shen Wei didn't react, because they both obviously knew the answer to this.

The Emperor's fingers trembled slightly as he lowered his teacup onto the table beside him. His gaze was heavy with fatigue, when he turned toward Eunuch Zheng nearby.

Eunuch Zheng stepped forward and bowed low.

"Your Majesty.

— Summon Jiang Zijing to the palace. At once. Tell him I demand his presence in the Hall before noon."

Eunuch Zheng bowed again.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

As the eunuch hurried out, the Emperor leaned back, eyes half-lidded, hand resting on his chest. Shen Wei remained silent, standing at a discreet distance.

The Emperor spoke again, more to himself than to anyone.

"Jiang Zijing... He thinks I do not know the strings he pulled. The boy he fed to the wolves, the daughter he shaped into a blade. He will come weeping over her death, I know. And I will make him mourn her in silence."

He coughed harshly, and Shen Wei approached, offering another cup of warm tea.

"You intend to bring Bai Shengli and Jiang Zijing face to face?

— Yes. I want him to hear it from the Crown Prince's own mouth. I want Bai Shengli to confess what he did. I want this foolish son of mine to see what he did."

He paused, the lines on his face deepening.

"And when he does, Jiang Zijing will be forced to stay still. I'll have him by the throat. I let him scheme too long, trusted his loyalty too blindly. No more."

Shen Wei's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Do you believe he'll retaliate?

— He'll want to," the Emperor said darkly. "After all, he's been doing this since his in-laws case right? But he won't. Not when I show him what I know about the military funds that went missing in the south, about his covert meeting with Bai Jing during the border uprisings last spring and how he gave his daughter to him so that they could plot together. This needs to come to an end."

The Emperor's fingers tightened into a fist.

"He'll bury his daughter with trembling hands and bite down his pride. Or I'll take the only things he has left, his life."