Chapter 75: Everyone, Leave

Chapter 75: All Have Gone

Winter in Chang'an, within the Moon-Admiring Garden of the Marquis of Zhongyi's estate.

The elderly servants in the garden had long prepared the winter delicacies, with braziers stacked beneath the eaves, filled with charcoal, warming the corridors to a cozy warmth. The maids passing by had changed into thick cotton robes, standing under the sun, awaiting Madam’s orders.

These days, the outside world was in turmoil, but the Marquis of Zhongyi's estate remained exceptionally quiet.

Madam was ill, confined to her chambers, declining all invitations for hunts or snowy outings. She focused solely on recuperating within the estate, and the servants below leisurely took their rest.

At first, the estate had all sorts of masters, but they perished in quick succession. Some days ago, even Concubine Xia, who had been staying in the estate, bid her farewell. In the end, only Qin Chanyue remained. The entire household now served just this one Madam—a woman who neither married nor had children. Titles, lands, or fine silks—there was no one left to compete for them. The maids and elderly servants had nothing to scheme over, and the entire estate seemed to slow to a crawl.

Days dragged on, with only the sound of the wind to listen to.

Today, on the first of La-yue (the twelfth month).

At noon, the warmest sunlight bathed the courtyard, heating the glazed tiles until they radiated warmth. A tabby cat on the roof stretched lazily, letting out a long, drawn-out yawn before curling its tail and settling down—only to be startled by a sudden commotion outside.

The head housekeeper hurried in from outside the Moon-Admiring Garden, rushing straight to the chamber doors. Once there, she announced her presence from the outer room.

Inside, Qin Chanyue, who was still feigning illness, was reclining on a low couch, nibbling on snacks while reading tales and records about the geography and customs of the Southern Frontier.

She had never been to the Southern Frontier and was deeply curious about it. She had heard that winters there remained warm, so she wouldn’t need to bring her fox furs. She also heard that the region was abundant in fruits and floral syrups, which produced the most vibrant dyes for silks—their brocades were the finest. Once she arrived, she would have to see it all for herself.

Just as Qin Chanyue popped a honeyed jujube into her mouth, she heard the announcement outside and called out, "Enter."

The head housekeeper hurried into the inner chamber, stopping outside the beaded curtain. Through the veil, she spoke with visible anxiety, "Madam—the Crown Prince has arrived in person!"

Qin Chanyue nearly choked on the jujube, biting her tongue hard.

The court was in disarray these days. Emperor Yongchang had been gravely ill and unseen for so long that many suspected he was already dead. The Second Prince and Noble Consort Wan were imprisoned, and Qin Chanyue guessed they were doomed. The Crown Prince now held sole sway over the palace, waiting only for an auspicious day to ascend the throne. At such a time, why would he come to the Marquis of Zhongyi's estate?

Crushing the Second Prince was one thing, but please, don’t come for me!

The more Qin Chanyue thought, the more panicked she became. Could it be that the Crown Prince had discovered her role in Liu Yandai’s disappearance?

In mere moments, she broke into a clammy sweat and hurriedly ordered, "Go—go fetch Prince Zhennan, quickly!"

The head housekeeper outside acknowledged but hesitated. "His Highness the Crown Prince is already nearing the estate gates."

Qin Chanyue thought to rise and greet him but then remembered her "‘grave illness.’" She hastily collapsed back onto the bed, tying a headband around her forehead and waving her hand. "Have two people help me up."

But getting up wasn’t enough—there were other preparations. The fruits and snacks on the table had to be cleared, replaced with a bowl of bitter tonic.

Qin Chanyue downed the tonic in one gulp, then reeking of its pungent scent, she hurried to the entrance to welcome him.

——

The winter wind howled bleakly as the Crown Prince’s procession from the palace halted before the Marquis of Zhongyi's estate.

The moment the Crown Prince stepped down from his carriage, he saw Qin Chanyue—pale-faced, wrapped in thick fox furs, a headband tied around her forehead, supported by two elderly servants, sweating nervously as she came to greet him.

Standing atop the carriage, the Crown Prince gazed at her, feeling only a dazed detachment.

It had been so, so, so long since he had rested properly. His heart had been simmering on a hot pan, his flesh searing with agony. He endured torment every waking moment, and over time, the past and present blurred together. Seeing Qin Chanyue now, he felt a strange sense of unreality.

The Qin Chanyue before him overlapped with the one from his memories. As she approached, he instinctively searched the space beside her.

In the past, whenever Qin Chanyue appeared, she was always adorned in gold and jade, radiating defiance—never yielding to anyone. And beside her, without fail, would be Liu Yandai, steadfast and unwavering.

She often wore dresses in shades of white-pink, tender green, duckling yellow, and pale blue. From afar, she looked fair and delicate, utterly adorable. Following behind Qin Chanyue, she looked like a fluffy pup, wagging its tail and trotting along on tiny paws with cheerful barks.

But when he looked up again, he saw only a sorrowful Lady Qin.

There was no Liu Yandai by her side—only a few elderly maidservants jostling to steady her, fearing she might stumble and injure herself if they weren’t careful.

The Crown Prince’s gaze drifted hazily toward Qin Chanyue, as if it took him a moment to remember: Liu Yandai was gone. There was only Qin Chanyue now.

In just a few days, Qin Chanyue seemed to have lost half her life force. Even her usually upright posture had slumped, her steps unsteady as if she might collapse at any moment, appearing gravely ill.

Looking at her, the Crown Prince saw a mirror of his own grief.

Both their hearts bore the same missing piece. Fate had been equally cruel to them, and the pain of losing Liu Yandai was something only the other could truly understand.

The Crown Prince’s lips trembled as he managed to say, “Rise, Lady Qin. There’s no need to bow to me.”

He didn’t deserve her respect anymore. The disappearance of Liu Yandai in the Dabie Mountains was his fault. If he hadn’t pursued her, if he hadn’t entangled her before the dust had settled, if he hadn’t been so arrogant as to believe no one could harm her—Liu Yandai would still be here, safe within the Marquis of Zhongyi’s estate.

The Crown Prince knew how deep the bond between Liu Yandai and Lady Qin had been—not the typical fraught relationship between a mother-in-law and daughter-in-law, but more like mother and daughter. Losing Liu Yandai must have devastated Qin Chanyue.

If not for his rank, Qin Chanyue would’ve lashed out. She would have slapped him in her rage that very night in the Dabie Mountains when Liu Yandai was first taken.

The thought of the Dabie Mountains sent another wave of agony through him, so fierce he’d gone numb. He had been worn down to shambling like a ghost.

He craved punishment, even hoping Qin Chanyue would drive a knife into him—maybe then he’d feel better.

Qin Chanyue, however, seemed not to grasp the unspoken weight in his words. She merely led him inside.

As they entered, the lavish Marquis of Zhongyi estate appeared unchanged—still grand, everything just as it had been. The moss on the stones, the worn steps from years of use—nothing seemed different.

And yet, everything had changed.

The Crown Prince recalled attending a banquet here long ago, when the Marquis of Zhongyi still lived. The estate had three sons then, and the celebration had been lively. He remembered catching sight of Liu Yandai skipping through the blossoms, her cheeks flushed like sunset clouds.

But now—

The grand estate stood unchanged. The pines beneath the eaves grew quietly. But the people were gone.

As they walked beneath the corridor’s overhang, the Crown Prince’s steps faltered, as though he might collapse at any moment. Qin Chanyue trailed behind him, her anxiety mounting, sneaking looks at his hunched shoulders.

Where was Chu Hang? Why hadn’t he arrived yet?

Once inside the main hall, they took their seats—the Crown Prince in the head seat, Qin Chanyue in the secondary position. After a maid served tea and withdrew, only the two of them remained.

Qin Chanyue couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes, dabbing her lips with a handkerchief while stealing glances toward the door. She saw no sign of Chu Hang—only the swaying beaded curtain.

Finally, the Crown Prince spoke.

This man, proud and unyielding all his life, on the verge of ascending the throne, now looked hollowed out, hanging on by a thread.

“I heard,” he murmured, staring down at his teacup, “that you were ill, Lady Qin. So I brought the imperial physician to examine you.”

Qin Chanyue’s handkerchief trembled before she lowered her eyes. “Your Highness is too kind. This humble subject merely caught a chill in the tower some time ago. It lingered, dragging on until now… Perhaps a few more days of rest will suffice.”

At her words, the Crown Prince’s vision blurred momentarily before he replied, “It was my fault. I kept you in that tower for too long.”

If he had released Qin Chanyue earlier, if he hadn't bullied Liu Yandai in such a manner, if he could have endured until the second prince departed for his domain, perhaps none of this would have happened.

Qin Chanyue broke into a cold sweat.

Since when had she ever seen the Crown Prince like this? She was accustomed to his ruthless demeanor, but now he suddenly appeared kind and approachable, even owning up to his misdeeds. It made her feel as though someone had kicked some sense into him—though she dared not say so, only pressing her lips together and remaining seated.

The Crown Prince had never before acknowledged his own failings. But after Liu Yandai's disappearance, a pang of conscience struck him, and he began engaging in genuine soul-searching—only to scare Qin Chanyue out of her wits.

Qin Chanyue stayed silent, and so did the Crown Prince. One was uneasy in heart, the other’s mind wandering far away. Though both sat there, neither was truly present.

Finally, the Crown Prince spoke. "The royal physician has arrived. Lady Qin, have him examine you. If your illness worsens, Yan Dai would surely blame me."

When he mentioned Liu Yandai, his voice softened slightly, as though she were still alive.

Qin Chanyue, however, felt goosebumps rise at his tone. She looked up at him in disbelief and saw an indelible grief etched on his face.

His deep-set eyes looked like a withered grove, occasionally swept by a cold rain, making him appear even more desolate. This sight awakened a twinge of compassion in Qin Chanyue’s heart.

Before, no matter where he stood, the Crown Prince had always seemed like a predator brimming with ambition, shrouded in wintry gusts, his eyes ablaze with fire. But now, he looked like this.

What made her even more reluctant was that he had become this way because of her lie.

Qin Chanyue couldn’t help but think of Liu Yandai.

At the time, the situation had been urgent. Qin Chanyue hadn’t even had the chance to ask Liu Yandai what had happened—only that the Crown Prince had deliberately bullied and deceived her. She knew Liu Yandai was simple-minded at times, obstinate to her core, but the moment Liu Yandai cried, Qin Chanyue stopped caring about right or wrong and threw herself into helping her.

Now that it was all over, Qin Chanyue realized the Crown Prince might have harbored some genuine affection for Liu Yandai.

The striking noblewoman sat in her chair, fingers clutching her skirt, her lead-powdered pale lips trembling slightly as she whispered, "Your Highness, has Yan Dai—been found?"

She already knew the answer.

The Crown Prince, seated across from her, remained impassive. Calmly, he replied, "I am still investigating."

Qin Chanyue lowered her lashes, thinking, *So he hasn’t connected it to us yet.*

If the Crown Prince had truly found out, he wouldn’t have brought the royal physician or spoken to her so gently.

As Qin Chanyue pondered, she suddenly heard footsteps outside. She hurriedly stood up and indeed saw the doorway curtain being lifted aside as a tall, broad-shouldered military officer strode in.

It was the Prince of Southern Pacification, Chu Hang.

Qin Chanyue’s shoulders relaxed, and she slowly sat back down.

Ever since meeting the Crown Prince, she had felt uneasy. But now, with Chu Hang here, she felt somewhat relieved. After all, even if the heavens collapsed, Chu Hang would bear the brunt—no disaster would land on her head.

Once inside, Chu Hang bowed in greeting, then straightened and immediately addressed the Crown Prince. "Your Highness, how fares His Majesty now?"

Mention of official matters seemed to sharpen the Crown Prince’s focus. His phoenix eyes fixed on Chu Hang’s face before he replied after a pause, "The Emperor is critically ill and has yet to awaken."

In truth, the Emperor was already dead—but the Crown Prince had no intention of revealing that yet. He wanted to find Liu Yandai first.

Chu Hang’s next question was about her.

"Has the consort been found?" he asked.

Unlike the pale-faced, sweating Qin Chanyue, Chu Hang stood his ground, his expression even carrying a hint of irritation, edging toward provocation.

Qin Chanyue brought her handkerchief to her mouth once more.

The Crown Prince's expression remained unchanged. He replied to Chu Hang just as he had to Qin Chanyue moments earlier, saying, "I'm looking into it."

Previously, Qin Chanyue had dropped the matter after hearing this, but now, Chu Hang did not hesitate to respond, "It has been a full three days since Liu Yandai went missing after parting ways at Dabie Mountain. Your Highness, you know as well as I do that anyone who remains unfound after two days is likely already dead."

Those who've killed before understand this well—once someone disappears, you’ve got six hours at best to save them. Beyond that, all that remains is a corpse.

The word "dead" hit hard, making Qin Chanyue's chest tighten for a moment, her fingers twisting the handkerchief in her hands.

She dared not speak, only pressing her lips together as she cautiously glanced at Chu Hang. She wondered—how could this man have the nerve? After committing such an audacious act, he now had the gall to confront the Crown Prince directly.

Yet when the Crown Prince heard the word "dead," the veins in his arm stood out.

After a beat, he muttered, "No. Liu Yandai isn’t dead. The Second Prince isn’t foolish enough to kill her. Yandai’s still valuable."

The Second Prince should’ve come to bargain! He should have revealed news of Liu Yandai, attempted to save himself, or at least done something—no one would kill Liu Yandai, because she was now the most valuable thing in the world, the Crown Prince’s heart and soul.

Who would kill her?

"People missing for two days don’t usually come back, let alone when caught in factional struggles. Liu Yandai vanished without reason—her fate cannot be good. You know this better than I do." Chu Hang’s voice was thick with resentment as he continued, "And Liu Yandai’s disappearance was caused by you. If you cannot return her to the Marquis of Zhongyi’s household, what business do you have coming here now?"

His voice carried a clear challenge—an unmistakable accusation: *You couldn’t bring her back, and now you dare show your face here?*

The Crown Prince, seated above, saw his expression darkened again and again, clearly provoked by the Prince of Southern Pacification. But because he himself was in the wrong, and because guilt weighed on his conscience, he forcibly suppressed his anger.

For once, the Crown Prince was on the back foot.

As he spoke, Chu Hang glanced at Qin Chanyue.

When Qin Chanyue met his gaze, it suddenly clicked. Then, with a low cough, she abruptly collapsed to the ground.

The elegant lady looked like she was in agony—rising suddenly only to faint, startling both the Prince of Southern Pacification and the Crown Prince. The Crown Prince instinctively moved to help, but the Prince of Southern Pacification was faster, scooping her up in his arms before producing a medicinal pill and feeding it to her.

As soon as she swallowed the pill, the lady gradually stirred awake. The moment her eyes opened, she doubled over coughing. She appeared terribly weak, her voice a ragged whisper as she gasped, "Brother... take me back to Nanjiang."

The Prince of Southern Pacification, still holding her, fell silent for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh.

When he looked up again, his face had gone weary with defeat. No longer confrontational, no longer reproachful, he instead regarded the Crown Prince with the hollow look of a grieving father. "Your Highness," he said, "Yan Dai is dead. Your path to the throne is secured. When you ascend to greatness in the days to come... this subject must return to guard Nanjiang."

"Nanjiang is far, and my sister is gravely ill. Who knows how many years she has left? Might Your Highness permit her to return to Nanjiang with me?"

His rough voice sounded distant, like wind over mountains, echoing in the Crown Prince’s heart.

Their acting may not have been flawless, but in that moment, the Crown Prince lacked the will to scrutinize them. Grief swallowed him whole—cold, hollow, and aching, the pain magnified beyond measure. Exhausted from prolonged sleeplessness, he could no longer focus, much less detect the deception hidden beneath the surface.

He was no longer rational. The schemes and ruthlessness that once filled his heart had been softened by regret and guilt, leaving only boundless sorrow. He had no energy left for calculations. And seeing Lady Qin’s frail state, he understood—in grief, one naturally wishes to flee the place that brings such pain.

He looked at his old retainer, at Lady Qin, and then into the empty air before him, like a ghost, too empty for rage or tears. After a long silence, he closed his eyes and said, "Go."

He understood Lady Qin’s suffering, and so he would let her leave. At the very least, she could choose where to die.

As sorrow flowed through him, he felt utterly alone—unable to hold onto anything, left with nothing. It was as if he had been abandoned once again—first by his mother, then his father, and now by Yan Dai.

Let them all go.

He would go too. He still had somewhere to be.

The Crown Prince stumbled out of the Marquis of Zhongyi’s residence and made his way to the teahouse where he and Liu Yandai had once pledged their love.

The teahouse remained exactly as it was, always making the Crown Prince feel as if they had returned to the day they first met.

The Crown Prince wound his way through the long streets and alleys until he arrived at the teahouse.

He had reserved the entire teahouse, reliving the past day after day. On the first floor, someone was singing on the stage. The private room’s window was open, with the imperial guards tending charcoal braziers and incense burners behind the screen. The floor was covered with thick carpets. The Crown Prince walked in, paused before the carpet to steady himself, then slowly lay down on the ground.

The moment he closed his eyes, it was as if he could hear Liu Yandai whispering in his ear, calling him "Your Highness" over and over, telling him not to be so hateful, not to tease her on purpose.

The more she pleaded like that, the more he deliberately did those things—nibbling her ear, kissing her neck, catching her ankle, just to see her expression the moment she gave a little yelp.

She was utterly adorable—how could he not love her? How could he not miss her?

Liu Yandai was gone, and he might as well have died that day. Only by endlessly reliving the memories could he recall her face.

When he was lost in these false illusions, the ache in his body seemed to ease somewhat. But the moment he regained awareness, the pain would come crashing back tenfold.

The Crown Prince couldn’t describe this feeling—he only knew half his heart was gone.

Where was his Yan Dai now?

He opened his eyes, met with the sight of a silent ceiling beam. The howling grief in his chest seemed to have vanished, leaving only himself, lying alone in this place.

Slowly, the Crown Prince sat up on the seat and noticed a desk sitting quietly nearby.

On the desk lay an account book.

He picked it up and flipped through it casually, immediately spotting Liu Yandai’s clumsy, childish scrawl. He knew she hadn’t read many books, knew she wasn’t the quickest. Before, he had even thought that once she returned to the palace with him, he would find time to teach her how to write properly. But now, all that remained was this account book.

His fingers slowly turned the pages until he came across a small, laughably bad drawing of a turtle.

The turtle was comically exaggerated, its face ridiculous, with the words "Crown Prince" scribbled next to it.

After staring at it for a while, he realized Liu Yandai had left this little jab for him long, long ago—and he was only discovering it now.

The past Liu Yandai had left him a surprise, but by the time he noticed it and wanted to get back at her, all that greeted him was an empty teahouse.

Holding the account book, thinking of that version of Liu Yandai, he first gave an involuntary chuckle—then tears welled up and spilled over.

——

When the imperial guards pushed open the door, they found the Crown Prince in such a state—laughing and weeping at once. Outside the window, the opera singer’s voice droned on like some maddening refrain. To this accompaniment, the Crown Prince experienced, for the first time, what it truly meant to have his heart torn apart.

"Your Highness—"

The imperial guards hesitated for a moment before steeling themselves before bowing and reporting, "There’s trouble in the palace. The imprisoned Third Prince, along with his faction, stormed the Hall of Supreme Harmony. Upon discovering Emperor Yongchang had already passed, they began spreading the claim that you murdered your father to seize the throne. They then attempted to rescue the Second Prince but have since been captured by the imperial guards. The situation is urgent—this subordinate rushed to inform you."

The Crown Prince, still seated on the floor, seemed dazed for a moment, as if not fully present. Only after a pause did he murmur, "Ah… I forgot."

There was still a living Third Prince.

Might as well ask the bastard if he’s seen his Yan Dai.